Happy Birth-Fae

As I sit in ceremony on Beltane afternoon at my beloved river, preparing to burn a pair of flower crowns left over from previous Beltane celebrations, and musing about this time of the Faeries, it occurrs to me why this is my favorite holiday of all the sabbats along the Wheel of the Year. Beltane is, in a way, my "half birthday." 

My birthday is October 20th, 11 days (there's a definite significant number) before Samhain, Hallow's Eve, when the veils between us and the realms of the dead are thinnest. Half way across the Wheel from my birthday (my half birthday) is April 20th, 11 days before Beltane, where again the veils are thinnest, but, at this time, between us and the Faery Realms. 

In the rigmarole of daily human life it's easy for me to forget about my connection to the Fae. But if you've known me from years past when the Faerieworlds festival was still happening every year, you've heard me talk about how it was my personal Christmas. It was the one place and time throughout the year were I could feel and be my absolute self. No pretenses. No image. Just my pure, unadulterated (which itself is an interesting term for this), unicorn self. It was home! 

As an ever present reminder of my Fae origins is that my last name, "Corrigan", is actually the name of a race of Faery folk, even mentioned in the writings of JRR Tolkien. Still etched in my brain is exactly where I was as a child on the playground when one of my classmate's fathers looked at me and, musingly, said, "Huh. Corrigan. That's another word for the fairies." 

So this is the one day of the year that I celebrate my Fae nature and remember how deeply those roots run. And in celebration of all this I wished to share my Birth Story, which I wrote years ago but still brings me to tears every time I read it. If you'd like to read the original blog post where I go into more of the details surrounding this story, you can find it here: "Mom, Dad, I'm Fae." 

Beneath the "actualities" of time, date, location, etc on my birth certificate, the truth of this story rings so much louder for me than the facts. Please enjoy!...

Birth Story

Once upon a time, there was a magickal pool, and around this pool sat nine sisters. At least they sat around the pool at night, combing their long, glorious hair that shimmered in the moonlight, because that was when they appeared beautiful and young. During the day they stayed out of sight for in the sunlight they had the appearance of old, wrinkled crones. This was slightly offset by their ability to change into any creature they desired.

One of the sisters, My'riad, wishing to be alone one day, assumed her favorite shape, that of a unicorn, and wandered out into the sun dappled forest. So lost in the beauty of the woods was she that, not until the snapping of a twig brought her back to the present, did she realize she was not alone.

In a single instant, she saw the arrow pointed at her, saw it loosed from it's string, saw a hand strike the bow, and watched the arrow whistle harmlessly into the under brush beside where she stood. Without thought she fled, disappearing into the trees, but, as is the habit of most curious wild creatures, she circled back around to investigate what had, just moments ago, threatened her very life. What she saw was two men, one of whom was red in the face from screaming at the other man, "Bastard! You cost me a unicorn! I could have been set up for life! How dare you interfere with my shot! If I see you again you will pay with your life!" And the man stomped, very noisily, off into the woods.

The other man stood silently for a moment, watching where the first man had gone, then without turning his head, he said quietly, "You're not a real unicorn are you." The only answer was a gasp as the faery woman's, currently fuzzy, chin dropped and her eyes widened in shock. Who was this man who not only sensed her presence, but that she wasn't who she appeared to be? He turned toward her, reaching out an inviting hand and an even more inviting smile. Darkness had begun to fall so she allowed herself to slip back into her human form -- her beautiful, young human form -- and slip her hand softly into his. There was a rush of energy as they touched and, beneath the splendor of the rising moon, they kissed for the first time.

They kissed many more times that night, among other things I can not mention without having to tag this blog as unsuitable for minors, and as the first rays of the sun began to break across the horizon, he whispered softly in her ear, "I know who you are, and I release you." Her mind reeled as she was overcome at this, for this is the only way a Corrigan may become, and remain, young and beautiful -- A human man who loves her enough to allow her to be who she is. A joy she had not known washed over her, coupled with the certain knowledge that a miracle had been conceived within her.

