On Flailing

Things will be feeling great, and then one day you wake up and they stop feeling that way. That's depression in a nutshell.

Ah, my black wolf. He's been hanging around me for a few weeks now, making me weepy and apathetic. And at first, I fought and thrashed and said "This is some unfair bullshit, go away." and then felt guilt and shame for feeling this way again with Acorn being so young still, and for being snappy and crabby and apathetic with everyone.

But, over the past few days I've had some long, deep, in the shit rambling talks with my husband and a few very close friends. They're the best for these sorts of talks because, they listen. They don't interrupt, they don't offer pity or advice. They simply listen.

It's a skill I'm a bit bad at myself, if I'm being completely honest.

And in these ramblings, I uncovered some truths I had been avoiding while in the fog. All on my own, with no one pointing it out.

Have I mentioned how much I love good listeners?

I need to find the mother inside of me. Not the one I DON'T want to be, or even the one that I DO want to be. Just the one that I ALREADY am. And embrace her in all of her messy, human glory. It's time to unfollow the parenting advice sites and blogs, unfriend the sanctimommies, forgive the examples I'm running from and just BE in this role and in this life. I can still commiserate, because we all need to commiserate sometimes.

In fighting so hard to hold on and not "lose myself" after becoming a mother (my biggest fear), I actually stifled a new iteration of myself from coming through. I'm so terrified of change and the what if's of what comes after that I've shackled my ankle to an old, ill fitting version of myself where I don't have room to breath, much less grow.

And it feels like I'm fighting myself, constantly. The old snarky version of me who wasn't going to let motherhood change her AT ALL, the consummate rebel who scoffed at "women's work", the misunderstood loner artist and the new one who wants to soften and surrender to this season, who isn't embarrassed by the pride and joy she finds in homey things, and admits that perhaps this wasn't the best time to try to try to become a "serious artist", but rather keep on doing what I do for the sake of doing it. The one the old me thinks is super fucking lame.

Because she's afraid.

She's afraid of dying, and she's afraid of what comes after. She thrives on feelings of not enough. And so she clings on desperately and whispers vitriol that makes me question the simple joys I find, and makes me fear that if I change to much, everything will crumble around me and I'll be left where I started.

Alone and flailing.

She whispers to me that accepting a pill to help is cheating, that it's synthetic happiness, that it's less than real. That it will make me a phony despite my urging and celebration of others for doing what is best for them. Even takings the pills.

That part of me is what's phony. And hypocritical.

And amidst all this, I'm flailing with my faith. I never really understood what a crisis of faith really felt like, though I've been sympathetic with others. It turns out, it's not just limited to followers of organized religions. Even a raising herself on dirt and whispering to nature kinda gal can thrash about, crying for answers with the best of them.

And so I'm searching as I'm clinging. Which doesn't really work out so well.

My hips and lower back have been aching for weeks. I can't get comfortable when I lie down. Walking, standing and squatting are painful. I feel creaky, crooked, and like my legs are going to pop out of their sockets.

I feel like I did the week before I had Acorn, when I was in pre-labor.

And while I'm thrashing about with my spirituality, there's one thing I'm still set on: my body is a mirror for what's going on in my heart and mind. It's time to birth someone new. Flailing and confused but comforted instantly by love.

It's time to be brave, get clear on how I want to feel rather than who I want to be, and do what I need to do to get there. Because this thrashing about in the cold gray sea thing is better left to the birds.

Everyday Magics

If I wasn't one for ritual B.C. (before child), I certainly can't get in to it now. Between keeping Acorn from break dancing on the kitchen table, swinging the cat over his head by his tail, feeding everyone, keeping the house in some semblance of cleanliness, spending time with Joe, and taking time to do the things I enjoy there really isn't much time left in the day for much pomp and circumstance.

Good thing I've always been a low maintenance sort of gal and Witch. ;)

My altar is (bravely) set up on my (new! Thanks, babe) dresser in my bedroom. So far, little hands have been disinterested in exploring it. Whether that's because of magic or simply that it's all old hat and he's seen the same old bones since he came home, I can't say. But I'm glad for it!

It's an all purpose Winter/New Year job, at the moment, but will change when Spring officially gets here. The beautiful butterfly in the center was a gift from my SIL, and perfectly timed as a kick in the shin from the Universe that, dammit, it's time to stop being afraid and go with the changes. Sort of like my card pull and subsequent phrase of the year pick, which I tried to just ignore - "Embody Feminitity". The card on the left is a wonderful little idea I got from my fabulous friend Lisa over at Woman Magick. She creates a magical little envelope for each month of the year with candles, love & magic notes, and little add ins. I decided to do the same, and open them at each New Moon.

Aside from those little magics at the altar, I'm more or less living my magic. You can find it tucked in to corners of our home; wish bones in the kitchen, charms over the doors, egg shells being saved to make fresh powder, pinecones on the mantle to celebrate the season. A broom used to sweep things out, vinegar and herbs for cleaning and cleansing, the crows that nest in my backyard that Acorn and I both love to watch and listen to, the attention paid to the land we live on, and my latest endeavor - visioning for secret messages.

This is an excellent nap time activity and a good way to remain creative and in touch with my intuition when I'm lacking the desire or motivation to paint. I just sit with a stack of magazines and ask "What should I focus on?" or "What do I need?" and cut images and words with no judgement and then glue them on paper in a way that's eye pleasing but also makes sense.

What are some of your every day magics?

Rogue Spirituality

Labels. We carry a bunch of them around with us that we pull out to help us define ourselves to others. If we try not to label ourselves, others will do so for us. We flit in and out of different categories and add and discard labels as our lives ebb and flow and we evolve and change.

Why am I bringing this up? Because over the past few months, I've found one of the labels that I, and many others, have used to define an aspect of myself no longer feels right. I've been pondering it, poking at it like a canker sore and it no longer fits, because, it's not what I practice or who I am. Unless you're sticking to the now dated, and sometimes considered derogatory, dictionary definition, then yes. I cant argue that.

But in the context under which it falls to most people, I'm not a Pagan. I've checked the little box next to it under the religion category in profiles for years, but I've haven't felt a true connection to or ownership of the title for a while , unlike some of the other ones I bear: artist, witch, wife, bookworm, etc. I've never felt entirely a part of the Pagan community, often feeling annoyed and confused when people would talk about community elders, how "we" as a community are represented, or traditional this and thats which I should adhere to. I've always felt a little out of place in a group that, for the most part, seems to shy away from the darker aspects of life, spirituality and magic. I seek balance; male and female deities, darkness and lightness, life and death as the wheel spins. All aspects represented.

Maybe I'm just too much of a solitary, a one woman heart led show. Too much of a rugged individualist, a spiritual drifter.

