Archive of ‘Healing’ category
I’ve written several posts that I left in drafts. I don’t think I will publish them because they were too full of hurt and anger, grief. But it is better now. It always gets better. Just have to stand in the fire for a while.
I feel very blessed living in the place I live. So full of beauty. To go for morning walks and see the light in the trees, in the beautiful gardens, overflowing with flowers. I like to walk by the river especially. There is something about the water that calms me, soothes me. Without it, I feel parched. The other day I watched a small bird dancing on a rock. It was all black with a white chest. It flew into the water, diving, swimming around. I didn’t know it could do that. It seemed so full of joy.
The days have been less hot, and I welcome the cool air, the mist on the mountains, the wild thunderstorms. I hide away when it gets too hot. I’ve been circling by the butcher shop to get raw goat milk, raw butter. It’s amazing to find such things. Treasures really.
I have my desk where I can sit and write, my own little place finally. And I can see the mountains from my window. All blessings.
In the afternoon I curl up on my bed with a good book and my notepad. Sometimes I need a day when I can fill myself to the brim with writing. To step into the world of dreaming and stay for a while because it’s so easy to be shaken out of it.
She is perfume. She is rose sweet. She is love. The most sacred flower in the depth of your heart. Fragile petals opening in darkness. Strength confused as weakness. She is life, beauty. Love.
Sometimes I fall asleep to the scent of roses (or the feeling of that scent.)
I draw closer to her like this. My Divine Mother. I listen more. And I feel her showing me something that I can’t fully grasp because it goes so much against my stern ideas about life and love. But I want to believe what I start to glimpse inside of me. A truth I didn’t dare to believe in.
I feel letting in love takes courage. To be open and vulnerable. And being so loved, so near my Divine Mother makes me feel unworthy, very small, and yet deeply loved. It’s a strange combination, and it’s easy to run away.
I was reading a book about a girl who lost her parents and sister. And I felt myself in her. It made me feel how great my loss really is. How deep it goes. Deeper than I knew. I still think of my family with a pang of longing, that sense of being a tree in a winter forest, just starting to gather leaves. We can not turn away and forget. We have to walk through things, so I write. My main character goes through a great loss, but it’s easier to write about someone else. To look at things from a distance. And make her learn courage, faith, love, all the things I wish for.
The novel I’m working on is me piecing my soul back together, putting words and understand to my grief loss, without feeling too scared or overwhelmed.
Note: Sarah is soon releasing the updated version of her novel as an ebook. Please check it out. Truly it’s wonderful!
Here I am, back again. Writing from Slovenia. My husband and I moved from Norway to Slovenia, and then again within Slovenia. We’re now in a small, lovely town with more sunlight than my Norwegian-self think is normal for winter. It is wonderful, but somehow it makes me think a storm is coming. It’s almost like being back in California, though much colder of course.
I like going for walks, watching the mountains. And I feel I’m settling down now, slowly. So many things have happened, and it’s been hard for me to find the quiet within myself to write. And whenever I do write something (I have several unpublished drafts) I feel afraid to share it. Perhaps I’ve been a bit raw, feeling vulnerable. Scared of not being enough, or too much. All of that stuff. But 2017 brings new beginnings. A new year, a new cycle.
The Winter Solstice
I don’t want to move into the New Year without mentioning the Winter Solstice. It was especially beautiful this time around as I celebrated it with friends, on the top of the mountain, above the clouds. It truly felt like we were in a different land, far far above everything and everyone else. In a different world. We climbed the mountain beneath an orange sky, and at the top, we did a ceremony together. We sang and watched the sun come up. I remember the pink edge of the clouds and how they stretched out like an ocean below us. And the incense, drifting like smoke above the ground around us. We were all robed in white and yellow, and a friend stood in the center of the circle, dressed as the Divine Mother. She lit a candle as the sun rose, and it felt like magic. A gift. I’ve always wanted to celebrate the Solstices and Equinoxes as long as I’ve known they existed. And now I’m finally part of a group that brings that old magic back to life.
