tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55913539334934318882024-03-13T15:37:02.014-05:00Notes from PsycheMy written wanderings as I inquire psychologically, philosophically, and mythically -- with sprinkles of soul, spirit, and incurable curiosity. You just never know...Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-69228957251277317542020-12-09T10:08:00.001-06:002020-12-09T10:08:41.836-06:00One on One with Victor Hogstrom: Dr. Joseph Galichia<iframe width="480" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/O6RFPHzuIYg" frameborder="0"></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-54367205025840711212010-03-25T22:51:00.003-05:002010-03-25T23:14:09.323-05:00Purple Haze<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Sk9MtDK9iwmjdj-u_WT0thKV5GT_EEI_TcHibbvfiElNBmAb9WNTeY0tPCoVldINBgmN3aqRAHX9m4Gx7HzCo20R2yige40IJUAVk712uN82YYjG9ajQMMgTxzW9ynT5ToFKVTA0O4ZC/s1600/Photo+281.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Sk9MtDK9iwmjdj-u_WT0thKV5GT_EEI_TcHibbvfiElNBmAb9WNTeY0tPCoVldINBgmN3aqRAHX9m4Gx7HzCo20R2yige40IJUAVk712uN82YYjG9ajQMMgTxzW9ynT5ToFKVTA0O4ZC/s200/Photo+281.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452789364146346258" /></a><br />Purple haze all in my brain<br />lately things don't seem the same<br />Acting funny and i don't know why<br />excuse me while i kiss the sky-- J. Hendrix<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Here’s what’s new today: Purple.</span><br /><br />Growing up, purple meant Prince, Bubble Yum, and grape soda. Our Mills college class color was purple, and we heard all about how when we were old we’d wear purple. I wasn’t ever a huge fan. For a while my favorite color was blue, then red, then orange, then green. Never purple: the color of royalty, the color of my parents’ alma mater, the color of berries, bruises, and wine-kissed lips.<br /><br />Now? Purple won’t let me go, and I have some things in mind that aren’t easily said. I attended an art museum event in February, called The Purple Party, so maybe that’s where my attention started to turn; one of the best nights of my life, and with every smile and surprise, my appreciation for the color grew a hundred-fold. <br /><br />I’ve recently learned that Friday, March 26, is International Purple Day for Epilepsy Awareness. Epilepsy, my dears, is one thing of which I am intimately aware. Even now, I can tell I want to write this in order to bring the understanding I seek so fervently, yet I stumble to find words. It’s surreal.<br /><br />Most days-- most YEARS-- are free from seizure for me; so far away it seems like something that happened to a different person. I follow doctor’s orders, and, thankfully, quit all the things I’m not supposed to do (like drink alcohol). My personal stumbling block is stress. As with everyone I know, I do the best I can every day, and with each step of self-awareness comes a new level of healing and trust. When I think of seizure, it’s like a descent: a freefall off a cliff I didn’t mean to find myself standing on. Then afterwards, so very awake, aware, raw. <br />I like the seizure-free me better.<br /> <br />Again, I recall Psyche being snatched off the cliff by Eros, and Persephone innocently reaching for a flower and ending up in the Underworld. I relate strongly to both those myths. I also remember the flip side of those stories- if you don’t reach for beauty & hold out for love, you may miss your destiny. But there are some hard prices to pay.<br /><br />According to what I’ve read, purple is associated with epilepsy because of the lavender herb. In ancient times, lovers would send each other lavender when they were apart as a sign of devotion, so that neither would feel lonely. I understand this a lot more now. It’s a hardy plant, can thrive even in drought, has many healing applications, and soothes the senses, comforts the skin. <br /><br />(Also, sometimes rendering or drying the herb intensifies the essence, just as absence serves to slowly smolder affection in lovers’ hearts. Hearts, like lavender, have myriad ways to show how strong, redolent, and resilient they can be.)<br /><br />I wrote about this in my grad thesis in a memoir. For months, I wrote, studied, and made an academic case for how seizure was the Trickster of my life. And then, I let it go-- by defining the phenomenon I did not let it define me. Funny thing, though: I’ve only shared any of that writing with a handful of people (including my editor and advisor). So, how comfortable do I really feel? Hmm.<br /><br />I actually do want people to be aware of epilepsy. I have a lovely life that I wouldn’t trade, filled with tremendous friends, family, and experiences I treasure. I was able to earn two master’s degrees, and have been at various times a writer, a therapist, a dreamworker, a PR consultant, and Muse-whisperer (yep, I made up that last vocation, but it works!). I would want people to know what a seizure is, how to help the person having it, what to do next. I’d want them to know that there’s so much more than those few scary moments to cherish and share in a life. I’d want them to understand that holding a hand is a powerful thing when your own is unsteady. I’d want them to know that sometimes we all need to feel cared for, and it’s too achingly easy to slip away. <br /><br />(People, like lavender, have myriad ways to show how strong, redolent, and resilient they can be. Look for me on March 26. I’ll be wearing purple and smiling- can’t miss me.)<br /><br />Namaste, Psyche<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-77192675899057422002010-03-03T17:55:00.007-06:002010-03-03T22:50:21.245-06:00A Colorful Embrace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim-J243Lr5bh_B4jah97I0Eb9wr5FsVGF_ozAcTDIJzxxQoljSLYU0Bbcjwtdsu3XibS__TuCiABwDhdlqSKdjafst8S-IEsDppK5-Svj61p6AzHqAvICDIdwh5xvQ7qVeFK6K9qmxHw6o/s1600-h/IMG_1348.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim-J243Lr5bh_B4jah97I0Eb9wr5FsVGF_ozAcTDIJzxxQoljSLYU0Bbcjwtdsu3XibS__TuCiABwDhdlqSKdjafst8S-IEsDppK5-Svj61p6AzHqAvICDIdwh5xvQ7qVeFK6K9qmxHw6o/s200/IMG_1348.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444578447336942722" /></a><br />I awoke this morning and prayed for something beautiful. I think it was a prayer. Maybe a wish. Anyway, I wasn't being picky or choosy about what that might be. I've just had the most heart-wrenchingly gorgeous dreams lately. Depending on which dream I'm referring to, I'm surrounded by the greenest, most lush gardens; gracefully seated by a koi pond on a hill; or discovering rare wine in a secret cellar beneath ice and snow. In my dreams, I appreciate and protect and share this ripeness, treasure, and surprise. Those dreams, that liminal space...<br /><br />My waking life has been less simple, and the ground doesn't sparkle as it does in my dream-winter. And so I asked for something beautiful to hold me here today: a colorful embrace. Of course, from the time I stepped out of bed things went awry. REALLY awry. I kept breathing, shifting, remembering that "overwhelm" is a state that passes. Nothing was working, so I decided to stop thinking and start moving. I strode through the sunny neighborhood listening to the iPod. I think I started to really worry about myself around the time I was tearfully (and seriously) identifying with an old Madonna song. Jeepers.<br /><br />I saw dead grass and leafless trees achingly far away from budding out. My cheeks were flushed with effort and I was out of breath and suddenly back on my block. As I slowed my pace, I took a long look at my house. The lawn service never came back to finish clearing things out, so I dropped to my knees and started making piles of the old leaves and broken limbs with my hands. I could feel the crush of leaves breaking and thorns pricking my skin and just continued steadfastly clearing.<br /><br />And there it was-- underneath all the muck, having survived the snow, sleet, and every other harsh Kansan wintry attack: one flower, blooming, waiting for me to uncover (or discover) it. My flower is a pansy called "love-in-idleness," on display with purple and cream-white petals. Shakespeare referred to it in A Midsummer's Night's Dream as the base of a potion that made one fall in love. (A little syzygy there, too.)