Magic

The harvest is always greater than the seed but you have to sow the seed first.
– Tony Gaskins

My garden is insane right now. Even though it’s a hot summer with a historic drought here in California, and it really has no right to be so happy. That’s just how we roll around here.

We are restricted in every way imaginable, and some that aren’t.
The watering days are cut in half and the times allowed are so short that everyone’s lawns are a sad and sorry shade of brown, the urban trees are dying, and the landscaping that Studio City had spent so much of our tax money on this past decade, beautifying the middle of Ventura Boulevard, and other public thoroughfares, looks like a sub-Saharan attempt to grow something green—that has been left to die.

In other words, I live in the land of brown on brown. Los Angeles is slowly reverting back to the desert landscape from whence it came.

But not my yard. Deprivation becomes it.

I have never seen my grass greener or my plants looking better. And the hydrangea. Forget about the hydrangea.
Most years I’ve had a hard time getting them to bloom for me. I see them around the neighborhood, covered with flowers, and mine just looked…anemic. A blossom here, a bloom there, they have been a consistent source of disappointment to me for years.

But not this year.
Their showoffery is so flagrant that I thank God they’re in the backyard so I don’t get arrested
I’m certain our neighborhood lawn police and water patrol would have me fined up the WhoHa. Nobody would believe that I’m adhering to the strict statewide restrictions.
I question it myself. Yet, There they are. Heavy with blooms.

I cut them. Every morning in fear of reprisal. My house is full of pink and blue hydrangea even though I don’t have a lick of pink in my home. And they grow back almost overnight. It’s spooky.

That’s the other thing.
My entire garden is filled with pink. Pink geraniums, pink cyclamens, pink nameless flower on that spiky plant, even pink bougainvillea. Pretty, right? Except for the fact that I planted red. I like red bougainvillea with a Spanish style house and I was extremely careful in my color selection. Same with the goddamn hydrangea. Blue and lavender. NEVER pink. I would never plant a pink flower. They’re simply not my thing.

So the other day while walking across my patio with its numerous pots of flowering plants, standing barefoot in my tall, lush green grass, staring in awe at my six hydrangea bushes laden with pink blooms, hose in hand on watering day, hummingbirds zigging and zagging happily around my head; my heart literally skipped a beat; I had never in the ten years of this garden’s existence seen it look so beautiful. That was precisely the moment when the voice in my head said this:

“That is what abundance looks like Janet, It is everywhere. And if you can notice it around you, you will see it in your bank account. It’s the law.”

Well, is that so?
Huh…I’d never really thought about it like that.
But they had been connected together, hand it hand, by some mystical power greater than myself. The money had started to flow back into my life at almost the exact same time that my garden exploded.

Then my perception changed and I started to notice abundance EVERYWHERE.

Every morning I would stand slack-jawed in my garden, amazed at it’s abundance; and several days a week a check would come in the mail. That has been a rare enough occurrence in my life of late that the word miracle is not an over statement.

Listen, have you walked with fresh eyes through a grocery produce section lately?
What about a farmer’s market? What about a bookstore?
There are twelve movies playing at any given time at my local multiplex and we have nine hundred channels to choose from on our TV.

I live a life awash in abundance—and I bet you do too.

Here’s the thing you guys: You can’t notice the beauty that is all around you when you have your head down, burdened with worry, doubt or despair. You have to be open to seeing it, of letting it astound and delight you.

So which came first? I’d say it was the seed of happiness the garden gave me and the overwhelming feeling of abundance shown to me each morning. Then the money harvest came. Cool huh?

As for pink, I looked it up, it represents caring, compassion and love. Alright, I’ll let it slide.
Hey, who doesn’t need more of that?

Carry on,
xox

Get a load of this library/office! Nigella Lawson amid cook book abundance for sure!

I’d like to say a few words about…double stick tape.

I went through a period in the mid nineties of dressing, well, like a tramp. All thigh-high slits and escaping tits.

Hence, double stick tape became my indispensable wingman.

You see, the pendulum had swung ALLLLLL the way to the other extreme.

It had followed my monk phase. The five years or so where I denied my ample bosom. Previous to that I was somehow blissfully oblivious.

During this phase my boobs, seeming as big as my head, felt too large for my frame, getting in the way of my arms, hiding my feet, changing the channel on the remote if I sneezed — so I basically bound them.

Figures, right?

Everyone wants tits except the ones who have them. Let me just say right here, they are a huge responsibility and most people don’t realize the implications.

