Morgana Dragonfly

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Morgana Dragonfly Artist, Psychic, Witch

02/01/2026
02/01/2026
This spread was created by one of my students in a Tarot Workshop some years ago and it’s one of the best New Year sprea...
31/12/2025

This spread was created by one of my students in a Tarot Workshop some years ago and it’s one of the best New Year spreads I’ve seen. If you’re a Tarot enthusiast give it a try.
If you want a reading from me text me at 520-247-2736. The reading can be done by phone or on Zoom. Payment through Zelle or PayPal. My rate is $45 for 30 minutes and $20 for each additional 15 minutes.

Check out a new blog post on my webpage
20/12/2025

Check out a new blog post on my webpage

Let's talk about Yule. Yule is the winter solstice, longest night/shortest day of the year. Yule is to the solar cycle what the New Moon is to the lunar cycle

18/12/2025

June 1940. Ben Johnson, 22, loaded a dozen horses into a boxcar in Oklahoma. He was making thirty dollars a month on the Chapman-Barnard Ranch when a call came from Hollywood. Howard Hughes had purchased horses for a film called The Outlaw, and someone needed to deliver them to northern Arizona. Johnson volunteered. Hughes offered three hundred dollars. It was more money than Johnson had ever seen in his life. He took the job and delivered the horses to Flagstaff, thinking he’d return home.

But Hughes noticed how the young cowboy handled the animals. Within days, he offered Johnson one hundred seventy-five dollars a week to stay on as a wrangler. Johnson later recalled, “I’d been making a dollar a day as a cowboy, and my first check in Hollywood was for three hundred. After that, you couldn’t have driven me back to Oklahoma with a club.”

Hollywood became his new range. Johnson shepherded horses to sets, doubled for Gary Cooper, Joel McCrea, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, John Wayne, and James Stewart. For seven years, he was another cowboy among many—unknown, reliable, indispensable.

Then came Fort Apache. Johnson was doubling for Henry Fonda when a wagon bolted with three men hanging on for dear life. Johnson, astride a horse, chased it down, caught the lead horse, and stopped the runaway. Director John Ford had watched everything. The next day, he called Johnson into his office and handed him a contract. On the fifth line—five thousand dollars a week—Johnson stopped reading, signed, and handed it back. From anonymous stuntman to Ford’s stock company, his first credited role was in 3 Godfathers in 1948.

Over the next five years, Johnson appeared in Ford classics: She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, Mighty Joe Young, Rio Grande, and Wagon Master. He bought a ranch in California, invested in real estate, and secured his financial future. But at thirty-five, the pull of the rodeo was stronger than Hollywood’s glitz.

He took a year off to compete full-time in team roping, honoring his late father, Ben Johnson Sr., a three-time world champion roper. Partnering with Buckshot Sorrells and Andy Jauregui, he rode every event. By the end of 1953, he had won the world championship. Yet after tallying expenses, he realized he’d broken exactly even. “I came home with a championship and didn’t have three dollars,” he laughed later. “All I had was a worn-out car and a mad wife.”

Hollywood welcomed him back, but he never abandoned roping. For decades, he competed in charity rodeos, raising money for children’s hospitals.

In 1971, Johnson almost turned down The Last Picture Show. He hated the script’s language. But John Ford personally asked him to take the role. Johnson agreed on one condition: he could rewrite the part to remove profanity. He played Sam the Lion, a gentle, world-weary theater owner, and critics hailed it as his finest performance.

March 1972. The Academy Awards. Johnson, holding the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, decided to abandon his prepared speech. Instead, he addressed the audience simply: rodeo cowboys worked harder than anyone in show business, and the championship belt he’d won in 1953 meant more to him than the golden statue in his hands. The room erupted in applause.

Ben Johnson remained humble throughout his career, acting for over twenty-five more years in films including The Wild Bunch, Junior Bonner, Chisum, The Getaway, Dillinger, Bite the Bullet, The Sugarland Express, and Angels in the Outfield. He appeared in more than 300 films and television shows.

Outside of film, he used his fame to raise millions for charity. He sponsored celebrity rodeos in major cities, benefiting children’s hospitals in Houston, Phoenix, Oklahoma City, and Los Angeles. His ranch, his investments, and his careful planning made him worth an estimated one hundred million dollars by the 1990s.

Honors followed: ProRodeo Hall of Fame in 1973, Western Performers Hall of Fame in 1982, and a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in 1994.

April 8, 1996. Johnson, seventy-seven, collapsed from a heart attack while visiting his ninety-six-year-old mother in Mesa, Arizona. He died shortly after. His wife, Carol, had passed two years earlier. His mother lived until 2000, reaching 101.

Ben Johnson remains the only person in history to win both a world rodeo championship and an Academy Award. And yet, he described himself simply: “I’m just a cowboy who got lucky.”