<br /><br />Today, I fell in love at just the right time with a flower called love-in-idleness. Today, I remembered love and beauty are so closely tied. All it took was my surrender, the reminder of valuing patience, and the act of digging away to make room for what was waiting for me all along, right in my own front yard: already abloom. <br /><br />Gratefully present,<br />S<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-74390236657256559792010-02-21T21:57:00.006-06:002010-02-21T23:23:44.979-06:00Psyche & the Heart's RhythmI've been writing iterations of this post for long enough, and by now I'm feeling restless. You know what I mean? Like you'll burst if you have to keep it all inside? So who knows- stream of consciousness will take us on a quirky, unedited jaunt here.<br /><br />Someone asked me why this blog refers to Psyche. Lame wordplay, I suppose, but at the time it made sense: my personal psyche, the collective psyche, and Psyche, the mythical woman who captured Eros' heart... I was steeped in all of this at school, and it seemed a good enough name for what I was up to. I strongly connected to Psyche's myth, and have felt at times like the girl alone on the cliff, waiting; the girl sneaking in with the lamp to get a closer look at the one she's with; and performing Aphrodite's (seemingly endless) tasks with nothing but hope & desire & perseverance. And patience, I suppose.<br /><br />My father is a cardiologist, so I grew up learning a lot about the heart: its functions, its structure, its rhythms. I learned how to take what you've been given genetically and protect it the best way you can. I've learned how to put yourself in harm's way, to begin to heal, to see others' health differently, too. When I asked my dad what the heart should sound like, he slowly said "lub-dub, lub-dub, but with emphasis on the DUB." I'm positive he's given this rudimentary explanation to at least a thousand souls like me: curious, maybe nervous, but wanting to understand. I thought about it the other day. He hears heart dysfunction so often after all these years that it must be a blessing to hear a healthy heart beating when a patient comes to see him. <br /><br />In my own life's inquiry (mostly psychological, literary, poetic), I've been so focused on tasks to prove my self worth that I almost forgot my own heart and how it sounds. I realized that I've recently had another experience akin to one of Psyche's- when she hovers above sleeping Eros with her lamp and realizes who he is. She is in love. Not with a stranger in the night, not with someone making rules that she (of course) broke, but with who he is: winged, illuminated. <br /><br />Anyone who knows the story knows all the trials, the stumblings, and the successes in Psyche's quest to appease and win over Aphrodite and her lost lover Eros; knows that Psyche went to hell and back (no, really!) on the off-chance that she could try again with her beloved. The damn thing is that angry and absent as he was, Eros watched her the whole time, loving her as she struggled. Was she so intent on proving herself worthy that she failed to notice that she was already in his heart? What is so scary about being seen & accepted that we often fly away like Eros did: reacting defensively, instead of allowing someone to lovingly discover us & care?<br /><br />Recently I've been working on marketing strategies, non-profit fundraising ideas, event coordination. I am trying to balance these new tasks with the self that connects me back to my heart symbolically, lyrically, and literally. Some of the smallest, strangest questions have arisen in me lately with no linear answers. All of a sudden I'm tongue-tied. I don't want to play hide and seek. I want to be seen and found- my own stumbling block is allowing that unfolding. Until then I will quiet my fears and attend my heart .<br /><br />Because when I do, I can hear it strongly, clearly, liltingly, not a flutter: lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub...<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-5966447331210803472009-11-01T15:03:00.009-06:002009-11-01T17:00:53.130-06:00Through the Door: The Story Writes Itself"Sometimes exactly what you need walks right through the door." <br /><br />I think the first time I heard this was in class with Dr. Allen Koehn at Pacifica. Something about psyche and unconscious constellating and, well, life living you. I knew what he meant (about counseling and psyche), but I never extrapolated beyond that context to anything else. <br /><br />Until last week. On a particular day, I awoke impatient. I had a board meeting to get to that I knew would last most of the day, and I wanted to prepare. I ended up going early so that I could attempt a new surrounding as cure for this wretched mood o'mine. I sat at the table and checked emails, antsy as the rest of the members and staff filed in.<br /><br />We started the meeting, and a man I had never seen before stood up and spoke, alongside his wife and daughter. He presented us with a check from his foundation, and we all applauded this generous gift. (We usually don't have guests to these meetings, so it was refreshing to see new faces.)<br /><br />At some point, this man looked around at each one of us and said that he knew how difficult this reorganization was, how unexpected and challenging - emotionally and in every other way. He told us how important the work for children with special needs is, and how the future looks much brighter for kids and families because of this organization. He also rightly pointed out that even on our most difficult days, when we are frustrated, upset, and having to make hard decisions, that all of it is so temporary and achievable, unlike the experiences of many of our clients. And that people are watching, wanting to help, and rooting us on.<br /><br />I know that everyone in the room was deeply appreciative of the presence and generosity of this man and his family. But that encounter was like a tiny miracle for me. I needed to hear it that day, above all, and had not known how much until this kind, smiling man stood there, speaking from his heart. All of a sudden, I knew that all the things I was carrying - including insecurity, sadness, pain - all of it was mine to eradicate. All of the toxic nonsense had to go, and I was the one to make it go. I was humbled, inspired, and ready to make room in my life for lovely things.<br /><br />And so I have. I set apart some friendships that weren't feeling so friendly and some worn-out promises I made to myself and sent them packing. There was simply no room for any of it anymore. I caught up to the fact that at present my life is so damn good. My darling friend fell in love, another is published (again), and still another has recommitted to his own life seriously enough to pause, reflect, and be. Kindness, compassion, and courage all around me that I can see and reciprocate -- exactly what I want to build on from here.<br /><br />I treasure such enriching experiences in my days, and the unexpected gifts that turn the world back around. I've had my eyes opened wide, and what do you know? I'm <span style="font-weight:bold;">already</span> on this gorgeous path, surrounded by the most amazing people imaginable. No need to search for what has already been found. Now to embrace, honor, and live soulfully in the world -- each moment offering opportunity for connection, growth, and joy. <br /><br />It's high time to seize it all.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-7997779466865760472009-10-17T13:44:00.006-05:002009-10-17T14:47:14.791-05:00October Day<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEoPtS8ISnI"></a><br /><br />Just adding this in, quickly, and updating between things on the list. I felt I had to take a bit of blogspace to post a little something else to the dazed reverie of an October day in Ta Town. Yes, I am in SERIOUS need of caffeine...