Given that not even Jesus was born this time of year, I’ve never put much stock in the changing of the Christian calendar. I do adore all opportunities to reevaluate and reboot, though, so I’m doing a block of Ruby Intuition readings January 1. Think black-eyed peas, jazz divas on the turntable, and the past, present, and future arranged in the tapestry you need to shine as your best self. To schedule one in person or by Skype for yourself or a pal, RSVP to lisa@rubyintuition.com. Come for the fun, leave with a plan.
She might balk at my posting our unadorned early-morning splendor, but I love the two images at left because they perfectly capture my friendship with dear Rachel. At least once a week, usually at such early hours that most muggles are fast asleep, we coffee-talk on facetime—she in her Greater Boston Corgi Village, me lolling at Gracie Mansion. Say what you will about the hazards of hyperconnectivity, but all this fancy technology permits lovely visits without my braving Boston cold or her suffering New York hustle.
Two years ago I wept through Christmas Eve services at my beloved Middle Church not because of the love pouring through the story, but because a man I adored chose not to accompany me. Through the holidays that year, he disappeared as was his wont from time to time, and I grew so sick from heartbreak that I rattled whenever I breathed. When I finally healed I promised myself I’d never let a callow lover hold me hostage again–that the serenity of solitude would forever be my ideal way to commune with the universe.
Last year I attended these services by myself and wept only because of the light they shed in the dark–for the brilliance living at the core of every faith’s winter solstice story. It was good. But last night a cabal of esteemed witches came along to share borscht and candles and the big tears borne of hope, not despair. And it reminded me: No matter what we are told, we do not need others to be whole. But we must hold them as sacred as we do ourselves, today and every day. Love and light to you all.
Given that not even Jesus was born this time of year, I’ve never put much stock in the changing of the Christian calendar. I do adore all opportunities to reevaluate and reboot, though, so I’m doing a block of Ruby Intuition readings January 1. Think black-eyed peas, jazz divas on the turntable, and the past, present, and future arranged in the tapestry you need to shine as your best self. To schedule one in person or by Skype for yourself or a pal, RSVP to lisa@rubyintuition.com. Come for the fun, leave with a plan.
She might balk at my posting our unadorned early-morning splendor, but I love the two images at left because they perfectly capture my friendship with dear Rachel. At least once a week, usually at such early hours that most muggles are fast asleep, we coffee-talk on facetime—she in her Greater Boston Corgi Village, me lolling at Gracie Mansion. Say what you will about the hazards of hyperconnectivity, but all this fancy technology permits lovely visits without my braving Boston cold or her suffering New York hustle.
Two years ago I wept through Christmas Eve services at my beloved Middle Church not because of the love pouring through the story, but because a man I adored chose not to accompany me. Through the holidays that year, he disappeared as was his wont from time to time, and I grew so sick from heartbreak that I rattled whenever I breathed. When I finally healed I promised myself I’d never let a callow lover hold me hostage again–that the serenity of solitude would forever be my ideal way to commune with the universe.
It was good. But last night a cabal of esteemed witches came along to share borscht and candles and the big tears borne of hope, not despair. And it reminded me: No matter what we are told, we do not need others to be whole. But we must hold them as sacred as we do ourselves, today and every day. Love and light to you all.