Instrumental: For the Final Months of the Year by Melissa Cynova

Autumn brings with it shorter days, looming holidays and a constant wonderment about where the days have gone. Is it already November? Where did the year go? We never have time to accomplish all that we wanted, it seems, and we’re so quick to discard or disregard those things we have done (and done well)

With the running down of the year, however, comes the opportunity to pause and truly reflect on who we are, where we’re going, and how we got there. It is easy to follow the path above- the quick dismissal of achievement and holding fast to our failures.

What if, instead, we took a cue from nature and slowed down the clock?

What if we were patient and kind to ourselves, even though we totally dropped the ball that one time (or three times).

In tarot, the Star card follows the Tower. After the Tower falls, the world is spinning and disjointed, and it’s hard to get your bearing. There are clouds of dust and rubble all around, and you’ve lost your main landmark. You might feel a little lost, and a little adrift.

The Star brings with her grace, quiet and comfort. She is the first deep breath after a crying jag. She is the cool hand on your fevered brow. She asks nothing of you, holds nothing against you, and gives you space to heal.

This is the space we should allow ourselves. For every goal that we missed, there were a thousand times we were present for a grieving friend. For every deadline that went by, there were a hundred times we played with our cats or took a well-earned nap. We were giving each other hope, and likely leaving ourselves high and dry.

The Star asks us to breathe. To be present. To be forgiving and to forgive.

Most importantly, she asks us to bless ourselves as well as each other, so that our hope doesn’t diminish while we’re ministering to other people.

Xo Lis

About the Author: Melissa Cynova

Melissa Cynova is owner of Little Fox Tarot, and has been reading tarot cards and teaching classes since 1989. She can be found in the St. Louis area, and is available for personal readings, parties and beginner and advanced tarot classes. Her first book, Kitchen Table Tarot, was recently published by Llewellyn Publishing. Melissa lives in St. Louis with her kiddos, her husband, Joe, two cats, two dogs and her tortoise, Phil.

You can reach Melissa at lis@littlefoxtarot.com. She is on Twitter and Instagram under Little Fox Tarot. Go ahead and schedule a reading – she already knows you want one.

My Wise Elder by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

My grandmother died when my mother was five,
our only photo shows her cradling
the last child, smiling over
the lace-drenched, long white christening gown.
In family memory she was gentle
with a snap to her tongue
and a Scot’s practical bent.

I hope I inherited some of that.
The only gift I know for sure
was breast cancer.

Her image floats to the front
of my mind as I grapple
with the loss of two friends
and the advanced cancer
of two others. I feel her smile
as I sign up for a long-desired
trip to Costa Rica, daunted

by the logistics of getting there
but determined to live actively
as long as I can.

About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones

PatriciaWellingham-JonesPatricia Wellingham-Jones is a widely published former psychology researcher and writer/editor. She has a special interest in healing writing, with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew.

Sunday Sensations: Surprised

Sunday Sensations - Tabitha

There are people who have never left their hometown. As a newly minted adult, I met them. Boggled at the complexity of the thought, I gaped. They didn’t even drive the foTabitha in Icelandur hours to the nearest city across the state line. They’d never left Iowa.

Corn fields are nice, but I need to breath new air every once in awhile. My father was made of wanderlust. As I grew, there were few places in our town we had not seen. Los Angeles was as familiar as an old friend. I spent hours in our car traversing the length and breadth of her streets.

And we went further.

Trips took me to state after state in our nation. I experienced humidity for the first time as a small child. I had my mind expanded when I realized that, if you drive far enough, people’s accents change. I learned the world is not black and white, but filled with all shades of gray. There was lessons learned in trains and buses and planes. I saw America.

I climbed through the desert, I picked through the forest, I sat by lakes and streams and two major oceans.

I lived in other people’s shoes. You can’t not when you travel. I slept in beds that were not my own. I ate at tables that did not resemble home. I found the foreign even in my own country. Early on I found out that not everyone is shaped the same.

