what’s with kyanite & night terrors?

I had never heard of kyanite before Lucy in the Sky suggested I get some to help with my night terrors, so of course now that I have bought and worn a breacelet and found it to be my latest night terror miracle cure, I wanted to know more about kyanite and its spiritual and healing qualities.

Google searches in general sent me to some ugly sell sell sell sites with annoying flashing ads and weak undocumented info, but I did come across some good information about the healing powers of kyanite and aquamarine. One of the most informative sites I found is Moon Cave Crystals. This is what she has to say about kyanite:

“I do too,” the Giant Night Terror said.

Last night the giant night terror with the kyanite pendant returned to float ominously above my bed…

“I have my kyanite,” I reminded him.

“I do too,” the Giant Night Terror said.

His kyanite pendant glowed and smiled at me like Alice’s Cheschire cat as he faded away.

(For 1 go here; for 2 go here; this one is 3)

“I have kyanite,” I told the Giant Night Terror…

(For 1 go here; for 3 go here)

I wore my new kyanite and aquamarine bracelet home from the store that evening and kept it on when I climbed into bed.

Before I’d left, the woman at the store had admonished me to be sure to make my intentions clear so the kyanite would know what it needed to know; otherwise it would just be a pretty stone in a pretty bracelet next to another pretty stone.

I laughed to myself as she said this because I knew and the stone knew exactly what we were after: night terrors. The aquamarine was along for the ride but I knew too it would be helping out with night terrors but more with the source of the night terrors.

Lying in bed, I thought about this as I looked at the stones before I turned out the light. Was I supposed to do more? I asked myself. And again I laughed since I knew that it had already been done. The intention was set in motion weeks before.

I have been struggling with night terrors for nearly 20 years, acutely and chronically. I have found some relief with therapy and journaling with my left hand, significant relief with copious amounts of omega 3s, and most recently, by burning resins of frankinsence and myhrr.

Now I’d just invested $150 dollars into a piece of jewelry with the hopes that it would do the trick. Yes, I felt a bit silly…and some significant doubts. But I thought again about how Lucy had been right before, and that I could feel the warmth and energy in the jewelers stones in Santa Barbara a few days before. I could feel how I was drawn to one stone in particular in this bracelet.

I would trust and accept whatever help I could find. And if it was in kyanite, in this bracelet, so be it. I turned out the light.

The night terror that night was the largest ever: he was floating above the room, filling it, his feet extended toward one end, his head toward me in my bed. He was probably 20′ long and 12′ wide. He had broad shoulders, narrow hips, short legs, a triangular shaped head with horns. In some ways, he looked like a tasmanian devil–the cartoon kind–but really, he was shaped more like rock art figures I have seen that are typical to this area of California.

In my night terrors, I am typically dumbfounded, speechless, screaming, pleading. Not this time.

“I have kyanite,” I told the night terror, holding out my bracelet.

“I have kyanite,” said the night terror, gesturing to a huge pendant on his chest. “My kyanite is bigger than your kyanite.” Indeed it was–his pendant was probably 4′ wide by 6′ long.

I was briefly taken aback. “I have kyanite,” I repeated.

And he disappeared. He disappeared. No fight. No screams. No fear. I wasn’t killed. I didn’t do anything to him, and he didn’t do anything to me. He simply evaporated.

And no night terror the next night either.

It is now time for bed, past time. For years I have dreaded going to bed, knowing that most nights, 90 minutes later, I would be awakened, terrorized.

But hey, now I have kyanite.

more to come…

a famous zoetrope

holding a screenplay writing contest

http://www.zoetrope.com/contests/index.cgi

“You need kyanite for your night terrors,” said Lucy in the Sky.

Back around the time of the lunar eclipse, Lucy in the Sky insisted we cleanse the house with frankinscence and myrh– which I discovered could calm and focus my mind and make me relax as deeply as following the best 90 minute massage–and banish my night terrors.

When I told her how well the rituals we did worked to move/remove one of the asshole neighbors, and how the frankinscense and myrh banished the night terrors, she insisted I get some kyanite which she spelled out for me on a sticky note.