My'riad returned with him to his cottage in the woods where they lived happily together for some time, and her belly continued to swell. One evening, though, her husband did not return from his hunt. Her concern grew and she set out in search of him, again taking the unicorn's shape, as four legs could carry her more swiftly than two. Oh! If only she had had six, perhaps she would have arrived in time! As it was she happened upon the scene to see her lover freshly fallen to the earth, an arrow protruding from his chest.

The anguish that issued from her throat was unearthly, and some say it froze her beloved's slayer in his tracks, even as he attempted to flee. Literally froze his heart in his chest. His life ended by she who would have earlier been his prey, for he was the previously mentioned man making good his threat against her husband. Then shifting instantly back to human form she cradled her love's head in her hands, caressing his hair with her fingers and bathing his face with her tears. One last kiss on his cold lips was all she could bear and she had to go. Just get away, as far and as fast as her four legs would carry her!

In another part of the forest, a hunter heard a creature crashing through the forest and moved to intercept it, to see what manner of beast could make such an ungodly wailing, and to put this beast out of its misery. And so it happened that for the second time, My'riad came face to face with a nocked arrow intended to take her life.

"Please, my Lady, do with me what you will, but pray do not harm my babe!" A soft growl rose from My'riad's throat.

With this a smile flickered at the corner of the hunter's mouth and she slowly lowered her bow. "You're not a real unicorn are you."

"No my Lady," My'riad replied with a bow as she shimmered back to her true form, at which time her pregnancy became blatantly clear.

"Fear not precious one. You and your babe are safe now, for you are under my protection."

My'riad, having pushed herself to her already emotionally strained limits, nearly passed out, but her tears turned from grief to relief for she knew that the Huntress Goddess before her was also the Goddess of Childbirth. And so, whether because she was Fae, or because the Goddess of Midwives personally delivered her baby, she had the easiest of labors and was soon holding a beautiful boy child to her breast.

"I know this one," Artemis whispered, gathering the supple deer hide back around a tiny wiggling leg that had escaped the bundle, held by the new mother. "And so do you," She added, looking My'riad in the eye. My'riad balked, then began to cry, for in her babe she recognized the essence of her slain husband.

"And this one," continued the Goddess, wrinkling Her nose and winking at the child, "remembers me, don't you my little wolf?" The baby laughed and waved his arms. "How would you know my son, M'Lady?" "He lived a lifetime, long ago, as one of my children in a forest far from here. A place called Sherwood. And before that he spent time as one of my beloved beasts, the wildest, yet gentlest of creatures -- whose form, by no accident, is one that you know well." She smiled again as She traced a spiral, ever so gently, upon My'riad's forehead.

"Now, Daughter, there is some unfortunate business to attend to." My'riad's heart sank into her stomach. Hadn't she been through enough? "Because your child's blood is partly mortal, he can not be raised among the Fair Folk. His path leads into 'Man's World', where he will be challenged, true, but he will thrive, I promise you. He will bring to human minds and hearts a joy and whimsy born of his faery blood, and a hope they can not understand, yet will they be drawn to it like moths to the flame."

"And fear not for I will watch over him, instilling his heart with a love of the wild and a taste of the Faery Realm, that he may find his way back to his origins. And find his way back he will, for he is now my adopted son. He will be able to track and read the signs."

"What signs?" Demanded My'riad, "I will not give up my only son, even to you, without reason!"

"Calm yourself Daughter. I know of a family whose heritage is very spiritual, overflowing with holy men and women, through the monasteries and churches of Eire..." "Catholics?!" My'riad interrupted, showing her disdain by almost gagging on the word. Artemis continued unfazed, "And their surname is 'Corrigan'. He will gain enough experience and knowledge in his youth to maintain a solid footing in mystical matters, enabling him to make the leap from religion to spirituality. His name will be his first clue as to his true origin, and he will spend his life endeavoring to find that truth."

The Goddess of the Wild smiled pridefully as only a god, who knows of things to be, could.