I marveled in Missouri why there were so many trees. In my California mind I believed that trees were something you planned. To have them so densely, so chokingly — must be a conspiracy. I voiced my wonder to my parents and asked, “what are they hiding?” It’s been a family joke ever since.

Packed bags provided their own life lessons. All you really need can fit in one or two suitcases. Vital life can be done with less. Real happiness comes with who you are with, not what you carry.

To say I am grateful for my father’s traveler’s heart would be the understatement. My mother provided the necessary comfort for any journey. She packed as if the Boy Scout motto was a creed to be followed without deviation. We were always prepared.

Surprised_01_Iceland

Last week, I stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean in Iceland. I thought of those people I met so many years ago who had never thought to leave their own state. I discovered a new favorite place that took six hours of plane travel and two hours of driving. Had I been like them, had I never moved from my spot, I  would have missed the chance to see something this beautiful. This was unlike anything I had seen and I had seen so many days at the ocean. I held my husband’s hand and fell in love again with travel. I can’t wait for our next trip.

About the author: Tabitha Grace Challis

Tabitha Grace ChallisTabitha is a social media strategist, writer, blogger, and professional geek. Among her published works are the children’s books Jack the Kitten is Very Brave and Machu the Cat is Very Hungry, both published under the name Tabitha Grace Smith.

A California girl (always and forever) she now lives in Maryland with her husband, son, and a collection of cats, dogs, and chickens. Find out more about her on her Amazon author page or follow her on Twitter: @Tabz.

Life in Light and Shadow by Cathleen Delia Mulrooney

I begin with a reading—what I know to be true—what is light—illuminated: the Empress. My strength. My connection to the Earth. My self-empowerment and strength. What I need to see—what is shadow—darkness: the Knight of Pentacles. My blind spot is my lack of routine. My inability to finish what I start. My work. My commitments. The light is that I am resilient right now, but the shadow is how changeable every moment currently is. I don’t have the Knight’s consistency. Day by day, the rules change. Day by day, my body changes. Day by day, my heart is in revolt. I throw cards and light candles. I look for beauty in this ruthlessly bittersweet in-between.

I know I am not alone in this. The whole world feels like it is mutable. Inconsistent. Unsettled. We all tumble through the latest headlines and heartbreaks and blessings and brokenness. Finding ourselves, if we are lucky, tangled in a large swath of light. Finding ourselves tangled in a lover’s arms. A kiss as remedy. A conversation as medicine. A flare in the darkness. A touch and we remember what hope feels like. Or we are our own disciple. Telling ourselves stories and whispering prayers to the shadows until the sun comes back. Mapping our narrative until we see the path through all of this. Promising we will go home again. We are already home. Here. In our bones, we are home. Light breaks across them and we know.

And when we just don’t know—when we are lost, when it is all incomprehensible and even words and touch and cards fail us, all we have to do is go outside again and look up. By sunlight or by starlight, we can navigate our way.

I end with a blessing for the in between—I will seek light wherever I can find it—in every being I meet, in myself, even when all I can see are my own shadows. I promise myself love, creativity, and kindness. I commit to tolerance, solitude, introspection, time outside in the trees, watching the leaves fall and the flight patterns of birds overhead. Life will always offer darkness. It is up to me to keep the repository of light replenished. I swear to always burn candles and throw cards—to savor the story and the kiss—to look to the bones and the branches. I vow set my roots into the depths of this mercurial world. At home in the shadow and the light.

Cathleen Delia Mulrooney

cathleendeliamulrooney_bioRestless. Sleepless. Book-lover. Wordsmith. Deep roots. Prodigal heart. Teacher. Guide. Wanderer. Witch. Tea, tarot, hot baths, stitchcraft. Curator of narrative relics, remnants, & curiosities.

