Post-Summer Solstice: Turning toward the dark

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

At Beltane, glimpses of "Yes"

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.

The poet e.e. cummings once wrote,

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.

He also said, I imagine that yes is the only living thing.

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.

It is good, so good, to be alive, to be in the moment you find yourself in, in the place where you are. This you, this now, this 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 yes.

My daughter, green-child

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.

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.

Adoration. 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.

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 is 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.

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.

Beauty. 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.

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!"

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.

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.

Bright blessings from a richly blessed one...as are we all, who ever take the time to see it.

Beliefs, Part II: Choosing Druidry, and nonviolence

So...if all religions worship (to my way of thinking) the same Divine that resides within and watches over us all, why choose at all, right? And why Druidry over the others that I'm aware of?

I wasn't raised with Druidic beliefs; I was in fact brought up in a strict Christian household. I always had problems with the exclusive nature of at least the particular denomination in which I was raised. They were right and everyone else was wrong. Other Protestant denominations were less wrong than the rest of the world, but still. This was their thinking, and never mine. There were inconsistencies and hypocrisies that left me feeling extremely disenchanted with the religion I'd been handed. I struggled with that all through my teenage years, not daring to express my views to my parents or other leaders in my conservative community. I felt isolated, an outcast of my own making because I simply could not swallow all of the supposed truths that were constantly shoved down my throat.

In college, I began to really explore other religions, other spiritual paths. I wasn't "shopping" for a religion; I had come to the determination that I didn't have to have one but thought that the research would be useful in shoring up my convictions of what I did and did not believe. I questioned what I had been taught, and over the next few years was able to strip my beliefs down to what resonated with me and felt true; I relaid the foundation of my spiritual life on solely those truths that deep down I already knew -- not because anyone told me it must be so, but because I could feel it on my own, outside of any specific religious following.

I like the cyclical nature of Druidry, and the way the spiritual path is so open to individual practitioners as well as group practice. There is a freedom in it, even if most Druids do hold to a few core beliefs nearly across the board. There isn't the same push to convert others or else, and tolerance for other faiths abounds...I even learned along the way that Druidry and other religions are not mutually exclusive (from a Druid perspective, anyway). The rituals and basic tenets resonate with me, and it's the path that I feel at ease with, at home on...like my feet are finally carrying me where I want and need to go. Quite simply, it just feels right. The something that I felt was missing, doesn't feel that way anymore -- and it's not the same sensation of trying to jam a jigsaw piece into a space it wasn't designed for and refuses to fit in without seriously damaging the rest of the puzzle around it (or creatively editing the piece I was shoving in there) that I had before, with the faith I grew up in. This actually fits. I am a Druid.

I hold myself to the Hindu principle of ahimsa as closely as possible, which is pretty standard in Druidry. I do believe that our negative actions have negative effects far beyond our ability to discern them, and that what goes around comes around again. I suppose you could say that I believe in karma then, although not precisely as certain Eastern religions do. I don't step on ants or caterpillars if I can avoid it, and I even extend this principle of nonviolence to the arachnids I so utterly fear, though it doesn't always save them. I'm not perfect, but I try hard. Even spiders have the right to be here, unharmed. I strive to not act out against things or beings simply because I am afraid of them, but I am very much a work in progress with that particular example.

Violence has always been abhorrent to me; as a child I was appalled and wounded by some of the "classic" animated movies shoved at most of my generation. I hate violent scenes in movies even now, animated or not, and cannot watch parts of many otherwise good movies because it hurts my heart to even see torture or violence of any sort portrayed onscreen. (A quick barroom brawl is one thing; the downed man getting kicked in the head or ribs is quite another...things like that.) I love books and cannot read Stephen King or anyone else with a penchant for particularly violent/gory scenes. The images gleaned from the words haunt my soul.

I have been accused of being naive, stupid, oversensitive, and "not fit for this world" because of my attitude toward violence and how unable I am to handle certain types of "reality" in books and movies and the like. Frankly, I don't care, and I find it disturbing how desensitized most people seem to have become. Yes, maybe I am at an extreme in my views and what hurts me, but other people edge toward the other side of that. Some part of me feels (and I mean no disrespect here) that the less horrific awful acts are to us, the less incapable of them we become. No thank you.

If you wish to learn more about Druidry, I strongly recommend the OBOD's website.

Beliefs, Part I: Religion and the Divine

I mentioned in the last post that I am a Druid, and also that I consider myself panentheistic. Not pantheistic, but panentheistic. I believe that the Divine resides within all living things; that we are all connected to it and that reverence for nature and reverence for God, however you define God, are not mutually exclusive. My reverence for all life is one form of reverence for the Divine who guides my life.

I also believe that there are many paths up the mountain, so to speak. If the mountain is our journey to get close to God/get to heaven/whatever other ultimate spiritual goal one might have, why should there be but one path that actually leads to the summit? I have always found the thinking flawed which insists that this religion or that one is the one true religion, the one Truth that applies to everyone in the world, and that those who do not adhere to that particular set of beliefs, worship that god or those gods specifically, are damned or otherwise hopelessly lost in the dark.

What about those who never hear of this "one true path?" Are they condemned because they were just born in the wrong place or situation and missed out? What kind of God would be alright with that? And if these truths are self-evident, why does not every rational being ultimately decide to follow the exact same religion, all over the world?

It seems clear to me, though, that spirituality is natural (no offense intended to my atheist readers -- this is, after all, only my perspective, and I readily admit I am a fallible imperfect being), even if the details come to life in a thousand different ways. Without it, we search, even if we do not know what it is that we seek. We feel empty, uninspired...I believe that all of us yearn for meaning, for that invisible thread that anchors us throughout our lives, and that sustains us in times of trouble and darkness.

I think, then, that all gods across the world are really different faces painted on the same Divine presence. Therefore, I do not find the Christian Holy Trinity at odds with Shiva, Vishnu, and Brahma; I see no reason the Pagan maiden/mother/crone trio could not be juxtaposed over any other triple facet of godhood in any other religion. If Hindus can accept their three as aspects/facets of one ultimate God, and Christians do the same, and Druids (who believe in some form of the triple facet -- Druids do not all hold the same concept of god(s)/goddess(es) and some embrace no god at all) do the same, etc...why can't those separate religions just be facets of universal worship of whatever the true ultimate form of the divine may be? Different world religions are not so different at all.

I know many people found it somehow offensive or incredible when the movie Dogma portrayed God as a woman...but if a Lord, why not a Lady? Why not Lords *and* Ladies? And what does it really matter what we call g/God as long as it's meant with respect? None of us could possibly know every name ever given to the Divine.

Someone once said, regarding religion, "There's more than one path up the mountain." A reply came, "Ah, but there are many mountains." I should have added, "And they all reach for the same sky."