The Winter Solstice is newly passed in these northern climes and dawn arrives earlier in minute increments. Those who relish even one, two, three minutes of expanding light in these wakening days in the midst of Winter are exhaling a sigh of relief and scrawl the word “hope” on moist interior windows. As a relisher of the long, dark nights of Winter, I continue to sigh into the dark and appreciate the howl of the wind and rain as it beats against my windows while I sleep. That wind and rain drifting into my dreams…Salmon swimming in puddles going to…where? My dream did not say. Salmon, a powerful totem to the indigenous people of the Land where I live and to people of my Celtic ancestry. Water…a place for both inner solace and movement for my own transformations. A snippet of a dream that lingers days after waking. And I am comfortable with not needing to “know” what it means. Simply paying attention.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Isn't Every Loss Worthy of Grieving?
If you have followed me for a while, you have met “The Sisters,” a circle of Big Leaf maples that I visit on my morning walks. A spiritual connection that has deepened since they reached out to me five years ago. They strengthen my rootedness to Earth, helped me prepare for my sojourn in 2019, are a source of wisdom that I share with you. Our relationship is reciprocal—my offering being love, respect, singing them songs, sharing poems and listening.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Lamenting & Gratitude Arise Out of the Same Heart
I love this time of year. The Winter Solstice arriving in less than a month in the Northern Hemisphere. Long nights sometimes crisp with stars and haloed moon. At other times heavy and dangerous in fog. Layers of clothing donned for outings…or even to work at home, cocoon me. Bare-limbed trees holding empty nests seem vulnerable. Low-sky sun barely warms Earth.
The other day when I began my pre-dawn ritual, readying for a walk, I checked in with my body, and it asked ever so sweetly if it could crawl back beneath the covers and rest. A mini-hibernation. My morning walks are part exercise and part meditation, so I am reluctant to miss them. The morning wasn’t rain-soaking or freezing or blustery—a ready excuse. Actually, it would have offered a seductive sunrise. I didn’t argue though. I listened, hibernated, drifting into my imaginal world if only for two extra hours.
Lessons from Sea Stars: Loss, Resilience, Hope, and Love (Plus a Free Offering)
Ah, this post. It feels like it has gone through twenty iterations. It started at the coast. Now I am home and still wandering through my words, culling, rephrasing, discerning. I want to share that Mother Ocean offered heart after heart on my journey to Cannon Beach, Oregon. She is sending you love. It was as if she said, “Daughter, that needs to be the core message.” And so, perhaps previous drafts were for me and not you. To navigate my own response to Covid-19 before returning to my center. Balanced. What remains goes out from my heart to yours. As always, take what you need and leave the rest. And if you read (or skip) to the end, I am offering a free service, a gift, my way of being of service during this time.
