tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55414230172231527662024-03-19T16:52:27.936-04:00Lupus Alae<br>Spiritflights, fledgling and ancientUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-44251658599762834402013-01-22T18:34:00.003-05:002015-05-13T08:23:57.684-04:00STILL still here. 2013 and onward!<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Here we are, in 2013, and I am back again! I've been regularly blogging about the mundane and vaguely interesting bits of life over at http://brighidsdaughter<span style="font-size: small;">.blogspot.com</span>, but keeping up even that much has proved itself a challenge.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It's not that I failed to post here because I haven't been doing my Bardic coursework or walking deeper into my Druidic journey and studies, but because I <i>have</i> been. I have so much to say that I don't even know where to begin!<br /><br />It's looking like I may be ready for entrance to the Ovate grade in late spring. If there's anything these past two years in the Bardic grade have taught me, though, it's that the spirit has its own timing -- and that that is a beautiful and respectable thing. You can't rush through the spiritwork you need to do, especially the <i>foundational</i> work, or you cheat yourself and are likely to stumble or feel lost later on. I am thoroughly enjoying where I am, even as I feel called forward.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Forward I will go...in my own good time. That in itself is a life lesson I've never really embraced before, or allowed myself to fully experience. I am not beholden to any schedule, even my own dreamed-up plans.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Ahh. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-42790127467019298602012-02-02T12:21:00.001-05:002012-02-02T12:22:22.485-05:00Imbolc gifts<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I meant to pop on here yesterday to wish everyone a blessed Imbolc. What a wonderful point in the wheel of the year!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I did not get to celebrate as fully as I would have liked, but I did mark the occasion with prayer and a return to ritual work. I really am un-stuck now, and I found it entirely fitting that the lesson I'm on addresses the very problem I was having. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There is a deep connection for me with Brighid, and this is her time. My ritual work is as-yet very simple, but I feel the effects of opening myself to the goodness of Spirit and the god/dess faces who guide me. I am still working off the attitudes of my prior experiences with faith in some ways (so many organized paths are guilt-based!), and the vestiges of old ways make me more hesitant, timid, than I would otherwise be. It is improving though, with time and effort. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Do you remember in my last post when I spoke of feeling unbalanced, off-kilter, when I haven't kept up with my lessons and spiritual/ritual practice? The inverse is also true. :)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I've been having trouble sleeping this week, more trouble than usual. I just can't seem to stay asleep, and when I've dreamed, the dreams have been unpleasant. Last night, though, was a completely different story.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Last night, I was asleep within ten minutes of crawling into bed. I slept straight through until my alarm went off. And my <i>dream</i>...I dreamed such a lovely scene, of making a corn dolly for Imbolc with friends, lovingly tying on a bit of red ribbon that I'd saved especially for the occasion. I can picture the village, see the smiling faces, feel the excitement of marking the turn toward spring and honoring the Mother.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I woke up happy, musing on my dream. It felt like a gift, if that makes any sense (and even if it doesn't!). So too has this day. I feel balanced again, back in tune with a vital part of myself.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Thank you, Brighid, for your blessings as the first blossoms break through the wintering earth. The blossoms in my heart are no less promising. :)</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-58593059323202819882012-01-21T10:10:00.000-05:002012-01-21T10:10:57.424-05:00Still here!<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hello, all. :) I hope your 2012 has been wonderful thus far and is only a hint at the great things to come later on. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I don't do New Year's resolutions, per se, but perhaps I should next time. I've discovered I'm very bad at actually doing the things I need to do for <i>me</i>. I keep telling myself things like, <i>I'll blog after I do X and Y and Z</i> and by the time all of that is done, I'm too tired or all my words have fled! The same is very unfortunately true lately for my Druid practice. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And what's worse is that when I don't do these things, when I don't talk to the wide world out there via this blog, about my random observations and spirit-related thoughts and musings, and when I don't take the time I need to progress in the <i>gwersu</i>, I suffer for it. My mood is less even-keeled. I'm more easily irritated; life gets to me when it should roll off easily. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I've been stuck on a particular lesson, and I kept making myself the promise that I would reach out to my tutor and see what she had to say on it. I never did. My poor tutor has a very poor communicator in me, even though I'd love to message back and forth with her. I don't know what stops me there, but that's a problem I want to address, and not on some airy-fairy tomorrow when I might not get to it. That's something I'm working on this weekend. And I will update y'all once I've made contact. Putting it here will keep me accountable.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I love the path I'm on. I just need to take the time for myself that I need in order to keep my feet moving forward on it!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">How have you shortchanged yourself lately? What will you do to fix it?</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-22578705303742154812011-12-22T19:56:00.000-05:002011-12-22T19:56:03.821-05:00Blessings to you and yours<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Happy Winter Solstice! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I promise to write more soon; the holidays (and illness) have me swamped at the moment.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-26039007811910054802011-11-30T14:10:00.002-05:002011-11-30T14:12:45.481-05:00November's fadings<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've been a bad blogger lately. Sorry about that! I do have my <a href="http://letterstolightbody.blogspot.com/">other</a> blog fairly up-to-date with mundane things and music, but this "real" blog, this heart of me, I've let fade far too often and for too long. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Part of the reason for that is that my Bardic work has stalled. Without revealing any coursework that's confidential, I will say that I arrived at a lesson I just wasn't ready for and didn't know how to handle. Part of what it called for seemed (to me) to require one to have a connection to one's local environment. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br>To put it bluntly, I hate where I live. Hate it. It's hot and dry and dusty and ugly as hell. Now, two years ago -- 14 months ago, even -- I lived in a beautiful place with milder weather and regular precipitation. Beautiful trees grow all over the place. Here, the land is scrubby and sparsely dotted with "trees" that are more like poorly overgrown bushes in the reject aisle of some unfortunate nursery.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">How could I embrace the course material that was walking me through connections I didn't have? Or so my thinking went. I've been stuck for almost two months, in a surly holding pattern. I suppose I could've left it behind and come back to it later, but that's not what I felt would work best for the course and for my style of learning. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br>Over the past few days, this halt has been weighing heavily on me, and I spent some time in my grove mulling the concept, turning it over and trying to see if there was something I was missing. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now I think I know. I think it's especially important for me to complete this particular lesson, and to repeat as necessary, because I may just need it more than most other people do at the same point along the path. Maybe my progress isn't blocked because of my loathing for my current environment -- maybe instead, I was brought to this boulder in order to learn that I need to climb over it. The lesson could be the crowbar I need to pry my thinking out of the negative space it's been stuck in for so long about this place. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br>Maybe the lesson is that my loathing is actually hindering my entire progress, and even though I will still be counting down the months, weeks, days until we can move back to where my heart naturally rejoices, I must make room for the here and now as well. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whoa.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br>Watch this space! :)</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-66742432048297786192011-10-01T13:31:00.005-04:002011-10-01T14:00:24.750-04:00Considering the source: conflict and beliefs<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">The other night, whilst half-asleep, I was musing about a conversation I'd had with a friend about how often intellectual discussion devolves into heated debate, particularly online.<br /><br />It dawned on me somewhere in my tired thoughts that there are generally two reasons, regardless of the subject at hand, behind someone's hackles rising regarding any given topic:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Insecurity </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">injustice</span> (perceived or actual).