I have learned not to question Lucy,

moms at the stoplight: a haiku kinda thing

white crowned sparrow mom

eats, eyes me with suspicion

I don’t want your bugs!

check out other contributions to the prompt of “mom” at readwritepoem

conventional poetry/ /conceptual poetry

will you be there?

on being a mom…a poem

Mother’s Day changed for me when I became a mom…my poetry did too. The previous post is in response to readwritepoem’s prompt to write about your mom; I wrote it before I had a child.

So I wanted to also post a poem this Mother’s Day about being a mom, and from many, I chose this one written as part of the 3:15 experiment which asks participants to post their poems as written at 3:15am. It’s also another one of my poem’s with a train in it (the inspiration of living close to the tracks!) so it’s especially apropos good for the poetry train too…

This is dedicated to all those breast-feeding moms…

it is quiet now after the train goes past
shaking the house rocking the baby back to sleep
it is quiet now except the steady buzz
of the air cleaners and the occasional truck
on the freeway

it is quiet now he is not snoring the
baby is not crying the cat is not
yearning to join us inside
the cat has been locked out of our
room allowed only to brave through the cat door into limbo
he brings us too many treasures
half dead half alive voles rats
gophers at night birds during the day
he brought down a seagull once
left it on the deck outside the bedroom

the little birds i try to salvage
pry the teeth off the hummingbird
place it shocked but alive in a box with a towel on
the stove check for rustlings i
am tempted to keep it what’s more
exotic than la chuparosa bird of
love in my bedroom? but i always
open the box let the hummingbirds fly off
even the one with only one leg
he was
loose in the high ceilinged bedroom
i opened all the windows
scavenged for red clothes, red hats, sweatshirts
hummingbirds are attracted to red pink magenta
suspect they’ll find nectar there
but this one he keeps banging his head
on the ceiling balding the feathers drift down
with a broom i finally guide him out

this year the little mockingbird tempts me
his feathers haven’t grown in quite yet
he has fledged left the nest
the electrician wants to know this and that
and careful i say there’s a baby bird there by your foot
don’t step on him

i have had luck with birds before
taking my shirt off placing it on the bird
in the dark the bird is calm and can be
moved but i resist revealing my breasts bare and engorged
with milk i know the bird will be
stepped on and i do pick him up in my hands

i already have one baby in the house
he is 8 months old and sleeping
i cannot keep this baby this bird and
the world has so many mockingbirds
already but
was this one born of the parents
i watched mating between the roses?
was this one from the nest in
the jasmine by the hot tub?

the electrician is asking me questions and i
am consumed by the bird knowing that
to put him down even with the
parent screeching nearby is to invite death
he is soft in my hands the bird
so fragile i hold him gentle and he jumps
lands by the electrician’s foot
i can’t leave him there and resume talking
the milk says i must return to my own child
the bird goes on the ground under the
sycamore
later with my baby in my arms i find his stubby feathers
i want to tell the mama i tried but how would she ever understand

i hold my little redhead close
stay with me my son
don’t ever leave my breast

3:15am poem for my mother’s birthday

This poem was written as part of the 3:15 experiment, where you wake at 3:15am and write, then publish it as written (”the raw stuff, baby” as Danika Dinsmore puts it) at the 3:15Experiment.com

I am posting it today since it is Mother’s Day. For other’s on this theme, go to readwritepoem or take a ride on the poetry train.

on sunday my mom turns 65
30 years ago she stopped
celebrating birthdays
at 35 she said age didn’t matter
she was 35 she was over 35
she didn’t celebrate birthdays

maybe she didn’t but we did
simple affairs
my brother shows up on her birthday
my sister and i will take her
to lunch one day after aerobics
slipping on summer dresses
over damp and sticky bodies
sometimes my grandma joins us
after salads we get two desserts
they send over a creme brule with a candle

you’d never guess my mom was 65
a life without alcohol, cigarettes, drugs
you can tell in the quality of skin
the energy in the eyes
she’s solid as befits someone of 65
who believes in the four food groups:
starch, carbonation, grease, sugar

but she is busy
she has four wigs
and maybe a dozen characters now
i can’t keep track
she leads tours in costume
tells stories of our community
to those who listen, who ask, who pay

she tells the stories through these characters
the stories of the women, the poor
among them my great grandmother anna
she grew cosmos, begonias, cecil bruner roses,
wrote about gardening in crazy california
for the LA Times
she died after 35 of a botched hysterectomy:
they tied her stomach together
she starved to death