"Oh yes. He will return."

Click, Click, Click

 A few weeks ago I was having some difficulty falling asleep, and I thought to myself, "If only I had someone to tell me a bedtime story." My next thought was something along the lines of, "Dude! You're a Shaman! Ask the spirits for a story, duh!"

This wasn't such a new idea. On numerous occasions I had asked the spirits for a story, particularly tree spirits, who can be quite loquacious once you get them talking. For a couple examples of stories from trees, here's one from Grandmother Cedar, and here's a comic I drew of a story told to me by a tree while on a Vision Quest about the Oak Bear.

Now, in the same manner as when I'm doing card readings or shamanic healing for others, the stories don't usually come in words. I may get a phrase here or there, but for the most part I'm shown the story unfolding before me like a movie, and it's up to me to come up with the words to describe the visions. 

So, this particular night I turned to Elen of the Ways, known as the "Horned Goddess" because she is depicted with reindeer antlers and is the guardian of the "Deer Trods." I have been working with her for a little while now, and she often shows up in times of personal uncertainty to soothingly wrap me in a reindeer-hide blanket, to let me know everything is okay. Being such a calming presence for me, it seemed only natural that she be the one from whom to request a bedtime story.

Before getting into the actual story I want to give a little context. Besides all of their other amazing adaptations to life on the planet, particularly in the North, reindeer have a peculiar set up in their feet where a tendon slides over a bone in a way that creates a clicking sound, You know -- "Up on the rooftop, click, click, click!" I'll leave it to the story to tell you the how and why. So, from Elen of the Ways comes this story...

When Reindeer's Life Began to Click

It was the baby reindeer's first winter. When the snow began to fall she wasn't sure whether to be excited or scared, so she ran to her mother for answers. Her mother smiled at the quizzical look on her fawn's face and went on to explain "snow." 

"Remember when the velvet came off the antlers of the adult reindeer? Every year the velvet begins to fall from the antlers of Gabba, the great, white Reindeer Goddess, and the hair that falls from the velvet turns to powder and blankets the land to bring rest to the world."

Of course this new, exciting, magickal occurrence did not bring rest to baby reindeer who began to run and leap and prance through the snow with such exuberance that she failed to notice the rest of the herd slowly moving away in its migration, soon to be lost to sight. 

When she began to tire and turned to flood her mother with more questions, she found herself quite startlingly alone, which, for a child of the herd, is the most frightening thing in the world. 

With no idea which direction her people had wandered into the gathering flurries, baby reindeer just sat down and began to cry. 

"Why the tears little one," asked a strange voice. Baby reindeer looked up through tearful eyes to behold the biggest reindeer with the grandest antlers she had ever seen, with fur so purely white that she could have sworn every hair contained a hidden rainbow. 

"Where is your family little one, or is that the source of the tears? Let's see if I can help..."

"...Take a deep breath and close your eyes."

Baby reindeer did as she was told... almost. She reopened one eye the merest of cracks to see the Reindeer Goddess kneel, cock her massive head to one side, then with one fluid motion she swung her great antlers so that her brow tine, the front-most part of her antlers,  seemed to pass through every one of the baby's feet. 

Baby reindeer shot straight up into the air, though whether from the shock and fear of personal harm, or from feeling like a bolt of lightning had struck each foot simultaneously is hard to say. Yet there was no pain, and when she once again landed on the earth she heard an unfamiliar "Click! Click! Click! Click!" She took a couple steps... "Click! Click!" She began romping again as she had at the first falling of the snow, only this time every step carried a sharp and resounding 'Click!' Her dance had become a rhythm section. 

So engrossed in this new discovery was she as she danced and danced  and danced, that it wasn't until she stopped to catch her breath and thank the Reindeer Goddess that she noticed the goddess was no longer there. 

Now, not only did she feel alone, but abandoned as well, as she sat down in the snow to cry over her plight. But before she had the chance to cry even a single tear, she heard something. At first what sounded like static got louder and closer, and as the volume increased, the sound coalesced into a series of clicks - hundreds of them! Shortly, vague shapes in the midst of the still falling snow began to sharpen into the well defined form of her herd, with her mother leading the way. 