<br /><br />When we begin to feel that the position we support is on shaky ground, many times we become defensive, to the point at times of crossing the line between rational debate and emotionally-driven blows aimed at driving our fellow conversant-turned-opponent backward, away from the matter of our discomfiture. I've seen it happen over and over again. Nobody likes to be proven wrong or to be forced to acknowledge that something they're adamantly opposed to has logical merit.<br /><br />There are also those times when we perceive an injustice or slight (not necessarily toward us, but toward something we care about) in the words of another, and we feel a need to undo it. We may wish to tear it apart and make the other party see reason/"take it back" since whatever has been said is somehow unjust or unfair regarding the topic at hand.<br /><br />To some degree, it's natural to rail against injustice, to want to see it set right. The real problem is when, particularly in matters of faith/spiritual practice (or so it seems to me), the two causes of discord and irrationality get conflated with one another.<br /><br />I have observed, in both myself and others, that a lot of the time when a person feels that his or her faith is being "attacked" in an intellectual discussion, the real root of that feeling of injustice is insecurity. I felt this often when discussing the faith I grew up in. People would point out fallacies or raise questions I had no answer for, in mild discussions and meaning me (and my faith) no harm whatsoever, and it just made my blood boil because I couldn't return an adequate response. I couldn't make them see how <span style="font-style: italic;">right</span> I was, partly because on some level I didn't feel that I <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> right. I struggled with the faith I inherited, struggled mightily and for a long time, and anytime friends raised theological questions or discussed various paths and merits of other things, it was like poking an already sore and tender spot with hot coals.<br /><br />Over time, I realized the problem was that I wasn't secure in my own faith because some part of me didn't accept it. It wasn't unjust for people to point out the inherent merits of other faiths or the logical inconsistencies of my own. Intelligent discourse is vital to living a rich and open life.<br /><br />When I left my original path and found this one (after much soul-searching), I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of my chest and my mind. Making the transition, embracing beliefs I actually can discuss mildly and openly with others, is like traveling in a completely different world. Yes, my friends and I discuss our various paths and the merits/detractors of each/of faith itself. Yes, there are still people out there who can and do attack my beliefs.<br /><br />But I am secure. My heart and mind are open, I am comfortable in my knowledge base and my feet are firmly, gently placed on the path I truly desire to explore. That inherent defensiveness is gone, perhaps in part because my experiences and horizons are always broadening, and I'd rather make a friend through understanding and compassion than leave a discussion feeling slighted and small.<br /><br />I may use these insights -- if indeed they are insightful; sometimes I second-guess myself -- in a book I'm interested in writing at some point. It's a book of spirituality, of exploration. Exciting stuff; stay tuned!<br /><br />Also, a very happy October to all. :)<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-18473922175040399202011-09-06T23:14:00.003-04:002011-09-06T23:17:50.042-04:00To live is to change<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">Been a while. Sorry about that! Here's a post I just wrote today on my other blog (a less philosophical one, generally - musically-focused; you can read it <a href="http://letterstolightbody.blogspot.com/">here</a> if you like):<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=" ;font-family:verdana;" >I hear that there are folks out there who are displeased with the "different" sound on Snow Patrol's latest EP.<br /><br />There are always people displeased by <span style="font-style: italic;">any</span> change. People tend to keep the familiar in a bloody, white-knuckled death grip and attempt to block out all that's new and different, either out of sheer inertia or because of a misguided sense that sameness is safe, that unyielding firmness in everything will allow the storms of life to pass them by.<br /><br />I wonder if those people have ever surveyed the damage after a major storm. I grew up in eastern North Carolina, where hurricanes are an occasional fact of life. It's a place well-greened with trees, from the tall, solid pines shooting straight up toward the sky to gently swaying maples.<br /><br />Most of the time, NC loses several trees to the high winds (and sometimes flooding) of a hurricane. But it's not the green, tender saplings that tend to suffer the greatest losses. I have seen young trees bent almost double to the ground in high winds, and yet they survive. The inflexible, unbending trunks of hundred-year-old trees, meanwhile, are snapped like twigs in the storm's fury.<br /><br />They can't adapt; they can't bend in the storms of life...so they die.<br /><br />We die, too, when we become so rigid, so set in our ways, that we can't cope with changes (large or small) in life. When you refuse to embrace change or to ever change yourself, you enter a dangerous soul stagnation. You wilt, from the inside out, until there's nothing left but a bitter, brittle monument to everything you never were, never did, never allowed in.<br /><br />Be dynamic. <span style="font-style: italic;">Live.</span> Thank goodness Snow Patrol doesn't stagnate! Their older music is fabulous; I've no doubt the new music will be too, and I can't wait to see where the journey takes them as a band and me as a curious, adventurous listener. I'm grateful for ever-expanding horizons.</span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-24754939295263147812011-07-13T20:40:00.005-04:002011-07-14T03:49:25.590-04:00What are you truly afraid of?<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I've been enjoying my OBOD coursework thus far; I find it both interesting and immensely beneficial in my personal life. I generally pace through at about a lesson per week/week and a half, on my own schedule as I feel ready to progress. Recently, however, I was held fast by a certain lesson for almost six weeks. I was arrested by the tough questions asked, because I was determined to give/find honest answers.<br /><br />Scorpios don't do anything halfway, you know. ;-)<br /><br />It's been quite a journey through my head and heart, and trying to follow the thread of truth to its source. I'm still not done (are we ever, with anything that truly matters?), but I thought I'd share what I'm learning about myself, in case it helps someone else out there. (Most of this next part is taken directly from my journal.)<br /><br />One thing in my life that's been hurting me lately, and for a while now if I'm being honest, is the feeling of a sort of intellectual stagnation, a nagging sense that I'm not doing enough, on a practical level. It's hard to describe. I know I can be and do more than I am -- I'm working on that, regarding the spiritual side of things, with the course I'm taking and the time I spend meditating, praying, listening. But the practical and intellectual facets are still problematic.<br /><br />Stagnant...<span style="font-style: italic;">me??</span> I reject that. So what can I do?<br /><br />(and this is the part that took such a long time to piece together)<br /><br />After much time with that question chewing holes in my sleep and shouldering aside most other thoughts in moments of solitude, it hit me. For a long time I have toyed with the notion of starting a business from home, but I didn't know what I could do that would be successful and still fit my current needs and limitations. For so long, it was as if the idea was on the tip of my mind's tongue but I couldn't ever get it to take solid enough form to taste it, name it, move forward with it.<br /><br />One morning in the shower, I saw it in my head, clear as day. I knew what I could do! For once, even the nitty gritty practical details were working themselves out, unfolding naturally. I was on fire for this idea. I <span style="font-style: italic;">need</span> this...and even so, I hesitate. I've frozen the plans in my head and have been sorely tempted to backpedal before anything truly happens there.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why??</span><br /><br />Again, this answer was slow in coming, but I felt as though I couldn't move on from the questions I'd asked myself without digging at this one (and I definitely wasn't moving forward with my business plan if I didn't push against this new resistance, even though it felt like I was fighting myself -- which is a very complex and painful position to be in!). When I finally figured out the name of the boulder in my way, it felt like I'd been struck by lightning.<br /><br />Fear. It's fear that keeps me from striving toward my dreams. That's a tough realization; I have plowed through some potentially terrifying stuff in my life without being cowed under. (Spiders don't count!)<br /><br />You might say, "Well, most people have that fear of failure to some degree; it's normal. We don't like failing." But it's not a fear of <span style="font-style: italic;">failure</span> that keeps my best ideas chained inside my head. I fail. Everyone fails. There's always a lesson in there somewhere, and I appreciate learning, even if I don't like coming up short any more than anyone else does. I'm not paralyzed by the prospect of failure.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I am afraid of success.