The post Blossoming: All New Grace Goad Works, Shimai Gallery appeared first on LeisaHammett.com.

©LeisaHammett.com

Tonight’s back porch visitor was a Cecropia, the largest moth native to North America.

I relish these cool evenings. If we’re lucky, they’ll stretch into June, as they’ve done a handful of past summers. Cool enough to keep the back door open until I turn off the lights and close my eyes for the dark of night.

There’s been a lot of critter noise out back, even some of it unwanted human variety a couple weeks ago. (No one was harmed, police are patrolling.) So, I’m on alert these nights:  Something scratching in between the fence posts. Some winged insect gathering wood bits for a nest? Rustling in the adjacent forest—best I could detect, a nosey armadillo. A neighbor’s dog barks in baritone now and again. A wren is either making a nest between the fence walls on a ledge, or, is storing her building materials there. Other wrens snooze in the Japanese lantern and fly like bats outta hell when I open the screechy screen door. Chipmunks rudely knock things over and scatter my heart stones….

Tonight, I heard this moth causing a commotion as it repeatedly flitted into alternating surfaces. No exaggeration, you can verify my tale here, it was the size of my hand. I’m not one to be cissy about bugs and flying creatures, but the ginormous moth actually freaked me a bit. It remained in a frenzied state for about 15-20 minutes, leaving me a little unnerved. It frantically fluttered. It would lighting for three seconds, yet remaining in incessant motion except for a second when it landed and maybe another second before it took off for another perch: above the door, on the screen, on the floor, on the wall, on the fence. There was free air and openings in three directions, but it acted as if it was trapped. Is there a lesson there?

Symbolically, butterflies and their like are about transcendence and transformation. Google sources say seeing a Cecropia means momentous changes are coming. According to one source, “[…] moth spiritual meaning is to trust the changes that are happening and that freedom and liberation are around the corner.” I believe enough and have experienced enough woo in my life to pay attention to these things. And, I am doing the groundwork for some significant changes. That’s some of what the pandemic birthed in me. #Create2021 For starters, we’re for sure this time that we are finally relaunching Grace’s website after being down an embarrassing number of years as we got her situated into adulthood. This time with an online store attached. And, I’m working on my next book, due out this fall—which is a small series of essays reflecting on this odd season we’ve lived through thus far….And there’s more. Stay tuned. —xL

PS: As to trusting the coming changes—I do loop in and out of doubt at times. Writing this book has been more challenging than the last. My first published book was telling the stories of others. This time it’s my story lived in a time of controversy, and that sits me on a hot seat of vulnerability. My inner naysayers at times have had a field day. Until, I regain control, put them in the corner, don dunce hats upon their silly, ugly heads and ignore them. I also found a reason for the moth’s mania:

“Adults are occasionally seen attracted to lights during spring and early summer, a common habit of many moths. It is unclear exactly why these insects visit lights, although a number of theories exist. One such theory posits that artificial lights interfere with the moths’ internal navigational equipment. Moths, and indeed many other night-flying insects, use light from the moon to find their way in the dark of night. Since the moon is effectively at optical infinity, its distant rays enter the moth’s eye in parallel, making it an extremely useful navigational tool. A moth is confused as it approaches an artificial point source of light, such as a street lamp, and may often fly in circles in a constant attempt to maintain a direct flight path.” Awww. It was my patio twinkle lights that caused the big ol’ beautiful winged beast of a moth such distress. I’ll be unpacking the symbolism and lesson in that, too….

The post Message of the Mammoth Moth: Grace in the Time of Corona appeared first on LeisaHammett.com.

“Happy Resurrection from Fear to Love, from grief to joy, from ego to Field, from separation to Unity. You are Loved and kept in the Light.” —Rev. Dr. Kenneth Wheaton, Ph.D.

Reading back over posts like this one written during our first pandemic Easter, the person who wrote this (me) seemed so naive. None of us could really predict how it all would go down. And most of us couldn’t imagine we’d surpass the first anniversary and be observing our second Easter in social isolation. But, here we are. And here is what I wrote last year:

These are times of darkness. Of fear. With the coronavirus pandemic, we’re still awaiting a resurrection.* But, these are also times of bright light. Of resilience, beauty, love, hope.