I'n grateful for the time I've spent with the blanket of Paganism wrapped around me. For the understanding and expression that it has afforded me over the years. To the homecoming of putting a name to my spiritual leanings for the first time ever, back in my teens. But to grow, we must shed that which no longer fits.

So, I'm claiming a new title for myself. One that doesn't feel like it's boxing me in with a community filled with views, opinions and leaders that I didn't agree to. I'm a polytheist, animist, witch, healer, wind talker, crow friend, trance seeker and bone collector. I follow the beat of my heart as it echoes the beat of the Earth's pulse. I speak for myself and with my own spirits and deities, no one else speaks through or for me.

I'm a Spiritual Rogue. Wild, free and untamed. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Time, Changes and Keeping On

This whole time things moves strangely for me these days, both ludicrously fast and ever so slowly. I'm not entirely sure if this is from having a young child or because I'm learning to be more present and have all but unplugged from technology (who has time for that stuff with a 6 month old?), but it's fucking weird. :)

There's been an entire month since the last time I sat down and wrote, but it feels like I wrote last week. It's been 6.5 months since I first met my son, but I feel like I've known him a whole lot longer than that. And also, like I held him for the very first time, when he was 13 lbs lighter than he is now. Time, you're a tricky wench.

Moons wax and grow to swollen, then wane and go dark and I've not done a stellar job of observing them for a while. I haven't seen a full moon since the super moon on the weekend I went in to labor, not because I haven't gone outside (I get super antsy around full moon, so can't really miss her) but because there have been clouds every single time. Last night I went out, but again, clouds. It's the strangest thing and maddening in a way, but like so many things lately, I just have to let go and let things do what they will.

Even if that's incredibly hard sometimes.

My practices have softened and shifted, I take a few moments each day at the altar, to pull a card, to look deeply in to the depths of a black cup of tea, to throw my eyes skyward and watch the family of crows that moved in wheel over head. I notice more, even as I practice and do the Work, less. Vulture stood tall on a pole, spreading his mighty wings today just as I went by. A few weeks back, a huge red shouldered hawk swooped from the tree in my front yard, flapped his wings twice in the few foot distance between myself and my front door before flying over my neighbors roof and away. The small birds of Winter scratch in the hedge outside of my bedroom window, chattering to each other while I lay with Acorn while he naps.

It's always birds with me.

Soon the altar will need to be put up or moved, out of reach of little hands that will be grasping and pulling up before I even realize it. And I will observe my spirituality in other ways, in smaller altars and magic spaces tucked around the house or find it in the simplicity of my breath, as I use it to come back fully in to my body and out of my mind; if only for a few seconds. There's magic in the medicine bag between my breasts, in the stones friends I tuck in to pockets or turn in to jewelry, in the curvature and stretch of the body I've so rarely appreciated as it flows through a yoga class. And one day, the altar will be put back out, when little fingers know not to eat mom's stone helpers or man handle the bones which she keeps.

This past month has been one of growing and healing, of triumphantly going out on a limb and feeling like flying, and it's also been one of falling back to Earth on molten wings, of skinned knees and feelings of failure, shame and old hurts. But I dust myself off and keep going, because gods dammit, I am worth it and I deserve it. This month will be better, and next month better still.

Onwards and upwards, right? :)

Honoring My Seasons

There's an undeniable ebb and flow to the seasons of Nature, which we accept and do what we must to get through, because we know we have no other choice. Similarly, I've noticed that we all have our own seasons of sorts, cycles that we go through of ups and downs that can last hours, days, weeks or months. If we keep track of them, we may notice they follow a specific rhythm or pattern - a wheel of sorts. Unlike the ones in Nature, however, we rally and try to fight these cycles... at least, I know that I do.

For years, I've fought against my own personal Winter. Without fail, at this time of year my energy levels drop, I become a bit of a shut in, I have no desire to pick up a brush, a pastel or a pencil and create art. And despite knowing this will happen and knowing that in years past the fight with myself has led to depression, I've continued to do so. I rail against the lack of energy, trying to force myself to get all manner of things done and I beat myself up over the lack of art making; demanding to know what sort of artist doesn't paint for months at a time.

Until this year. This year, I'm done fighting. I'm done railing and belittling and putting so fucking much emphasis on what I'm not doing, rather than what I need. I'm done sending myself down the deep corridors of the Black Wolf's domain over something that, much like Nature's Winter, I cannot stop. So what if I don't paint? So what if I want to hang out in bed in my pajamas drinking hot tea until a decadently late hour of the afternoon? What is it going to hurt to give in and honor my seasons?

What will change if I go with my own flow, just like I go with the flow of Nature, that wonderful teacher?

Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I'll still face darkness during the longest nights of the year. Perhaps I'll still feel stressed about not making art or the house being untidy. Perhaps I'll feel guilt for my self perceived laziness.

But perhaps not.

Perhaps I'll find that the darkest nights aren't cold black, but a warmer shade. Perhaps I'll find contentment in wool and yarn as I sit in bed crocheting after Acorn has fallen asleep, or twirl the drop spindle where he can watch it. Perhaps the occasional day under warm covers with hot tea and the bodies of my family cozied up next to mine is more important and nourishing than a scratch cooked meal or the most tidy of homes.

I'm betting that there is. That there is magic hidden in our personal cycles, our small medicine wheels if you will, just as there is in the large one that spins the World. An overlooked magic that we've forgotten in our quest to do more, be more, have more and fit in to tidy labeled boxes like so many office files.

Perhaps it's time to let go of more and reclaim our magic.

Ordinary Sacred

My last Full Moon ritual, where I did more than toss a tired glance out of my window in to the cloudy sky, was in June when I strung my mother cord necklace. July's was the night before I went in to labor and my body felt beat up and exhausted. August's and September's felt similarly, though I had a baby to show for my exhaustion which made it feel less lazy. I didn't light candles, I didn't go outside. I went to bed, because that's what my body and mind demanded of me.

Lughnasadh went by with just a hat tip and Mabon will most likely be celebrated with the eating of a sacred (ok, not really) apple fritter.

I had scaled back a while ago, keeping my altars simple and my rituals a quiet (usually, I don't speak) and straightforward affair. Nowadays I barely have time to do more than pause for a moment in front of it, breathing in the scents of wood, wax and old incense. Maybe I pull an oracle card, maybe not.

Depends on the day.

Mind you, I'm not complaining. Rather, I'm recognizing what has been going on in my spiritual life since this little star came and landed in to my arms.

It's taken some adjustment, as so many things have in the whirlwind of new mommyhood, but I'm finding the sacred and keeping my spiritual side fed in different, smaller, ways.

The sacred is all around us, we don't need fancy trappings or rituals to find it. We need only be still, quiet and observant - even if it's only for a minute. The sacred whispers to me as a breeze through the leaves. It warms me with the first glimmers of morning sunlight kissing my cheek. It's found in the quiet moments of love while Acorn and I lay quietly nursing. There's magic in the songs of the cicadas and in the breathing of my sleeping boys as I lay awake at night, petting Luna.