</span><br /><br />Failure is a normal part of life and I know how to handle it. It removes all pressure, and expectations stay the same or become lower. There's a certain freedom in failing, because if you're already flat on your face in the dirt, you don't have to worry about the distance to the ground from where you are; there's no fear of falling down or letting people down once you've already done it. You're poised for anything you do or anywhere you go to be better/higher than where you currently are.<br /><br />With success, expectations increase and pressure mounts. People keep demanding more from you. More. Better. Faster. Bigger. Failure can be endured; success requires a lot more than thick skin and enough grit to get by. I know a thing or two about success; in the past I had a lot of it. It's overwhelming when no matter what you do or what bar you meet, people immediately look to the next higher one. Nobody is ever satisfied, and the higher you climb, the harder you fall when you finally miss a step and find yourself plunging downward. At some point in my past, there was too much success, and I set about wrecking all of those shining expectations.<br /><br />Let's look at my high school self as an example: I was virtually guaranteed valedictorian, so I made sure to take classes that would not get me enough Honors credits to win that top spot. Major universities courted me, the best in the country, so I attended a small university in my home state in a relatively secluded area. I chose challenging classes, so my grades wouldn't be quite so perfect and nobody would look at me; if I had to be a smart girl at least I could be just "one of those smart people" instead of top of the top, best of the best. I sacrificed as many of other people's (and my own) expectations and lowered the bar as far as I possibly could without compromising my soul.<br /><br />Looking back, I can see this pattern through so much of my life; it's driven most of my major decisions and I regret that. I'm not even 30 yet though. I can still change the way it goes from here on out. I find myself struggling to reset those thoughts and feelings; it's a process. And I'm impatient. But I am learning, and I am striving. Fear can't win.<br /><br />What are you afraid of? What holds you back?<br /><br />You might be surprised by the answer.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-80529685538894601522011-07-04T10:51:00.003-04:002011-07-04T11:18:59.254-04:00What day is it?<span style="font-family: verdana;">I am American. I am not, however, jingoistic. I consider myself a citizen of the world as a whole, in addition to my nation of origin, and thus on this day of celebration, I find myself in a reflective mood.<br /><br />I'm grateful to have been born into a country and situation that meant I would survive childhood. I haven't had to worry about whether my next meal was coming; I received an education my parents didn't have to go broke for, through a compulsory national system. I have had opportunities to better myself and my situation in life. I'm not rich; my life isn't perfect. But I have a roof over my head and beds and food for my children, so I am very thankful.<br /><br />But we have problems, as a nation. Big problems. And my heart goes out to the people who slip through the cracks; people whose futures have been stolen or compromised through no fault of their own. The system is flawed...the environment much abused...sometimes I wonder what legacy we are building for our children. And these problems are not uniquely or solely American.<br /><br />My prayers today are with those who are fighting for some semblance of the freedom we in these most fortunate countries enjoy to varying degrees. It's a long, bloody, frustrating battle in whatever form it takes, and at some points I'm sure the cost almost seems too high, the risk too great. For all the movements scrabbling and clawing for footholds, that they might bring their citizens greater freedom and eventually a lasting peace and prosperity (or so goes the dream), I add my support and my voice. I promise to see you in the news and pray, instead of flipping quickly to an article more sanitized and less troubling. Don't give up.<br /><br />My thoughts are with those all over the world who today remember and mourn those they've lost in the struggle to attain or maintain the freedom they wish to pass down to their children's children. May your sacrifice and that of your loved ones always be remembered.<br /><br />I dream of a world where the flowering of freedom isn't continually watered with blood and tears. And I fervently hope to see a world before my passing that relies less on nationalism and borders and more on a global system of support and friendship, to better the lives of all citizens of the earth.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-47292372155512182992011-06-22T00:39:00.004-04:002011-06-22T01:05:18.042-04:00Post-Summer Solstice: Turning toward the dark<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The longest day of the year has just passed (belated Bright Solstice blessings!). The nights are now lengthening, darkness expanding slowly but surely, to balance and surpass daylight hours. Most people I know love the long days and short nights of summer, and there's a certain sadness tinging their reflections on this longest (if not hottest; the "dog days" of summer are yet to come) day passing beyond us.<br /><br />But I, though loath to dwell on how much heat still stretches before the first cool, crisp mornings of autumn, am very glad to have reached the drawing-down half of the year, the point of turning toward the dark.<br /><br />Am I a depressed soul, seeking literal darkness to mirror within? No, not at all. And I've nothing against sunshine itself and drawn-out sunsets with daylight so reluctant to yield the cosmic stage. It's all beautiful. But there is something innate, some core part of my very being, that yearns for the early-dark days of autumn and winter and all that comes with them.<br /><br />Perhaps it's that I myself am of autumn, born wrapped in its cool leaf-glittered air. I do find comfort in the long darkness and the sharper clarity of evening's chill. It seems to me a better time for reflection and introspection, and a time for other excitements, far from the teeming, sweaty bustle of summer-scorched pastimes.<br /><br />Maybe each of our souls resonates most strongly with a particular season that stirs us at an elemental level; maybe we each are spirit-forged with certain binding notes, and when we feel the earth moving into place to play our music, we cannot help but crave and yearn and come alive. We feel the beat and we must dance.<br /><br />Summer is upon us. But the longest day has passed, and now I feel the turning, pulling at my soul, quickening the rhythm and my steps toward the long-dark nights of home.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-48734499428946917312011-05-01T21:41:00.004-04:002011-05-01T23:28:03.839-04:00At Beltane, glimpses of "Yes"<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I am not generally a spring/summer person; I vastly prefer autumn and winter for reasons we may explore later on. But here, passing through the twin fires of Beltane (if only in my mind's eye), I can't help but appreciate the beauty of each time of year as it twirls into view like a gentle-wild dancer in its own full splendor.<br /><br />The poet e.e. cummings once wrote,<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></span><span style=" font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" >I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">He also said, <span style="font-style: italic;">I imagine that yes is the only living thing.</span><br /><br />In every season, as we perch on the cusp of change, now warming days and lengthening bright skies, months later the crisp cool promise of all that is comforting and holiday and home, I feel a gleeful opening of my spirit, a gladdening throughout my being. Every season is a welcome friend, flooding life with color and richness that only it brings. Even summer, my least favorite, brings a thousand reasons to rejoice in the sheer awe of being alive.<br /><br />It is good, so good, to be alive, to be in the moment you find yourself in, in the place where you are. <span style="font-style: italic;">This</span> you, <span style="font-style: italic;">this </span>now, <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> place. I love the moments that burst with the sheer rightness of existence...everything that is, if we live with open hearts and lively spirits, resoundingly <span style="font-style: italic;">yes</span>.<br /><br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-40198959316827220592011-03-23T12:46:00.003-04:002011-03-23T16:23:54.844-04:00Strawberry morning<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">As I rinsed a few handfuls of strawberries for two of my children this morning (Oldest is at school at that time), my thoughts turned toward several things in rapid succession:<br /><br />Whenever (and wherever) I settle long-term, I want to have an extensive garden. Ideally, I would love to have all of the in-season vegetables and fruits we could use, and not have to depend on markets for any of that. Then I would know for sure that what I had in my hands under the cool water was free of things I'd rather not put into little bodies -- or any body!<br /><br />That thought turned to gratitude and humility as I reflected on how, despite all of the horrors we have inflicted (and currently do) upon her, Mother Earth still sustains her children...just as I try my utmost for mine every day, that they might not want for anything. The strawberries I held were proof that when we ask, she still gives, even when we've given far too little in return. I thanked the earth for the food I was preparing for my children and resolved to further reduce my family's negative impact upon her.<br /><br />As I sliced the deep red berries (Littlest has an easier time with them that way and prefers it), I heard little bare feet pattering into the kitchen. She just couldn't wait any longer, and two small, strong arms circled my leg. Blue eyes as vast and enchanting as the ocean tried to peek up over the counter top. "Piece pwease, Mommy? Pweeeeeease? 'Rawbewwy fo' me?"