<br /><br />A friend wrote to me last night, in reference to men, me, and my purpose in the world: <br />"I wonder if you draw for just this reason, like a seashell, to the whispering of soul." <br /><br />That may or may not be true, but I think that is how I seek to be in the world; that is the calling that lingers as I walk through the autumn days.<br /><br />Maybe the key is just to Be, in the midst of the Becoming...<br />Namaste<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-68131024313153324132009-10-14T18:36:00.005-05:002009-10-18T01:00:39.981-05:00Just to Reiterate: I Believe in Love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YaG9BamNsjkpqDYhzq0Bdg2DWfr5-LDkRFyKVmArF8lCBNxqOkghepdhTE5ZHMJLzQq5vUch8ky5JmKfCRClM1wtnThXQmAgNSrAmZXCyvlFn6pM9dbu4HP-rfrxA4jAqkwUxAMryuhm/s1600-h/Photo+72.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YaG9BamNsjkpqDYhzq0Bdg2DWfr5-LDkRFyKVmArF8lCBNxqOkghepdhTE5ZHMJLzQq5vUch8ky5JmKfCRClM1wtnThXQmAgNSrAmZXCyvlFn6pM9dbu4HP-rfrxA4jAqkwUxAMryuhm/s200/Photo+72.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392613107876945586" /></a><br />Not a surprise, but as with all things psychological, mythological, and anything that strikes my fancy and grabs my attention, I start down one road of thought and others reveal themselves. I have begun reading the "Red Book," slowly but with concentration and zeal. And issues... First off - I am somewhat apprehensive about actually <span style="font-weight:bold;">touching</span> it. Secondly, it's quite a handful. Third, I go slowly from one part of the English to look at Jung's hand in German and back. It's a task. It's one I've craved in my soul without knowing it.<br /><br />Call it the fault of academia or never getting out of thesis mode or whatever you wish, but other long-ago thoughts come to mind when I read lately. The inquiry into one thing leads to another, and there you go. Lately I have had trouble concentrating when I read, so everything I love to study is a struggle; writing is arduous. It's vexing and erodes my established sense of self. However, perhaps that is exactly where I need to be right now, as I set sail on this soul journey with Dr. Jung. I wonder if this is a way to revive and re-establish the notion of personal and collective psyche? Hmm.<br /><br />Anyhow, some of the old stuff from my days at Mills College have come to mind lately. Who knew I actually paid attention in college? I remember a few years ago, reading "The Body Artist" by DeLillo for Myth class at Pacifica, and being reminded of Adrienne Rich's poem "Diving Into The Wreck." I adored this poem, and hadn't thought of it until the themes of love, loss, and bridging a sort of understanding between two people came up years later. Of course, that day we had Marion Woodman guest lecture, so the only one remembering anything about my anemic presentation on the book is, well, me.<br /><br />SO, here's what came to mind again last night, and has transformed the meaning of my day, from Rich's "On Lies, Secrets, and Silence: Selected Prose 1966-1978.":<br /><br />'An honorable human relationship–that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word “love”–is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying for both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.<br /><br />It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation.<br /><br />It is important to do this because in so doing we do justice to our own complexity.<br /><br />It is important to do this because we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.'<br /><br />I realize yet again how though I treasure introspective moments and the lush landscape of personal psyche, there is nothing like the aspects of self that are discovered, mined, created-- changing and flourishing-- when those we love really do walk that hard way with us. I only love as much as I find those who will love with me; I only inspire affection as deeply as those that inspire me. <br /><br />Too much Aristotle (I'm sure) but I do believe happiness is an aim, a process, and an activity. The more I see of the world and experience treasured people in my life, I believe love is more than a stance, a decision, a lightning-strike. I wrote the words numinous and liminal earlier and I think love is so much nearer to these concepts, but still-- I can't get close enough. Love has its own avenues, landscapes, and languages. How exquisite to love another, and how my soul shines when I am loved in return; whether agape, storge, philia, or eros, I bask in the glow.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-72413809392854896422009-10-11T21:12:00.004-05:002009-10-18T01:02:22.017-05:00Mermaids, the Red Book (and how!)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1mTwRN3acrWnQeDKk6s1LghjpMRwmkMNH1ij-Qhmhs4t5arNq_Elv63vL-UypqaE6bVDHfAyAmyHH-sQQFpWx2lCnxkKpYf5JG_d7YaHQb1W9EUc19KEWocILB7sv7JpAzY2gzR089gT/s1600-h/Photo+128.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1mTwRN3acrWnQeDKk6s1LghjpMRwmkMNH1ij-Qhmhs4t5arNq_Elv63vL-UypqaE6bVDHfAyAmyHH-sQQFpWx2lCnxkKpYf5JG_d7YaHQb1W9EUc19KEWocILB7sv7JpAzY2gzR089gT/s200/Photo+128.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391531146279615218" /></a><br />Oddly, I began by writing out the answers to the Proust questionnaire, which, as you can see, are going un-posted as of this evening. I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing now by writing, but in a time of transition, I've got to look to a mirror. At least a little.<br /><br />Embarking on Year Two of living in Wichita: a place I've variously said I'll never live again; or, I won't live here unless married or with the most fabulous job; or (this time), only for three years and that's final. So it's not a love affair without challenges. In truth, it's way less than a love affair... more like a comfy marriage where you ignore the deep problems and make sure the yard is up to neighborhood standards. And take a lot of trips so you don't have to get to know each other that well.<br /><br />My life here in Suburban Middle America is pleasant, mostly. I have precious little to complain about, and have met new aspects of myself over the past year that have surprised me. I am torn, sweetnesses. I left Pacifica a new girl: divorced, more sure of my professional self, deeply valuing my education and proud of my accomplishments. I've had some health issues arise but even these are short-lived and manageable. My friends who play tennis are happy to see me on the court again. I now have routines focused on being here and present in a mindful way, instead of "present" somewhere else. The Taurus in me should be thrilled, right? Right?<br /><br />As some of you are aware, I started writing and researching mermaids several months ago. New Year's with Crystal in SB was a catalyst, as was a dream Kristi had about me living underwater. I knew something was calling me, and I had to pursue it after recurring dreams and waking synchronicity compelled me. Mermaids are actually pretty perfect for that kind of thing. Some days I feel really split between this person with business sense and practical knowledge (including clinical), and this other fringy person who wants to steep in writing, myth, fairy tale, symbol, and everything the unconscious has to offer. My days of philanthropy are spent in this action-packed triage mode of offering a hand with my sister's former preschool (special needs kids) that declared bankruptcy a few months ago. Am I helpful there? I hope so. I am certainly not a mogul, a lawyer, a banker, or a CPA. But I do what I can, every so often taking a moment to hold in my hands these photos of my sister from that long-ago time, reminding myself to be strong and keep doing my best.<br /><br />So why do I come back so often to mermaids the moment I walk in the door? Who the hell in Wichita, KS, wants to know anything about that? Who wants to know about it ANYWHERE?<br /><br />I've considered mermaids in different ways. From the viewpoint of the sea-nymph, from the view of the sailor at sea or spectator ashore, and from my own personal perspective. What might it mean to feel affinity with the depths and rhythms inside myself and others, armed only with a comb and a mirror, a voice and play? What does it mean to surface and long for?