18/12/2025
08/12/2025
08/12/2025
07/12/2025

I nearly let a teenager freeze on Thanksgiving Eve because of my "No Loitering" policy. Then I watched her starving Pitbull refuse to eat, and it completely broke me.

I own a 24-hour laundromat in Chicago. If you know the winters here, you know they don’t forgive. But in my line of business, you can’t afford to be forgiving either. If you let one person sleep on the folding tables, you’ll have a dozen by morning. So, I have rules. Iron-clad rules. Buy a wash cycle, or get out.

Last Wednesday was Thanksgiving Eve. The wind was howling off the lake, bringing snow that fell sideways. I was in the back office, angry that I was stuck mopping floors instead of eating turkey, when the door chimed.

A girl walked in. She couldn't have been more than seventeen. She was wearing a hoodie that was too thin and canvas sneakers soaked through with slush.

But it was what was beside her that made me reach for my baseball bat.

A massive, gray Pitbull mix. The kind of dog people cross the street to avoid. He had a blocky head, a scar running down his left flank, and muscles that twitched with every shiver.

"No dogs," I yelled over the hum of the dryers. "Read the sign."

The girl flinched. "Please, sir. Just ten minutes. The shelter is full. We just need to feel my toes again."

I looked at the dog. He wasn't growling. He was leaning against the girl's leg so hard he was almost knocking her over, trying to share warmth.

"Fifteen minutes," I grumbled, pointing to the vending machines in the corner. "If that beast barks once, I’m calling the cops."

They retreated to the corner, away from the few paying customers. I watched them on the security monitor, waiting for a reason to kick them out.

The girl dug into her pockets. She pulled out a handful of change—mostly pennies and a few nickels. She counted them three times. She was clearly short for anything substantial, but she scraped together enough for a pack of those cheap, orange peanut butter crackers.

She sat on the floor, opened the pack, and I saw something that made my chest tighten.

She didn't eat.

She broke a cracker in half and held it out to the dog. "Eat, Tank," she whispered. I could hear her through the audio feed.

The dog, Tank, sniffed the cracker. He was clearly starving; his ribs were visible beneath that short coat. But he didn't take it. instead, he nudged her hand with his wet nose, pushing the cracker back toward her mouth.

"I'm not hungry, buddy," she lied. Her stomach growled loud enough for the mic to pick up. "You take it."

She tried to force it into his mouth. The dog gently took it, held it in his teeth for a second, then dropped it on her lap. He whined softly and rested his heavy head on her knee, looking up at her with eyes that weren't vicious or scary. They were terrified. Not for himself, but for her.

He was refusing to eat until she did.

Here I was, judging them. I saw a "delinquent" and a "dangerous animal." But in that corner, I was witnessing more loyalty than I’d seen in most human marriages. That dog was her guardian, and she was his whole world.

Suddenly, a guy who had been dozing by the dryers—a regular who sometimes snuck in a bottle of whiskey—stumbled over.

"Hey sweetheart," he slurred, looming over the girl. "You got a dollar for the bus?"

He reached out to grab her shoulder.

Tank didn't bark. He didn't attack. He simply stood up. One second he was a shivering pile of fur, the next he was a granite wall between the girl and the drunk. He let out a low, rumbling growl—a warning that vibrated the floorboards. He stood his ground, ready to take a kick to protect his girl.

The girl threw her arms around the dog's neck, shielding him with her own frail body. "Don't hurt him!" she cried.

That was it. My rule book went out the window.

I grabbed the bat—not for the dog, but for the drunk. "Get out, Mike," I barked. "Now."

Mike scrambled out into the snow.

I locked the front door and flipped the sign to CLOSED. Then, I walked over to the corner. The girl pulled Tank closer, bracing for eviction.

"I'm sorry, sir," she stammered. "He didn't bite, I promise—"

"Quiet," I said. I walked back to my office and grabbed the Tupperware container my wife had packed for my dinner. Thick slices of roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and gravy.

I walked back and set it on the floor, right between the girl and the dog.

"The dryer in this corner is broken," I lied. "It gets too hot. I need someone to sit here and make sure it doesn't catch fire tonight. Can you handle that?"

She looked at the food, then at me, tears streaming through the grime on her face. "Sir?"

"I can't eat all this," I said gruffly. "And if you're working security for me tonight, you need energy. Both of you."

That night, I watched a "dangerous" Pitbull gently take turkey from a fork, but only after he watched his girl swallow her first bite.

We live in a world that loves to judge books by their covers. We see a hoodie and think "trouble." We see a Pitbull and think "monster." But that night, on the dirty floor of a laundromat, I learned that family isn't about blood, and character isn't about appearance.

Family is the one who freezes so you can be warm. Character is the one who starves so you can eat.

Sometimes, the best of us have the emptiest pockets, and the biggest hearts beat inside the chests of the creatures we fear the most.

Open your eyes. Open your doors. You never know when an angel might walk in looking like a runaway and a fighter.

06/12/2025
06/12/2025

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AZ
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