<br /><br />She opened her little mouth and stood there waiting, a gesture of such innocent trust that even though I've been a parent for going on six years this summer (longer, really, if you consider pre-birth), my eyes welled with tears. As I put a sweet red bit of fruit on her tongue, all I could think was <span style="font-style: italic;">May I always live up to the faith you have in me, little one.</span><br /><br />My children, as they grow, are the three most prominent fruits of my life, the result of everything I am and have tried so hard to impart to them, share with them. May they ripen, sweet and strong, in the light of love.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-6633526810733556892011-02-21T22:21:00.011-05:002011-07-17T00:36:25.836-04:00Promise of the Road to Nowhere<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">There is a place in the mountains of the Carolinas, off the beaten path a bit, where the federal government broke a promise many years ago. You can read about it <a href="http://www.greatsmokies.com/roadnowhere.html">here</a> if you want to know the details, but the gist of it is that there was a partial road built into the woods, ending and abandoned at a big tunnel that trails off into darkness. (The road will never be finished now; about a year ago the county was paid a hefty settlement instead, in the interest of closing the matter.)<br /><br />This road has become known as the Road to Nowhere, and the tunnel is so wide and deep that it is pitch black inside even at noon. Horse-drawn carts have been brought through there...it's wide enough for about six adults to walk through holding hands. And trust me, at night especially, most people would want to! Otherwise you could wander in the darkness for quite a while, getting turned around repeatedly and never managing to make it to either end.<br /><br />I have had the opportunity to travel to the end of the Road to Nowhere on a few separate occasions, and I have to say that I believe the moniker to be erroneous.<br /><br />The first time I went through the tunnel with a group of people I was loosely connected to, I was unprepared for the magnitude of the experience. The clear, silent mountain night wrapped around us, and a few people tucked flashlights into their belts or pockets in case of emergency or panic. There's a certain reverence for the tunnel and the history surrounding it that begs for lights off and for quiet as travelers pass through the dark expanse. We did so in groups of three. I was placed between a man several years my senior and the girl who had invited me. Each of them took one of my hands, and one by one our little groups were swallowed by the blacker darkness of the tunnel.<br /><br />I'm not sure what I expected, but never having been in such extensive <span style="font-style: italic;">nothing</span>-blackness, I was startled by how thick it seemed to me. The very absence of light and anything recognizable (you could not see your hand touching your nose!) seemed to be its own presence, and I could feel adrenaline rising as a primal defensive mechanism kicked on with the removal of even the dim light of the night sky.<br /><br />The girl on my left tightened her grip on my hand to the point of pain, and we could hear occasional screams and cries ahead of and behind us as people freaked out in the cloying darkness. The tunnel felt like it took forever to walk through. It was so dark you couldn't tell if you had turned sideways and were about to hit one of the walls or not, and if you spun yourself around, you might not ever figure out 'til you exited, which way you were going.<br /><br />The man holding my right hand broke down at one point. Tears, outright sobbing. He wasn't the only one in our larger group by far. I heard some of the smaller groups coaxing various members to keep going, to just keep going and they'd get through it. We girls put the sobbing guy between us, and I have to admit, the brief moment when I put his hand in hers and let go to re-orient myself on his other side <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> unnerving.<br /><br />Somewhere in there, it hit me. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">We only experience total darkness when we remove ourselves from every source of light</span>.</span> Even on a new-moon-dark night outside, you have starlight (and many instances of man-made light, in the city)...there are these beacons, natural guides. We're not left to founder, blind. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">If we ever find ourselves in real, total darkness, it is our own doing</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">. </span><br /><br />When we emerged from the tunnel of the Road to Nowhere, I saw with gratitude that "Nowhere" was a starlit forest stretching comfortably all around us, trees like so many jubilant friends, shaking their leaves in the breeze as if to say "Well, <span style="font-style: italic;">finally</span>!"<br /><br />Not nowhere at all. They got the spacing wrong. I was <span style="font-style: italic;">now here</span>. Out of that smothering deep-dark patch of nothing, into everything free and natural and <span style="font-style: italic;">yes.</span> I'm glad the rest of the road was never built, and the rest of the forest remains as it has for centuries, perhaps longer, in its beautiful now-hereness.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-58515232676250679152011-01-11T17:13:00.010-05:002011-01-12T02:16:06.089-05:00If it takes a village...<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I generally stay away from political discussions, and feel that they're not often productive in the sense of actually moving anything important forward. But there comes a time when aversion to getting muddy amounts to hiding one's head in the sand, and that I will not do.<br /><br />It's taken me a while to gather my thoughts in the aftermath of the Saturday shooting in Arizona that claimed six lives and wounded over a dozen others, including the probable target, Rep. Gabrielle Giffords. I don't want to spend too much space relating my feelings about this utterly senseless violence. I'm too sad to be angry and too deeply concerned about the causes and implications to just let it go and be content with sending up prayers and sending out positive healing energy to all who are hurting, grieving, questioning right now.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why</span> do these things happen? Who is responsible? The easy answers, the ones that allow us to sleep at all at night, come quickly:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It happens because so-and-so is a sick, psychopathic individual with no morality.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">It's the shooter's fault and his alone; he made the decision to pull the trigger.<br /><br />He was just waiting for an opportunity...no matter what anyone did, this dude was gonna find a way to kill someone. It couldn't have been foreseen.<br /></span><br />Perhaps. But what brings an individual to that point in the first place? Is anyone <span style="font-style: italic;">born</span> evil? Have you ever looked into the eyes of an infant and thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">This one's a bad apple; you can see it already. Better warn his parents!</span> ?<br /><br />I haven't.<br /><br />I'm not going to play the blame game, per se. In fact, I think our haste in finding a scapegoat and mercilessly directing our negativity toward that person or thing is part of the underlying problem. To Jared Loughner, Rep. Giffords was his scapegoat, the person he'd decided was responsible for the problems he couldn't overlook.<br /><br />Blame isn't productive. It sometimes costs lives.<br /><br />However, I would like to encourage everyone to consider our own accountability -- to every other person out there. Society is what we make it, and our actions today shape the world we live in today, not just at some airy future point of fruition. The people who live in our society are affected by it, by our words and actions. And we get so desensitized to so many things over time that we aren't even consciously aware of the things we do that add nothing good.<br /><br />Think about it: In a given day, how much of what you say to people, write online, text, etc. is positive? I'm willing to bet that it's significantly less than 50%, if we're honest with ourselves. If negativity rules our communications, it's no wonder then that society is bogged down with toxic news and spiteful interactions and the kinds of things that don't make anyone feel calmer, safer, happier, or more interested in truly listening to one another.<br /><br />I don't have easy answers. Maybe I don't have any of them. But it seems to me that if we take care to add more of what is bright and positive and trim back our negative contributions, maybe we'd benefit in ways we can't even fathom right now.<br /><br />I'm not suggesting that we stop saying what is honest and sometimes painfully necessary; open dialogue is a beautiful thing. What I am doing is questioning the necessity of saying some of what regularly makes its way into our conversations, Facebook posts, and headlines. Think about how often words like <span style="font-style: italic;">stupid, hate, fat, crazy</span>, and others find voice, and how seldom complimentary things we think actually find their way to the party they reference. Negativity breeds negativity; likewise, the more positive energy and thought we put out, the more we're likely to encounter in our own direction (and the easier it becomes to focus on expressing the good that's in our hearts and minds instead of just passing by with it unspoken).<br /><br />My grandmother has this on her refrigerator door:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When considering whether to say or repeat something, first consider:<br />Is it kind?<br />Is it true?<br />Is it necessary?<br />If not, let it remain unsaid!<br /><br /></span>I don't believe that everything we say has to be positive, but I do believe in weighing the merit of expression. If something is hurtful or inflammatory, then unless it's necessary for reasons other than hearing oneself speak (self-expression is a freedom that comes with enormous responsibility, or should!), it may better serve everyone involved to let it fall into the abyss between thought and action.