<br /><br />I've looked for counseling work here, and so far have been met with strange looks, protestations that I am "over-qualified" due to my DBT/psychoanalytic supervision, and some who just can't get in touch with how my education and work hangs together in any kind of practical way. It has been discouraging at best. I've had times of hating this town, times of feeling very pitiful, times of despair, and times of going back through the tenets of all that we learned and studied trying to see what the hell and why.<br /><br />There are moments when you waver, and times when you must let your soul speak, despite the consequences or further misunderstandings or ridicule. My inner Ayn Rand showed up in a debate I never should have participated in the other day, and I was informed that I was "stupid" by a person I've never met. Which is fine -- being underestimated is not new to me. However, it brought up even more dichotomy within me. I know part of individuation and growth is to live with the tension of the opposites, and embrace your own peculiarities and eccentricities. To know what you know and love what you love with no apologies.<br /><br />I'm wondering if this is where the midlife crisis begins.<br /><br />Anyway. I'm going to try a few things and see what works. I may not be 'landlocked' in order to find the perfect mentor in depth psych, but I can certainly add a few things to the collective discussion. I nakedly admit to anticipating the "Red Book" with fervor. I desire something soulful to touch me deeply again. Jung started writing it at 39; I'll start reading it at 39... I already know that by revisiting my old, beloved psych books, I fall back into the cadence and language I know and love.<br /><br />I'm finding that this mermaid call is a much truer compass for me than the one found on the boat, much truer than consulting the charts. All I want to do is see the sun peer down into the shadowy depths. I want to sun on the rocks all day, combing my long hair, peering into the mirror. I want to swim with dolphins and sing to the sailors and if they follow me to safety or to their peril that is the chance taken. I want to wander the waves and arrive wherever I am meant to be -- uncharted territory or no.<br /><br />And, most of all, I want to hear that song resonate within me, and sing it for myself (& for others who seek soul and meaning).<br /><br />I appreciate your reading through the ramble, my dears.<br />Love and light.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-74294735287662611712009-02-09T13:30:00.001-06:002009-02-09T15:36:07.921-06:00Taking the Plunge<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiEK1VV1cNGFAXTLKvJHsm5VM2bd6BzqCUNmeADyxx_gOanXs2-TJn9jMi1M_5wBjJJ1ShWZr5N2gmSAG3bhkN3qzZpi9dryMXyKBcABjPoOriuJy65SdYI6kF4XCrrXxBm8Ng8TnOGcLK/s1600-h/Photo+572.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiEK1VV1cNGFAXTLKvJHsm5VM2bd6BzqCUNmeADyxx_gOanXs2-TJn9jMi1M_5wBjJJ1ShWZr5N2gmSAG3bhkN3qzZpi9dryMXyKBcABjPoOriuJy65SdYI6kF4XCrrXxBm8Ng8TnOGcLK/s200/Photo+572.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5300914116914469026" /></a><br />Oh my.<br /><br />I have been wondering forever how to start this up again. I've missed writing this blog so much I ache! But, again, where to start, what to say, after so long and so much in between? Ah well. Rambling a bit may work. <br /><br />Where the day takes us, yes? <br /><br />On New Year's Eve, I woke up in the middle of the night, back in Santa Barbara. I awoke out of a dream of a mermaid and a compass. Sometimes I wake up with a phrase, very clearly spelled out for me. Then I research, and reflect, and wait for the layers to reveal. (I write all this from a sofa at Starbucks -- with a happy, caffeinated mermaid on the logo... uh-huh.)<br /><br />One legend I read depicts mermaids as sort of protective guides for sailors. Think of that for a moment-- in the midst of a charted course that makes all the sense in the world, you may look out and see what feels truer than a map. An apparition? A trick of mind that plays on you in the night, in the vast waters? A voice that you cannot help but follow? Perhaps you believe it real, perhaps not, but the mermaid playfully points out your true course: an alternative route, leading who-knows-where. Do you follow your heart, your faith, and a call? Or do you go back to the rigid, the linear, the set-out course plotted by those who came before?<br /><br />Here's the thing. I have been on this journey a while, flung between ports, and find myself back in the middle - surrounded by dry, flat land everywhere I look. The only sea around me now is in my imagination and my soul.<br /><br />I listen to my dreams, and I believe I am called to throw away the clunky compass I've been handed. To follow my imagination, go with the wind wherever it takes me, and see that true north can be found differently.<br /><br /><br />"Waiting For Icarus"<br /> <br />He said he would be back and we'd drink wine together<br />He said that everything would be better than before<br />He said we were on the edge of a new relation<br />He said he would never again cringe before his father<br />He said that he was going to invent full-time<br />He said he loved me that going into me<br />He said was going into the world and the sky<br />He said all the buckles were very firm<br />He said the wax was the best wax<br />He said Wait for me here on the beach<br />He said Just don't cry<br /><br />I remember the gulls and the waves<br />I remember the islands going dark on the sea<br />I remember the girls laughing<br />I remember they said he only wanted to get away from me<br />I remember mother saying: Inventors are like poets, a trashy lot<br />I remember she told me those who try out inventions are worse<br />I remember she added: Women who love such are the worst of all<br />I have been waiting all day, or perhaps longer.<br />I would have liked to try those wings myself.<br />It would have been better than this.<br />--Muriel Rukeyser<br /><br /><br />I am tired of waiting, looking off to that horizon. <br />My heart is my compass. My words carry me home.<br /><br />All at sea,<br />Steph<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-76220094861262572422008-06-02T04:13:00.000-05:002008-12-08T23:48:08.794-06:00Insomnia brings out the best in me!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOCLX3OcqPaFuuseq3Qxu1cxhhZp8NhfW2OV3NxdEoOczw_PIfKFKcWQOgSQ_XYuIL9j4A-jIFyyWKL3F9J5KbFy1-8WM9E_lipCaMmvn1iqB9BzXbwOCoLtDauDW_rDdx4i_c1iCxyBx/s1600-h/Photo+38.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOCLX3OcqPaFuuseq3Qxu1cxhhZp8NhfW2OV3NxdEoOczw_PIfKFKcWQOgSQ_XYuIL9j4A-jIFyyWKL3F9J5KbFy1-8WM9E_lipCaMmvn1iqB9BzXbwOCoLtDauDW_rDdx4i_c1iCxyBx/s320/Photo+38.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5207213304730965090" /></a><br />THAT is sarcasm. I have now officially lost track of how many nights it's been, but to say that I am sleep-deprived and somewhat cranky is profoundly understating the situation. It could be worse. I could still have shingles, or be saddled with allergies like everyone I know!<br /><br />Instead I am restless and on the lookout for places to put my frenetic energy. So far, I have found yoga again (total help), walking up and down these infamous hills, and getting back into my reading. This time I'm taking it all in small doses, which is unlike me, but I guess a lot of things have changed of late. It is officially the 2nd of June, and I am officially feeling shaky. I have this sneaking suspicion that I am strong girl, despite some of my weaker moments (some that I made a total meal out of). Does being more confident and independent mean more alone time?<br /><br />I have these friends who align with depth psych and Hillman and the whole archetypal thing. They say I carry a Venus presence right now, as opposed to my Athena-esque aloofness of old. I have been quite comfortable with that so far, and researched specific tales about her. <br /><br />Part of this could be due to actual love -- romantic love that has hit me like the proverbial arrow in the heart. And, as glowy as I may seem to others, I feel wretched inside and as vulnerable as can be. I think this may be what I was running from all these years, and now it is here, and it is impossible, and, again, I run.