Cat is also a freelance writer, editor, and teacher. Her poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, and reviews have appeared in a variety of online and print publications. She has been teaching writing at the college level since 2000, and has facilitated creative writing workshops in elementary schools, high schools, prisons, and private organizations, as well as workshops exclusively for women to write their body and tarot-based narratives.

Through her Queen of Cups Tarot community, she offers private, group, and online tarot readings. Find her online at http://cdeliamulrooney.com and Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/queenofcupstarot/

Land for Sale by Pat West

Time and time again,
in the darkest hours of the night,
I have gone down
on my hands and knees
and painstakingly measured
the empty space you left
when you died, so vast
and deep: I’m tired of living with it,
so I’ve decided to put it on the market.

Property values are soaring,
there are even bidding wars.
Oh, I won’t sell to just anyone,
wouldn’t want to wake up one morning
and find a strip mall in my heart.
But I could live with an art museum
or maybe . . . yes,

a library with vaulted ceilings,
sprawling wings, quiet reading alcoves
off the main lobby, tables, lamps
with puddles of amber light
dotting the landscape.

About the Author: Pat West

Pat Phillips West lives in Olympia, WA. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, her work has appeared in Haunted Waters Press, Persimmon Tree, VoiceCatcher, San Pedro River Review, Slipstream, Gold Man Review and elsewhere.

Instrumental: Managing Anxiety by Bella Cirovic

I struggle with anxiety.

When it first began, it was a blessing to learn that the symptoms I had been experiencing were not my physical health going bad or me going nuts: it was anxiety. There are a couple of things about anxiety I didn’t know: it’s the body’s natural response to fear. Yes, fear! A deep rooted, rational or irrational, tucked away in the depths of your brain, fear. The mind / body connection is so tightly intertwined that one teensy little trigger… a word, a photo, a place… can set the anxiety into motion and the body like magic, responds.

How am I working through it? Well, it takes a village to keep me in check. My anxiety tends to be heightened during the dark and colder months, a season we are just entering now.  I have gathered my top three go to moves to help me through it. Maybe they might be of help to you.

I have a tight circle of close friends who I can call and spill my guts to. The spilling part is the most important. Keeping things bottled up and withholding leads to isolation. The absolute worst feeling in the world is when you feel like you’re all alone. I have to make that call, open up, let it out, and trust that my friends will listen and hold onto whatever I have to share. Difficult? Yes. Necessary? Oh, yes. It’s been a tremendous help.

Because anxiety is a physical response my body often feels sore, like when you haven’t worked out in months and then you do and your muscles get sore and tender. I’ve created a special blend of oils that I pour into a roller ball bottle to massage on my pulse points and right into the muscles. I then massage and love on the tender parts. My favorite oils to use for this purpose is a combination of lavender, peppermint, and chamomile. Add a few drops of each to a carrier base like almond oil and use when necessary.

Meditation has helped tremendously! My favorite way to do that is to cd on or download an meditation app on my phone. I’ve found a couple of meditation guides that focus on anxiety and fears that I like and every morning before I shower, I plug in my headphones, and relax to the calming music. It’s refreshing. I try to keep my mind and heart open to receiving what the music has to offer, and I find that it relaxes me and releases me into the day very gently.

On a particularly rough day, I might plug into the meditation before I go to bed. However you meditate – whatever that practice may look like for you – it can’t hurt, it can only help. My favorite app for meditation is: Relax from Andrew Johnson.

I’ve only touched on three of my go-to practices here and what they all hold in common is that I have to show up. I have to conjure up the courage to reach out, to make that time, to fill the bottle with oils, to let go of what I should be doing to make time for my meditation. I have to let go and give in – and I believe that is what self care and self kindness means. It’s allowing yourself the TIME to focus on yourself and your healing. This is so vital to us so that we can show up in the other areas of our lives as a better version of ourselves, a more relaxed and rejuvenated version.

What are your go to moves for dealing with anxiety through the darker months?