<br /><br />If the media would follow suit as well, who's to say how much nastiness could be quietly bled from society, from our daily exposure to up-to-the-minute stories about more than anyone could ever possibly need to know?<br /><br />I'll do my part, because if it truly takes a village, then I want that village to be a beneficial place that fosters (to the fullest extent of its influence) the kind of mind and heart that would never conceive of doing anything as heinous as what happened in Arizona on Saturday.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-72504579093349600572011-01-06T23:51:00.005-05:002011-01-07T16:03:16.444-05:005 Reasons why you should question your religion<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">(Note: I am not suggesting that any particular religion or spiritual path is inferior to any other. It is my conviction that <span style="font-style: italic;">everyone</span> should at some point question what they believe.)<br /><br />Why should you question your religion? Not every point here may apply to everyone, but here are five very good reasons -- and all you need is one.<br /><br />1) <span style="font-weight: bold;">Why not?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>If your current church/belief system discourages questions, what is being accomplished by such restrictions? How is anyone to gain a more thorough understanding of their own chosen spiritual path if they aren't free to ask questions? Ask them anyway. Keep asking until you get answers, even if the ultimate answer you receive is that you will <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> be given them -- and in that case, stop looking for answers in others and turn your inquiries within. What can you ever gain by stagnating in your faith, no matter what your particular path may be?<br /><br />2) <span style="font-weight: bold;">There is a difference between a parrot and a true follower</span> of any given path. How many people I have known who were of X religion because their parents were or their community primarily was! If I had a dollar for each of them, I would never again have to worry about finances. I <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> one of them for the first 20 years or so of my life. I could repeat holy text verbatim, knew all of the words to every song and ritual...but when it came down to it, I could not have told you <span style="font-style: italic;">why</span> I believed it all, other than "I've just always been part of this particular tradition/My parents are X so I am too." That is not an adequate position to hang one's spiritual well-being on!<br /><br />3) <span style="font-weight: bold;">You're not altogether comfortable with your faith/beliefs.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>Maybe you've felt it for a while, or maybe it's only been recently that your discomfort has been growing, nagging at the back of your mind and never quite being squelched despite your efforts to shake it off. Why try to force-fit yourself into any set of beliefs that doesn't honestly and naturally resonate with you? If we look at faith as adhering to a spiritual Truth, which is a tricky subject and a very slippery slope I don't wish to explore beyond touching on the idea here, then it seems to me that such a Truth should not require you to suspend your disbelief of important parts (or any part!) in order to feel at ease with believing the rest.<br /><br />(One of the wonderful things, imho, about Druidry is that there is so little core 'doctrine' or dogma to follow; Druids are free to embrace the aspects that resonate with them, and it doesn't make us at odds with one another or lacking somehow in the richness and depth of this path as a spiritual journey.)<br /><br />4) <span style="font-weight: bold;">Chances are high that there's a lot about your religion you don't know.</span> Doesn't it make sense, if you are set on following a particular path (and even moreso if you intend to advocate for it), that you would want to learn everything you can about it? Its past, its traditions, the different branches of it and how they came about...even relatively 'new' spiritual paths have rich, full histories with twists and turns and fascinating tales aplenty along the way. Who shaped your religion at different periods in history, and what may have been their motives in doing the particular things they did? How have various rituals evolved over time?<br /><br />5) <span style="font-weight: bold;">Questioning your beliefs can lead to greater security within them</span> -- and with that, the ability to defend your faith if ever you should need/want to do so. If you question your beliefs to the core and find that they don't hold up, what a boon to be freed from something that wasn't truly nourishing your soul! There are a LOT of religions/spiritual traditions in this world, and if you seek you are sure to find something that does feed your spirit and feel like home. I did it. And if you question your beliefs and find that yes, you are right where you need to be and they come from within, not just from external sources pressed upon you, then you have the gift of knowing now <span style="font-style: italic;">why</span> you believe as you do, and that's no small thing! Shine vibrantly from the spirit outward, confident in your faith and the knowledge that you are on a bright, resonant path.<br /><br />Bright blessings, and as always, feedback/comments are welcome (all I ask is that you be respectful).<br />WW<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-56608577223347107162011-01-06T11:31:00.005-05:002011-01-06T23:50:47.782-05:005 Reasons<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I'm starting my blogging in the new year with a new series (yes, I know that Wolf Prints didn't work out all that well, but that will hopefully be revived later in the year as I know now why it fell flat) of posts titled "5 Reasons." The first will be up probably tomorrow.<br /><br />I hope you will find them useful, or at least thought-provoking. We're not talking "5 Reasons to eat pizza on Wednesdays" (although I'd be interested in reading that post, out of sheer curiosity).<br /><br />May 2011 be a year full of good things, for the blog and for you as well, dear readers.<br /><br />Bright blessings,<br />WW<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-37730773382733153862010-12-17T22:46:00.005-05:002011-01-06T13:40:38.933-05:00My daughter, green-child<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I've been musing lately on how quickly babyhood deserts children, how soon they grow past the extra-rich sweetness of those first-blooming stages. My third (and last) baby will be two before spring comes again, and I have been willing gentle Time to slacken and meander sideways a bit, that I might have every nuance of her baby ways indelibly imprinted on my heart twice over before the long pause between the tottering gleeful baby steps of children and those of grandchildren.<br /><br />It occurs to me time and time again that our precious children are so much a part of this earth that I love so dearly and hold sacred...the two are not entirely separate or even dissimilar, and I'd like to explore that a bit here. And though I may focus on my smallest child, all three at every stage carry the resemblances and the kinships between themselves and the wondrous earth forward with them.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Adoration</span>. Never was there a love so joyful, so all-consuming, as that of a parent for their precious child. One might argue that one's love for the Divine could be equally strong, and I have to say, that may well be true, but in my case, with my beliefs, the two are not at odds at all. And where better to see the work of -- the spark of! -- the Divine than in the living miracle of life itself all around us? The tenderest budding new shoots in springtime are precious and cause for celebration; so too and with resounding magnitudes of vibrant love, the birth of a child and the day-to-day beholding of this tiny new life's unfolding.<br /><br />Though just three years ago, nothing yet existed of my daughter that I could discern in the cosmos (and truly, I believed I had already had my last child when my son was born, who stands today at three and a half years old as one of the most sensitive and beautiful souls on the planet, right along with my five year old elder daughter), I absolutely cannot conceive of a world without this radiant being. She <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> radiant, with light and love and happiness that flows freely from her to all around her. Asking nothing, giving everything she has, and not at all proportionate in personality size vs. her physical frame, she is a mentor to me in ways she'll never know. She shines like the sun in her brilliance and is perfect in my eyes.<br /><br />So, too, the Divine...I ache with joy at loving this small person who for some unfathomable reason adores me right back, and I ache with joy at being a part of and a lifelong devotee to the Divine that surrounds us and is made manifest equally through my shining daughter and every glowing sunrise. I love my daughter with a fierceness that would see me lay my life down to keep her alive and whole without a second thought or a moment's regret; so too would I die for my beliefs.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Beauty</span>. This living land and her inhabitants, the beauty of earth and sky and water, moves me to tears, and I am not one who cries often. From the last warm colors painted across the clouds in a lazy summer sunset to the crisp cold winter morning breaths when the air itself feels as though it anticipates glad tidings; from a blue swallowtail butterfly landing on my open palm to the scent of honeysuckle calling me home, I am continually in awe of this world and of being blessed to live in it for all of my days, however many they may be.<br /><br />Likewise, when I behold my daughter, all of her small perfections rush at me and totally overwhelm my soul with awe and love and gladness. She touches my heart beyond any irritation or stresses of the day; the dust of such things falls away when she says with her wide blue eyes looking right at my soul, "Mommy, up! Up pease!"