Mine were “real and they were spectacular” to quote the famous Seinfeld episode. Unlike me, my breasts actually received a thank you note in the mail for their spectacularness. No kidding.

But they were wasted on me. Until I learned to embrace my bussomy-ness. Hey listen, when your boobs get mail it makes you pay attention.

So this could either be a “the grass is always greener” story or “appreciate the gifts you’re given” tome.

Instead it’s an homage to double stick tape. The disasters it keeps from happening and the secrets it keeps hidden.

But what exactly IS the deal with double stick tape?
The application is tricky at best and an amateur hour shit-fest at worst.

Kind of like false eyelashes, which I have also mastered.

Here’s the thing: it’s all an illusion.
Kind of like Spanx.

Double stick tape;
false eyelashes;
and Spanx.

Ladies and Gentleman, it’s astounding! It’s confounding! Watch and see if you can figure out just how she does it!

My waaaay-too-short skirt and cleavage down-to-there are masterfully taped so as to only imply indecency; they keep all my bits in place yet they tease and taunt you into thinking you just may see…something…

The eyelashes; if you take the time to learn how to apply them (it took me weeks — everyday) look like you have a lifetime supply of Latisse and you spend an hour and a half in a magnifying mirror getting your fifteen coats of mascara just right. Who’s got that kind of time?

VPL? Visible pantie lines? Not his girl.
No thigh jiggle, no belly wiggle, and no deep breaths. Oxygen deprived. For a decade. Ahhhhh…how I hate you — fucking Spanx.

It looks from the outside like it’s all a walking work of perfection. And there’s the story.

Nothing ever is. Perfect that is.

If the tape lifts, the lashes peel or the Spanx fail — the jig is up.

Just know that the next time you observe “perfection”. It’s a labor intensive magic trick.

Post Script: The other day I used the last of my double stick tape to anchor the corner of a rug. My how times have changed.

Carry on,
xox

“The full moon is a time to rock and roll, to push boundaries, to dive headfirst into the embers, the surf, the divine.” ~ Author Unknown

*I took this article by Kate Rose from the Elephant Journal—
It is full of juicy bits and good news. A MUST READ!
Trust me, I’m not a doctor.
xox

The full moon in Sagittarius on June 2nd is a reminder that it’s okay if our life currently looks nothing like we thought it would—even compared to how it looked just a few months ago.

Know that all the pieces haven’t fallen together (yet), and though we’ve made some important decisions in the past few months, we have to make just one more: the choice to make a magical new beginning.

We have been through the ringer lately with the astrology of the past few months! Ever since those Pluto Uranus squares took the last hits at our old small lives back in March and shot it all to hell, we’ve been on the fast track to finding our authentic selves.

If we have done the work that we needed to, we are at the point now where everything that no longer was serving our highest self has finally been cleared away.

Only once the old is cleared away can the new begin to grow.

2015 truly is a transition year. Right now we are halfway to the amazing life we will all have by the time we ring in 2016. This year is not about unknown change or beginnings that come from nowhere. This is about seeing what was there all along but we just weren’t ready to until now. This is the final year since 2012 that will remake our lives in new and exciting ways.

We truly are dawning into the Age of Aquarius, and as a whole we are all being challenged to live our truths every single day.

New beginnings are scary, and they are supposed to be! If we weren’t scared, then it wouldn’t be able to provide us with greatness. But, we are ready too. It’s been a long time coming, and even though the possibility of new jobs, new living arrangements, or even new relationships may have us skip a beat at times, know that the universe won’t bring us anything that we’re not ready for.

Sagittarius is the sign of optimism, vitality, and good intentions. Anything started during this time period will be supported by the good fortune of this sign. This full moon is occurring right in the middle of a Mercury Retrograde.

Many people still think that to have a retrograde means the need to hide underneath our covers for three weeks, but this simply isn’t the case.

A retrograde is really just a slowing down of the planet, so we are asked to slow down as well. We are asked to feel instead of think, to follow our hearts—wherever it may lead us. In this case, Sagittarius is there letting us know we are on the right track.

It’s giving us a quiet, optimistic burst of confidence to move forward.

One month ago we had a full moon in the sign of Scorpio, the sign of death and endings. It is only fitting that one full lunar cycle later we are blessed with the chance for magical new beginnings. Because of the retrograde, and Venus being so active in our skies right now, we may be significantly drawn to pursue romantic love—particularly those from our past as Mercury dares us to seek out the one that got away.

Mercury and this full moon are asking us, “What if the one that got away came back?”

For the next few weeks you may find yourself inexplicably drawn to an old flame—go with it.