I've been inviting it in with small gestures: burning candles, windows thrown open on the first cool day in months, dusting my altar spaces, creating a wee new one in the studio, giving my hands up to spirit and paint when time allows. I invite it in by sitting silently, taking deep breaths and quieting my mind.

It may not look like witchery or magic. It may not seem sacred, but finding beauty, magic and gratitude in the simple and ordinary truly is.

Evening Ritual

Lately, despite the smothering heat and the lack of moisture that is killing everything in my yard and making my trees drop leaves like it's Autumn, I've been taking even more comfort and solace in the simple act of being outside than usual. Perhaps it's the discomfort I'm in most days as this baby gets bigger and bigger inside of me, maybe it's just a hatred of being cooped up in the Summer hiding from the heat that swells my feet and makes my body stream sweat, could be that it gives Luna mental stimulation while she is still on physical restrictions. Most likely though, it's simply that I've always been a dirt worshiper who feels better when I get outside, stick my bare feet on the ground and breath deeply.

On the rare mornings when it is still below 85* at 8am when Luna and I wake up and head out for her morning business, I grab a big cup of iced coffee and a book or my Moleskine and we sit side by side in chairs for as long as we have before the heat drives us both inside, panting. On breezy afternoons, I grab a quilt and a big cup of ice water and we head out to sit wherever there happens to be a lot of shade and a lack of fire ant hills.

But what's become a nearly nightly ritual, which I look forward to and don't even mind having to swat the blood sucking mosquitoes away to enjoy, is sitting outside at dusk watching the fireflies come out. Some nights I only manage to sit outside for 20 minutes, because I got out late or am not feeling very well and others I stay out there for hours. Usually Joe and Luna sit outside with me, he brings out a fan to blow the blood suckers away so I don't get eaten or have to bathe in bug spray, and we either chat or just sit quietly and let the sounds of Summer nights mingle with the dancing insects around us.

While I'm out there, my mind and body feel like they've shut down as I enjoy this magical display of tiny fireworks over grass and in the trees. For that period of time there are no bills, no concerns about the big changes coming, no discomfort, no stress, no worries. I'm completely relaxed, even more so than after a warm shower or bath, and everything that was previously filling my head, any tension at all, just slides away. When the lights have faded away, the lightning bugs thinning away until barely any are left and I go inside, I'm not bothered by the things I didn't get to on my To-Do list, I'm not aggravated by my lack of energy during the day, I don't beat myself up for the unwashed dishes, the unfolded laundry, the half-finished projects on my desks. I don't view that time outside as wasted or pointless, like I do with so many other forms of distraction (like when I've spent a lot of time watching TV or online).

Instead I view it as a nourishing and important ritual, something that I seem to need right now. Those magical little bugs, the frog princes and crickets singing their song as the sky darkens over head create moments for me to renew and replenish myself, moments to be treasured and to fall back on when I need them.

Nature is by far the most powerful of healers and no time spent with it can or should ever be viewed as wasted.

The "Why" Isn't What Matters

This Winter has become a somewhat burdensome and overbearing one, even here in the South. It's sapped a lot of my energy and motivation and many projects and practices have been sitting idly by, collecting dust.

I know that I'm not alone when I say that during this time of isolation and indoor living, that my spiritual practices have become smaller and simpler. Not that I've been one for fancier ceremonial rituals, but even my pared down rituals have become simple silent gestures and the following of nudges and whims from spirit. Normally at Imbolc, I set my seeds for the garden on the Altar to be blessed with the fires of renewed light and warmth but this year, with it being gray and cold, seed purchasing and starting was very far from my mind and Imbolc was celebrated with a simple lighting of candles on the altar space.

The spiritual is very much still a part of my life, even during this time of sapped energies, but in more integrated and simple ways. I've spoken before about some of my simple everyday rituals and I've found comfort in those now. As well as in simple acts such as pulling oracle cards, lighting candles, burning incense, sipping herbal tea slowly and savoringly out of my favorite mug or getting a start on my Spring cleaning. Some of these things I do knowing full well what it brings to me and to spirit, but others are nudges and urges that I don't understand the "why" of, but follow through on anyway.

One good example of this; for no discernible reason, I had this very strong need to put a tumbled amethyst at the feet of my Ganesha statue. He's never asked for anything other than sweets and incense before, but that stone (which I had found on a walk several months ago and had been keeping in my purse) needed to be there. And there it sits now, shiny at the elephant headed one's feet and it feels right. I know a few practitioners who would poo-poo on the sentiment of "right feeling" or "following your gut" and dismiss it as fluffy, but I really couldn't give a shiny rat's ass about their opinions.

:)

For me, following these nudges is an act of faith in Spirit and a way to strengthen our bonds. It is also a way to further my sight and to strengthen my intuition. I used to worry over the why of the acts, but no longer do. Not everything we are asked to do has an understandable reason behind it, not everything we feel compelled to do requires a logical picking at and explanation. That goes against the very nature of faith and asks that the spiritual and magical reveal themselves to us in purely human concepts. In my case, this has only served to stifle connections, rather than grow them and as such I'm learning to let go of the constant need for explanation that is so much a part of human nature.



Hat tip to Aine at The Deepest Well for posting about her own experiences with this and causing me to stew on it for several days, inspiring this post.

Painting the Feminine - Mary

The other morning, Connie talked to us about paintings that energetically attract us and how sometimes people really want to lay hands on those pieces. This really stuck with me throughout the day. As I got in the shower I was thinking about how often I got in to trouble at the Metropolitan Museum of Art when I was stilling living in NJ and visited frequently... because I'm an incredibly tactile person. When something touches me energetically, I HAVE to run my fingers over it. HAVE to. No ifs and or buts about it.

The prompt for our painting that day was to build a relationship with one of our previous works; to see which one energetically touched us in the same way as we spoke about that morning. To spend time with that painting, not fixing it, but working with it to further deepen our connection. And as I flipped through my journal and spent time with each page trying to determine who wanted to have a relationship with me, someone who I used to get in trouble for touching ALL the time kept nudging me... Mary. Whenever I went to the Met, I'd get caught up in the big Medieval galleries (one of my favorite periods) gazing at the tapestries and paintings... but I'd ALWAYS get caught up under the watchful gazes of the carvings of Mary holding her child that surrounded the big room. (Since rearranged, so I've been told) I could spend hours in there looking at each one, I must have a gazillion pictures of them all from different angles and I got in trouble frequently for touching them. I'm surprised they didn't have my photo hanging up outside the gallery saying "This girl's a handsy one! Don't let her near Mary, or she'll touch her."