Baby Reindeer verily flew to her, prancing and clicking all the way. Her mother bent down nuzzling the young one with her nose, and licking the place on her crown where her first antlers would soon emerge. 

"When I realized you were no longer with us, I panicked little one, and in my panic I froze, uncertain and unable to decide which direction to seek you out. Then came a strange flash, like a lightning strike, and I began to hear a continuous clicking noise. I took a step in that direction, and so too did my foot click. Soon the entire herd had figured out what was happening, and moved as one, back in your direction." 

"Mama, it was Gabba! She was here! She fixed it so I, nor any other reindeer, will ever get lost again! Even in the worst snowstorms we will always know where the rest of our family is!"

And off danced the baby reindeer into the snow, knowing she never need worry again of being separated from her herd - her family. 

Holy Terwilliger

The other night my girlfriend and I were doing a healing exchange on each other, and afterward she asked if I had any other immediate family, besides my dad, on the other side because it felt like someone was trying to get my attention. Right away I answered no... except for a miscarried sibling from when I was pretty young. 

That event, my mom's miscarriage, was hugely significant in my life, being a single point in my life where I can directly trace a line to the loss of innocence and of the feeling of safety. I've already done considerable healing around that experience, of seeing the two adults who were my omniscient protectors in charge of my safety and wellbeing in a position of helplessness and desperation. I documented this in my graphic novel "Little Brother," if you wish to learn more of the background of the story and the healing that took place. Apparently, however, there was more healing to be done. 

During a pipe ceremony later that evening, with the help of my Upper World Teacher, Fred, I reached out to my spirit sibling to see if he were the one trying to call me. He was. I asked him what I should call him, and his response was "Terwilliger." Caught off guard by such a name, I asked if I could just call him "Will," which he good-heartedly agreed to. Later, when I was writing this account in my journal, a memory rose in my mind from childhood of my dad repeatedly using the phrase, "Holy Terwilliger!" Apparently the name was an inside joke, and was my dad's way of letting me know he was part of this. 

I asked Will what it was he needed to communicate with me, and he told me that there was still a soul part from that original experience that needed to return home. He'd come to assist me in a soul retrieval. 

For those not familiar with Shamanic Healing techniques, specifically Soul Retrieval, this is a 

shamanic ceremony to literally retrieve parts of a person's soul, or psyche, that split off from the individual in self-defense to preserve themselves from the throes of the suffering of a traumatic event. In Western terms this 'soul loss' is called 'shock,' or 'disassociation.'

Will told me that, like everything else, this past event was not random nor by accident. There was purpose and meaning to it, as well as to the repercussions that rippled outward from it through my life. It was now time for that final piece of the puzzle, this last soul part, to return home to the whole and restore a better wholeness to my life. Full circle. 

I started the Shamanic Journey app on my phone, and repetitive, booming drum beats filled the air. These drum beats, like the hoof beats of a horse, carried my brain into a trance were I rode them into the spirit realms, connecting with Sal, my salmon spirit guide who helps me in all the soul retrieval work I do. Together we rendezvoused with Will, who handed this shining pearl of life essence to Sal. As I'd done before as I did in my Little Brother comic, I took a puff off my sacred pipe then blew smoke along its length as I held it aloft for Sal to deposit the soul part into it. I then took another puff, drawing the soul part into my mouth along with the smoke, and blew it down into my heart chakra, and then another puff that I fanned over the top of my head and into my crown chakra. 

The shift was instantaneous, and I felt safer and more present than I have in a really long time. The safety and innocence I had so long ago disconnected from had returned and was integrating into my current self - mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. 