About the Author: Bella Cirovic

Bella Cirovic BioBella Cirovic is a photographer and writer who lives with her husband and daughter in the suburbs outside of NYC. She writes on the subjects of self care, body love and nourishment, crystals, essential oils, and family life. Catch up with Bella at her blog: She Told Stories

The Blackout by John Grey

By day, Ted has much to say on any subject,
especially what’s in the newspapers.
Damn unions, he snarls. Damn government.
At night, his tongue retreats,
his head diverts the total darkness
by remembering this and that.
Gloria’s sunbathing. Ray’s in swimming.
Dave’s out fishing.
Gloria’s as thin as she’d like to be.
Ray can dive to the bottom, then float to the top,
breaking the surface with a gulp that snares half the air.
Dave claims to have reeled in a whale.
He just hopes that the sun doesn’t burn,
that the water is warm,
that the real fish do bite eventually.
But come the morning, it’s right back into politics.
The mailman gets an earful.
His neighbor knows everyone he hates
but no one he loves.
But then another night
and Ray’s swimming towards a lighthouse
and doesn’t that lighthouse look like Gloria
and what’s Dave going to do
but avoid the rocks thanks to Gloria’s light
and maybe even go after the schools of fish
that Ray is splashing in his direction.
Another day, this time the man
from the gas company cops the earful.
And then night and Gloria’s skinny and brown.
She’s lying on the shore of a lake.
Ray’s in swimming of course.
And Dave is salivating over the fish that leap out of the water,
so close he could reach out and grab them.
“Look, “says Gloria. “Here comes Ted”
Ray dog-paddles, looks in the direction she’s pointing.
Dave turns his head away from the dancing trout.
Ted crashes through the peacefulness
cussing out Democrats and Republicans equally.
Thank God they’ve finally fixed the power, he says.
First to them. Then finally just to himself.
He argues with the television until he falls asleep in front of it.
And then he dreams.
He dreams they never do restore the power.

About the Author: John Grey

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.

When Reality & Fiction Collide (as told to Krista Davis)

by Little Miss Sunshine (aka Twinkletoes)

My mom, Krista Davis, thinks she created me. Can you imagine anything more preposterous than imagining that she put the idea of me out into the universe and then I showed up?

I was born in a house where animals were hoarded. Our people left and when the contractors arrived to fix up the house, they were shocked to find us. Being really terrific people, they divided us up, and each one took three of us to find us homes. In my case, a super guy dropped me (and two little brown Chihuahuas) off at his favorite animal hospital. I was there when he said, “Clean ‘em up and find them homes. I’ll pick up the bill.”  Is that a great guy or what?

I was just a baby and covered in fleas. Yuck! It was on the day of my second bath that Mom came along. I was in a cage, sopping wet, and trying desperately to dry my fur. She had a huge dog with her. For the most part I ignored her. I was wet! That was my priority. But I heard the vet say, “It’s a long weekend. Why don’t you take her home for a test drive?”

There was a lot of giggling after that. They knew they’d found a sucker! And just like that, she took me home.

The first night I was there, Mom went outside on an upstairs balcony. She thought she had shut the door behind her, but I snuck through when she wasn’t looking. When she went inside, I jumped and jumped, and went higher and higher until I had the most fabulous view of a world I had never seen before.

An hour later, I heard her calling me. I thought she’d never find my clever spot! But when she went outside in the dark and called me, I mewed to her. The truth was that I wanted to go back inside where it was warm, and I was getting hungry, too.

Have you figured out where I was? On the roof! On top of the world.

She fetched a ladder and climbed up (in the dark!). She reached up to me, and I very slowly and carefully walked down the steep pitch of the roof until she could scoop me up. And then I purred. I figured she’d be a pretty good mom, so I never did that again.

So why does she think she created me? Well, look carefully at the cover of THE DIVA DIGS UP THE DIRT. There I am. It looks just like me! The thing is that she wrote that book before I was born. And then I showed up at her vet’s office. Spooky, huh?

It was meant to be.

