“I’m a what?”
“A catalyst.” Perenna announced thru the phone. (The wise and wonderful Perenna Fleming)
“What’s that and since when?” My cell phone was threatening to fly out from between my ear and shoulder, and not losing either of my wandering sons as we “rushed” into the pediatrician’s office to have school forms filled out was not going well. Rushing is a ridiculous thing for a mother to even attempt. I am pretty sure it actually slows things down.
“Being a catalyst means that where ever you go people’s experiential pot gets stirred up. You make things HAPPEN. Not because of anything you say or do, but because of an energy frequency you emit. You tell me. Think about how far back you can remember this happening?”
My stomach turned over; my head felt dizzy; and I got goose bumps from head to toe.
Oh Good Lord. She was right. And from that moment on, in the doorway of Central Family Practice, that I first became conscious of what is now known as “The Aimee Effect” I felt that being a catalyst was a bad thing. And since we attract what we feel you can imagine how that went for me : ) Everywhere I went this energy brought up for people not the most pleasant stuff. EVENTUALLY what ever came up became a blessing, but at first it did not appear as such.
Friends would say things like how after spending the afternoon with me they suddenly felt the over whelming urge to call their EX who had caused them so much hurt and they spent 4 hours on the phone during which they resolved 20 years of marital pain they hadn’t wanted to deal with! A yucky at first miraculous blessing in disguise.
THEN I got the brilliant idea to strike up a deal with God. “Hey God, if I am meant to be a carrier of this Catalyst thing WHAT IF I could be a catalyst for beautiful things happening!?! Miraculous Things even? How about that God?” THAT would be a whole lot more fun I thought. God said, “all you had to do was ask, little lady.” He likes to do impersonations. I am not kidding. Obiwan Kenobi is a favorite. He spoke like Obiwan Kenobi ALL one summer. It keeps things interesting : )
And so this new phase of being a catalyst began! It’s still brand spankin new with the new year and is SO much fun I now know exactly what it means to be tickled pink!
My very first AMAZING CATALYST experience began at Dr. Phyllis Book’s Holiday Shopping Party where I had a table of my art for sale. I shared said table with a wonderful girl by the gorgeous name of Geneve Gil! We were meant to be, her and I; total soul sisters! The amount of synchronicites we experienced that night would asound you and take many many pages to describe. She is an incredibly talented girl. She paints and makes gorgeous beaded jewelry and sings ancient songs from India professionally. She had also been a poet but had been in dry spell for almost 2 years. Until the night we met… : )
I just recieved an email from her saying that it was meeting me and hearing me talk about my new blog Spiritual Magpie, and why a magpie, and what magpies are like, and how I am like one, and the whole vibration of that night, and all she experienced from me as a person. (I never mentioned the catalyst bit mind you.) She said that all of that is what inspired the incredible poems you see posted below!
She told me these Magpie poems just came sailing out, just tumbling out, fully-formed! AND its perfect cause she has been experiencing extraordinary bird mysticism for months very powerfully and perisistently! I was so thrilled to finally be a catalyst for something 100% wonderful I asked her if I could post her poems and she agreed! So enjoy!
Magpie Poem I
I hear a magpie cry
a haunting lullaby
appealing to me for a spark of beauty
to adorn the sky.
Magpie Poem II
I hear the magpie sigh,
her song of love
a warbling cry,
wingtips nestled deep into her breast, her beak
audacious high.
Wings
torn from the menu torn from
the heart.
call an angelfly, tell
her open, give me wings, they feel
to grow like potato spuds between
my shoulders and there’s aching there
where they should be
should I be free. open
wings of fine feather swan,
bead of a black hard eye upon my
shoulder cold and steady
am I ready?
can I sing? open
wings
of fire sweeping rush
waters over boulders wild
and screaming
can I breathe? open your mouth
let the lozenge burn your tongue
close your eyes and be surprised
it isn’t gone
rock
and rock
and cradle your aching breast
swing into rest
and swoon
am I too soon? open
wings of flame
a fiery breath of spirit, spit, blood
curdling cry
talons razor embers
scarring blindly outraged
in every way, globally, a sphere of
lightening white hot, bolting blinding
charring and unfolding
wings
of black to black
out the night
in flight.
Geneve Gil 2008