As I sat there I realized I'd forgotten to ask if there were a Power Animal accompanying this errant soul part to help oversee the healing and integration process. I almost laughed out loud when the figure of a Shoebill Stork came into sudden focus in my mind. Shoebill is big, awkward, and goofy looking. He is, in my opinion, the Muppetiest looking animal on the planet. The lyrics played in my head, "Am I a man, or am I a Muppet?" from the Muppets movie of 2011. It was so perfect, especially coming on the heals of an earlier message from Odin who appeared during another ceremony and told me to "Trust my whimsy."

I am meant to stand out as my authentic, goofy self. I couldn't hide if I wanted to. Along with the whimsy came the message that, like Shoebill in his prehistoric appearance, there is a place in the current world for the old ways, the roots - for me. No matter how weird or strange it may seem to modern minds and hearts, Truth is Truth, and Truth never changes. 

Welcome home little brother.

If you're interested in ordering my Little Brother graphic novel, you can do so from my Blurb.com store.

LIttle Brother

By Patrick Corrigan

Book Preview

Dear Santa

 Dear Santa,

I know this is a little last-minute-y, but here is my thank you note in anticipation of the fulfillment of my Christmas wishes for this year:

-Thank you for providing all the things (physical, emotional, energetic, etc) that are necessary for me to follow my dreams and passions, which are the blueprint for the fulfillment of my purpose here at this time. 

-Thank you for blessing every single being who has ever had even the smallest impact on supporting my wellbeing in this life and, consequently, provided me the necessary buoyancy to remain afloat as I follow my dreams. 

-Thank you for blessing every being in the future who will benefit from my realization of my dreams, and thereby pave, and light, the road ahead of me toward becoming my greatest possible self. 

-Thank you for the dreams, passions, and visions that so fiercely burn from the fuel of my very essence to become the expression of my soul in flesh and bone. 

-Thank you for the magick, miracles, and whimsy (and incidentally, thank you for the Oxford Comma!) that form the fabric from which all of the above are crafted and summoned.

I love you Santa. Thank you for being real.

Love,

Patrick 

The Elephant in the Room - The Magnificent Pilgrimage Part 1

 

One night, a couple months or so ago, as I was beginning to fall asleep, an unbidden image of an elephant faded into my mind and, the realization that it was Ganesha was enough to pop me out of my hypnagogic state into full wakefulness. Instantly I was compelled to pick up my phone to google if there were any Temples dedicated to Ganesha in my area. 

I don't know if I were more surprised by the fact I had never thought of doing this before, or the fact that there actually were a number of temples in my area. But, the biggest surprise of all was that I was only two days away from the day generally celebrated as his birthday. As such, there were quite a few events in these temples, so I chose one that felt the most user friendly to me and began plans to attend.

 
Right away I began to feel a little nervous. This was partially from the anticipation of feeling out of place at an event so foreign to anything I'd ever experienced, but mostly because I didn't know if I really belonged there. Though I count myself amongst the devotees of, and have personally worked extensively with, the elephant-headed deity, I am not Hindu. I do not know the protocols or etiquette for Hindu rituals and ceremonies, and I wanted to respect these people, their beliefs, and their worship. These ceremonies and celebrations are time-worn traditions that are the direct line for these people to their god. They are not a spectator sport, a performance for someone else's entertainment, or a museum display to be observed. The last thing I wanted to do was offend or belittle someone's worship or faith by including myself somewhere that wasn't appropriate. 

Still, Ganesha had come to me. I felt a certain compulsion to follow through by honoring that meeting in some way, and if that way included uncomfortably attending an unfamiliar ceremony, then so be it. 

As it turns out, another option offered itself up the next day. Somehow, out of nowhere, an event popped up on my social media feed: The Washington Ganesh Festival 2025 - A three-day celebration at a local park open to the public, with ceremonies and speakers scheduled throughout the weekend. I still felt a little self-conscious, being one of the few white folks there, but at least I knew I was welcome, and that I could learn from quiet observation without needing to "fit in."

And it was spectacular! The pageantry, the colors, the sounds of the processions, the drumming and dancing that began the evening was incredible. Yet nothing compared to the childlike anticipation of watching the curtains slowly part to finally reveal the breathtaking 15-foot Ganesha Statue in all its glory, that would now become the center of attention for the duration of the evening.