<br /><br />So now you know the secret I hold. Well, a little. <br />The details stay with me.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-38806069991029869502008-05-27T16:44:00.000-05:002008-12-08T23:48:08.983-06:00Gather ye rosebuds while ye MAY<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54g9n0gi7I8V1NjvnoSKwvKBFzOyrEC-qMIyit9eH6S372HeoFQzFStfqFEsUHiNuO6Hv-lAMIJyKUcAPLi6fCWOJYI8P-OiZ1NqOv10G31AGUZELuMuLBhe4zeuMYnvhlRtOi9vwztLV/s1600-h/Photo+79.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh54g9n0gi7I8V1NjvnoSKwvKBFzOyrEC-qMIyit9eH6S372HeoFQzFStfqFEsUHiNuO6Hv-lAMIJyKUcAPLi6fCWOJYI8P-OiZ1NqOv10G31AGUZELuMuLBhe4zeuMYnvhlRtOi9vwztLV/s320/Photo+79.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205187506355816850" /></a><br />Basically, this is almost ridiculous to be writing about May when we are practically in June already. And what nonsense -- to update after so many months! Where to begin; what to leave in or take out?<br /><br />Let's start with today, shall we? See where the day takes us. Today is a Tuesday, day after Memorial Day, day after seeing "Iron Man" at the Metreon downtown. Oh, yeah. I'm here in San Francisco, as brief a stint as it will turn out to be. Remember that commitment I made to the year -- that this year I follow my heart, my instincts, wherever they take me? <br /><br />As of now, they are taking me back to Wichita. And I am excited. I have work all waiting for me, family, friends, a life I want to live. Here I've found that so much of what I love about California, about San Francisco, are things I want to share with someone. This is a place set up for togetherness.<br /><br />I realize that for all my posturing, I have some practical, personal work to get do before someone else enters my life. I have to create space for love, if it will ever have a chance. So, I embrace my newfound vitality and responsibilities with appreciation and determination. And hope, can't forget that! I will have a room to write in, a neighborhood with friends nearby, and dedication to something besides angsty digressions about the meaning of life. <br /><br />Maybe something will be found in the doing that is not found in the theory. A girl can hide a long time in theory. Hiding is exhausting. <br /><br />The image of the day is of the angel, and the angel's wings. I have had such pain lately in my chest, in my shoulders, radiating through to my back, my neck. The other day in a massage I was informed that I had overdeveloped muscles in certain places that were overcompensating for the weakness of the others. The image of the angel came to me (<span style="font-style:italic;">certainly</span> more due to Dante and Baudelaire than ANY notion of the angel I am very much not). So much energy I spend trying to be good, to be supportive, and never disappoint. <br /><br />An angel can hover, protect, be vigilant about those he/she is connected to. But is it such a wonderful thing? "Angelic" is quite a burden, and those wings must get pretty heavy at times, weighing down. My mind likes to play with the images of angels and devils. And the in-between: humanity. <br /><br />The fierce archangel Michael, doing battle with Satan holding a spear in his right hand, also holds a palm branch in his left; Raphael, a healer, more subdued, holds a physician's alabaster jar and a fish. Gabriel holds the mirror and the lantern, illuminating, connected with the shadowy humanity and deeper notions of the eternal.<br /><br />Guess who is resonating with me now? <br /><br />Spring has sprung. Summer awaits, and not a moment too soon. <br /><br />Until next time, <br />Stephanie<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-48845520178798706402008-01-16T23:11:00.000-06:002008-12-08T23:48:09.177-06:00percolating<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-oMBd3-eEsr_UO7otrmHniuBblKLgGruA-7DtZFmjA9CpuzWVv-R_fdjpWRzmSoIsIz4B0Vq4q4Rtf2f-PSEjJYW3cARKod5ZbV3mKLRCsTvrTeL6wke7qCuslPKLR6TmCltLhRy8kME/s1600-h/Photo+1012.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz-oMBd3-eEsr_UO7otrmHniuBblKLgGruA-7DtZFmjA9CpuzWVv-R_fdjpWRzmSoIsIz4B0Vq4q4Rtf2f-PSEjJYW3cARKod5ZbV3mKLRCsTvrTeL6wke7qCuslPKLR6TmCltLhRy8kME/s200/Photo+1012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156313780535355906" /></a><br />Mid-January finds me at the computer, still working out the logistics of relocation. Sigh. Is it really this hard?<br /><br />In the meantime, there are papers to write, correspondence to keep, and gorgeous Santa Barbara days to savor. Beyond lucky on that account!<br /><br />My days must be full, because my nights are slow. I appreciate it. My precious, wonderful friend Sue pulled a Tarot card for me the other night, because I was feeling like Little Girl Lost. She pulled the Ten of Cups. I read about it, and it was a cool card, especially given my up-in-the-air feelings. A card of reassurance, and contentment.<br /><br />Tarot or no, what pulls me through this time of upheaval is school. I can read and lean on the process of integration to carry me. I suppose, too, the process of creation as well. <br />And, always and most, the love and encouragement of family and friends. Every day I feel more grateful, and it seems like the greatest gift; the best lesson.<br /><br />I am in flux, my dears. No huge announcements or surprises. Just faith, optimism, and pluck. <br /><br />Oh. And Jayhawk madness, out here on the central coast! <br />So damn good. Love watching those kids play!!<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-1169609093603320812008-01-06T16:06:00.000-06:002008-12-08T23:48:09.847-06:002008. Oh my goodness.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEUK0ycThRzY1nQTjiUPFgLwd-Dt5NMUwepyEwPnY-M50lIUDu0ZQzi_8PR0QHXkxj51BPa3_VYWDedVXfd-DuhC9n_01L-Hn9yrUU7uE_KQQFcTMDeTxHS3uf20V3DIgxR0ncswFbYKn/s1600-h/Photo+325.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEUK0ycThRzY1nQTjiUPFgLwd-Dt5NMUwepyEwPnY-M50lIUDu0ZQzi_8PR0QHXkxj51BPa3_VYWDedVXfd-DuhC9n_01L-Hn9yrUU7uE_KQQFcTMDeTxHS3uf20V3DIgxR0ncswFbYKn/s320/Photo+325.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152503856780995058" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5gSCe7X04xwqb7RTRSA6wmDEp3iprGmJsUu98GNZnIAq7L_gIiO3XywUpn1kbId9aIDabE8YMpEA9fEe_QArXdu6M_NCqnPhORW10iy_tcBtkvsuhxVZvqUfqT2FZgWyIlHwdCIB0PO09/s1600-h/Photo+680.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5gSCe7X04xwqb7RTRSA6wmDEp3iprGmJsUu98GNZnIAq7L_gIiO3XywUpn1kbId9aIDabE8YMpEA9fEe_QArXdu6M_NCqnPhORW10iy_tcBtkvsuhxVZvqUfqT2FZgWyIlHwdCIB0PO09/s320/Photo+680.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152502314887735778" /></a><br />Yes, it HAS been a while since I've written on this little site. Very neglectful of me, I admit. Let's see if we can remedy this...<br /><br />To catch you up: holidays in Santa Fe, back in San Francisco trying like mad to find the next nest. Hurrying through my papers for school (due tomorrow -it will happen), and eager to get back south to get things all aligned for the next chapter. Strange thing about 'next chapters'; you usually start living them before you officially recognize that you do. So as much as I have been working toward a certain type of future, I think I've embarked on living the life I want already. <br /><br />So I've got THAT going for me.