This full moon is only encouraging us to do what is in our hearts already, and though starting new things isn’t recommended during a retrograde—getting together with an old love from our past is.

This time it’s all about reviewing what we missed the first (or second) time.

We are being fully supported right now by this full moon to lead our lives with truth and passion.

We are being asked to not hold ourselves back, but to listen to the individual sound of our heart and follow it. When the moon is in Sagittarius we all are being inspired to embrace our free spirit and our desire for freedom. During this time following the rules may become difficult, especially for those with a great deal rigidity in their daily lives.

It’s as if we are being asked to embrace our wildness, and to lead our lives as authentically and honestly as we can.

This full moon will be driving us outside in the warm June air as well. Sagittarius loves all sorts of outdoor pursuits, and this is the perfect time for it. Nighttime bonfires, camping trips, or last-minute road trips are all possible right now, since this moon is helping us to seize all of the amazing opportunities that may be coming our way.

The full moon in Sagittarius is giving us the confidence to say “yes” to everything in our lives. We are being asked to take a chance, and make that new beginning. We are being asked to not let a moment pass by in this wonderful life, but to seize each and every opportunity for happiness and adventure.

We are being asked to follow our hearts and fall into great love.

We are being asked to take all the lessons we’ve learned in the past few years, and start something new.

We are being given the chance to make a new beginning, because honestly—there is no time like now to go after what we want.

About the author:
Kate Rose

http://wordsofkaterose.com/

Profile

Kate Rose is an artist, free-thinker, lover, writer, passionate yogi, teacher, mother, rule breaker and rebel. She can usually be found walking barefoot in the moonlight between worlds with the dreams of stars still hanging in her hair while swaying her hips to the music of life; smelling of sweet bourbon and honeysuckle. She lives for adventure and wakes each morning with the excitement of a new day waiting to unfold at her feet. She truly believes the best is yet to come and waits, with bated breath, to see what it may hold. Follow her on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram, and find more of her words on her website.

Its come to my attention lately that many of you are re-reading books from your childhood either with your kids or late at night with a flashlight under the covers, only to discover their deep, hidden meaning.

They may have marked us as children but they deliver a whole NEW meaning to us as adults.

Mary Poppins – Believing in Magic– Ditto Harry Potter

The Little Prince — So many people I know were marked as children by this book including my husband.

A Christmas Carol — which is the story behind one of my all time favorite movies, It’s A Wonderful Life

The Velveteen Rabbit — Great lessons in self acceptance.

All the Cat In The Hat books, really anything written by Dr. Seuss is genius and ripe with life lessons.

Just to name a few…

Kinda makes me wonder, was it always the intention behind these books to deliver a sort of one-two punch, by subtlety seeding our dreams with their hidden wisdom as we listened as children at bedtime, only to bestow an even greater, better understood message upon us as we read them to our kids?

Wouldn’t that be something?

Here is a great example of what I’m talking about in a short essay by Pam Grout. Harold And The Purple Crayon.
Take it away Pam!

“World’s best “how-to” book not found in the self-help section

“Your opinion of yourself becomes your reality. If you have all these doubts, no one will believe in you and everything will go wrong. If you think the opposite, the opposite will happen. It’s that simple.”
–50 Cent

“My favorite how-to book will never be found in the self-help section of the bookstore. It was written long before the term self-help was even coined.

It’s a children’s book called Harold and the Purple Crayon and it rivals Oprah when it comes to addressing the possibilities of the human condition.

Written by Crockett Johnson in 1955, this little 65-page masterpiece tells the story of a little boy named Harold who decides to go out for a walk one evening. When there isn’t any moonlight (and, of course, everyone knows a good walk requires moonlight), Harold just takes out his purple crayon and draws the moon.

He also needs a sidewalk (which he draws) that leads to a forest (he only draws one tree because he doesn’t want to get lost) that turns out to be an apple tree (or at least it is after Harold’s crayon gets ahold of it). Unfortunately, the apples aren’t ripe yet, so Harold draws a frightening dragon to guard the tree.

When he falls into the ocean, Harold is able to grab his wits and his purple crayon to draw a boat and set sail for a beach, where he draws a picnic lunch with nine kinds of pie.

The whole book is about Harold’s great adventures scaling a mountain, soaring in a hot-air balloon and touring a city, all created by his ever-faithful purple crayon.

It’s a powerful book because it demonstrates a great spiritual truth—we are the authors of our own lives. We draw every detail—even the dragons and the oceans we “accidentally” fall into.