           

And thus began what I came to realize was the main point of this whole experience - my very first darshana. "Darshana" comes from a Sanscrit word meaning "to see or view," and in this context is the experience of meeting a deity eye to eye in physical space - seeing and being seen. This was exactly the encounter for which Ganesha had submitted his personal invitation to me just mere days earlier.

 
There are no words for what happened next or for how I felt. Standing in silent awe before this towering effigy, I felt his presence not only emanating from the statue, but pervading the space around me and within me. I felt safe. I felt held. I felt seen. 

Completing this rendezvous, I stopped on my way out at this little table upon which was some kind of food that I'd watched others have gently placed in their hands with spoons. Some of them walked away carrying it in their cupped hand, while others ate it from their cupped hands on the spot. I was one of the former. In fact, I had an extra little pill container in my car into which I slid it, and the bottle containing whatever it is, is now sitting on my altar in front of my Ganesha statue. 

As great as this story may be on its own, it is but a prelude to something much bigger. For many years I've been feeling called to travel to Mongolia, to meet and learn from the reindeer shamans there - A trip that got sidelined the first time at the last minute by a blood clot, but is still actively being planned. At the time that I started planning for Mongolia it seemed like it was a one-and-done, isolated adventure. Since then, however, there have been other places, other pilgrimages that have started calling me, either by intuition or by personal request of my guides, mostly in the states but, like Mongolia, abroad as well. 

At the tail end of the pandemic, with guidance from White Buffalo Calf Woman (which lasted for months before I actually followed it), I embarked upon a beautifully spectacular pilgrimage to Bear Lodge (aka Devil's Tower), a trip that deserves its own post ...or two, so I won't go into too much detail here. Suffice it to say that every moment of that trip was magickal, and the feeling of elation that enveloped me as I physically sat on the earth, pushing my fingers into the soil of this sacred grove of trees, streaming with ribbons and prayer ties of more colors than a rainbow contains, on this hallowed ground where White Buffalo Calf Woman first physically stood and gave the first Chanupa, the Sacred Pipe, to the Lakota people, caused me to weep. 

That was only the trial run for what is to come - what I am calling The Magnificent Pilgrimage. Or perhaps that was the overture, the beginning and ending point of carrying my pipe and its medlcine to different places, connecting to the spirits of that particular land, and doing ceremony with them. I actually created a vision board for it: 

Some of the faces are fuzzed out because they are spiritual friends I intend to visit on my way, but I don’t have their permission to post their images. 

Back to the Ganesh Festival, I realized as I walked around the grounds that this was it. With all the synchronicities and intuitive actions involved, The Magnificent Pilgrimage had officially started. Part of this realization came from a tradition that, before you start a big project - writing a book, traveling, etc - you call on Ganesha first, to bless the journey (whether physical or otherwise), protect the wayfarers on this journey, and to clear the path for the highest possible outcome of this journey. Even though it was He who called me and not the other way around, I had to recognize the significant of this moment, and though the self-doubt and apprehension began to rise, I had to say to myself, “Ready or not, here we go!”

Good Mourning

Back in 2015 we lost my dad. I wasn't there, living halfway across the country, but my family was at a school play that my nephew was in, and, saying their goodbyes, my dad got in and started their van, and in the time it took my mom to walk around to the passenger side, he was gone. The reason I'm recounting this is because a couple weeks ago I had an experience that shook me up deeply and unexpectedly.

Since that fateful day, if I'm in the driver's seat with a passenger, I've half-consciously waited to start the vehicle until the other person gets in. Since I was aware of it, if only slightly, I thought I was just being silly, maybe superstitious, but that was all the deeper it went. So a few weeks ago when my fiancé and I were picking up her paintings from a showing in a local café, I jumped into the car and started the engine without thinking. It was only a few seconds before she got in, but I was already sick to my stomach, having trouble breathing, and had tears running down my cheeks, careening toward a full panic attack. Though I probably shouldn't have, I still drove home through tears and nausea half-denying anything was wrong. 

