Today brings stressful news. Don's brother is hospitalized, and Don has to go see his new cardiologist. This is never a good thing. His original doctor retired, so we're shopping for a new one. Don has an unusual set of circumstances surrounding his heart and health. He had experimental surgery 18 years ago, and he is not the normal heart patient. Most cardiologists don't know what to make of him. So we're hoping the original admitting physician can guide us toward a new doctor and a new set of protocols. It's always something, I suppose.
On the bright side, we have insurance again. We've been tight rope walking for five months with nothing. Luckily, we're healthy, so it wasn't a huge concern. But seeing specialists is pricey. We put off this appointment, until the insurance kicked in last week. A deep sigh of relief helps us manage the stress of the appointment.
I will continue my prayers. It's pretty obvious they are needed. And the Lwa are happy to have me in direct communication with them. My dreams have been strong, to the point of weird. A mambo on Facebook mentioned odd dreams at this time of the year. I suppose it's the heaven and hell scenario that is in play. As a Vodouisant, I don't claim all of the Catholic viewpoints on Easter. But the reason for closing down the altars is directly related to the 40 days of Lent. Those days relate to the Christ wandering in the desert and being tempted, teased and generally bugged by Satan. The idea is that as we do our penance in Lent, Satan does His thing as well. So my dreams related directly to my communications with Spirit, both good and bad.
Last night, I spent time in trees, in tents and in a mall with a Houngan of my acquaintance. He was teaching classes, and I was making pwen out of plants and chains. I was also being buried as well. I kept telling my embalmers I needed more time, but they said it would all come out in the end. They wrapped me in lace, then linen and finally clay. I dissolved away, leaving an imprint of myself - like mold making that I studied in college. The embalmers broke open the mold, scraped out the clay of my old self, and poured new material. A time later, they opened the mold again, and I emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis, fresh and new.
So today, I walked the dogs early, and now I prepare for the day with calls to hopsitals, to emergency rooms and to the bank. It's all good. I am empowered to make the day mine, despite its dire sounding portents. I will awaken with myself the energy and power to succeed, and to reach out to those in need.
Then, I will return home and paint, my refuge in the noise and energy of the day. It's all good.