Harold could have gone on his walk, noticed there was no moon and sat down and pouted. Isn’t that what most of us do? “Damn, no moon. Better call my therapist, hit some pillows.” Or he could have drawn his moon, compared it to El Greco, and said, “I’m a hopeless sham. What was I thinking? Me? An artist?”

Instead, he kept reaching for his purple crayon and drawing every event, every answer, every friend he needed. We all have that power.
Harold was only a kid. He hadn’t yet lost his imagination, his sense of wonder and awe. No one had explained yet that he couldn’t have whatever he wanted. As long as he had his purple crayon, he could ride the universe.

Remember that big box of Crayolas with the 64 awesome colors? With that one small gold and green box you could have absolutely anything-—navy blue carousels with peach prancing ponies, magenta castles with yellow-green drawbridges, puffy white clouds and purple grass although your teacher might have frowned on that kind of thing. “Grass is green, don’t you know.”

Each year of school, the Crayola stash gets smaller. By the time we graduate from high school, we’re wielding nothing but a blue Bic for figuring our checking account.

Let’s go out this week and get some crayons. Let’s create our world the way we want it. And if we happen to fall into an ocean or run into a dragon, we’ll just draw ourselves a lifeboat and head for the beach, where at least one kind of pie will be waiting.”

Pam Grout is the author of 17 books including E-Squared: 9 Do-it-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality and the recently released sequel, E-Cubed, 9 More Experiments that Prove Mirth, Magic and Merriment is your Full-time Gig.
Pamgrout.com

Did you know the meaning of this word? Yeah, me neither!
Cool huh?

The reason I’m bringing this up is…This is something a genie says when he grants your wish.

He crosses his arms and with a nod of his mighty turbaned head he proclaims Abracadabra! and with that one word he creates exactly what you asked for.

But can you remember what he says before he grants that wish?

I can only recall it because I’m mildly delusional, AND it’s been the first thing in my head a few mornings this past month.

Your wish is my command.

Seriously.

Imagine waking up to that.

It sets the bar pretty high.

Suddenly having your coffee brought to you doesn’t quite cut it anymore, because my genie would know that what I really wished for was a rich, creamy hot chocolate, not a cup of breakfast blend with rice milk.

Your wish is my command.
It puts the abra in Abracadabra, because think about it; first the genie has to know what you want in order to speak it into reality.

Do you know what you want? Really?
I can be vague and often completely misdirected (hot chocolate).

Are you conscious of what you say, what your words are creating?

Yeah, not so much.

I know how I want to feel: happy, healthy, vital, successful, relevant, loved, etc, etc, etc. But what wishes will deliver those feelings to me?

What if in the mornings the first thing the Universe said to us was: Your wish is my command (which it does).

How would that feel?

If you knew that to be true, how would that change the way you look at life?

What in the holy hell would you be wishing for after three weeks, a month, six months; if you had a wish granted every morning?

I love a good theory and my latest is this: that waking up with that phrase in my head was a not-so-subtle reminder that that is really how the world works, and I’ve forgotten to remember — so I think I have to struggle and effort my way through life.

Right? Haven’t you forgotten?

Your wish is my command.

Abracadabra!

Fuck, I love reminders.

These are my favorite words until further notice. That and gobsmacked. I LOVE gobsmacked.

Carry on,
xox

“What an astonishing thing a book is.

It’s a flat object made from a tree with flexible parts on which are imprinted lots of funny dark squiggles. But one glance at it and you’re inside the mind of another person, maybe somebody dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, an author is speaking clearly and silently inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people who never knew each other, citizens of distant epochs. Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.”

[Cosmos, Part 11: The Persistence of Memory (1980)]”
― Carl Sagan, Cosmos

If only Carl had been around for computers, lap tops, the internet, and AMAZON; now that really is magic.

The other day I was trolling the internet for quotes.
Like you do — you guys know I love me some quotes, I have a whole page devoted to the brilliant musings of others.

Anyway, I came across this one by a hero of mine, Carl Sagan, and it stopped my little scrolling hand, and made me think.

I love him and I so admire his big…brain, his expansive, (and ahead-of-his-time) thinking, and his book Contact is still up there as one of my all time favs.

You see, if you know me (which you do) you know that eclipsing my love of writing, and even my love of singing, may be my love of Science fiction. (I’ve actually started writing some.)

I always say: In my next life I’m going to be a singing, Egyptologist – in space — who writes a blog on some crazy, futuristic device, about her adventures.

You know where I developed all these interests? In books.
And that’s why that quote really got to me.