Christmas was also beautiful and spent among friends. I felt I was given small gifts of moments, of meaningful discoveries. Gifts of love. And I went for a walk in the dusk of Christmas Eve, standing for a long time under the Christmas star, praying, hoping. Asking for help. I always feel sad on that day, missing my family. I just can’t help it, even after all these years. I always feel broken open and hurting a bit. But I was reminded that I’m very lucky to have received so much love growing up. It fed me and helped me have hope in life, and in other people. I still feel I’m carrying that love inside of me, like a golden seed.
Wishing everyone a beautiful 2017. I would love to hear from you. How are you?
Alexa Wilding (1879)
I feel as though I’ve stepped out of time, into a white and silent space. Perhaps it’s because of summer, all the long days that has pushed away the night, leaving only a shadow of darkness. Perhaps it’s because so many people are on vacation, and everything is a little more quiet than usual.
I wander the forest, looking around me at all the things I will be leaving very soon. That will soon be a mere memory. I was surprised to find mushrooms and blueberries and felt it was a gift from the earth, from the Goddess.
I feel I’m wrapping up my life here, in more ways than just packing things into boxes (we’re moving to Slovenia). I’m reflecting on all the things that have happened in this small, hidden away place. How its silence has healed something in me. After years in the city, it was amazing to hear birds and the wind, and the gentle lapping of waves, the rustle of leaves. Nature sounds and nothing else. Of course, there are cars driving by, but more often than not there are just long gaps of silence. I wanted this. I needed a place to be quiet and to listen, to hear what was whispering deep down inside of me.
This is where I first started writing. Really writing. Really looking at the grief that had been a part of me for so long.
It feels like a gift, everything that has happened. A beautiful, magical gift. I want to whisper “thank you” as I make tea, as I greet or say goodbye to the day, as I stare up at the green, pine forest outside my window.
I’m sitting at the computer now, next a vase of fading pink roses, and watching the evening light play over my hands as I type. The sun is just about to set over the mountains behind me, and the birch trees sway gently in the wind.
What gifts have you been given lately?
I’m wishing you a beautiful weekend. Blessings.
Also sharing the song of an owl, that I’ve been listening to so often as I fall asleep. Isn’t lovely? Somehow I feel it’s a song that opens doors, night doors to other dimensions.
Cavé, Jules-Cyrille (b,1859)- My Daisies, Flower-Girl
I gathered wind-flowers and put them in a vase next to where I’m writing now, to stay close to their magic. I also noticed the first of the nettles, peeking through the dirt, and watched the sky for a long time, above the glittering lake.
Something was gathering power out there, coming back alive, the sky full of clouds, dark and white ones, with light between them. I felt I wanted to stand in the wind, watching them, feel into that slow brooding something. It reminded me of summer, which often feels like thunder, like sun and rain and storm, and yet most of the time nothing happens. But I love that beautiful contrast, darkness tinted with gold.
I went into my bedroom, because it lets in the evening light, though its window is narrow. And I can only see green branches, pine cones, a bit of sky, and distant mountains.
I sat gathering flowers in my heart, mostly roses because they are a favorite, but also violets, forget-me-nots. I was reading in that white silent space, hearing the wind outside, mending something inside of me that had been hurt, a worry that says I can’t trust myself, what I sense and feel. The world has its loud opinions, that I shrink from, turning to the Goddess, the angels, praying that what I hear, deep in my bones, truly is their guidance.
Sometimes I go from room to room, window to window, watching the sky. And just before sunset I see waves of light on the walls, streaming through my apartment, and the birds are full of magic and song, and I hear them, like crystal water, calling forth the night.
In the Meadow, by Auguste Renoir.
Something I wrote the other day…
Some days feel all wrong like the world is out to get you and nothing goes right. You ache and feel exhausted for no reason at all, and yesterday I gave up, went to bed early and curled up, glancing at a star outside my window, between the branches of the pine tree. I didn’t even try to pretend anymore but went to sleep explaining things to my Divine Mother, speaking to her in my mind, just pouring out my anger, my worries, my pain.
My dreams were a mess, chaotic. But I felt I was going on a journey in them, and I woke up feeling healed, if only a little bit. The sun was already on the mountain, and I made myself a cup of tea and sat by the window, thinking about the morning, how it makes things brighter, not so heavy and dark. Sometimes we just need to wait for morning.
There are signs of spring everywhere, budding leaves and white flowers, orange butterflies. I can get lost in beauty, the longer I stay in a spot in the forest, the more it comes into focus, the more I see, and the longer I want to stay, curled up on green moss.
