Archive of ‘Solstices and Equinoxes’ category
The equinox has passed, and autumn is deepening. The mountains are full of color, and when I go for evening walks they seem cloaked in a misty blue. I go to the river more times than not. I sit and watch the water, and leaves falling from trees, dropping into the current below. I see silver fish gleaming against grey river stones. There’s so much beauty in the details of things, and in the simple shift of the seasons. When I stay quiet long enough and listen, I hear my heart speaking to me. And I’m still learning to trust that voice, to know what is guidance, and what’s merely fluttering, confusing thoughts.
I celebrated the Equinox with friends. We did a ceremony together in a circle, around a fire. A man with a sword guarded the entrance to the circle, and words were spoken that I gathered up like pearls of light to carry with me into the darkness. We sang songs and watched the sun setting golden against the mountains, and though I was very tired, I tried to take in the feeling of that autumn sky, the fading colors of the last light.
Autumn might be my favorite season. There is something uniquely beautiful about yellow and red trees, about the golden light and the sun so low on the horizon. I find it very poetic, – the crisp air and the slow falling into darkness, the approach of the Winter Solstice.
My husband and I went to Vienna for a few days last week. It was nice to get away for a bit, to see new things and to reflect on my life. I wanted to explore the city more, but a tiredness had gone into me and I felt a little sick. There was also a lot of construction noise right outside our window, but I drowned it in rain.
A beautiful black cat visited me almost every day. He scared me at first. I didn’t expect to find big, green eyes to be staring at me through the glass door, in the half-light. And we were on the third floor…and I had no idea how he had found his way to our patio. But there he was. Such a beautiful cat.
Did you celebrate the equinox? Wishing you a beautiful autumn, or spring!
Artist – Sulamith Wulfing
I step into the sunlight. The cold air. Watching the steep mountains, the mist touching the dark forest. It’s been raining for days. Thunder darkened the sky yesterday and it never fails to give me a secret thrill, that sense of power in the air, the thunder gods, stories from my childhood, so very close,
I swear there is a presence in the thunder, in the lightning. Something is drawing very close, almost touching the earth. I would stand in the storm if I could, stand on a hill and watch it approaching, feel the wind in my hair, electricity in the air. If I knew it would be perfectly safe to do so.
I’m not sure what to say today. Sometimes I feel broken open, old things spilling out, things to let go of, but I’m not sure how. I feel my life has become a series of lessons that I need to learn, to understand. Maybe it’s like that for everyone? I’m trying to interpret the messages in my dreams, in my daily life. I’m squinting at words taking shape on a page, trying to understand, to bring them into my heart.
I got up so early this morning. Even before the first light. I stared at nothing for a while, wondering what to do. Wondering what has woken me. And then I got up, pulled on a warm robe and lit a candle in the other room. I prayed and listened and tried to be calm. There is a silence reaching to the edge of the world at that hour, before dawn, before breaking, a silence I can draw into my heart, like soft, dark tendrils. Like velvet smoke.
I sang a mantra, and as I did I opened my eyes and watched the flickering candle, the statue of the Goddess Freya behind it. Her shadow shone onto the white wall behind her, a greater Goddess rising up, showing herself through darkness and fire.
This is the time of darkness, of the warrior Goddess, of shadow and flame. The Equinox is approaching. Will you celebrate it?
Sharing this video because it reminds me of magic, of home. Of the cold north and mists on lakes, and strange things moving beyond our sight. Jonna Jinton also shared how she stood among thick mists one midsummer night, hearing many voices that soon faded into nothing…
This seems to happen so much. I write something and then I never post it. I’ve been wanting to blog more but I always feel too tired to do so. Many things have happened, but I’m starting to feel the ground beneath me again. I’m trying to love summer and not to wait wistfully for autumn. Anyway, here are some words I wrote a while ago:
The sun is fading from the mountains now, and so much has happened. A whirlwind of events, both magic and pain put together. I feel tired out and can only lie and look at the mountains outside my window, the deep emerald forests, the pale green fields between them. I’ve moved apartments again, and I love this new view from my bedroom window. From the right angle, I can pretend there’s only mountains and sky and me.