Books are Magic.

Carl is gone, but when I read all his ideas about space and the Universe; his thoughts are suddenly in. my. head.

The Egyptians, with their hieroglyphics, are able to catapult us back to their time, and into their lives.

Napoleon’s letters to Josephine talk of passion and love.

Poetry written over one hundred years ago can move us to tears.

The words of Shakespeare can make us laugh or break our hearts.

The one thing all these works — these WORDS — have in common is the theme of the week — our commonality, the fact that even through the millennia, we are more alike than we are different.

Think about it. Books and words are like a time machine, they can carry us into the future, explain the past in the participants own voice, give us an intimate glimpse into a person’s heart — or let me speak to you from my lap top in LA.

That’s fucking magic you guys.

Carry on,
xox

This is a re-tooling of a post I wrote several years ago.

OMG! You guys! I have to tell you that when I made this tiny tweak in my belief about what was possible for me to have in life, well, what a fucking relief!

Here it is in a nutshell: No dream is impossible. There is ALWAYS a way. Some ways are risky, fast and impractical, others take time and careful planning.

The choice is our own.

Everyone will weigh in. Ignore them! Do what feels comfortable, scratch that, I recommend reaching just a little bit out of your comfort zone for your dreams. It makes life so much more interesting!

Take a few risks.
Pick the road less traveled.
Occasionally drink wine before noon.

As my friend, Steph Jagger would tell you “Lift your restraining device and accept the call to adventure.”

And Carry on,
xox

We’ve all been bitten by the ugly green ENVY monster, especially when other people’s fabulous lives are vomited all over social media.
“Where’s my great kitchen?  “Why aren’t I wintering in the Maldives? ” They bought another car?” “Shit, I know that jacket, that jacket costs eight grand!”

Waaaah, Waaaah, Woe is me…where’s MY stuff?

I turned this around for myself years ago and then shared my devious little plan (insert diabolical laugh here) with my husband – who has made it into an art form.

Seriously. He should hold seminars.

When I saw someone with something I really wanted, like a ten thousand dollar handbag, or a Tuscan Villa, instead of thinking that’s impossible for me and turning into a sad sack — I’d sit down and make a plan.

I Could Have That If I Really Wanted It —I’d tell myself — and it’s true.

If I wanted a wildly extravagant vacation, I could sell some jewelry, cash in my 401K, borrow money, even take out a loan. I could do all those things.

IF I really, really wanted it, I could make it happen.

The same is true for almost anything you desire. You CAN have it — but it’ll cost ya.
If it’s a price you’re willing to pay, great! If not, put a picture of it on your Pinterest dream board and keep living your life.

It may still show up!

My friend Alex wanted a husband. A rich husband. So she made sure she was impeccably manicured, coiffed, waxed and outfitted, ready at a moment’s notice to attend on the BEST party invitations with only the BEST  men in attendance. Een though I admired her commitment, I scoffed often at her strategy. It seemed shallow and wildly expensive. She would just smile at me, undeterred. Three years later Alex married a billionaire businessman she met at a diplomatic dinner party in NY.

The bottom line is this — it is a choice. YOU make the choice. It’s not impossible, it just may be impractical, there’s a difference.

Impossible = says NEVER. That deflates me. Like a pair of saggy boobs, it leaves me feeling limp and disempowered.

Impractical Practicality = says MAYBE. It feels hopeful. Like I’m making the better of two decisions.

Sell everything and travel around the world skiing like Steph did sounds crazy, right? Only here’s what she did to make that happen. She did careful research in order to pick the destinations, got a loan on her house (gulp), saved her ass off and drained her savings. When others, like her dad, questioned her sanity, she just smiled the same undeterred smile as Alex. She wanted it THAT bad

Now THAT feels empowering.

I wanted a house which is impossible when you‘ve only managed at the age of thirty-nine to save $1.57.
But I was ready, and it was time. How am I going to make this happen?  I wondered.
I had refused to believe it was impossible, so I made a plan. It actually played out as a mix of practical and impractical. I’d have to bank every cent of my income, adhering to an austerity program that would make the rationing in communist Russia look extravagant.

I’d have to practice wildly impractical practicality for one year — to gain the impossible — and I did.

At forty years old I put all my things in storage, moved into a room at my sister’s with my two cats and saved every nickel I made. I sold watches and jewelry, silver, and anything else valuable that I had collected over the years as an antique jeweler. I also put a large chunk of what I’d saved in the stock market, for the short-term. Very risky, I know, but I made out like a bandit. Impractical you say? Yep. But I was trying to make the impossible happen.