Do you daydream of what you will do when this is over? I do. I fantasize running into the streets, shopping for necessities and then seeing the many people I love and hugging and kissing them with messy tears flowing. I’ve realized how much I’ve taken for granted. I know I’m not alone. I’ve realized how little I can spend. How much I can make with little. How much I can simply make do. The value, gift and treasure of silence. The salve of creativity. The value of a phone call to a friend.

For many, if not most of us, it took our societal systems shutting down to make us realize these things. One form of  resurrection will come when we have beaten back this virus. Another form will come if we learn from this sequestration. Will we transfer the lessons of unity, community, of how little materialism really matters?

While there is great tragedy in the world right now, and more than ever, *blatant* inequities, we are also gifted many opportunities—of how we spend our time, (no shaming,) to go within—examine our shadow selves, be silent; to transform old ways. I can’t say it better than my spiritual mentor, the shaman with whom I worked with for five years last decade. He emailed the italicized quote—his words, above—the first Easter we worked together. They’ve never been more poignant than right now:

This is opportunity to transform fear to love;
To transform the grief of our life losses into joy;
To transmute from a place of ego to the field of community, to the field that is the divine, the great non-egoic silence of the universal energy-one-presence;

You (we) are loved.
We are kept in the Light. We are light. The light is within. (Sometimes we’ve forgotten it.)

*Resurrection is used here in the figurative, broader sense than in the Christian meaning

2021 Update: Friends, the blog is quiet these days because I’m working on a book with the intended publication date being this fall. I intend to sporadically share mostly art. One of the many gifts this time of social isolation delivered to me was the opportunity to finally, after 40 years, reconnect with my visual art. And, actually, that didn’t happen until this year. I’ve hashtagged the year #Create2021 My art, Grace’s art, and a book. Stay tuned. And if you’ve never filled out the form below to be on my mailing list, hey, babe, now’s the time! —xxL

The post Year Two—Still Seeking the Resurrection: Grace in the Time of Corona appeared first on LeisaHammett.com.

“As with the season of Lent itself—a wintry season of contemplation, spiritual focus, and petition—these symbols of new life, out of the deathlike state of winter, are emblems of the newness of spring, rebirth, and rejuvenation. — James Theodore Farmer III

The much welcomed invitation came. I thought the arc of our suburban hollow was forbidden. “Nope, we don’t mind,” texted my neighbor friend of the acreage behind her house at the top of the hill and road’s end. “Come. Explore….”

So, up the hill Grace and I climbed. A paved path we walk a few times weekly, yet, transformed anew by last week’s storm of snow. To the side yard we entered, beneath the tall, frozen treetops—their shadows painting gray stripes on the additional coat of frozen precipitation from the previous night. Into the sacred sanctuary, where a family of deer stood frozen, eyeing our curious humanness, measuring our threat. Until—split-second!—they turned their white-crested furry ends, kicking them high into the air and away from us into their hidden, woodsy retreat. A valley cut by a curving dark-water creek. Hillsides velveted in white, thin and thick brown trees spiking from the depths of plush white carpet. Fallen branches stacked into fences.

The awe of the snow carpeted valley stayed with me along with my neighbor’s frozen garden, back at the entry of her yard. Curved fronds of verdant green ferns, partially submerged into the frozen cover. Bent Barrenwort, its thin, curled-edge leaves cupping delicate, fringed servings of ice. But, it was the Lenten Roses that rivaled the arc of the hollow in captivating my heart. They leaned into the trap of cold earth, tired, slightly sad, defeated, yet still glorious in their variegated hues of green, pink and yellow.

I went back two days later. Their color had deepened, their spines arched higher from the earth, the snow held their blossoms less captive.

And, again, on Sunday, I checked on them, iPhone camera at the ready. They sprung higher still, their natural blush returning.

I texted a picture of their then-current state after each trip to my neighbor’s yard. With the last, she texted back:

                                             “They symbolize all of us dealing with the last year.”

Apt words. Truth. Us—at times wilted under the weight of this virus. Then beginning to awaken to a new routine, finding our spine, rising upward. Coming into to a new normal, yet still weighted by the thing befallen us. Like the Lenten Roses, we will make it through, those of us fortunate enough to survive. May we receive the lessons and thrive.