But it didn't end there, because when they had the beautiful Byzantine art exhibit, I was drawn to her there too. I didn't touch those ones though; too many guards in traveling exhibitions. ;-)

Having had no Christian upbringing, I have always found this connection to Mary to be a bit bizarre, but I've gone with it. She's been appearing to me and I've been drawn to her since I was a little girl. Whenever she shows up in my life, I pay attention and always feel comforted by her presence. I enjoy her in all of her iconography and names; The Virgin Mother, Queen of Heaven, Guadalupe... but the one image of her that I've always been especially drawn to is Mary with the snake. In most icons, she's stepping on the snake which I've always felt a little weird about even knowing what the serpent represents in her mythos.

So, when she kept nudging me the other day, it was she who ended up in the pages of my journal... with one very obvious difference, the snake was carried by her rather than trampled upon. That Queen of Heaven; lady of comfort and nurture and hope working along with the ancient snake; herald of transformation, healing and rebirth.

When I finished I had a real lightbulb moment there in my heart in the story of my relationship with this particular goddess (because that's how I see her); When this Divine Mother Goddess is paired with the Snake it throws back to ancient goddesses, who were often depicted holding or wearing snakes, It brings the entire concept of Divine Feminine energy back home and full circle to me and makes my relationship with Mary seem less bizarre to me, the pagan. And though when I was younger I didn't have a name for my faith (or lack thereof), I felt drawn to and comforted by Mary - the only friendly face or form in many of the churches I visited; with her arms outstretched and her robes beckoning us in to the folds of soft safety and love.

Release on the Corn Moon

Cloudy and breezy, the moon was hidden from sight, though her light shone bright enough to continue to illuminate the darkness. Wispy clouds shining silver across the deep blue sky, occasional stars twinkling.

Inside, the scent of incense floated on gently winds, blowing in through the open windows. Roses wafted about on the breeze, candles on several altars burning down. So much work to do on this full moon, though many feel the moon isn't a good time for work and simply time to thank and observe.

I disagree. As a follower of the sun and moon, I feel that working in tune with their ebb and flow, their energies, is as essential to magic as the simple belief that it does, indeed, exist. To deny the power of the moon's swollen form, of her insistence on inspiring restlessness and excess energy in me, is to insult rather than thank her. But, to each their own... I don't walk another's path and can only speak for myself.

Cleansing the altar space, tools, stones and amulets; using the moon's light, fire, smoke and water collected at the edge of my favorite spot on the sea. Casting wishes and prayers for others up to the heavens on sparks. So many people that I care for needing so much right now, but only so much energy that I can expend at one time; even with the help of the powerful moon. Offerings to the Great Mother and the Fae; wine and milk and honey.

I deviate from my usual three card pull this moon time, pulling just one from the Heart of Faerie to inform and guide me for the next month. Not at all surprised to see this cheeky Trickster's face, I know I've once again been spreading myself too thin. Too many projects, too many things on an over-bearing, self imposed to-do list; I find myself frequently worrying about 'doing this', 'seeing to that', 'worrying about so-and-so', 'helping them out'... not doing or being enough. Juggling too many things... and the balls are about to drop. My energies are being depleted on things that I shouldn't give so much care too, they're sucking up my joy.

His timing is impeccable. As I think back on last Autumn and the apathy that pervaded my personality then. Caused by burnout and stress.

A Trickster this fae may be, but clearer sight was his gift to me.

Acknowledged to Momma Moon and her ability to help release things, with a tinkling bell, a candle and some ale... I'm tossing out that smothering to-do list.

Emotional Rhythms

Up and down, round and round. Like the Great Wheel of Nature, the rhythms of the seasons, my emotions move in a somewhat (and I emphasize somewhat) predictable cycle. My cycles of spiritual practice, seem to coincide with my emotions to a certain degree as well; but not always.

Right now, I can feel myself sitting at the lower part of an emotional valley. Not depressed, luckily, just feeling off; like a combination of "meh" and wanting to move in to the woods and become a hermit. I'm introverting to a heavy degree, needing a lot of space and time to myself and my thoughts, wanting to just cocoon up in my house, my yard and my bed. It feels like Winter in my spirit despite the hot sunshine outside. But, as is so often the case when one gets in to these sorts of moods, well intentioned friends are refusing to simply let me do that and it is driving me deeper and deeper in to the floor of the downward curve. I shut off my phone and avoid social media as much as I can, but that only makes them worry about me, or freak out and assume I'm mad at them. No amount of saying "Guys, I'm fine. I just don't want to talk or hang out right now." seems to help. The downside to being open, like really open because I don't like to hide any aspect of myself, about the fact that you live with depression and also happen to be an introvert is that people tend to worry more frequently and with much less provocation than they would if you were... say, a normal introvert. And while I am grateful and lucky to have so many caring people in my life, I really wish they'd listen to me and get off my ass. If I'm not worried, If my husband isn't worried, then just give me space and quit poking and prodding. You wouldn't do this to a bear you found hibernating.

But, I'm not a wild animal and I digress.

Usually, this point in my emotional wheel coincides with Winter. Short days, long nights, lots of gray skies and time indoors caused by the cold; makes perfect sense. This year, however, has been different. It started with hibernation in Autumn and an awakening in the Winter, right at Yule. My energy levels were high and I ran myself ragged through the Spring and early Summer. Unusual as well is that while I did so, my spiritual practice entered what I called a time of knowing, a pause in my desire to push forward, celebrate and learn and to instead, take a break and sit on my haunches for a bit. Ostara, Beltane and Litha passed; barely observed as more than a gentle acknowledgement that the great Wheel was indeed still turning. Odd, because usually the Spring sabbats set my soul a buzzing as my energetic levels are extremely high. But, as they passed by and the days grew hotter, muggier and the mosquitoes chased me inside with 25 bites after a measly 5 minutes outside; my emotional cycle spun around to the lower half of the wheel. The darker, introspective half.

A note here: When I say 'dark', I am not implying gloomy, depressing, miserable, etc. Much like there is a light and dark side of the seasons, there are similar sides to a soul and a personality. Some of us have longer or shorter ones, depending on our own unique emotional makeup. So again, I must stress so no one worries and annoys me further (yes, this post is coming as much from a place of annoyance as it is reflection), this isn't depression. When that happens, I own it, rock it and get the fuck through it.

And even more oddly, as I'm sitting at the bottom of this smooth, cool curve, lounging about with me, myself and I, the call home to the altar is loud. The whispers to clean, reconsecrate and come back to practice are strong. My intuitive wheels are spinning; my eyes spot several signs of coming change, my ears rejoice in the call of Grandmother Crow and the sound of winds in heavy Summer laden branches. I can feel the wheel spinning back around, slowly to the light and a more lighthearted, external emotional state as Lughnassadh approaches.