I brainstormed and researched areas I’d like to live in, forgoing my daily Starbucks, nixing the mani-pedi’s, and living on salads made at home. I tried to borrow money at different points during the year, to expedite things and was met with a tight fist every time. That should have discouraged me but I was in so deep at that point it only strengthened my resolve.

Eventually, the perfect house, in the perfect price range, in the perfect neighborhood showed up — exactly one year later, and not a moment too soon according to my cats.

I’ve often found that if you believe the impossible is possible — the Universe provides.

Years ago, my husband was going on and on about a certain car. The car of his dreams.
“Buy it!” I said. “It’s too expensive.” he shot back, without hesitation.

“You could afford it if you sold some things, you have thousands of dollars of motorcycle crap…” he flinched as if he’d taken a punch, “It’s all just lying around, gathering dust. Sell it!”

“First of all, that stuff is NOT crap, and second of all, it wouldn’t make a dent in the price of that car.” He sounded…deflated.

“Yeah, but it’ll get the ball rolling. Put the word out that you want that car, it’s not impossible if you really want it — you’ll find the money.”

He looked at me sideways, but the next day I noticed that his screen saver was a gorgeous vanity shot of that car.
Within a year, he drove it into our driveway.
I nicknamed it The Vomit Comet. Too much car for me. I couldn’t ride in it without getting carsick. Eventually, the bloom fell off the rose and he sold it — and put that money toward the next vehicle of his dreams. He got that car and then realized — it goes too fast, you can never use all that power off a racetrack.

NEXT!  He’s got this down to a science.

NOTHING is impossible. It’s all a choice.

Carry on,

xox

In 1994 I traveled with a friend to the Big Island of Hawaii and the trip turned out to be magical.
No really. Magic happened.

I hadn’t thought about it for many years, but on my walk today I started remembering all the amazing things that took place, especially on one particular afternoon, and that usually means I should write about it.
So here goes:

We were guests of a friend who was working on a movie being shot on the Big Island. The studio was springing for her condo up in the hills overlooking the deep, blue Pacific, so she invited us to spend some time in her pre-paid paradise.

Pretty magical already, right? Just wait.

I can’t exactly remember how, but we met a really wonderful woman who worked at The Four Seasons, with the dolphins.
Best. Job. Ever.
She was around our age, easy to laugh, spiritual, toned and tan. Her connections allowed us to use the facilities and more importantly, go out on a lava rock jetty with the waves just below us, trade winds billowing through our beachy hair…and meditate. It was ridiculously spiritual, just like you imagine it would be.

Does it get more magical than that? You betcha.

While our one friend worked all day on her movie, my other girlfriend and I rented a convertible and decided to explore the island.

Someone had told us about a magical black sand beach at the end of a five-mile hike, so that was the focus of our journey.
We started that day like we did most, bathing in a tranquil cove, where the water was as calm and warm as a bathtub. We spent about an hour floating and soaking the sleep out of our eyes, rinsed off at an outside shower, threw shorts and t-shirts over our bathing suits – and took off. Well, not before stopping at the local gas station/market to fill up, get a diet coke, a Yahoo, a kit kat and a peppermint patty.

You know, key components for creating magic.

I remember following someone’s directions and finally arriving at an unmarked, gravel pull off on the side of the road. Besides a few cars parked nearby, there were no signs of life. Was this the way to the black sand beach? We sure hoped so.
My friend and I decided to head down and take our chances and ask the first person we came across.

The temperature was perfect, with a breeze and lots of shade, so the hike started off easy.
God was a show off that day, as we were surrounded by dense, lush greenery, and every kind of flora and fauna Hawaii had to offer. We started down; admiring, well, everything, until we came to a fork in the dirt path where we stopped, looking around for a sign of some kind, or a clue as to which direction we should go.

I remember this as clearly as if it happened yesterday:
We were in a clearing with a path veering to the left, and another one on the right, wondering which to take, when out of nowhere, a small scruffy dog with tufts of hair all askew appeared.

My friend called him Gremmie since he resembled a gremlin, and he answered to it. He interacted with us for a minute or two, seeming friendly but preoccupied.  Clearly he was on his way somewhere special and we were keeping him. He seemed familiar with the area so we asked Gremmie the way to the beach.

Without hesitation he gave us a look of great conviction, as dogs do, and started down the path to the right – so we followed.