I sat on the ground among light and tree shadows, having gone for a long walk, wanting to feel the earth in me, to get out of my head, into my body, my heart. The world is being filled with sound and music, after a long silent winter, and I saw those grey and white birds, that make me laugh, because they seem a bit confused, running around in circles on the road, back and forth, not sure what to do with themselves. I love them, and I’m so glad they’re back. The English name for it is apparently white wagtail.
I wonder sometimes what it would be like to be a priestess, especially now since I’m writing a novel about one. What would it be like to carry the Goddess in my heart, to go about my day, doing my tasks in her honor?
In the evenings I’ve been standing by the window, drinking a cup of rose tea, looking at the sun setting behind the mountains, above the lake. Everything glitters and the sky is bright, clouds tinted with gold, and I breathe deeply and thank the day for what it was, even if it was difficult.
Do you feel the change of seasons where you are?
Lady of the Lake – Alan Lee
I sat in the forest yesterday, kneeling on wet moss, seeing the rain come down over the trees. I looked for strength, placing my hands on the earth, looking up at the clouds. I reached into the sky, hands cupping light, praying to my Divine Father, feeling the Goddess circling me everywhere I looked.
I’m filled with doubts so often, losing faith, but the world is simpler in the forest, clear like the rain falling, like the streams meandering through the woods. I breathed deeply and sat for a long time, seeing the sun sink low on the horizon, feeling the shift in the air, the day falling into evening.
My husband and I went for a long walk around a mountain lake, last Sunday. I was tired, but as always nature has a way of seeping into my heart and bones, and I looked up to see clouds rolling in, mist floating over treetops, and everything felt dark and brooding, as though the world was waiting for rain and storm. I felt there were stories in the air, and I could feel them reaching for me, tugging me along, and I didn’t want to return to the car, not yet, not yet. As always the forest wrapped its magic around me, and I lost myself in it, would have stayed there if my husband didn’t have a hold of my hand.
Where do you go when your spirit needs to breathe, when your heart needs healing?
She walked among silent white trees, her dress trailing the ground, leaving the hem muddy, her feet bare and cold as she stepped close to water, kneeling, drinking.
This morning I listen to a song I love very much, that inspired the name of this blog, and my book – The Little Flower.
This song is full of quiet hope. It is sad, yes, and I remember crying to it and asking for it to be sung at both my sister and dad’s funeral. It especially reminds me of my sister. It’s a conversation between a flower and the singer, where the flower explains things in trust of God. No, she does not mind being in the dark forest, where there are shadows because God is with her. She doesn’t need to be admired in a garden because she was born to be a forest flower. And when the snow comes, she’ll be asleep until the sun kisses her awake once again.
I had a lovely moment last night when I had lit candles and opened the window to feel the fresh air. An owl was singing outside, and I paused, closed my eyes and smiled. It’s the most magical sound to me, and it’s been such a long time since last I heard it. I feel life returning all around me. I hear birds in the morning, and the light stays longer, seems brighter, as though the sun has regained some of its strength.
I sit by the window now, watching the light on the birch trees, making me feel spring in my bones. The Equinox is coming up. I dream of standing by the water, in a simple white dress, but it will be too cold for that. I will watch the sunrise, probably in my winter coat, and though it’s less poetic, I’m looking forward to it. I hope to be by the coast this time, and see the sun come out of the ocean.
Snow Queen • artist- Christian Birmingham
The evening had fallen, draping itself in blue and white, the trees frosted over with newly fallen snow, a touch of ice at the edge of spring. She gazed out into the dying day, seeing a dim light fading just beyond the mountains. She sighed, dreamily hugging her knees in her ivory gown, feeling the cold of the window pane as she rested her head against it. It felt as though the long stillness of winter was passing into spring, but the light was shy, and pale, unsure of herself, – a white lady at the edge of the world, gazing longingly in, afraid to come closer. And yet everyone looked for her, any sign of her in the air, the ground, the budding trees. She did not know how much she was wanted.
But slowly she would know herself better. And her step would grow surer, her dress changing to pale green, and then violet as she sprinkled wild seeds and flowers from her hands. A soft wind would blow, her laughter warm and golden, releasing the streams, the ice-covered lake, and river. The birds would return, once more filling the world with song.