And as it does so I wonder at the change in my usually predictable, seasonally affected, cycles. It feels almost like the wheel is spinning in reverse for me here, in the much hotter Southern climate. It's as if longer days don't mean more time outside as they have most of my life, but quite the opposite due to oppressive humidity, heat and blood sucking pests. And while I wonder, I'm also learning to embrace these new cycles as I look, as always, forward to Autumn's arrival and a bit of delicious normalcy.

Have any of you moved to radically different climates and had your emotional or spiritual cycles switch around on you? I'm curious, because growing up in the North, seasons behaved as you were taught and expected them to. Now that I'm living someplace so drastically different, my head and heart are clinging to all the things they feel to be true about the seasons, but my body is very definitely aware of the fact that things don't work like that here. And the two are having some issues reconciling it all.

Magic in the Mountains; Home

Over Solstice weekend, Joe and I ventured to New Jersey for a long weekend visit with our friends and family. Usually when we go home, it's an incredibly stressful whirlwind trip where we have a schedule that we need to stick to in order to fit everyone that wants to visit with us in.

And of course, for whatever reason they come up with, no one ever wants to come to us or get together with other people as well and it's ridiculously frustrating and the main reason that despite having two weeks off between jobs I did not go home during that time. Thinking about it raised my blood pressure a few points and gave me anxiety. That's not healthy or OK. As is probably evident in that massive run on sentence! Phew.

This time though, things were different. I made it very clear that I was not going to be guilted in to spending 5 days driving all over the tri-state area after making the monster drive North of the Mason Dixon line. If people wanted to come to me, they could, but that people we have not seen since we moved 3 years ago, as well as time with our families and a solid day or two to just chill out (like an actual vacation!) took priority. Some people were offended; there were some text messages meant to make me feel badly about my decision, a few people even called me selfish for wanting a day to lay on the beach and I responded with the road runs South as well before presenting them with their very own Jersey State Bird.

You can take the girl out of Jersey, but you can't take the Jersey out of the girl.

And despite some consternation and passive aggressive bullshit, I'm pleased to say this was hands down, the best trip we've ever made home. The lesson learned here? Boundaries! Set them. Stick to them. Don't take guilt. I'm going to get that tattooed on my forearm so I remember to do the same in my day to day life, but that's another story.

We left for the North on the Wednesday afternoon before the Solstice, driving North on a long, boring stretch of highway. Things were uneventful; Joe and Luna were curled up together snoozing in the passenger seat as I drove through Virginia, Killjoys playing on the stereo. I was lost in thought, which here really means worry, about a plethora of things: the trip itself, seeing friends I've not spoken to in years, how Luna would do with all the fuss and strangers, truckers driving too close to me, shitty friends in the South, myself. I was in deep, and I remember fingering the Mercury dime I carry with me while I travel thinking, "Hermes, I just need to know it'll all be OK. I know that's a cheesy request, one I haven't made of you since I was a girl, but I feel so wound up and fretful I can barely stand it anymore."

And then the heavens opened up and it poured so hard that I could barely see 15 feet in front of me as my tiny car slowly climbed the mountains. I was all dour and grumpy, turned the radio up some more, griped at Luna for whining and drove onward. And just as quickly as it started, the rain stopped and there was this:

The first rainbow I've seen in over a year, breaking through the dark clouds right in front of me. Some people aren't quick to see or believe in signs, but I'm not those people. For me, that rainbow, and the three others I saw after each burst of heavy rain, were the warm 'hug' that I needed from the Divine. A pat on the shoulder and a nice cup of tea that told me not to worry, because it will all be ok. There was so much Magic in the Virginia mountains on this trip for me and I never had to leave my car to experience it. I merely basked in the glow of the sunlight as it slanted in that odd way that is has right before a large storm and drove onward, singing. Head cleared.

A few hours, more rain showers and some dark roads later we landed at my mother's house to sleep. In the morning we were awoken by my niece, Khloe (who is now 2 years and a few months old - where did all that time go?!?) saying 'Hello' and playing with Luna. It never ceases to amaze me how gentle Luna is with kids, despite her extremely energetic personality.

Best Friends!

We spent the day with my sister and niece before going to visit Joe's parents and sisters at his childhood home. Driving the short 20 minutes between the houses made us both so homesick for the landscape as we passed several lakes bordering winding hilly roads that are shaded by large oaks and maple trees. There's something so magical and comforting about the thickness of the tree canopy there that's missing here in South Carolina.

That, and driving anywhere makes me want to claw my eyes out as all the roads are flat and straight and bordered with red clay and scrubby pines. But, I digress. The fact that New Jersey is so beautiful (a well kept secret from those who don't live there, honestly) makes every place else seem sort of 'blah' to me.

Lake by Joe's parents' house.

While we visited with them, his dad and I went over some of my Geneology because he loves to do that sort of thing and I've always been completely clueless about my heritage on my mother's side of the family. Dad's half Irish and half Ukrainian (explains a bit about me, doesn't it?) but whenever I've asked my mother or my grandmother about their ancestry I've always been met with 'who cares' or 'I don't know'. Well, we were able to dig as far back as the mid 1700's fairly easily before the trail went cold and there's something very, very interesting to note:

Between the mid 1700's to present, my family has lived in Northern New Jersey. From what we could find I am one of, if not the first, in my mother's direct family line to leave the state in over 300 years. I jokingly told Joe that from now on when I discuss heritage I'm going to say 1/4 Irish, 1/4 Ukrainian and 1/2 Jersey. I also, not as jokingly - honest-, told him that should we ever have kids I'm going to have to travel back to the 'Homeland' to give birth because I'm somehow sure if I do it elsewhere I'm going to bring some sort of curse (like chicken feet) on to my bloodline. It was interesting to rifle through all the old documents and get as far as we did and made this girl even more fiercely proud to be from New Jersey. (He did, in the last few weeks track back further and found that at least part of my mother's family hails from Germany with a couple of years spent in Canada sprinkled in between Europe and The U.S. for extra interest.)

For Solstice, I spent the evening with a friend while Joe went to meet his brothers for dinner. She and I went to one of my most dearly held spots in North Jersey Sunrise Mountain, to watch the sun set on the Longest Day. The energy on the mountain top was incredible, it moved my heart in a much needed way and allowed me to know that despite my lack of ritual, workings or other trappings that I'm in the right place on my path right now. I smiled at mighty Sun as the wind whipped my hair then turned to watch his sister, Moon rise up behind us swollen nearly to full. It was hazy, but still a breathtaking view as the two did their eternal dance.

We walked back down the craggy path to our car in the twilight, careful not to fall or lose our footings. A simple, yet deeply meaningful way to acknowledge the Solstice. Yet more magic in the mountains for this Witch, but this time, in the Mountains of my heart.