I’m in the middle of unpacking. Making a new home. A nicer home, hopefully. I’m also unpacking everything that has happened, holding the events in front of me, turning them over, looking at them. It feels like a breath out, these last few days. I want to close my eyes and rest and let go of the things that hurt me and hold onto those little gems hidden in everything that I went through.
And I’m a year older. I felt pampered on the evening of my birthday, after spending the day packing and carrying boxes up four flights of stairs. Luckily friends came to help. I feel very blessed to have beautiful friends around me. After sunset I unwrapped presents and ate a divine raw chocolate rose cake, with rose petals on top. And the sky was a delicate pink. A lonely star shone through it. A new year has begun.
That night my husband and I also moved into our new home, slept in our new bed for the first time. The next day it rained heavily. There were claps of thunder, streaks of lightning and rain that poured down heavily. I loved it. Loved how the sky darkened with clouds, and how the heat broke for a little bit. We watched it all from the verandah, with flashes of lightning around us, eating leftover cake.
The Summer Solstice
And the Solstice has come and gone. There was magic in it that I’m still unraveling inside of me. A group of us walked up the mountain to do a ceremony at the sunrise. The moon was a sickle in the sky, with Venus right beside it. The girls stopped beneath it, and washed our faces in the morning dew. We did the ceremony in white robes with golden sashes, wearing flowers in our hair, walking into a pink sunrise.
In the evening we gathered again, sang songs inside as it was thundering outside, and breathed the beautiful scent of calendula, the golden flower.
Hope you had a beautiful Solstice. Wishing you bright blessings onwards.
“Your will Father, not mine.” She trembled beneath the weight of those words, bowed her head, because she meant them, feared them. They felt like thunder, felt like she had given her life over to the north wind. But there was light also, there in the sky. A white, kind light that smiled at her, falling feather light around her, a soft summer breeze. Peace.
Following the will of the divine is something I yearn for, but it also frightens me. I feel it takes some courage, understanding, and one step at the time to get there. And also Elohim. What is it about this word that sends shivers through me? It feels so powerful somehow.
I greeted the sunrise on the Spring Equinox, gathered in a forest with friends, in a white stone circle. I sat for a moment before our ceremony, watching a white half moon between the trees. There were threads of the softest pink on the horizon. Then we all pulled on our robes, taking on our different roles. I was the Divine Mother, walking beside the initiate, the one who has to go through trials by fire, who carries the cross, carries the sun within. Everything was quietly somber at first, and then bright, beautiful. I gathered some things to reflect on, beauty and darkness showed to me, and I want to listen deeper, deeper. (It’s always a bit scary to me to share these things, but I want to. They touch me so deeply.)
Later I went for a forest walk with friends, feeling the warmth of spring. The world renewed. There were so many flowers of different shades, colored gems spread across the earth, violet, blue, white and gentle yellow. I felt the spirits of the forest whisper to me in some strange, old language. Felt laughter just beyond my hearing, just beyond my sight. And there were still large patches of snow that I sunk through, that glittered white in the sunlight. The air held a faint fragrance of sun-warmed moss and grass, and I brushed my hand against moss covered trees, against rough bark. Saw the blue sky through bare boned branches.
Wishing you a beautiful spring, or autumn. Wishing you love.
The nights have become pale, ghost-like. I lay awake listening to the rustle of leaves, to tiny bells traveling from the other side of the lake, to the hoots of an owl. I know a low mist fills the mountains and forest outside, and nothing really sleeps anymore. There is always a light in the sky.
I wanted to write about the summer solstice when it was happening. But I felt too tired to. I felt a bit like this poem.
But I did watch the sunrise with my husband, and then listened to the rain coming down in the late morning and the rest of the day. My husband took some time off work and we spent a few slow days together. On my birthday (June 23) we went to the city to eat at a restaurant, and pick up some things from the health food shop. We wanted to go for a walk, but it was raining then too, and we could hear it drumming on the roof inside of the shop. The lady behind the counter smiled and wished us a happy St. John’s evening, which is traditionally celebrated here with bonfires.
Yesterday we went for a short hike in the mountains, and I thought of trolls and other mystical creatures as we walked down a wet grassy slope, back to our car. There was mist rising from the mountains, and the sky hung dark and low above them.
In a way, I’m saying goodbye to this place because we’re moving. We’re going to Slovenia, to the Alps, and the romantic, green beauty there. We’re leaving at the end of August…
And my book is still free, for a little while longer. You can get it here.