<br /><br />I gently lift her into my lap (who could resist?) and brush her wispy flaxen hair behind one tiny perfect ear. Her little doll mouth with its pink lips and teeny white teeth always curves into a sweet smile at my touch, and sometimes deepens into impish grinning as she reaches out to tap my nose and make honking noises. Her small foot still fits easily in my palm, and my fingers curl around its pale warmth as she waits to see if I'm going to tickle her. I usually do, and I swear to you that the sound of that giggle could make a rose spring up in the most barren heart-soil in the dead of a soul's winter. Her spontaneous bear hugs (she leans in and squeezes and says "Mmmm" and everything!) make a person feel renewed from the inside out, and when she climbs into my arms without even asking, knowing with no doubts at all that she will be warmly received and safe there, I feel my worth redoubled yet again.<br /><br />I am so, so head over heels for my daughter -- for all three of my children, as they grow strong and yet supple and flexible, like saplings in a newly planted grove -- and for this world, for the whole of the earth and the Divine within and keeping it all. This barely-more-than-a-baby holding my hand is Nature, and it her, and feeling the interconnectedness humming with light and life is pleasure beyond all counting of it.<br /><br />Bright blessings from a richly blessed one...as are we all, who ever take the time to see it.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-57589546351992457262010-12-16T01:16:00.003-05:002010-12-16T02:01:44.061-05:00Holiday healing<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There is an abundance of peppermint in my house right now, far more than at most other times of the year. It makes me smile to myself, because peppermint is one of my favorite natural remedies for a lot of different things.<br /><br />What's not to love about peppermint? It flavors things prettily and soothes gastrointestinal ills (especially handy at this time of year when so many people overindulge in various things that make our bodies groan); it eases breathing woes for those of us who don't escape all of the winter crud going around; it perks us up after holiday parties have left us drained, and it's a beautiful plant besides.<br /><br />This <a href="http://www.herbalremediesinfo.com/Peppermint.html">site</a> lists many more uses for peppermint, for anyone interested.<br /><br />I don't know that it's my ultimate favorite 'healer plant;' different things are higher in my good graces depending on what I need at a particular time! I do favor aloe highly too for its soothing qualities; any smart cook would do well to have an aloe plant in the kitchen for burns!<br /><br />I sometimes regret that I live in an era where most people know so little about common uses for plants; I myself know so little compared to what my ancestors must have understood! Nature supports us much better than we have supported her of late, that's for sure. It occurs to me that one small way to begin to re-forge that relationship that instills reverence (I don't mean necessarily religious/spiritual, but at least respect!) for the natural world, might be to teach people about these things that plants, the very earth, can do for us on an individual scale...thus fostering gratitude and respect, and perhaps a desire to see this amazing land healed. Thus are caretakers both cultivated and born.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-89837468209052243202010-11-27T01:07:00.007-05:002010-11-30T02:29:26.848-05:00Dogwood & vine: Place-scaping<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I <span style="font-style: italic;">need</span> trees.<br /><br />I've always known I was more affected by my physical environment than most; wall me into a huge city and I wither as surely as a forgotten houseplant. Give me a room with a balcony opening onto a gorgeous natural panorama and a barely-there walking path and I'm nearly beside myself with joy and awe. It never gets old...the beauty, the richness. And every place holds something new; the landscape unfolds before me with its own local flora and fauna, treasures to be scoped out and marked on the map in my heart.<br /><br />Here, I find myself missing much about the landscape I grew up with and am so used to. The dogwoods, their</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> studded branches in earliest spring with buds of promise bending them newly into splendor and saying "watch this space!"</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">...unfolding like a flower-patterned morning rain with their storied blossoms, gentle white or stunning pink...the striking red berries in magical-seeming clusters...the graceful leafy green overrunning the blooms before summer's zenith. Even their wintry thin arms flung toward vibrant blue skies and out to the world seemed hopeful and happy to me.<br /><br />My favorite tree was a dogwood in my grandparents' back yard. I spent countless hours in it in every season; grew to know the bark like the skin of an aged friend, rough under my fingers and perfect always in my eyes. The tree had a great double fork about a story off the ground, perfect for two youths to converse in total (relative) safety. Often, though, it was only me there, and yet I never felt alone. The tree was truly a friend as well as a haven from the rest of the world. My grandmother had to call me in for supper so many times from that place; I often didn't realize it had gotten so late until I heard my name and "Come and get it!" in that manner old Southern women have made an art form...<br /><br />That tree has been cut down, over my protests, and to my great sorrow. It was, in the eyes of the one who ordered it down, a threat to the house in hurricane weather. I mourned it as I might have any other childhood friend.<br /><br />I even miss the tall, stately or stark (depending on who's looking) pine trees with their rich needles carpeting the ground and their cones that toughened little bare feet over the course of a season's carefree (and sometimes careless -- ouch!) romps.<br /><br />I miss honeysuckle...that scent is home and being three or four years old, riding around the tree-crowded block over cracked sidewalk on my bike...smiling at the ivy spilling over the edges of people's yards...<br /><br />I miss the highways with trees and vines, honeysuckle and kudzu and wisteria, clustered in close, arching over nearly to meet in the middle so that highways were 3/4 tunnel in the summertime and all you could smell with the windows rolled down was the greenness of "yes"...<br /><br />I will say, however, that for all of the lack of real trees here where I am now, amidst the cacophony of bird-crowds that cluster overhead and must be heard, beyond and sometimes colored out of bounds all the way to the edges of the strange and pretty grasses brushed by the sometimes and then often winds, ever-rolling, Texas offers up some seriously magnificent skyscapes. There is more of everything -- patterned gray-white clouds backlit and choppy like sunset waves rolling up to impossibly golden shores, thick storm cover blackening at one edge and building toward rare rain, clear sunrises spanning this side of forever.<br /><br />It is its own brand of beautiful, and I am grateful to have the generous sky to soothe my Nature-abiding spirit, though my heart is patchworked with dogwood and vine.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-5833104421330463632010-11-24T11:20:00.005-05:002010-11-27T01:07:35.560-05:00I have Seen, and didn't know<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">A fantastic post by <a href="http://damh.wordpress.com/">Damh the Bard</a> the other day got me thinking about dreams, and about signs and how often we miss them. How often have we each been given extraordinary gifts of insight or foresight, the path laid in front of our feet, and inadvertently the gift, the path, has been ignored? Ignored...or postponed, deliberately brushed aside, minimized in significance by minds taught to reject that which cannot be logically set out in rational lines and steps and words...<br /><br />For me, it was always dreams. I've had (occasional) precognitive dreams and extraordinarily vivid dreams overall for as long as I can remember. I recall telling my mother one morning when I was six or seven about a nightmare I'd had that someone we knew was very sick. It had upset me greatly and I couldn't shake it off. She got a call about two hours later saying that this individual I'd dreamt of was in the hospital.<br /><br />I learned that day not to share my dreams, lest my own family think I was a freak or somehow evil. I minimized the significance of anything I did dream, shoving it aside and trying to place everything wholly in the realm of sleeping imagination.<br /><br />I've always had two recurring dreams. One is identical to itself every single time, a nightmare. I may blog it in the future. The other dream is not the same every time; I suppose it's best classified as a lifelong series of dreams. In these, I stand on a hill overlooking stunning fields with a river gently winding through them, and there is a grove of trees just behind me. It's a beautiful area, and though the seasons are sometimes different, the land is always striking, radiant.<br /><br />There has always been one other person present, who stands to my right and gazes out over the fields with me: an old man named Nionn.<br /><br />As a child, I confessed my fears and my deep questions and curiosities to him, and he always listened patiently. He rarely said more than a few words, but I always left these dreams with a feeling of peace. As I got older, he steadily encouraged me to look to Nature to re-center myself, to never lose sight of all that's precious right before my eyes and all around all of us. This was occurring even before I had consciously embraced the Druid path (which I didn't even know existed until my teens; I'm in my late 20s now). It has always felt very much like a mentor-student relationship, with a sort of friendship interwoven in more recent years; even in dreams, I feel as though I have learned much from him.