Now I have my own series under the pseudonym, Twinkletoes.

My latest escapade is in NOT A CREATURE WAS PURRING. That’s me on the cover with Trixie, the Jack Russell Terrier, who likes to think she’s the star of the series.

But I know the truth. Cats never make a fuss about things like that. We know we’re in charge.

Now Mom has written about a dog named Duchess. We expect to see her come trotting down the road any day.

About the Author: Krista Davis

New York Times Bestselling author Krista Davis writes the Paws and Claws Mysteries set on fictional Wagtail Mountain, a resort where people vacation with their pets. Her 5th Paws and Claws Mystery is NOT A CREATURE WAS PURRING, which releases on February 7th. Krista also writes the Domestic Diva Mysteries. Her newest series debuts in February with COLOR ME MURDER. Like her characters, Krista has a soft spot for cats, dogs, and sweets. She lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia with two dogs and two cats.

Connect with her on Goodreads  |  Twitter  | Facebook

A Hush of Blackberries by Richard King Perkins II

Copyright: <a href='https://www.123rf.com/profile_fabiopagani'>fabiopagani / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

For the first time in years
I respond to you—

the rain,
with silence

even as you play little sticks
across my rooftop.

If you were to diminish
your flurry of stems

all that you want me to say
would yet remain unspoken.

The glaze of incoherence
you’ve left

still stirring above me
contains more meaning

than you ever intended—
kisses of togetherness

descending to a level
of unwanted compromise.

A hush of blackberries
rises to a place once loved.

About the Author: Richard King Perkins II

Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, USA with his wife, Vickie and daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart, Best of the Net and Best of the Web nominee whose work has appeared in more than a thousand publications.

Changing It Up to Keep It Fresh by Daryl Wood Gerber

Some days I like to write mystery; other days I like to write suspense. Aren’t they the same, you ask? No. Not at all. My cozy mysteries are much different than my stand-alone suspense novels in tone and theme as well as tempo.

For me, changing it up keeps my writing fresh. However, if I find I’m uninspired by what I’m writing, I move on to another project. On certain days, I’ll write the first page of something brand new to see if I can find the voice.  On other days, I might write a two-page short story or a blog or an article. Or I’ll do a live chat on Facebook looking for inspiration from my fans.

Writing is like exercise. If you do the same exercise every day, your body gets used to the movements and it doesn’t tone. Walk, walk, walk. Boring. Walk, ride, swim, golf, yoga, pilates, run on the beach. Now that sounds like more “fun.”

Oh, sure, when I’m near a deadline, I can press myself to stick with only one project. I will read it and tweak. Read it again and tweak some more. Check for all the words that I’ve repeated—I have a list of over 100 words to search for. Tweak some more. Read it again—aloud. If it’s ready, turn it in.

But when I’m in the muddy middle—the part of a book where I hope the reader will turn the pages fast—I find I can get bogged down. So I pace. I exercise. I bake. I sing. If those activities don’t energize me, I write something else. As a last resort, I slam doors (not too loudly; don’t want to scare my dog Sparky).

When I come back to my material with fresh eyes and enthusiasm for the project, I feel invigorated and ready to rock and roll…or write.

Do you ever feel you need a jumpstart or a change of pace?

About the Author: Daryl Wood Gerber

Agatha Award-winning Daryl Wood Gerber writes the brand new French Bistro Mysteries as well as the nationally bestselling Cookbook Nook Mysteries.  As Avery Aames, she pens the popular Cheese Shop Mysteries.

A Deadly Êclair, the first French Bistro Mystery, comes out November 2017.

Daryl also writes stand-alone suspense: Day of Secrets and Girl on the Run. Fun tidbit: as an actress, Daryl appeared in “Murder, She Wrote.” She loves to cook, and she has a frisky Goldendoodle named Sparky who keeps her in line!

Connect with Daryl (and her alter ego Avery):  FacebookInstagram | Pinterest  Daryl on TwitterAvery on Twitter