October 2014 archive

In the Arms of your Mother

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Clouds on the water, silver rain, the sky white, the mountains framed in mist.

Tiny raindrops gleaming in the pale light, the last autumn leaves holding on, a splash of gold against a world of grey.

It’s a time of quiet, of listening. Going within, hearing the sound of rain on the roof, small streams gently trickling down rocks, into the lake.

Just be. Hear the call of your soul, the whispers of your heart, remembering to breathe again, to let go, to sink into the coming darkness, like a cloak wrapped around you, comforting, healing, safe.

Rest. Just rest. The sun will return soon enough, and you will want to stretch you wings again, sing your joy at the growing light, the warmth, the long, bright days of energy.

But for now just rest. Knowing that you are safe, in the arms of your Mother.

 

 

 

What did You Love to Do as a Child?

Artist - Arlene Graston

Artist – Arlene Graston

I remember that one of my favorite activities as a child, was to run. I ran as fast as I could along the path that went around our house, as many times as I could.

I often went on adventures on my own. I always had a horse, sometimes a sword, and there was always danger of some kind. Sometimes I was a native american girl, in touch with nature, other times a nymph of the forest and the streams.

I loved to watch the clouds, white shapes drifting across the sky, and I was amazed that they could move like that, always moving, changing, drifting.

And I loved to draw, and write. I drew horses mostly, as it was something I’d also do with my sister and a friend. We would draw horses and pretend we were those horses, galloping around on all fours. I was so happy when we were together.

Sometimes I’d write poems, confusing Ks and Gs, Ds and Ts.

What did you love to do as a child? Do you still do those things? 

Do Not Worry

fd868b2a3123f50276e0d32cb211d831This Morning

This morning a bird flew into my window, and lied very still on its back, heart racing. I put my white shawl over it, to keep it warm, and prayed for my Divine Mother to heal it, though I did not believe She would.

I went out later, to check on it, thinking I’d find it dead, but instead it was sitting up under its blanket, staying very still.

I returned back inside and sat down on my chair, feeling the Goddess smile knowingly. I covered my face with my hands, though no tears came. 

I went back to the window several times to check on the bird, but it only sat there, blinking.

Then finally, about the fourth time I checked, I saw that it had moved a little more, and I prayed again for the Goddess to heal it, and then the wind blew, and the little bird moved its head this way and that, suddenly coming back to life. It jumped out from under its blanket, (with me cheering it on from behind the window), and quickly flew away.

I sat down and wrote a bit, feeling into what had just happened. I remember there was something about being more loved than birds, in the Bible, and decided to look it up.

Do Not Worry

Matthew 6:25-27New International Version (NIV)

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? “

If my Divine Mother can heal a small bird, can’t She also heal me? Won’t She also protect and keep me safe? I keep doubting her, unwilling to let go of my troubles, to put it all on her. It seems a bit much, I’m afraid it’s too good to be true; bad things will surely happen if I relax. So I cling to my worries a little longer, but I want to let go, I’m getting tired.

It will happen. I know. Like the slow melting of snow.

Fear Not

79aeaaa8c56d3dbb0a7ed5bf6ef34b59This morning

The morning is beautiful. The mountain is all gold behind me, the lake still as glass, the mist hovering close to a pale blue sky. 

I went for a short walk, and experienced the first frost of the season. I could feel the bite in the air, see the faint touch of silver on grass and leaves. I thought I saw the moon in the water, and realized it was still visible in the sky.

Writing

I wonder now, how much time can I spend on my writing. It’s a very slow thing. I find myself reading a lot, and just staring out the window.

It was a fight to get here, but at least I showed up, even though it hurts, even though it’s scary and hard, and wonderful, all at the same time. 

These are the moments when I’m slowly opening up like a flower in spring, amazed at what proper nourishment can do. The nourishment being long stretches of time alone, of walking, of writing, of reading, of staring out the window. And allowing it all. Then the sounds and sights enter me in a totally different way, in a new way, deeper way, touching strings of beauty inside of me.