<br /><br />I never really gave these dreams substance in my waking thoughts. I felt as though others would think me mentally unsound if I told anyone about how very real they felt; how "other" they seemed from typical dreams I've had, how much I'd come to look forward to them in their seemingly sporadic but always somehow apt timing. I daresay some part of my spirit leans on them, or is better able to grow and stand on its own through them. But I kept all of this to myself, even though deep down I knew I was doing them a disservice by trying to write them off and disregard them as mere sleeping stories conjured by an active mind.<br /><br />Several days ago, I was reading something about Ogham and I saw "Nionn/Nuin" instead of merely "Nuin(n)"...as you can imagine, this startled me quite a bit, and I hurriedly typed a few Google searches.<br /><br />Somehow, my brain had not put together before this point that Ross Nichols, founder of OBOD, went by Nuinn. Nuinn...Nionn...could it be?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Couldn't it be?</span><br /><br />A picture revealed particular similarities between the Nionn of my dreams and Nuinn.<br /><br />I feel as though I deserve a smack upside the head (even if my pacifism frowns upon it!). Why do I -- why do we all -- so stubbornly refuse to take even the most obvious signs and embrace them, run with them? Why do we brush aside truly amazing and special happenings in order to be sure we're not written off as somehow 'different' in a way people might not understand?<br /><br />I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> different. Perhaps you are too.<br /><br />If you receive signs, follow them! Someone thinks you're special; some force is gently guiding you toward whatever your path might most brightly hold...the universe holds so much more than we know, so much more than the society we immerse ourselves in daily would have us believe.<br /><br />And yet, all we have to do IS believe. Believe, and listen, and have the courage to set our feet on the bright path before us.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-55188930976105089582010-11-16T17:29:00.019-05:002010-11-22T13:53:03.096-05:00Special: To the burning, effervescent core<span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >So many people wander through life asking <span style="font-style: italic;">Why am I here?</span><br /><br />I don't have to ask anymore. And it 'only' took 28 years from birth to here!<br /><br />From the very beginning of conscious thought, as far back as memory stretches, I have found myself set apart. Different. My thoughts, my personality...so different from people around me. I never could handle violence, and even Disney deaths can still make me cry. I'm empathetic to a fault if there is such a line; the plight or sorrow of strangers can wrench my heart so hard that I can't sleep for days. I find it impossible to stay angry at someone if I can understand where they were coming from when they did whatever it was that upset me, and I can almost always understand. I probably spend more time pondering other people's perspectives than I ever have given thought to my own. I can't abide conflict and have often acted as mediator between friends.<br /><br />I'm an INFP personality type (Myers-Briggs), and the description of <a href="http://www.keirsey.com/4temps/healer.asp">this personality type</a> reads as if it was written specifically about me. With Rosemary Altea's <span style="font-style: italic;">Soul Signs</span>, I'm the center Air one, the <a href="http://constellationchamber.heavenforum.com/the-oracle-f5/restored-soul-signs-t53.htm">Prophet soul</a> (scroll down that one a bit to get to the Prophet description). Again, pretty fitting.<br /><br />I've been mocked, ridiculed (more often than I care to recall), called weak and illogical and naive for my 'infernal' optimism and gentle nature, but this is simply who I am.<br /><br />More than these traits, I've always understood that I was special. Not in a superior-to-others kind of way; not at all. I hold myself and every other human on the planet to be on the same plane, as equals, regardless of social status or personal details. I don't mean to sound immodest (not wanting to inadvertently make someone feel bad/upset is another one of those deeply ingrained traits). I have plenty of faults and flaws! It's just that even from a very early age -- as far back as I can remember -- there's been this core knowledge that I was supposed to do something, be something.<br /><br />And with that, comes what I've come to see as a perpetual raging fire within. <span style="font-style: italic;">Burning desire</span> isn't strong enough to encompass the ever-present, ever-consuming need to help other people, to be a healing presence, a comforting presence. To make things better...not just for those I care about, but for as many as possible in this world.<br /><br />In sum, I've been called. And I have felt that calling my entire life. It's not easy being a young child or a teenager (or an adult, really!) and feeling that day in and day out and not being certain how to answer or what it is that you're supposed to do with it!<br /><br />Oh, I tried to answer it. My driving need to help others has manifested in every way I could think to do it. As a kid, I begged my grandfather to take me with him whenever he did community service projects with the Lions Club (and at 18, I became a Lion too...how I remember counting down the days 'til I could!). I stood in the chill of winter ringing the bell for the Salvation Army, gladly taking a double shift to spare an older person from the cold. I don't think I ever noticed the temperature while I was out there helping.<br /><br />Thanksgiving baskets for shut-ins and other people who would have difficulty affording food was always one of my favorite projects. Thrusting the bags of groceries and ready-made food into the hands of people who had so little and knowing that at least for a little while, their struggle would be eased...I think I needed that as much as they did.<br /><br />I've mentioned giving blood before...it's related. The raw act of giving a bit of what keeps me alive, to help keep others alive...it's so humbling and touching. To be able to give that gift...I'm so thankful. I'm so thankful for everything I have that I can use to help other people. My hands, my time, my very blood.<br /><br />It's never enough. It has made me frantic inside before. That I could only give so much at any one opportunity, and then it was back to 'the rest' of my life...the moments when I'm *not* actively doing something to help someone...it's hard. That burning within is ever-so-slightly mollified by anything I do, and then it seems to redouble. It's like trying to quench a raging thirst with a single sip of water. It almost makes you thirstier for having had that tiny bit.<br /><br />In college, I thought I might've figured it out; I was there on a full teaching scholarship. Imagine my chagrin when I found that the career I was pursuing was not something I enjoyed, and furthermore, it proved to be way too restrictive to allow the full outpouring of caring and the things I would have liked to have had the freedom to do within the classroom. This was <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> in fact the path that answered my calling. Regretfully, but knowing I was right, I switched majors and dropped the scholarship. I've had teachers who didn't want to be there; I couldn't become one.<br /><br />It still took me years to figure out that everything I felt and everything I was, all rolled into one answer. I feel like such an idiot that it took me so long to see that the burning desire I have and my personality traits are <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> separate.<br /><br />I am a deeply spiritual person, and nearly unfailingly sunny about the world in general. If there's a silver lining to be had, I will find it, or help create it.<br /><br />Harmony is important to me...lives in harmony, comfortable and happy. And one of the things that most bothers me is people's intolerance of one another's differences; the things that make us each into the wonderfully unique individuals we are.<br /><br />My particular faith happens to be "non-mainstream" and definitely has its fair share of people who scoff -- or worse. It's drawn a lot of fire lately because of one organization under its banner being granted charity status in England.<br /><br />That calling seems loud -- and <span style="font-style: italic;">clear!</span> -- to me right now. I will be an ambassador of faith working to promote positive interfaith dialogue and relations, and hopefully furthering worldwide religious tolerance. <span style="font-style: italic;">That</span> thought brightens the burn into a white hot flame of healing and yearning, reaching toward a goal that I know is mine to fulfill.<br /><br />I know without a doubt that this is something I can do and want to do that will continuously help people. I will be taking (as already planned before this epiphany of sorts) the OBOD courses, Bard, Ovate, then Druid, over the next few years. I want to fully immerse myself in the spiritual path I already love that resonates so deeply with the core of who I am, and as I become more knowledgeable and more credible within it, I will not shy away from leading others if asked. I will stand up for Pagan faiths and especially Druidry, leading by quiet non-antagonistic example but standing both gentle and firm, and I know I will not be standing alone.<br /><br />Most of all, I will make my voice heard across faiths (even if I'm not quite sure <span style="font-style: italic;">how</span> yet) and <span style="font-style: italic;">I will make a positive difference</span> in interfaith relations.<br /><br />Some people never know why they're here. Me, I've finally stopped wondering. Yes, I'm different. And I'm so grateful.<br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-47902297246870528042010-11-13T22:39:00.004-05:002010-11-18T12:39:45.146-05:00Yellow roses<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I'll admit it: There are a few things that send my normally sunny temperament into derriere-twitching fits. The yellow rose incident pushed one of those big red "Do Not Push" buttons.