Yesterday, a group of
Sisters drove up to Sacramento for the Healing Arts fair. Sister Nia took these
photos. You haven't met her, yet, but you will.
Sister Freya stocking up on healing stones.
During the two days
preceding our girls-day-out, we had an uncomfortable number of interviews.
Skype interviews, where we all take turns sitting at my computer, the only one
set up for Skype in the office, connected to the only good headset we own, and
there was much chatter and concern about the interviews.
When I have media, I
always warn them that I’m the chatty one.
If they want a lot of words without a lot of effort, they speak to me. But then I also warn them:
(a) these Sisters didn’t
come to work with me for media attention.
They didn’t come to be public speakers.
They came to made medicine and work with the plant. So, speaking in front of a camera doesn’t
come easily to any of them.
(b) the young ones haven’t
found their voices yet.
That’s how we define it
here. Some have found their voices, some
have not. I am 57 years old and got my
voice fifteen or twenty years ago.
Sister Freya is only forty and she found her voice five to ten years
ago. It’s not reasonable to expect young women, twenty-three and twenty-four to
have found their voices. They haven’t really lived enough, yet.
Vegan eats! Affirmation that we are out of the valley.
As soon as we got in the
car at seven forty-five yesterday morning, Sister Nia asked Sister Freya how
her interview went the evening before.
And Sister Freya laughed and said she found her ‘interview-super-power’. She did a reading on the interviewer.
Sister Freya sees
spirits and in this case, there was much unresolved between the interviewer and
her father, who crossed over by suicide – we don’t know exactly when. But that spirit was there, wanting to speak
to his daughter, and Sister Freya, faced with sending him away or offering some
healing to this young woman on the TV screen, chose for the latter -- true to
her calling as a healer.
Although Sister Freya
was delighted that she got out of the interview, the whole scheduled hour given
over to medium-ship between the deceased father and his daughter-in-pain-on-the-earth-plane,
Sister Nia and I were sad that the young reporter had to deal with such serious
tragedy. We are both empaths and we both
felt kicked in the gut at the news.
Without words spoken between us, Sister Freya felt our sadness and
added, “Oh, it’s worse than that, even. Her
mom isn’t handling it at all and is at risk of suicide herself. I’ve scheduled two more calls with them this
weekend.”
That was some solace. The Sisters can do something. Sister Freya is intervening to offer medicine. A silent prayer went up for her success, and
then the conversation returned to her glee over having dodged the bullet of the
interview.
“You really don’t like
interviews? It’s all basic stuff! You can say what’s in your heart. You know that whatever you say will be ok,
right?”
“I don’t mind
interviews,” she said, “But this is wayyyyy better! I will become known as the Sister who has
never been interviewed, because I always do readings and distract them by
helping them with their own personal issues!
It’s brilliant!”
On the remainder of the
drive up highway 99, we talked about many things. Bullets and pellets, our name
for a new CBD product we are developing, the development of our rosary to help
us count during our chants, the wholesale program and anticipated demand. We spent a few minutes comparing notes on
family gossip that they don’t know comes right back to us, because in every
Sisters’ family, there is at least one silent supporter among the haters. If our families say bad stuff about us, we
hear about it. If a lawmaker or
law-enforcement person says something bad about us, we hear it. We believe the concept of ‘having a mole’ is
ancient wisdom and contributes to the survival of the tribe.
In some cases, the
families are split over the issue of our very existence. Mom’s side is a group
of supporters, Dad’s side is suspicious haters.
Or vice versa. In my own family, some believe we are mocking Catholic
nuns. Nothing could be further from the
truth. First, we have great respect for
their excellence in teaching and nursing, their vast contributions, and we
strive to emulate their system-run, dependable standards of excellence. But secondly, and more importantly, it is the
very fact that the people out protesting miss having the nuns and priests at
their sides, fighting the good fights right there alongside the working class
angry -- it is that fact that called this Order into being. The people asked for us. Thirdly, it’s not a competition and fourthly,
we are Beguine-revivalists. The only ‘nun
moniker’ we claim is the ‘weed-nun’ handle.
It says everything in two succinct syllables.
I find it ironic that
the people who should be most embracing and supportive of this new age path we
are walking, should be family and local politicians and lawmakers. It is ironic that we have so many followers
from around the world who understand us, love us, support us, but in the arms
of our tribe, we suffer the bearing of false witness.
Left to Right: Sister Gina, daughter Ava, Sister Kate and Sister Freya
Before heading back to Merced, we visited a community college agriculture-day fair and bought some clary sage and white sage plants for our garden.
Just before arriving at
our destination in Sacramento, we gave a little time to our manifesting powers
and spoke of our dreams of travel. Two
of us are going to Brazil in May to speak at a conference on cannabis and
morality and we collectively hope that that turns into more offers from other
countries. Personally, I want to take a
trip to Greece, perhaps with stops in France (to see a Bougienage), England and
Ireland. Except, I lamented, I really
want to travel with all the Sisters and that would shut us down. “We will have to take turns,” I concluded.
That led me to reminding
the Sisters that I am still the sole voice of the Sisterhood. Ever-on-the-look-out for ways to lighten my
load and make a system-run organization not dependent of any one Sister – ever ensuring
I have future choices – choices to go, choices to send someone who would
represent us well, I encouraged Nia to consider public relations (social media
posting) on behalf of the Sisters. I threw out a couple of topics that would be
good starter subjects, promised her that I would get her access to the dropbox
for photos, and pushed my personal agenda along its path.
“Think about writing and
sharing your wisdom.” That was the last
thing I said before shutting off the engine of the car and embarking on our
adventure at the Healing Arts fair.
An hour later we were in
a group reading with Dr. Christian Toren, a Master Clairvoyant from Burbank,
California, who works primarily with the archangels and he was telling Nia that
Archangel Gabriel says she has to share her knowledge. He told her that she’s been collecting it all
her life and she needs to get it out, get it on paper, share it with the
people.
I was kind of impressed
that he went there, first, and, sitting right next to Nia, I said “Blogging,
blogging, blogging”. But every time I
said it, Dr. Toren winced, and finally, the third time I repeated it, he said “No,
please, no flogging!”
“Flogging?” I said,
horrified, “Good God, I said BLOGGING! It
means ‘writing’!”
It was my turn to be
horrified, but Sister Freya and Sister Nia were both laughing so hard, hands
over their mouths, trying to stifle.
“Good God!” I said
again, “What kind of nuns do you think we are?”
Dr. Toren apologized,
but he, too, was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears out of his eyes.
We must have had some
mischief-making gnome-interference, because he went right back to talking to
Nia about why she must write, about how her ‘not writing’ is affecting her
stomach and sleep, and then exclaimed “You are meant to inspire!” The noise level of the convention hall had
risen a bit and Nia didn’t hear him properly, although Freya and I heard him
clearly. Nia looked horrified, while
Freya and I were nodding and smiling in agreement with his words. We realized quickly that Nia had turned
pale. “I was meant to expire?” she said.
“When?”
“INSPIRE!” we all three hollered
at once. “Inspire!” I said again, to
make sure she heard properly this time.
Good grief. Blogging, flogging,
inspire, expire, what the heck?
Brother Andy hooked us up.