<br /><br />In my research and analysis of the Grimms' fairy tale "The Goose-Girl", I stumbled upon these words, from the ever-provocative Marie-Louise von Franz:<br />If, out of mental laziness, you simply sit back and hope that the spirit of unconscious will maneuver you through all the difficulties of your life, then it will play you tricks. But if you make your utmost effort to face life on your own with great courage, but find that you can't, that you are up against a wall and it's beyond your capacities, then, generally, these helpful gifts emerge from the unconscious. (APinFT)<br /><br />What the hell is she referring to, you may be asking yourself? Well, von Franz is referring to the magical gifts that assist the characters in fairy tales as they rescue the princess, or spin straw into gold, or kill the dragon. Like a ball that rolls where they are supposed to turn, or a stick that renders them invisible to their foes. So, if I am the princess in my own little fairy tale, what gifts have emerged for me? Because I certainly have had the experience of trying to work something out by myself and maybe making it worse through my own myopic ways. <br /><br />Movement. The Greeks believed it was the expression of the eternal; the flow of water in dreams often refers to the movement in our lives -of our emotions, our creativity, our instincts. I am deeply aware of psyche's gift of meaningful dreams, acceptance from my beloved friends, new friends who make me smarter, make me glow, keep me accountable, and some who grace me with the gift of their eyes, smiles, and erotic energies (that's the creative eros, you know, not the xxx-theater kind). <br /><br />So, dear readers. 2008 starts off with a wealth of opportunity, determination, acceptance, gratefulness, and thirst for meaning. Quenchable, lovable thirst. Yet another aspect of desire that, in my estimation, moves us, sustains us. <br /><br />Desire without attachment. Don't try it the other way around. I <span style="font-style:italic;">promise</span> it's not a great idea.<br />Love what you love, move a little today with your whole heart toward something that FEELS good, not something that makes sense. My goal for the year is to follow my heart wherever it leads me. Logic has been banished to the backseat. My emotion and desire are back in charge.<br /><br />I'll keep you posted. Sure to be a wild ride.<br />Stephie<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-57383082681982188082007-11-30T16:08:00.000-06:002008-12-08T23:48:09.923-06:00feisty feisty<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDOYZ5mGV3Q0xnyDAWl07bnD_HwwItRBIfPbp9oWTodu2Jua4VXUbpcbwuVOTRhpPzOHk2BKjGCRttAJpwtqtISPsMt-o5xl4WSakhFWHmX7HybXCs64yxVB7DABEp2-Tfv7gpuFVfCMT/s1600-r/Photo+520.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAOtbjKPffJvVsLdAFBJKXadlqHPZRdhBRA6Uuc7_gzQE9J1Z3L99qqdgI7XWwaz9sJORwlfhw7PD1JHZHrTM9H6VqvpHweVQ2XertKGBEubWUqINvdL4HF3On8QNizpMFXh0xitE9opW/s320/Photo+520.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138763844688020338" /></a><br />Well. Some days a girl wakes up and feels all that adolescent angst fueling her with a certain rebellious kind of energy. And, dear reader, today is that kind of a day. I have been cranking Stereophonics, Liz Phair, Linkin Park, and crazy music that makes me want to drive fast and be reckless. Which is slightly hilarious since I am not exactly the Adventure Girl I used to be.<br /><br />I find myself in limbo, in the gap, in BETWEEN. It is wrenching, and uncomfortable and makes me anxious. So there that is.<br /><br />As an outlet for this energy, I have been walking, doing yoga, writing, and dancing in the kitchen. Again, hilarious. I mean, how many times can a girl listen to INXS' Pretty Vegas and still like it? Is there anyone else who thinks ...Baby One More Time is an amazing song, even if Britney butchered it? If so, you can be on my secret dance team. <br /><br />I won't tell a soul.<br /><br />Next post will be extreme, friends. I have an idea for an essay that might just be a three-year project. Mostly, however, it is always good to explore the topic of encounter, and how we meet each other on various landscapes, on different planes of perspective, different times in our lives.<br /><br />Oh. There's The Cat Empire on the ipod. And my dancing shoes are still on...<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-87783984509645895922007-11-27T14:52:00.000-06:002008-12-08T23:48:10.240-06:00Thanksgiving!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p3UxOzF5a3w3yAD6laV8kBaHg368Sg3XcW_yMjiVM617H11hCNMpf3XF8O-A2M53IVCMuYONu7dpwOJG7nCZm3T6rluwuGO-_-BkG-lJm6AKhYk8b9FN-BySD5skb7zq7VcE4hIUCC7R/s1600-h/Photo+359.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p3UxOzF5a3w3yAD6laV8kBaHg368Sg3XcW_yMjiVM617H11hCNMpf3XF8O-A2M53IVCMuYONu7dpwOJG7nCZm3T6rluwuGO-_-BkG-lJm6AKhYk8b9FN-BySD5skb7zq7VcE4hIUCC7R/s320/Photo+359.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137632739901929250" /></a><br />And so begins the holidays. <br /><br />I was in Los Angeles this last week, joining my mom, brother, and sister-in-law for some turkey and football. We also got very lucky -- my cousin Jill Boxberger, and her boyfriend Haven, performed at a venue called Room 5 on La Brea Avenue. Jill is a gorgeous girl, vivacious, kind, and loaded with talent. But her voice just gets better and better each time I hear her. My aunt and cousins were there too, as was Andrew Kupersmith (my honorary brother), so the whole weekend was filled with family and good cheer.<br /><br />And bad football. Oh KU. To raise our hopes so high, only to dash them. And Missouri. Detest Missouri. Now my Hawks just have to reign in Allen Fieldhouse this season to exact vengeance upon them. This will make me happy! Rock chalk jayhawk. ku.<br /><br />Mom and I read an article in the New York Times about keeping a gratitude journal. It seems that those who count their blessings really <span style="font-weight:bold;">do</span> have more positive outlooks, and feel more content. So we decided to give it a go.<br /><br />Here's a very abbreviated version of what I am thankful for today:<br />I am eternally grateful for the family I have, especially the times when we act up around each other. I mean, who other than family will put up with your shenanigans, and then call you out when necessary?<br /><br />Every day I count the blessings of my friendships. This year has been about a rededication to my relationships, and my lovely girlfriends in particular. Some of my greatest friendships have been with the girls I used to hang out with back in 1976, at the swimming pool, when our moms dropped us off in the summertime. So, that's now (yikes) 31 years! I love the fact that we've all watched each other grow, change, succeed, struggle, and still turn to each other. <br /><br />My new friendships, the ones I have made in the past few years, open me to new worlds of understanding and grace daily. I never knew I could be so accepted, or challenged, or gratified in my life. I cherish these friends so very much.<br /><br />Books, and psychology, and dreams. These create the foundation I stand upon today, and I must be thankful for all the gifts of my education. Because of these gifts, and my loved ones, I can bring the best parts of myself into the world and be a good therapist and writer.<br /><br />Never could have done it without you. I carry love with me in every step I take.<br /><br />Amor vincit om,<br />Steph<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-52127385963151904932007-11-10T23:02:00.000-06:002008-12-08T23:48:10.455-06:00Stay close, we'll look for a welcome shore<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjmDRUqRxV6f0DlAzBLsQStEFBX-gm0q0ejZFGN6_iMiKcY1SdIU4OSTc3oh9vxNzAwsoibxJO0_RS5-du46YMEtejqBMk65xPzMGcdJHyUCfY40aEakfUu2E5b1iK1SSdRaCMbAnUIrr/s1600-h/Photo+120.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjmDRUqRxV6f0DlAzBLsQStEFBX-gm0q0ejZFGN6_iMiKcY1SdIU4OSTc3oh9vxNzAwsoibxJO0_RS5-du46YMEtejqBMk65xPzMGcdJHyUCfY40aEakfUu2E5b1iK1SSdRaCMbAnUIrr/s320/Photo+120.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131451201466978498" /></a><br />Oh BOY. Spent all day today in myth and fairy tale, with Dr. Lionel Corbett at the helm of our Jung class. He has a wonderfully British sensibility and is terribly funny. I took fifteen pages of notes, and have so much more I feel like I need to find and read! I love this PhD program more than the Master's already, and this is session number two. It's going to be quite a journey, I can tell.<br /><br />On that note, I will briefly speak about water, an element that keeps coming up in my dreams, and my thoughts of dolphins.