Once home, with a chance to process what happened, I realized I'd just brushed up against my own mortality, as well as having breached a deeper level of grief I hadn't known was there. I also think that part of it was a rite of passage, stepping into my dad's place and taking the reins of authority for myself - A death and rebirth experience in itself. The dark and heavy feelings stayed with and overshadowed me for at least a couple days. On the heals of this experience, that night or the next, I had a dream that added steam to my already grieving heart. 

Years ago I had one of the best friends I'd ever had. She truly was a sister to me and we went everywhere and did everything together. Then one day something changed. Through an unfortunate misunderstanding, what appeared to me as drawing a boundary was perceived as abandonment, and overnight I lost my best friend. I was abruptly and totally cut off and would never talk to her again. Any attempts at reconciliation or redemption were met with nothing but deafening silence. 

Well, in this dream I had somehow stumbled into a business place she owned, and through the course of our meeting again, we reconnected and made up, agreeing, however shaky it might be, to renew our friendship. When I awoke, the realization that it was all just a dream washed over me and I wept. Again I'd breached a layer and level of grief I didn't even know was there. 

There've been other recent cases of small griefs coming up, but these two are probably the biggest. It does seem to be a pattern, like a great purging and clearing out, making room for bigger and better things to arrive. As best I can, sometimes more successfully than others, I sit with the feelings and allow them to rise up, afterwards finding that stillness and clarity that comes after the storm has passed -- An emptiness, though raw and exposed, that holds the pregnant promise of change and growth. 

Within this same time frame someone has wandered into my life who seems ready to take on the empty space left by my former friend -- One of those first meetings where you swear you've known this person forever. It would seem that the above housecleaning, though difficult and painful, was purposeful for clearing that space in my heart - The space I'd been keeping barricaded and holding in reserve - for one sister, and thereby creating a vacancy to be filled by the arrival of another sister. Until I let go and grieved fully the one friendship, there was no space or room in my energy or my life for another one, who, unbeknownst to me, was waiting in the wings to enter my life. 

Instant Gramification

When I started this blog, branching off from my original one, The Golden Thread Road, I had many aspirations of writing entries on a regular basis again as I had in the past, not only for my readers' sake but I've missed the quiet times of unraveling and processing through words whatever I've been experiencing. It is doing journaling work outloud, sorting things out in my own mind and allowing any acorns that fall from that to possibly take root in someone else's. I absolutely love a win-win!

As life has gotten increasingly busy and chaotic. I'm afraid, and embarrassed, I've gotten swept along with the shortening attention spans and the dizzying pace of our techno world, and I have trouble nowadays synching up both the time and the energy required for such endeavors, and I feel the loss of depth and self reflection in my life, at least to the degree my 'yester-me' experienced it.  

Although it has probably further siphoned some of the energy I need to upkeep a blog, my Instagram account has been holding the door open for me and providing an outlet for at least small bursts of self reflection and expression, keeping the spark of documenting my spiritual path as it unfolds. I think of this as my 'royal writ' given me by White Buffalo Calf Woman when she first began working with me and told me, "Your path is to be shared." That was the whole reason I started blogging in the first place. 

So Instagram has become sort of an extension of this blog, like a roving reporter recounting occurrences of varying depth that is still relatively surface info, only hinting at deeper truths. Those posts seem like small windows into my day to day world, like a day-in-the-life-of sort of way, whereas this blog is the unrestricted receptacle for fathomless diving into the truths underlying all other truths. 

So I am determined to continue both branches, as well as others that beckon on the horizon, in sharing my path, with the intention of specifically setting aside and scheduling time to blog. I have a number of things already at the ready to write, but in the meantime you can keep track of your Friendly Neighborhood Shaman and my day to day wonderings on my Perching Wolf Studios Instagram account, and for a taste, here is my latest post there...

 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Patrick Corrigan (@perchingwolfstudios)