I love being in a place that’s so quiet I can hear the birds clearly. Sometimes one comes and looks at me through the window. I’m not sure he knows I’m here. It’s always the black and yellow ones that come, the small birds who seem to live in the birch trees outside my apartment.

A couple of days ago one flew into my kitchen, and sat at the top of my cabinet, looking at me. I opened up all the doors, letting the place get freezing cold, before he finally realized he could fly out. 

Yesterday

I’m amazed at how quickly the sun sets now. I relaxed yesterday, then did the dishes, and as I put on my jacket to go for a walk, I noticed how close the sun was to the mountains, just about to disappear behind them, and it wasn’t even 6 pm yet.

I went to my little spot overlooking the lake, and looked at the fading light in the water. I couldn’t seem to enjoy it; something in me felt restless, and I soon returned inside. It had been an interesting day. I had started writing again, just for myself, in my journal.

I also explored a new path in a different town. I crossed a bridge over a wide river, and felt fear, though I knew the bridge was safe. I felt so tiny compared to all that water, rushing below me. I realized there was something about that, something about not quite trusting life.

I sat down close to that river, and wrote in my journal. Mostly though I sat with my face to the sun, seeing it between the trees, amazed at all the colors around me. I wrote;

“Thank you divine mother, for this moment”,  and wished it would last for a long time.

Then I read some, and learned that Jesus said “fear not” more than anything else.

Dying Into Something New

Edmund Dulac

Artist – Edmund Dulac

It takes courages to step out of the darkness, the known, and into the light.

I thought it was all doom and gloom, but the sky opened up to me, slowly revealing only light and love.

I’m sitting in the forest, little drops of water falling from the trees, catching the light, – a drizzle of silver.

The rain comes, more wind, tall trees swaying above me, clouds rolling passed in an ever changing sky, the sun now gone.

Then the mist creeps in, a fine cloak of silver, and the trees keeps whispering, the sun glittering somewhere beyond them, water trickling down moss and rock.

These sights and sounds seep into me, heals me, going a little deeper the more time I spend in nature.

I get up and start on the road back. At a clearing I stop to watch the sky, dark clouds rolling closer, wind increasing. I know it will rain again soon; I can see it coming over the mountains in the distance, but I just watch for a while, feeling into the slow, brewing storm. 

I love autumn, all fire, rain, wind and dark clouds. Everything being moved, stirred up, changed. Slowly dying into something new. Everything is fresh, crisp, alive.

The sun breaks through the clouds just as the rain reach me, but I stay for a little longer, until it really starts to pour. Then I run for shelter, crouching under a fir tree, my notepad wet, watching the rain fall all around me. 

 

Snow

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Artist – William Robert Symonds

Today I looked through old drafts on my blog, and there are quite a few of them, things I’ve written but never posted. I suppose I felt too vulnerable to share them. I didn’t want to appear heavy, or dark, but looking at them now I feel perhaps it would be worth to post some of them, as it really shows what I was feeling at the time, in March/April this year. Maybe sometimes it’s better to share than to keep it hidden. Maybe someone has felt something similar. 

***

I see a small flower covered with snow. Tall, dark trees around her, stretching towards the sky. She has hope, she has felt the first touch of spring, and is now patiently waiting for it. She has faith that the sun will one day warm her.

I’m tired, my soul bruised. I have no voice, no strength. I feel like being quiet, still, lie here and  look at the trees outside my window.

I want to walk in the forest with the sun on my feet. I want to observe the slow unfolding of spring.

I feel there is a spark of spring inside of me as well. I feel myself on the edge of something new. And it’s wonderful and painful at the same time. I feel there is still frost in me, a cold winter that has covered my life for years. But winter creates life. I’ve been impatiently waiting for myself, for the time when I can step into who I truly am.

Now I feel a need for patience. No pressure, no demands, or I will crush what’s trying to come through me.

I wish now that I had not pushed so hard, but instead listened to the quiet whispers of my soul. Allowed that slow healing I yearned for.

The goddess came to me and said “you’re not alone”, and I took a deep breath and dared to feel again. 

The frozen tree stands patiently

Waiting

in trust

for spring to come

 – Vigdis Garbarek