<br /><br />Something in the stars lately must be acting up, because I there has been much too much pain lately. Some has been the pain of transition, and transformation. Remember being a kid and feeling your body growing, your bones aching as your body readjusted to its new shapes and sizes? Growing pains, we call them. So what do we call them later, when it is our soul, our capacity to endure, our capacity to love or forgive, that find themselves stretched? <br /><br />There have been tragedies amongst my community of friends, and I witness one of the phenomena that makes me feel the most alive, the most grateful. <br /><br />I call it "dolphining", because to me, it's a noun we can just go ahead and make a verb. When one of the pod is sick or mourning, the rest of the group circles, protects, lifts, and serves to hold and care for. When I witness or participate in this kind of loving, it humbles me, and reminds me of human vitality, and my utter, naked thankfulness for being alive. <br /><br />If not for this community, this love, we may just drown when life drags us out into the rough water. I am reminded to turn to my friends in my joys and in my disappointments, my tears and my laughter. <br /><br />And to remember the many qualities of water. And the many qualities of dry land.<br />Thankful and exhausted,<br />Steph<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-74480147502618252962007-11-05T18:29:00.000-06:002008-12-08T23:48:10.550-06:00Thank heavens for basketball season<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipBHRksnKDjr3DwqPm3rf73578fqWKRy711OUsDskKDuPZynG-t0TGU2bbltkvBV4SOT2X3E-hdlujGELcQbY80UJ_Dq0eRsGC3Ot5oRz5Z4yhACnNTndbmy8L_IohCeP_XceHjmvIgZM/s1600-h/Photo+207.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipBHRksnKDjr3DwqPm3rf73578fqWKRy711OUsDskKDuPZynG-t0TGU2bbltkvBV4SOT2X3E-hdlujGELcQbY80UJ_Dq0eRsGC3Ot5oRz5Z4yhACnNTndbmy8L_IohCeP_XceHjmvIgZM/s320/Photo+207.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129590677338074386" /></a><br />OK, well, enough with the morose, people. Sorry about the foray into the darker realms of my psyche. Yikes.<br /><br />So! Today I will tell you that I am SO EXCITED for basketball season. I am ready as ready can be for some Rock Chalk Jayhawk supporting, all the way out here on the coast. I am eager to see what happens when the Celtics actually give my man Paul Pierce some greatly needed support and depth on that team. I am most ready to satisfy my Steve Nash fix, and see what in the world they've done to his hair this year. <br /><br />I was not a sports fan growing up. I am a Johnny-come-lately. I used to be all about tennis, and that was it. And Federer or no Federer, I can still get glowy around the Open and Wimbeldon. <br /><br />But then I found college basketball and my love for KU. I fell all giddy with it, and formed opinions about the play, the struggle, the heart. Shot clocks, time in the paint, saying things about how "long" players are...And by God, the Lakers. I despise the Lakers. Showboating, diva-esque, self-congratulatory Lakers.<br /><br />I then learned that in sports, it's good to have the rivals, the long-standing enmity. The closest I knew in college about this was the Big Game, between Cal and Stanford, that seemed more like a Bay Area party than true rivalry. Once I became a KU basketball fan, however, I came to scorn Missouri, Duke, Arizona, and Kentucky. I think Bill Self is refreshing, and a terrific recruiter, and what I needed to see for my boys. <br /><br />Ah, it's chilly tonight, and I am still adjusting to the time change. Just in time to snuggle in and get back to regular sportscenter viewing. <br /><br />Steph<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-1507421001010804442007-11-03T20:44:00.000-05:002008-12-08T23:48:10.731-06:00today: thoughtful batch of melancholy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0sTdRbHFk6eZ_ha0f9JwQnc8z23CncU5pAiMH1kZMQNqIUBMYG1e8jnoJeI0y11KglgiKsKLEfPyEpVIkNWW4fG17xAZnOyGfaKkrd2-TULbhDD8qPcjeqYDmDj7AOVNS0EVOnaofgLW/s1600-h/Photo+216.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0sTdRbHFk6eZ_ha0f9JwQnc8z23CncU5pAiMH1kZMQNqIUBMYG1e8jnoJeI0y11KglgiKsKLEfPyEpVIkNWW4fG17xAZnOyGfaKkrd2-TULbhDD8qPcjeqYDmDj7AOVNS0EVOnaofgLW/s200/Photo+216.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128845152619867330" /></a><br />The word of the day is "surrender," and we are going to look at that for a minute. I have been listening to my friend Brooke formulate and delineate her therapeutic perspective. We spoke today of the body's release, as she refers to it. She is becoming certified in yoga instruction, as well as psychotherapy, so for her the body is psyche's map, a conduit, a source of pain, play, tension, and relaxation. This is where working with her begins.<br /><br />Ah, but me? I escape into the mind, I flee into the soulful subjects, the romanticism of image. I have a fear of letting go, fear of this very release she spoke of so eloquently today. I have thought it would sweep me away. Or under.<br /><br />I was practicing yoga myself last week. My instructor, Mario, was helping me into position, some sort of back-bendy, one-legged, foot-holding thing. I looked at him and said, "I can't do it." Mind you, I hadn't tried yet. He said he would be there to help, make sure I could, make sure I did not fall. I realized all of a sudden that this was very big business for me. Way more than just an asana whose name I cannot remember.<br /><br />I was afraid. I had to trust. I allowed myself to give in to the position as I leaned my head back. I felt how hard I tried to relax, and how I could somehow, awkwardly, hold the position. I felt proud. And I started sobbing as soon as I got to the car. <br /><br />To catch you up, now, I am here in San Francisco, and I am in a hotel room. Alone, exhausted. If the other day was filled with the emotional aspects of desire -- the patience, the excitement, the sadness, the hunger, and thirst -- today is a day where I surrender. I give up, and I feel the shift in my body, even as I type the words. It is a relief not to run, a relief to ask for, a relief to let something be what it obviously, very nakedly is, instead of wanting so badly for it to be different.<br /><br />I say it again. I sit in a hotel room. Temporary places -- I wish I could just live here a while. I surrender to the truth of it. I surrender to the fact that, as much as I try to make it not so, I have a harder time allowing love to come to me than giving it out. <br /><br />Through the fear, I have always wanted to be swept away. I find myself out in the current, a little sucked under. I have been afraid of these moments, and fled into my mind, keeping my body (and heart, of course) neatly, cleanly, efficiently out of things. Less messy, I thought. I call it despair-avoidance. <br /><br />But guess what? (and this is the really meaty, good part, dears) I am looking around at the waves rolling and crashing, and it is okay. I feel that my desire and where I am going is out of my tightly-held control, and it is okay.<br /><br />I am blessed with extraordinary friends, that I love deeply. I looked at an old family photo the other day and thought, "how could I love them more?" And I realized yet again, how lucky I am, deeply blessed to have such parents, such a brother, such a sweet, funny sister. <br /><br />Today I am reminded that joy is a process, and love is a movement. Whether we try to run, struggle against, or deny deny. Love wins. <br /><br />And, (ok just say it) it's worth the surrender. <br /><br />Thanks for sticking with me through the meandering. <br />More later; more playful too.<br /><br />My wishes of surrender to all, <br />Steph<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-53376732469454625602007-10-31T02:26:00.000-05:002008-12-08T23:48:10.891-06:00OK. Ryan Adams can help us all.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qCLEJ0VZD_GCwRsK2od277a4zLInXXtwx7IclYHMtsfnbMNFAUvZNpRV_9hNLA-VRm4CLoXeTqE1YBbF_u6s6ej-ZN6KkaQ2W7TyMmS10IGZzZzuwBA2TTJmmQnJoXPGHDlizea-eSK3/s1600-h/Photo+291.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1qCLEJ0VZD_GCwRsK2od277a4zLInXXtwx7IclYHMtsfnbMNFAUvZNpRV_9hNLA-VRm4CLoXeTqE1YBbF_u6s6ej-ZN6KkaQ2W7TyMmS10IGZzZzuwBA2TTJmmQnJoXPGHDlizea-eSK3/s200/Photo+291.