Of Snow and Snakes: Dreaming

I walk through the forest, searching though I'm unsure what I seek.
Mud squishes under my feet. Roughshod trails of dirt, grass and rocks torn out by wheels long ago, being reclaimed by the Mother.
Luna's ears perk up as we hear the sounds of voices in the distance.
Her leash appears in my hand, harnessed, she leads me further in to the forest.
Thunder claps, darkness descends.
I stumble and she runs to my side, licking my hand as it grasps a log on the ground.
The log isn't a log, but a large brown and black snake.
It strikes her once. Twice.
Crying out, I try to grab it, it strikes my hand.
She isn't moving.
Unearthly screams escape me as I tear the snake in two with my bare hands.
Covered in blood, mud and bone I clutch her small body to my chest and sprint deeper in to the woods.
I know someone there can help.
My shoes have gone missing.
My feet are cut, bloody and sore.
I reach a campsite, Joe is there.
I hand him Luna before I collapse.
Awakened by a stranger putting a red gauzy pad over my snake bite.
Telling me I will be ok.
I look for Joe, Look for Luna.
Everything is dark. It's raining.
I'm being comforted.

I wake up.

It's snowing.
Barbed wire fence running around me.
A truck pulls up.
Gray, noisy in this silent place.
Everything is gray.
My clothing. The sky.
Save the glistening white snow.
A figure comes from the passenger side of the truck to me.
Face unclear, larger, taller than me though.
I feel comfortable with whoever this person is.
Warm, safe. A friend.
Gray Hoodie.
We walk the fence line.
Talking, though I can't recall the voice or the words.
Soothing.
We stop and the truck barrels up to us.
Someone inside yells to my companion to leave.
To forget and to leave.
My shoes are gone (again)
Feet hurt from the cold.
It's so cold.
The wind has picked up.
I cling to my companion.
Warm sleeve against frigid face.
I notice the snow around my feet melting.
Big dark blue puddle leading to mud below.
Tracks behind look huge,
Bright blue and vivid against the white snow.
My Companion has crossed the barbed wire and I cannot follow.
Gray hoodie fades in to gray sky.
The wind and snow has tangled my hair around my neck.
So tight.

I wake up.

Homecoming of the Spirit

If there is one constant in my blog habits, one thing that always rings true about my blog circle, it is that when I visit Aine at The Deepest Well, I find words that make me think, make me feel deeply or that are the exact thing I needed to hear without knowing it until it happened. Regardless of whether I comment, I always have thoughts bubbling in my head after I read Aine's writings. Today is no different except that I have enough thoughts bubbling around after reading A Time of Knowing that I didn't want to leave a novel in her comments.

Thank you Aine, for the inspiration to write.

Always, there seem to be trends among circles of peers and similar thinkers. Like others in this circle of witches and writers, pagans and thinkers, I have not written much about my spirituality of late; save for the occasional full moon or sabbat posting.

The truth of the matter is, there hasn't been much to write about because I've taken a break from learning, reading, growing and exploring. I've been lounging in my spiritual hammock in the shade of a familiar old grove I've seen many times on my path. To use Aine's words, I'm in a time of knowing.

Ruthlessly trusting my intuition, my knowing without reason, is something I've been working towards in other aspects of my life for nearly a year now. It started with art; baby steps back in to a place within myself I didn't question when I was a babe but grew mistrustful and jaded towards as I became older. Then it trickled in to other aspects of my life; relationships, jobs, how I spend my free time. That last one sounds a bit odd, but when one has been reared in a society that sees time not being outwardly productive as wasted, one needs to work hard to relax and breath when one's body/intuition begs them to do so.

And so, it's only natural that as I begin to retrace steps back in to that place of just knowing in other aspects of my life, that it would eventually become a part of my spiritual path. After all, as a highly eclectic human, compartmentalizing aspects of my life or myself has never worked out very well.

And so, I've stopped searching. I've quit reading and researching. The forks in the road have disappeared for the time being. Does this mean they'll never resume? No, not at all. To me, the reading, the searching, the setting out on new paths are very much like the spirit's version of bodily travel. Physically, we take trips to explore, to experience new things, see new sights and meet new people. To grow and to fill ourselves with knowledge, opinions and experiences we can't get if we stand still. But, these trips typically have a circular conclusion; Homecoming.

Right back where you've always belonged, right where you began. Sometimes, it just seems to take a long, winding route to get there. In a spiritual sense, sometimes it takes a lot of searching, reading and walking new paths to recognize and trust in what you know, rather than what you wish to believe. So many believe things are better elsewhere, that other methods are better than their own. That these thoughts or those practices are somehow holier or more spiritual. And they think that if they believe so ardently, then it is true. In the end, after the trials and travels, many of them end up knowing that this isn't the case.

I'm not saying this is the case for everyone's spiritual (or life) path as I can only speak to my own experiences. While I haven't been on this path as long as some, it seems to me that no matter what I learn and try, no matter what I read and think, it's the things I've always known, deep in the bones of my admittedly short life, that I keep coming back to. The things that work best and resonate deepest with me are those that I know, rather than those I believe.

These are the things that I always come home to. The simple truths housed in my intuition. The quiet, spirit led rituals. Concoctions and spell work advised from an unexplainable knowing rather than advice, a ledger or a grimoire. After connecting with many spirits, deities, paths and customs it is back to the Gods of my youth, to the spirits of the wildwood, the gifts and teachings of Earth, Sea and Sky that I've come back to. I'm reigning myself back in, regrouping and recharging after years of stretching myself incredibly thin on a quest for knowledge, growth and deeper spiritual wisdom.

My path has circled back and I've come Home.

Hummingbird Magic

It's been a little while since I've checked in with how SouLodge is going and a while since I've taken to deep plunge in to my monthly soul workings with a new spirit guide. There have been lots of breakthroughs and so much growth throughout this process within myself that I honestly didn't expect to get from, what is essentially, a self-guided e-course.

I will admit, despite the fact that I've been in this course since January, I've been with our first spirit-guide Grandmother Bear since the get-go. She has kept me wrapped up in her warmth to do the really deep work a bit longer than I necessarily wanted her to, but I was gentle with her and with myself and trusted in the process. And trust is something that is hard for me to give out, most especially to myself. Yet I did so and I trusted that I was exactly where I needed to be and was receiving the necessary medicine. While I was sitting with Bear in her warm, herbal scented cave learning how to nourish and love myself, I was also circling with a group of amazing women on a Fearless Painting Adventure called DEEP.

During the course, we worked on one painting for 6 weeks, ruthlessly trusting (there's that word again.) our own intuitions to guide and grow the painting as we created it. We were asked to leave our preconceived notions and ideas at the door and commit to having a relationship with the painting. As I painted, there was a lot of rooting deep into the dirt of myself, using big bear claws and taking the necessary breaks to just be silent and to take care of myself - to keep myself from becoming too raw and overworked. I'd paint and sing. Paint and cry. Get stuck and lay on the floor just below the painting so I could look up at it upside down and wait for it to direct me. And as I worked both on the paper and with Bear, the layers of scar tissue that had built up from years of hurt, depression, loathing and fear, years of not enoughness and self hatred started to heal over. I exorcised inner demons and old memories with my paintbrush, though that was not my initial intention and doesn't really show in the bright colors and symbolism found on the paper. And after time, rays of light began to permeate the sacred space of my mind, "the cave" and I laughed, cried, danced and found a deep peace and a resurgence of self love and deep healing that I haven't felt since, well, I'm not even sure.

