2024 a year of sacred memory, dreaming dragons, and original prayer

Week 39--in which everything comes to screeching halt 

Friends, soul writers, mystics, witches, and lovers of prayer,

I didn’t send a newsletter last Sunday. Not because of weather, but because I got sick when I visited my sister and her wife in St Paul. It’s a strange thing, I know, but although the outside temperature in Minnesota was in the mid to high 80s, I was always cold. I dare say this is the product of 40 years of life in hot steamy Florida. My body, which was birthed in Chicago for heaven’s sake, can handle 90 degrees and high humidity just fine. But cold. Not so much.

Plus it was the first time I’d been on a plane since 2019. I’d forgotten just how cold it is trapped for three hours in an aisle seat. Add to that the air conditioning in their post-surgery home was logically set rather low. And the icing on this cold cake: I slept in their basement. Their very cold basement.

And. Well. I got the first cold I’ve had in…I can’t even remember. My body was not happy.

Then I came home to a looming hurricane Helene.

Now, I’ve been in a lot of storms. The wildest was the “No Name Storm” in 1993. A so-called “storm of the century.” At the time, we lived on a bayou across the street from the Gulf of Mexico. My husband, who was a sailor and boat-builder, knew something was wrong and got up repeatedly to retie the boats behind our home.

Now, most people do not have a boat. A few have one. But my husband built boats, so at any given moment we had at least a half dozen. So it was an all-night vigil for him to keep the boats from either bursting their lines or ending up in the back yard.

I slept through the whole thing. New mothers have to sleep anytime they can. But come morning, I opened the door to our lanai with my son on my hip, and stepped into...water! We were trapped in our home for several days because all roads leading into our little town were underwater.

There have been many more storms since then, some requiring evacuation.

But looking at the flooding Helene has brought to Florida and beyond, I am seeing the power of the No Name Storm all over again. Only so much worse.

Just so you know, I’m fine. I live in a two-story townhouse on land that is a dozen feet above sea level, on a road with excellent drainage. I came through the storm high and dry.

If you read the last Notes from the Field before I left for St Paul, you know that as I explore the ancestral mysteries of Myrrhophore anointing in ART 4, I find myself tumbling into a totally unexpected search for the Grail.

In that newsletter, I shared a list of questions that have grabbed my attention and won’t let go. Here it is if you missed it or want a refresher.

My plan for today’s newsletter was to pick up where that one left off, updating you on my search, and sharing my startling discovery of where the Grail is hiding. In plain sight.

But I just cannot write that today.

It is an ecstatic story, one that feels like an explosion of sacred ancient holy and magical memories. Memories that are begging to be seen and shared. But that joy is completely out of sync with the sorrow unfolding in Florida, Georgia, and North Carolina.

In particular, Asheville, North Carolina.

I was blessed to be invited to speak at Malaprops Bookstore in Asheville shortly after The Lotus and the Lily came out. Catherine Anderson, who lived in Charlotte at the time, invited me to stay with her and sign copies of The Lotus and the Lily in her studio. And—be still my heart—I got to sleep in a corner of her studio! Here I am feeling like I’ve been transported to Shakespeare and Company in Paris.

The next day, Catherine drove me to Asheville. Here’s a snap she took of me holding my first two books in this iconic bookstore. That memory is a treasure.

But now Asheville is closed. There is no power. The roads are all closed. Flooding is everywhere. This delightful town of artists, bookstores, restaurants and galleries is devasted.

So, now do you see why I can’t just blithely continue with the joys of my search for the Grail?

Something else is begging for my attention right now. And the attention of all mystics, witches, and Myrrhophores.

If you were in ART 2 on Threshold Crossing, you will remember that our first learning gathering was August 9, 2023, the day after the Lahaina fires. My co-creator of The Witch Sequence, Cathy Stevens Pratt, and I decided to honor the dead of Lahaina by making and walking a labyrinth for them. That seemingly simple decision opened a floodgate of Myrrhophore memories that went back, back, back in time.

• In an instant, I understood the original relationship of a tomb and the labyrinth.
• And what Mary Magdalene did for Yeshua when he was in the tomb.
• And what all Myrrhophores have always done to honor and serve the mysteries of life, death, and resurrection.

And that’s what we must do now. We must make and walk a seven-circuit divine feminine womb labyrinth for the dead of the waters of Helene.

Don’t you find it strange that the dead of Lahaina were swept away by fire. And the dead of Helene are now being swept away by water.

Fire and Water. Both such life-giving and life-taking elements.

The members of ART 4 will be gathering for a Witches Café on Monday to talk about how to honor the dead of Helene. In The Witch Sequence intensives, we typically do not record our prayer ceremonies. They are too intimate. But I will ask if this one can be recorded. If they say yes, it will be posted in our private resource page.

ART 4 is closed for registration right now, but it will be available On Demand later this year.

Watch for that announcement in these Notes from the Field.

Perhaps I will write something about how we Myrrhophores honored the dead of Helene in next Sunday's newsletter. Until then, I know you will join me in praying for all those suffering from the impacts of this massive storm. And providing support for them in any way you can.

Because, know this, when you support someone, you support the Grail.

to holding all who are suffering in love,

Janet

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