*Hellebore: The Lenten Rose: This perennial often is just called “hellebore” from its genus name (Helleborus), and is not a rose at all.  It gets this name from the fact the flowers somewhat resemble a small single rose, and it blooms in the north in early spring—the Lent religious season.  There have been many improved selections introduced in recent years, and it was named the Perennial Plant of the Year for 2005 by the Perennial Plant Association. —Dr. Leonard Perry, University of Vermont. 

The post Lessons of the Lenten Roses: Grace in the Time of Corona appeared first on LeisaHammett.com.

Whether you have a partner or not this Valentine’s Day, what is the most important is that you love yourself. 2021 has taught me that I must ramp up my self-care. 2020 is behind us, but this cultural revolution we’re in is still a bumpy ride.

I’ve not blogged since the launch of the new year because I haven’t known what to say. I’ve spent much of the time trying to figure out what the heck is going on. It’s as if I had such great hopes for a new beginning, and then my energy kept getting stuck. I’ve never identified as an empath per se, but anyone sensitive can’t help but feel the collective chaos that’s “everywhere. It’s everywhere in the air,” said my friend, Sophia during out Facetime last night.

I realized that in the chaos of the new year, I needed to make all the more effort to get out every day this overall gray winter. It’s not convenient to stop my work day to get out before 3, but my body’s demanded it. The crisp air and the sunshine/daylight, the exercise, have felt rejuvenating. This month, when I feel they are needed, I’ve added dancing, chakkra-centric essential oil sprays, some saging, qi-gong and five minutes of doodling to my morning meditation practices. When I journal, I’m listing three brags, three gratitudes and three desires. And I ask my soul what it needs today. The answer always comes easily. A ready whisper. If I have worries, I write them down on a small piece of paper and put them in my worry box. Author Tosha Silver calls this a “God box.” It’s an act of offering up and surrendering.

“We’ve never lived through *anything* like this before in the history of our lives, Leisa,” said my chiropractor to me, Friday. She encouraged me to be gentle and patient with myself. “Here,” she said before I left. “Give me your hand.” In it she placed a beautiful hand-blown piece of glass made into the shape of a bear. “You’re hibernating right now. This won’t last forever.” True.

Intention. Intentional.
I used to buy budget bouquets every couple of weeks when I shopped for groceries. Mid December, I shut down further, grocery shopping only online. I’ve not had fresh flowers since. Until now. When online grocery shopping Thursday, I searched for flowers. I spent double my usual upper limit for them. I’m so glad I did. When I retrieved our groceries from my doorstep, there they laid atop my bags. For me. It’s my message to me that I may not have a companion right now, but I love me. I value me.

For brunch Saturday morning, I made a mimosa; a spinach, red pepper, and mushroom omelet, with a side of leftover homemade cream of tomato soup and a slice of homemade bread I’d stashed in the freezer last month. Saturday afternoon, I was invited to a Galentine’s gathering via Zoom where everyone worked on their own art projects. I received a card in the mail from my artist friend Eileen Tomson. I left it at on my placemat to open Sunday morning on Valentine’s day. Before Grace comes home, I’ll bake some heart shaped brownies.

We’re coming up on a year of living in a locked down state. This is hard. (We can do hard things.) But that anniversary, I think is probably pricking our psyche….Love yourself. It’s foundational. I get it now. It was one of many aha’s during pandemic 2020. It’s more than a saying to me now. If I don’t love me, (warts and all,) how can I love others who also bear flaws?

This Valentines, I don’t have a partner. I’m finding an odd peace with that. 2021 surprised me. It said to wait. It said to work on that next book, (I’m working!); relaunch Grace’s art online, (it’s underway!); launch your own art online, (booked a how-to a course in two weeks). Hang in there, kid. You can do this. That time will come.

Love yourself.
Love yourself this Valentine’s day.
And. Everyday. xoxo

ADDENDUM: It may be obvious (because of tense,) that I wrote the above yesterday, on Saturday, the day before Valentine’s. I wrote it at midnight and it didn’t somehow seem complete. I edited it. Added mediocre pictures to it and published it this morning. And then this came to me:

It’s interesting…I’m searching for words. I think I’ve had some sort of breakthrough.

The post Self-Love on V-Day: Grace in the Time of Corona appeared first on LeisaHammett.com.