(today a doctor kneads my belly
feels around inside me
says i am fine)

for anna my mother dons a blond wig
tells of the coming of the automobile
to our town that automobile which
contributed to my great grandfathers
catastrophic loss–he fell into the
mechanics pit in a garage and was
castrated–breathe–let it sink in
he too may have been 35 at the time
but i doubt it
he went off and lived in hobo jungle
seaside park now the county fairgrounds

(tonight i will go see fireworks there
and the animals and the dahlias)

my grandpa said he died said he was an orphan at 14
but great grandpa was caretaker there a long time
they’re both gone now

my mother on sunday will be 65
she has told me this almost daily
she doesn’t know what to do
she must make a decision
something about social security benefits
i haven’t helped her beyond
pointing out that it must be troubling her
this decision and i don’t know what to tell her
what do i know about social security

in october my grandmother her mother will be 90
she too does not smoke, do drugs or drink
well just a little glass of wine before dinner
my grandmother is beautiful still
–the most beautiful girl
in oxnard they always said
she watches television
listens to talking books
takes an inordinate interest in my life

in january i turned 40
a few silvers show in the gold
they’re strong wiry
i look forward to a platinum mane
my younger sister sunbrowned hair sunblond
she finds them for me these grays
but three days ago at a wine bar i was asked for my id

i wish i knew what to tell my mother
other than happy birthday
maybe i’ll just read this to her
give her some cosmos, some cecil bruners from my garden
try to go with her wherever she needs me to go

Buffalo Kachina

In December, I found myself buying a Kachina at an auction (if you’ve ever been to an auction, you know they can be like that…after the sale you discover you bought all kinds of unusual and surprising items you never knew you needed!)

I was in the back of the room and could barely see it, hadn’t noticed it in the preview, hadn’t been looking for one, but found myself bidding on him and and that evening taking him home and discovering how special he is.

I thought for some reason he was an Ogre Kachina, and I thought I can use an ogre around here, keep everyone in line. Carved likely from cottonwood, on a round wooden base, he dances. He is covered in rabbit fur, with a leather neck piece and apron with a shell, a rattle in one hand, a feather in another, round yellow eyes, a jutting red jaw, curved horns. When his mask is removed, you can see the man underneath. He is beautiful and soft yet strong. I am in love with him.

I know that you are supposed to feed a Kachina cornmeal, and it is time to do that I know, but he has been a special sacred object: I have been burning incense–pinyon for purification and now Tibetan peace insense on a small carved soapstone leaf on his base, and watching the smoke curl up and swirl around him, I know he is happy.

The other night, I decided it was time to learn more about him, about this Ogre Kachina, so I nosed around on the internet, searching for info on Ogre Kachinas, and came up short. This didn’t seem like my kachina. I finished burning some insence and took the Kachina off the mantel where he stands in front of a mirror so we can see both sides. Lo and behold, underneath him the artist has signed his name (can’t make it out) and wrote “Buffalo.”

Here is a little about what I have found out:

Buffalo - Most powerful kachina. Kills evil thoughts and is a spiritual protector.

• Buffalo Warrior - Assures there will be adequate food for winter.

www.taostrading.com

Buffalo Kachina dolls are the most powerful of all the Kachinas. He is believed to be a spiritual protector and to have the ability to kill evil thoughts. He is usually seen wearing a buffalo fur hood with horns, that reveals a man’s face. The fur hood trails all the way down his back. Buffalo Kachina also typically carries a rattle when he is dancing and a spear and shield when he is hunting or at war.

Here is more information on Kachina Dolls
He has been the perfect kachina for me, for us, during this challenging time. I have felt his protection over these months.

I know already there is more to this story, to my story with this Kachina. I look forward to finding out more and sharing it here.