And as we came in to May, I felt extremely drawn to color. In a way that is bizarre for me; I craved rainbows and bright, happy, joyful tones. I swapped out the dishes in my kitchen (originally black and white and very formal) for rainbow colored, mismatched beauties. Out went a lot of black tshirts, in came some brightly colored ones. When I picked out new glasses the other day, I picked ones that were pink and tortoiseshell, not my usual thick black matte. They even have most of the lens rimless, you can see most of my face. It's like I'm no longer hiding myself behind something. And during that time, when I was smiling from ear to ear, absorbing the great cacophony of color and the warmth and sunshine of Spring, Bear let me go - telling me I was ready to continue on my SouLodge journey.

My mind initially tried to guilt me in to attempting to play catch up, to work through the months of Lodge I had missed. But, having worked with my guts for so long, in such an intimate healing manner, I knew I needed to let go of those expectations and jump, fearlessly and full of trust, in to May. And when I saw Hummingbird, everything clicked and I felt her magic immediately. All the bright colors and happy vibrations I've been experiencing made perfect sense with this flying rainbow buzzing around in my life. She visits my gardens sometimes and whenever I see her buzzing about, wings flapping faster than seems possible, I get the biggest cheesiest grin on my face. We're old friends and having her fly in to my Lodge work for this month is like a joyful laugh escaping the lips when you least expect it to.

I look forward to working with her as a guide, allowing clear out the spaces in my center and heart. I welcome her vitality and energy and invite it to work its magic on me.

Merry May Day

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east and leads with her The flowery May,
who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing,
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

John Milton Quotes , Source: Song--On May Morning

Merry May Day and Blessed Beltane!

Sun and Earth are reunited and Spring is very much in the air. The scent of warm earth wafts by on cool spring breezes, the greenery is lush and vibrant nearly to bursting. Baby animals are emerging from their holes and nests, wobbly on newly discovered legs and wings.

My smile has been nearly constant, which is usually the case at this time of year. Something in the energies gets in to me and I'm nearly on fire, unfurling like a fern and coming out of my long Winter's hibernation completely. My head is clearing and I'm starting to spend less time there, preferring to get in to my body more and more; taking the time to really feel everything and relishing the sensations. Eating lighter meals, drinking lighter drinks. Getting on my hands and knees in the dirt, walking the paths and roadways in the early morning light and last rays of evening sun. Working the aches and pains out of my joints and letting my hair hang loose. (It's funny, because I wear my hair up almost all Winter and let it down in the Summer.)

For the first time since moving down South, Spring has unfurled slowly and luxuriously, taking her time warming up and reaching her climax rather than rushing to get it over with as quickly as possible. The days have been warm and the nights chilly, my roses have only just bloomed (usually they're out before my birthday - if they died back at all.) and the leaves of the trees didn't burst over night. It's the Spring of my youth and my growing years, the one that lasts and lets me savor it and drink it in.

And that's what I plan to do today, as much as possible. To revel in the warm Spring sun kissing my face, watching the clouds as the birds and the bees sing their sweet songs. And once the light has dwindled, to drink vodka I infused with fruits myself, share a glass of wine or three with the fae, make my offering and toast to the Gods and this beautiful, full life of mine. That which no longer serves me will be purged from my life by fire and my wishes for fertility of all kinds will be whisked to the Heavens on sparks and ash.

And while doing those, I'm going to take the time to reflect on and appreciate the love that I have for myself and for others as well as the love that I receive. When I began walking this path nearly a decade ago, hell even 5 years ago, I would never have expected to be where I am now in the love department; especially when it comes loving myself. It's something to celebrate and there's no better day I can think of to do so than this, with it being a festival of love and all.

May your May Day be blessed and full of love; for yourself and for others. May what you sow today come to bountiful fruition in Autumn and May you be blessed with whichever form of Fertility you desire most in your life.

A Restless Notice

There's a shifting happening again.

I can feel it not just on a spiritual level, but on a physical one as well. There's a feeling deep down in my guts that's roiling my innards and making eating a tenuous activity. Not necessarily in a bad way mind you, but in a way that demands that I stop putting my mental energies solely towards mundane things like worrying, tidying and over-thinking and pay attention. I note it in the vultures wheeling over head and peering down the tree tops and power lines. Every place I go lately, there he is waiting. And I note it in my own restlessness. I couldn't sit still or focus for beans yesterday, which honestly threw me in to quite a foul mood as it was my day off and I had a to-do list a mile long that I wanted to accomplish.

Needless to say, I didn't finish it. Every time I'd pick up a brush to paint, a pot to scrub or a book to read I'd lost my focus in about 5 minutes and pace aimlessly through the house. I was fidgetty, twitchy... anxious. Something needed to be done, something was messing up my personal Zen day. The energy in the house felt claustrophobic and tight and to make matters worse, my electronics were acting up. Stalking outside, I still couldn't find relief. Pissed off that it was so damn windy that I had to march myself right back in to the house and not wander about as my mind longed to do.

And I just sort of stopped. I stood still, closed my eyes, breathed deep and just let the feeling bounce around me and really listened. And after a while of listening, I stood up, went to my altar and began to prepare waters, oils and herbs. Took up my beloved feathers and fire and cleansed every square inch of my home with all the forcefulness of myself and the elements behind my workings. I sealed it with sweet smoke and holy waters, burned down candles and recharged my protective charms. Offered honey to the fae and they nodded their agreement to what my guts had said: protect and strengthen.

I know not what comes or has occurred; be it the breaking down of friendships and the ensuing slings and arrows of hurt, the seemingly never-ending trend of death and despair this year has left in its wake already or something worse. But whatever it is, I have calmed my own spirit and space and can focus once more.

Full Snow Moon

The full moon in my birth month is always a very powerful one for me. No matter where I am or what I'm doing, she pulls at me and tugs at my spirit - calling me to dance beneath her gaze or get in to big workings. Last night's was no exception.

I know I've talked a little bit over the past few months about feeling a disconnect from my path, especially during the "Great Apathy" as I'm now calling that bleak 6 month period at the end of 2012. I was so occupied clinging to whatever straws of joy I could grasp in an effort to keep myself from sinking from apathy to depression that my spiritual practices fell by the wayside. My altar went unchanged between Samhain and Yuletide nor between Yuletide and present, I didn't observe moon phases with anything more than a skyward glance and my conversation and connection to Hermes dwindled in a painfully significant way. My own light had waned to such a dreadful degree that raising energy was a joke. I'd sit or lay down and try and try and felt just the faintest of hums, if anything at all. 