I feel a bit like the winter outside my window, hovering just before the first touch of spring. There’s an ache in it, even though the snow that fell last night brightens something in me, makes me feel white clad and shiny on the inside.
I lit candles last night and started writing in the beautiful book I received for Christmas, with the golden cover. I’m still figuring out my new story. It keeps slipping from me when I try to grasp it. It needs a plot, an ending, but all that comes to me are little moments like the one above. So I write what comes, and hopefully, it will lead me somewhere.
My book is out on amazon. I’d love for you to check it out, and share it with someone you think might like it. Thank you!
I hope you’re dreaming beautiful dreams for the new week.
I want to share tender heart songs from the past. Songs that was once my life, that I still carry inside of me, but that I want to let go of, to be carried away by the wind into the open air, finally touched by the sky, the sun. I don’t want to forget, but instead, bring life to old feelings that I hid from the world, to not hurt myself and others. I was afraid to take up space, to speak of what happened. Even glimpses of what I had gone through seemed to release a great wave, a shadow that felt too big, too uncomfortable to share. An elephant in a small room.
But it’s like walking among trees, thinking of winter in spring. Seeing the frost-touched the ground, that will soon be full of flowers. Noticing that there are shapes in the ice, like roses, that grabs your heart. And you kneel down to touch them, winter flowers among the dead grass.
I feel I’m doing the same inside of me, going through memories, pain and shadow. Gathering moments of beauty among them. I’m looking at the tapestry of my past, seeing the colors, the threads of gold that gleam the brightest, but also the darkness, the gray and red and black. I look at it all, knowing I’ll find stars in the night.
Living with Grief
I understand now that my grief will always be part of me, that I’ll always love and miss my family. Still, what I want is to walk deeper into my pain, and no longer hide from my feelings. Let them make me stronger, help me appreciate life more fully, all the little joys that it brings. I think sorrow can be turned into beauty, into strength.
I never truly digested what happened, all the losses that tore me apart. I put a time limit on my healing, and then stuffed everything away into a tight hard knot inside of me, that swelled and hurt until I could no longer ignore it.
But I also feel that things happened as they were supposed to. I moved away, found love with my husband in California, and when I had grown stronger, and gathered new lessons, new life experiences, the Goddess whispered it was time to return to Norway, and face my past.
Writing has been a huge gift, one that I did not have before. It’s like I’m slowly unraveling old feelings, word by word.
Outside my Window
I see a patch of blue sky, white clouds swirling above dark trees. There is a slight wind today, and softness to the air that makes me step outside my door, taking deep breaths, feeling an ache, a longing for spring. I know the sun, the light will return once more as it always does. For now, I watch the gray, overcast sky, with glimpses of gold in between, drops of snow sometimes falling, the wind coming and going. The birch trees are smiling at me, waving their bare, dark branches, whispering of beauty yet to unfold.
Sometimes I walk with quiet, careful steps, as though stepping on glass, testing my boundaries, seeing how far I could go before something breaks, before I’m punished. I question how far I can live my life according to my own will and heart’s desire. But then I realize that no one stands in the way of my happiness but me. No angry gods or curses, no constant gloom that I have to hold onto to stay safe, to stay in the shadow so that too much sunlight won’t burn me. It’s strange, this fear of being too happy. Do other people struggle with this? Create troubles out of nothing?
There is so much sweetness in my life, making me want to stop, close my eyes and breathe it all in. Pause little moments and take them in fully, and yet I step around my joy, timidly, carefully, afraid to go too deep, or something monstrous might pull me down. I suppose I got burned, got used to life being turbulent and unsure, people getting sick, dying. At some level, I knew it would happen, that there was something dark and terrible coming my way.
But it’s over, I feel that too. Like a great storm clearing to reveal sunlight and a fresh start. I’m learning to live my life anew, I think, away from my old fears. I’m learning to not always expect the worst, to not worry, and to ease the tension that seems to be a constant in me. That tight knot in my stomach, the clenching of my teeth, as though I’m trying to will something away, will life and all it’s possible horrors away. But there is wonder too, and I want to melt into that, into all it can offer, even when there is suffering. I want to live, fully, deeply, with an open heart. I want to be happy, and do what I came here to do, and not turn away the gifts given me.