We walked for a long time with him running ahead of us, turning around occasionally to check our progress.
It was evident he was a pro, weaving in and out of vines and narrowing paths, sure-footed, with the confidence of a dog twice his size. Toward the bottom, the path got steep with deep ruts in the cliff side. Little Gremmie seemed to know the way, jumping and traversing obstacles, stopping to make sure we made it to the bottom. I think I saw him give me stink-eye on a particularly tricky part, eyeing my lame “hiking boots” with their worn out soles as I slid on some loose dirt. Seems he had opinions about my poor choice of hiking attire.

All in all, it took us just under two hours to make our way down, but it was worth it because there we were standing on an endless stretch of uninhabited beach.

A beach of black sand.

Gremmie didn’t stop for long. He obviously had an agenda as he ran ahead to a river of fresh water that had cut a swath through the rain forest, down from the mountains, dissecting the beach, making its way to the sea. It must have been raining at the top of the mountain because the water was moving pretty fast and it was too wide to jump across.

My friend and I were assessing the situation, figuring out if we could make it across when we turned to see Gremmie running way up-stream. I mean like where we could barely see him. Then, just like that, he jumped in and swam for all he was worth, traversing the current as it swiftly carried him down river toward us.

Keeping his head bobbing above the water, his legs going a mile a minute, his small, scruffy face a study in concentration, he zoomed past us toward the open ocean.

“Go Gremmie, go!” we screamed over the sound of the crashing waves, “Swim!” and just at what seemed like the last possible second…he made it across.

“Yeah! good boy! Way to go!” He shook off, not even out of breath, and looked across at us, jumping and screaming like crazy women. He looked bemused, head cocked to the side. This was no accident. This dog knew exactly where to enter the water in order to make it across before being swept out to sea.

Standing on the opposite side he barked. “Okay, now it’s your turn” said the dare on his face.

We entered the water about half the distance from where Gremmie started, and I was surprised by the strength of the current. It was determined to make its way to the waves and if you were stupid enough to go in you were going with it. It was about waist-deep, with a current that swept us both off our feet, so we swam like hell, carried downstream toward the sea. After several harrowing minutes, we both made it across where we flopped down on the coarse black sand, laughing and gulping in giant lungsful of the warm, thick, humid air.

Gremmie looked on exasperated. “Come on! There’s more! and he took off running. We just wanted to take in the grandeur of this incredible place so we sat down, watching him turn into a tiny, scruffy, speck in the distance.

After a few minutes of listening to the roaring waves, looking out at the whitecaps, I turned back toward the hillside in the direction we’d just come. “That’s going to be a hell of an uphill hike” I laughed, but it wasn’t funny.
The thought of it was killing my black sand buzz.

My friend was ignoring me. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if dolphins started jumping, right out there?”  she mused, pointing straight ahead toward the open ocean. Before I could reply the sea started boiling as a pod of dolphins began leaping out of the air one after the other, right in front of us!
We jumped to our feet, screaming!

“What the hell?”, “Oh my God!” We were literally dancing as they jumped and played.

“Wish for something else!” I yelled. “This place is frickin’ magic! Wish for a man! A handsome man! “

But my friend wasn’t going to waste a wish on such nonsense.

“I’ve heard there are wild horses all over this island. Wouldn’t it be great to see one?”
We started looking around. I half expected a Unicorn to go prancing by, when I noticed my friend was walking behind us, into the rainforest type greenery that met the sand at the bottom of the cliffs rising above us into the clouds.

She seemed to be walking with purpose, so I followed her into the cool shade of vine-covered trees, ferns, and tall grass. I can’t tell you how long we were there, fifteen minutes, half an hour? I was just enjoying the pleasant change in temperature, when my friend stopped, grabbed my arm, stooped down low, and whispered – you guessed it – “horse!”

Not fifteen feet away was a wild horse, I kid you not. It let my friend approach it and pet it. I’m not kidding. The whole scene was surreal, like something from a movie. When the magic horse finally decided to leave, we were downright giddy as we made our way back onto the black sand.

“What is this place?”

We laid on our backs laughing, looking up at the crystal blue sky. Just so you know, there is NO sky as blue as a Hawaiian sky.

After about an hour, I was starting to feel a little light-headed, and my friend had developed a splitting headache. It soon became evident she was in no condition for the hike back up the hill.

Shit. What to do?

I could see Gremmie in the distance running back our way, but unless I could strap my friend to his back, or he could run and get assistance, like Lassie, he was going to be of little help.

We were in full brainstorming mode, when I started to hear the rumble of an engine over the sound of the waves. It seemed to be coming from the hill we’d hiked down earlier that day.