It hadn't been so bad since the days of grand depression in my late teens. I tried to come back from it with the start of the calendar's new year. I began to observe things in nature more vigilantly, went barefoot more often on the cold hard ground and started to feel more like myself again but something was still holding me back. Despite the lifting of the apathy and a return to my true emotional nature, there was still a block somewhere. And as the full moon came ever closer, I felt like I needed to grab my mental sledgehammer and break that fucker down. 

And so, last night, I did just that. I tore down my altar space, taking every.single.item off of it and getting it back to it's bare wood state. No cloths, no decor, no bullshit. I started from scratch in the space; giving it a deep cleansing and re-dedicating it under the watchful gaze of mother moon. This alone took a few hours. Once I was satisfied with it, I fed the spiritual space with sweet smoke and began to cleanse and re-dedicate every item I put in to the space. It is very stripped back compared to what it was when I began, there are no extraneous pieces on it - no cloth, no cauldron, no extra candle sticks. Everything on there was for use in last night's workings or are vessels for the spirits and deities with whom I work. 

And it felt so very, very good. So very, very right. This stripped back, bare bones approach to my worship and workings. It felt as if I'd advanced through a veil and in to a deeper place in the woods of my path. One where I no longer need pomp and circumstance to get in the mood, as it were, because after the darkness I have more faith in myself and my own personal power. 

The energies flowed easily and readily, seemingly ravenous for release. And big things happened at my altar late in to the night; workings not just for myself but for others as well. Jewelry, stones and items for charms were fed, cleansed and blessed. I pulled my cards for the first time in too long and the fae seemed to nod their agreement; I'm on the right path. In the right space. 

Right here, right now. 

Look at That Smirk

Look at that Smirk

While I was at work yesterday, having a less than joyous day, I broke out the trusty Moleskine my best friend got me for Yule and sketched. At first came a woman on the left hand side, with dark eyes and long flowing hair. As I worked on the hair, I felt the urge to add the crown and the key. Once those were in place, I had no doubt who exactly it was that I had been sketching.

As I worked a bit more on Hecate, I felt a gentle tug and the sensation of a chuckling to my left. A whisper that my sketch needed wings! I very nearly stuck some on Hecate's back and then the sides of her head before sticking one on the side of the page. The chuckling continued as did the serious tug at my hands to draw wings. Oh, and some swirly curly bits too!

I let my hand go on the page to the right, sketching a wing, an oval, another wing. Then some glittering eyes and a quick swipe of a smirk. Oh bugger, Hermes! Really? You wanted me to draw yet another image of you? Because the last 35 of them I've done haven't been enough?

There's a bit of a glare and then a wide eyed mischievous grin before he whispers it's a shame to hide such great abs and winks away, leaving me alone. Oh, you cheeky Trickster god!

If there is one thing that I have always enjoyed about Hermes in my 20 years of time with him, it's the way that he can bring cheer to even the most dour of days. He doesn't always appear to me in his youthful form, nor as Trickster, but it is the most frequent.

And honestly, how could anyone resist that smirk?

Inward with Bear

Things are continuing to move forward, outward and expanding all around me and this year continues to feel so much lighter and brighter than the last one. Things are still shifting around in nearly every aspect of my life and the feeling from Yule persists.

I've made some progress already with my freshly begun journey in SouLodge as we hunker down with Bear and her medicine and work with the restorative, introspective magic of Winter. This month, for me, is all about self-loving, self-healing and taking the time to feel restive and restored which may sound a little counterproductive to the things I have planned for this year. But, I'm going to go with it and ride the flow of the season and trust that even with slowing down and going inwards, I will ultimately be moving forward. After all, if I can't heal and love myself, if I can't tend to my own needs then how am I ever going to do so for anyone or anything else? If I can't understand and converse with myself, I can't possibly expect to be any good at doing so with other people (or critters).

So, I've been doing a lot of journaling and a good bit of drawing as I take my time with this journey. When I journal, I don't try to phrase the answers like an essay (something my perpetual student and annoyingly perfectionist note-taking personality aspects aren't too fond of) and just let the thoughts slip from my mind, through my hand and on to the page. I haven't gone back to read anything over again, but I'm sure that when I do in a few weeks, months or years time I'll notice how very far I've come since those initial pages.

I've also tried my hand at following the guided meditations and journeywork in the course with varying levels of success. In the past, I've touched on my difficulties with meditation and how I have a hard time focusing and visualizing things - something people seem to find odd, given my creative nature. But, I assure you that when I do these things, I don't see movies on the back of my eye lids, I'm not transported to another plane of existence or being and I don't smell things. And for as long as I've been attempting these exercises in my spiritual practice I've felt like an abject failure for not having things go that way. My time with bear and my sharing with others in the SouLodge has helped me be kind to myself about that, to understand firmly that it isn't always that way for everyone and that what happens for me is just as valid as if those things DID happen for me.

And it's been a tremendous eye opener for me. To know that the sensations, wisps of thoughts, emotions and flickers of images that I see are valid, that these are simply how my mind and heart process the experience. I'm learning to relax and let my intuition and imagination work together to present the wisdom I seek in the best possible way for me to digest it. I've also given up on jumping from position to grab a book and take exact notes because I feel that sort of shoos everything away. Oh, that note taking habit is so damn hard to break.

And all of this has helped rekindle my other spiritual practices after they took a bit of a nap during the past few months. My eye has been skyward more often, toes in the wet grass, really relishing the sensations of the outdoors and the oncoming spring energy that I can feel buzzing -literally with the bees already being out and about- around me. These times of resting and inward travel have opened up new conversations with myself about the irrational guilt I sometimes feel for taking time to veg and do my own thing rather than caring for the plethora of things that I feel need to be taken care of instead (housework, work-work, arbitrary bullshit on the internet). I'm learning to be kinder and gentler with myself and to allow myself guilt free time for self nourishing, friends, family, fur babes and fun. And while there are still times that I fall into old habits and beat myself up over things, it's getting lighter and better. The road out from the darkness isn't a short straight path, but it does lead outwards and is worth getting up after a stumble, brushing myself off and continuing onwards - bravely.

And if these are the only lessons I take from SouLodge, then the money will have been well worth it. But as there are still 11 1/2 months to go, well, we'll see what other lessons and growth await.

P.S. A few people in my offline circle have complained that I'm 'too much of a hippie sometimes.' To those folks I'd like to say, before we go any further in our relationships, don't let the door hit you where the good lord split you! Life is far too short to waste time on people who want to change you for the wrong reasons. Either you like me or you don't, I'm not going to expend energy trying to sway you either way.