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127406179661917362" /></a><br />Yes, I have a ridiculous thing for Ryan Adams. Well, not really him. Just his music. Imagine how excited I was to download his new music from itunes the other night! You've never heard a cover like Ryan and the Cardinals tackling "Down in a Hole". Your heart ever been broken? Ryan's your man. Check out the version of "Oh My Sweet Carolina" from the Bridge School Concert series. It makes ME homesick, and I don't even know which Carolina he's singing about. <br /><br />Somehow, listening to him lately has led me to investigate my crushes. I have my un-Godly crush on Michael Chabon, author and Pulitzer Prize winner. 'Course I loved his work before all that, due to The Mysteries of Pittsburgh. A must-read for all. There is my unflagging admiration for David Foster Wallace, despite his incredible use (or misuse) of footnotes. Oh yes. And I do not care at all that he wears headbands in his press pictures. Very Loverboy; very 80's tennis chic of him!<br /><br />Try Wallace's "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again" and see if you agree. I have a feeling...<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-36586304465301318042007-10-30T00:17:00.000-05:002008-12-08T23:48:10.986-06:00Almost Halloween<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-cAh70PsebIrR44UCqvQYwk3AjksiW_fIGrIq2mCNOeCEKlt8UXZ7BzHdvS_Wv0k4_6niQ-dofZSW4GYEy27o68clhBURsGNk6S8ZPE_SG-h4gSZXsEA9-sojA_-CvxQzHfTTsJO2bfr/s1600-h/Photo+148.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-cAh70PsebIrR44UCqvQYwk3AjksiW_fIGrIq2mCNOeCEKlt8UXZ7BzHdvS_Wv0k4_6niQ-dofZSW4GYEy27o68clhBURsGNk6S8ZPE_SG-h4gSZXsEA9-sojA_-CvxQzHfTTsJO2bfr/s200/Photo+148.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127000395446758562" /></a><br />Yes, yes. I am going out of my mind due to the sheer volume of partying from across the street. The kids from Brooks Institute can really get saucy, that is for sure. My sleep deprivation may be apparent here but don't worry. I catch up quickly.<br /><br />I was in San Francisco for a few days. Amazing what happens when you let yourself open, and experience. I met interesting people, had a few excellent, mindbending conversations, bought some killer (very sexy) boots that brought a whole other side of my personality to the fore. So there was that.<br /><br />I looked around, imagining myself living there, walking the city day by day. Some things are better left in theory, but some need to be brought in to the world; to manifest destiny for ourselves and others. I had a glorious feeling this weekend: a surge of excitement, followed by the utter calm of knowing what I was to do next. So good to feel.<br /><br />I connected with a lovely friend, who brought me along for her haircut. This was dramatic, because 10 inches came off for Locks of Love, replaced by a sultry, sophisticated look. She looks fabulous, and it was a stunning transformation.<br /><br />So I am in transition again, this time not so hurried. I want to embrace it all, and get back to the first home I knew after Kansas. Back to the Bay Area, as an all new me, 15 years later! Wow! <br /><br />The pomegranate is a symbol I seem to stay with. It is the link between Persephone and Hades, the corporeal world and the divine. My dear friend Sue gave me a beautiful necklace with an image of the pomegranate on it. For now, I will wear it on my neck, as I see what comes up for me. It's the season.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-65100151511449080342007-10-17T14:23:00.000-05:002008-12-08T23:48:11.166-06:00me pondering<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37cQusICHfbKkghort2d3ORKJ8QMQln7lqToL3IyklxGC-yIOGex2PjqvGc4TPYhoVvdFQKyg1-B9xISH1aPK9pBZH-me4Zw2QZi_8a32xhXEjfurSvfMJwmEgKvQPnQJpBzliKoEml1Z/s1600-h/Photo+48.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37cQusICHfbKkghort2d3ORKJ8QMQln7lqToL3IyklxGC-yIOGex2PjqvGc4TPYhoVvdFQKyg1-B9xISH1aPK9pBZH-me4Zw2QZi_8a32xhXEjfurSvfMJwmEgKvQPnQJpBzliKoEml1Z/s320/Photo+48.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122388925008089266" /></a><br /><br /><br />two weeks in, hanging in the room...<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-83035846659970610572007-10-17T13:16:00.000-05:002007-10-31T16:39:00.153-05:00Calypso? Penelope?I have been flooded with images over the past few days, mostly back in the Odyssey. Most of this, dear reader, is memory (which, as Hillman points out, is part confabulation). Yet memory is the mother of the Muses; the access to creative arts and expession. <br /><br />Oh, I digress. A lot.<br /><br />Anyway. I was thinking about Penelope, the patient, crafty wife of Odysseus, the one who never gave up pining away for her husband, gone twenty years. She tells her suitors (who clearly view her as a prize, and a total package - Odysseus' kingdom as a bonus) that she will entertain their entreaties for her hand when she finishes her tapestry. Every day she weaves; every night she unravels. She is the penultimate "home" Odysseus longs for; the idea toward which he moves.<br /><br />But, there are a lot of other women, nymphs, and goddesses in this tale. Odysseus is sunk under time and again, by wrathful Poseidon and the sea. He is tired from the long war, and the losses of friends and years away. In this tale, it is the feminine that pulls him through, anoints him, pleasures and heals him. He charms others, regaling them with tales of his adventures, but the women pull him to action, recognize his strength, as well as his cunning. They see his wound (his scar) and both compassion and passion arise.<br /><br />And some want recognition. Calypso implores him to stay with her, forever, in a state of bliss, warmth, sex, and love. She wants him to stay, and see that her devotion is so great that she is deigning to care for him. She reminds him of how she pulled him from the sea, near-death, crew dead and gone. She hid him and healed him herself. And, by order of the gods (thank you Athena), she lets him go. Calypso stays behind in her lonely paradise, and Odysseus faces the sea, alone, with his strength, wits, and longing for home.<br /><br />So I think of desire. Lately there has been a lot of talk about this coming up in me and my friends. Desire for stability or excitement; family or freedom; the past or the future. Desire is full of endless distances (or something like that -- robert hass), and I am beginning to see how desire moves us. Whether island to island, or to weave and unravel, we long for.<br /><br />At the end of the day, you know, I'm just a girl from a Glen Campbell town! (you know, needing more than wanting, and wanting for all time...)<br /><br />"Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured." -<br />Homer, The Odyssey<br /><br />wink and a curtsy,<br />steph<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5591353933493431888.post-27917080409671502702007-10-16T16:47:00.001-05:002008-12-08T23:48:11.288-06:00well. so it begins<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiaK1wQTuFTeldsqNzACI3r-NXuRtHQhFS5OOgIGvPdJhuVJEC5JzHfiXq860MPRCx1hRR14yqh1prgqTmAjiZx0XzUoVrTKIBMitNIr51hjNpkm0SY5soSeFvzT9ZLOTC6uB77bVNcRgd/s1600-h/Photo+126.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiaK1wQTuFTeldsqNzACI3r-NXuRtHQhFS5OOgIGvPdJhuVJEC5JzHfiXq860MPRCx1hRR14yqh1prgqTmAjiZx0XzUoVrTKIBMitNIr51hjNpkm0SY5soSeFvzT9ZLOTC6uB77bVNcRgd/s320/Photo+126.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122056782302187666" /></a><br />I am trying something new. This year has been full of new things, and now I am launching headfirst into computer stuff I know nothing about, while simultaneously starting a PhD program in psychology. A good time to sort out the thoughts, and keep the neural pathways exercised. <br /><br />Beyond all that, look for pictures. I have been taking them every day for several weeks now, as autumn comes, and as I feel the shifts and changes that come with the new. At some point we must share or feel stifled, I think. This is where the sharing begins!<div class="blogger-post-footer">Come and follow me!
http://twitter.com/stephiegal
http://www.new.facebook.com/stephanie.galichia</div>Stephiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15370190883855095791noreply@blogger.com1