<br /><br />It was 2004 or so, and I was sitting in the midst of a beautiful campus in the Blue Ridge Mountains, enjoying the springtime sun and the colors splashed by Nature's generous hand all around me. I dared not close my eyes in the day's warm caress, lest I miss some new happening in the visual feast before me.<br /><br />All around me, people hurried to and fro, to get out of the steady breeze or because they had something just so important and pressing awaiting that they couldn't take a moment to behold the glory of the day unfurled all around them. Not one person seemed to notice the sun, the blooms, the smiling Earth. Not one.<br /><br />Pondering on this later, I became irritated and then downright angry, and I wrote this bit of prose to empty my head:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What, then, of the yellow roses? What is to become of them now? Are you so calloused as to have forgotten beauty, even when it is in front of your eyes so copiously produced? Can you not remember when you were one of the pure ones who could conceive of nothing more beautiful than the last blooms of summer, yielding gracefully to your touch when petal upon petal found a gentle caress in your hands? For shame, to forego such pleasures for knowledge and the pursuit of happiness. Why do you chase what you were born with? Why can you not see that the flowers will wither without you – and you without them?</span><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-85464937989903952192010-11-02T14:30:00.003-04:002010-11-18T12:40:07.960-05:00Samhain 2010<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">This was the first year I have actively taken time out of our notably hectic Halloween festivities, once the kids settled down and went to bed with visions of their overflowing treat bags dancing in their heads, for Samhain itself. <span style="font-style: italic;">Not just a head full of thoughts this year</span>, I promised myself.<br /><br />Maybe it's Uncle Jack's recent passing, but I was feeling very connected to things and felt that it would be a good time to do some reflection and readings, and also to perhaps perform a small ritual honoring the dead, my kin who've passed before me to the Summerlands.<br /><br />I lit two candles, one for Uncle Jack, departed in August, and one for my Nana, gone a little over two years now. I wondered what I could possibly say that would -- could -- be appropriate and fitting for the event, with the two of them in my mind. I talked to them in my head for a little while, and suddenly had need of a pen and paper.<br /><br />This is what I wrote, a slightly stumbling but right-feeling Samhain blessing for them.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">By this light and sacred flame<br />Remembered warmth, and fondly named<br />Forever far, forever home<br />Linked in spirit, blood and bone<br />Be with me always, and peaceful rest<br />In death held close, and thrice now blessed.</span><br /><br />I folded the paper and drew two hearts with a thick line connecting them on the outside, then placed it between the two candles on my stone table. After a moment, on impulse, I borrowed a corner of the paper, tore it into two tiny parts, drew linked hearts the same way on each part, and blessed them with the names of these two good souls. Then I dropped each into the flame of their respective candle and closed my eyes.<br /><br />When I next looked, the bits of paper were gone, but one of the flames -- the one in honor of my Nana -- had grown quite high and was dancing as though a strong wind inspired it. I could feel the thinness of the veil between worlds, and I thought maybe, just maybe, she was with me in that moment.<br /><br />Whether or not that was true, it was a very peaceful and memorable Samhain.<br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-87467571635052858072010-10-05T19:19:00.009-04:002010-11-18T12:41:19.156-05:00A tribute to the candle-bearers<div style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">There is not enough darkness in all the world to put out the light of even one small candle. ~Robert Alden</span><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />That quote is one of my favorites, and it's been on my mind a lot today. There are these extraordinary people in this world who seem to be driven to hold candles out to light the way for others, even on the darkest nights. These are the people determined to make a difference, to matter, to <span style="font-style: italic;">do something</span> in their lifetime that will leave the world better for their footprints having marked it.<br /><br />They are hailed and hated, praised and pitied for their very natures, for <span style="font-style: italic;">wanting</span> to hold candles in the darkness that seems to press in around us so heavily at times. I believe the people who try to snuff out those candles with spiteful words and hateful deeds as cold as a brisk winter wind, do so out of fear. Fear of change, fear of having to look at their own personal darkness, illuminated by the gentle flames around them. And envy...I think people get mean when they envy the courage of these solid candle-bearers.<br /><br />What people seldom see is that sometimes, though they would never do it differently, and though the flame itself stays bright and true, the hands of the candle-bearers shake with cold and doubt. The winter wind howls incessantly, swirling all around them like spectral hands swiping at their light, sometimes chilling them to the heart/bone.<br /><br />Yet these amazing people press onward, sharing their hearts, time, thoughts with others, lighting paths that once seemed nonexistent in the depths of night.<br /><br />I don't know that I'm really supposed to be a candle-bearer. I'm not a great front man (woman) for a cause, though I am passionate about many. But I know I have a purpose in this world, and I think I may be getting closer to what it is.<br /><br />What, then, could I possibly bring to the world if lighting it up isn't my gift?<br /><br />Maybe...maybe I can bring the candle-bearers coats. Encouragement and love to shore them up and keep them warm, a bit of protection against the bitter chill of hatred and doubt that tries hard to envelop and stamp out all of this world's greatest lights, just as it always has tried (and generally ultimately failed!) to do.<br /><br />I don't know that I have the personality to carry off sweeping changes for the better in this world. But I have an unyielding faith that people can and do accomplish that, and I gladly pledge one huge heart and a ready, steady, kind hand on the shoulder of those whose gifts lead them down that road.<br /><br />To the candle-bearers out there...what you do for so many others...keep on keepin' on. And if the wind gets too cold, I'd be happy to bring you a coat. In honor of all of you:<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">"Don't give up<br />It's just the weight of the world<br />When your heart's heavy<br />I, I will lift it for you<br /><br />Don't give up<br />Because you want to be heard<br />If silence keeps you<br />I, I will break it for you<br /><br />Everybody wants to be understood<br />Well, I can hear you<br />Everybody wants to be loved<br />Don't give up<br />Because you are loved<br /><br />Don't give up<br />It's just the hurt that you hide<br />When you're lost inside<br />I, I'll be there to find you<br /><br />Don't give up<br />Because you want to burn bright<br />If darkness blinds you<br />I will shine to guide you..."<br />(Josh Groban)<br /><br /></span><br /></span></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541423017223152766.post-62317628690003153942010-09-22T20:00:00.009-04:002010-11-18T12:41:34.169-05:00Wearing philosophies, and starfish<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Everything we wear, everything we choose for ourselves in life, makes a statement. You can find -- or custom-order -- t-shirts screaming just about anything in thick, bold colors. Political statements, tv show/brand loyalty, you name it, you can find it out there. The cut of a man's suit, our footwear selections, even our jewelry can all add levels to the picture we draw for the world of who we are.<br /><br />On the inexpensive chain of my favorite necklace, a small blue starfish charm hangs, along with a simple hammered oval with the words "It matters to that one" in black. People often ask me what it means.<br /><br />It's a philosophy. To understand, you would have to be familiar with the Starfish Story, paraphrased here (originally by Loren Eiseley):<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A wise man used to rise early in the morning and walk along the beach to gather his thoughts. One morning, while he was strolling by the edge of the ocean, he noticed a far-off figure repeating some strange movements. A dancer, perhaps? he mused.<br /><br />As he drew closer, he could see that the figure was that of a young man who kept bending down to pick something up. Over and over again, he threw what he found into the sea.<br /><br />"Pray, friend," called the wise man, "What are you doing?"<br /><br />"I'm throwing starfish back into the water," replied the young man. "The tide washed them ashore and if I don't throw them back, they'll die."<br /><br />The wise man shook his head and said, "But there are miles and miles of beach, and tens of thousands of starfish! You cannot possibly save them all -- don't you see? What you do doesn't matter!"<br /><br />The young man simply smiled, bent down, picked up another starfish, and hurled it with all his might into the water.<br /><br />"It mattered to that one."</span><br /><br />I wear a starfish to remind me that what I do matters. I cannot save every aching soul I come across, as much as I wish I could. But that doesn't mean that what I do isn't important. Every time we lend a shoulder or a hand, even if our efforts feel like so little in a hurting world, we should all remember: <span style="font-style: italic;">It matters to that one.</span><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0