And just like something out of Indiana Jones, a beat up pickup truck broke through the trees, splashed across the freshwater river, and came straight for us. My friend could barely stand up, so I talked to the guy who happened to be a very nice, local mountain hippie. Think Matthew McConaughey in his naked bongo playing days.

And maybe just the best miracle of the day.

I explained our situation, and he agreed to give us a lift back up the hill to our car.
My friend laid down in the flatbed, while Gremmie and I kept her company. The guy explained that Gremmie didn’t belong to anyone really, he was just a local dog that everyone looked after. That explained his devil-may-care attitude.

The ride was rough but it was a blessing, delivering us to our car in under 20 minutes compared to the several hour hike in the heat, uphill, that would have most certainly killed us.

Hey, my friend was sick and I was hungry!

We still marvel, to this day, about all the magic on that beach.

Did that really happen? 

I wonder about Gremmie sometimes. That scrappy little guy. He’s gotta be about 150 yrs old by now.

Is he still guiding unsuspecting seekers down that hill on a magical mystery tour to those sands of black? What do you think?

Xox

*yep, that’s me on that beach, right after the hike down the hill, feeling exuberant, and I think denim, overall shorts need to make a come-back! HA!

You must never allow something that happened to you to become a morbidly treasured heirloom that you carry, show people, put back in its black velvet pouch and then tuck back into your jacket where you can keep it close to your heart.”
~Augusten Burroughs

Same topic. Wounded-ness. Forgiveness. Healing.
Seems to be in the air these days.
Everyone’s got an axe to grind.

What if one day you took that pouch out of your jacket pocket and diamonds spilled out instead?

How could you tell your sad little story when all you held in your hands were…diamonds? Not your morbid heirlooms, just beautiful crystals forged under pressure from the blackest of coal.

What if your heart had transmuted your sad stories into diamonds through the alchemy of forgiveness?

What if we all refused to enable each other’s wounds?
Because we were so dazzled by the diamonds we found there, in our pockets. We could finally see our stories transformed into the gems they really are.

THAT is the power of forgiveness my loves.
Let’s all make diamonds…

Xox

What are you going to take out of the black velvet pouch and turn into a diamond today? Tell me about it?

The most charming and interesting social experiment has been taking place
In. My. Front. Yard.

About three years ago I saw a picture on Facebook I think, of a bucket full of magic wands, made from dried flowers from the garden, which I thought was so clever, I just HAD to borrow the idea, because….

That is SOooooooooo up my alley.
I’d use a magic wand AND I’d wear a tiara every day, even on a Thursday, even with jeans, if I could get away with it.
AND
We really need some magic in the world right now.

So, I cut my agapanthus in the summer, when they’re done flowering, and I put them in a bucket marked:

FREE
MAGIC WANDS

I live on a tree lined residential street, where contrary to to popular belief, people really do walk in LA.
Neighbors walk their dogs and young families stroll their kids when things cool down around dusk, so I had me some high hopes about the wand reaction.

The first year…meh. Reaction was tepid.
They just sat there. My wands of magic.
I was very disappointed.
‘Fine, more magic for me.’

Last year, the wands got a little better reaction, but if ten were in the bucket on Monday, five were still there on Friday.
I saw people look at them, AND KEEP WALKING. Can you believe that shit?

Free.

Magic wands.

There for the taking.

I was gobsmacked.

When I put the bucket out a month or so ago, I had to have a little talk with myself.
I had to remind me about the nature of people, and the too cool for school factor, and how some parents don’t want their children to believe in such a thing as magic (or carry around a spiky dead flower.) But I put it out anyhow.

To my delight, this year has been extraordinary!
I can’t keep the bucket filled.

There were eleven in there yesterday morning and when I went out to run an errand at three….gone.
The other night when one of my friends came by, she sat in her car and watched a family, a mom and dad and two small kids, very deliberately and gleefully choose just the right wands. That makes me want to cry.

I can’t keep the neighborhood stocked in wands!

Magic is rampant here in the City of Angels. 

I wore everybody down, until they could resist no more.

“Magic wands for everyone!” cried no one in particular – but, I understand supply and demand, and there’s a run on wands, so I may have to cut some of the neighborhood agapanthus late at night while they sleep.

I don’t want summer to end, because that signals the end of the wands of magic.. *sniff, *sigh….

Maybe next year I’ll paint them gold or add glitter! (that just made my heart race, seriously)

Love Janet the Good Witch,
Xox

Happy Friday Everyone!

In case you’d rather listen 😉
https://soundcloud.com/jbertolus/spread-your-magic