You’re being given it all, the wind whispered. Everything you dream of is here; it is at your doorstep. Open the window to let in the light, and your new life, away from your prison.
But I’m not ready, she gasped. I’m still not good enough.
And yet it is given. You asked, and here it is. We love you.
Give it all up, all your worries and troubles and imperfections. Give it all to the God and Goddess and let them carry you. Spring is here, and it’s here to stay in your heart, blossoming into summer. Let it all go. Your new life awaits.
I sat among the trees, by the lake, under an almost full moon. I walked home in the gathering night, towards the light of a tiny silver star, and heard it whisper to me.
Make a wish it said. Now on the eve of the equinox, make a wish for your new life, for everything you want to leave behind, and for the dream of something new. Be quiet and see this in your heart, and you will be guided. Brighter days are ahead, the snow is melting, there is no need to hold on to winter.
I gathered my wishes like flowers inside of me, and kept them there, to be released like petals on the wind.
It is the day of the equinox, and the sun has just cleared the treetops as I sit by my window, drinking hot black tea, dandelion coffee. We got up early, before dawn, my husband and I. We had found a spot close to us where we could see the sun come over the mountains, and went there, walking along a snow clad road, seeing the horizon painted pink, a crow flying over tall pine and fir trees.
It would be a clear, beautiful day, the sky a faint blue behind us. The clouds glinted like gold above the mountain tops, and I gazed at them longingly, hoping to see the sun rise into view. It felt like such a long wait, and I grew colder even through my layers of wool, even though there was no wind this time around. I was so grateful when it finally did rise, round and yellow, rays stretching across the mountains, the ice, into the forest behind us. I closed my eyes and took in its warmth.
I feel sleepy now, but I don’t want to return to bed because the wind is in the trees and the light is coming, washing down the hill. I love to sit here while it filters into the kitchen, the room smelling a bit like coffee as I make my second cup of dandelion brew.
What do you dream of, at this change of season?
Albert Lynch (1861)
I saw one of my tulips, cupping evening light, pink and white and golden. A moment of intense beauty, gone in an instant.
The Spring Equinox 2016
The equinox is approaching, step by step, inch by inch. I went for a walk yesterday and felt a sadness in the sky, in the setting of the sun that I couldn’t quite explain. I sat on the ground for a while, gazing down on the lake, crusts of ice breaking, sparkling like diamonds, and up at the towering trees above me. I kneel sometimes, lifting my arms to Father Sky, putting my hands on Mother Earth. I feel guidance being there, among all the wild things.
It felt like the world was opening up, blue and wonderful, cracking at the edges to let light in, the birds soaking in new warmth, singing from hidden places as I go on my walks, or listen from my spot by the window.
I feel new life blossoming within me, the promise of spring, of white delicate flowers and tiny green leaves.
I feel I’m honing my listening skill, the inner ear hearing whispers in my bones, in my soul. I’m daring to trust, one tiny step at the time. I read this book which inspired me greatly, made me wonder about angels and spirit guides, and if we’re ever truly alone. Maybe there’s always someone walking with us, even if we can’t see them. But maybe we can sense them? A touch of love in our hearts, a feeling saying they understand, that they’re with us, protecting us. For some reason, I always felt protected, even when my life was falling apart.
Have you felt this too?
I wish I could gaze through the veil to the other side, but I’m a little afraid to. I think I read the world through feeling and sensing, and I’m trying to trust this language, words being spoken to me in my bones, my heart, an inner knowing.
Goddess of Fire
I see Brigid tending the sacred fire, dress in white, glowing among the shadows, her golden hair tumbling over her shoulders, down her back. Her eyes smiling at you, making you think of a clear blue river in spring, under the breaking ice.
She beckons you closer. A fire Goddess. What does it mean to carry the fire within?
Will you celebrate the Equinox?
Sharing that my favorite astral book is back on sale.
Spring Equinox Rituals.
A beautiful video of spring returning
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.
I watched the sun slowly brightening the forest, shining on autumn leaves. It was as though a great veil was being lifted, and the world seemed sparkly clean and new.
It rained all night and I listened to it, alone in the darkness, drifting off to sleep, being woken by my own dreams.
Today is the Equinox and I want to be quiet, to reflect on something, something speaking to me, that needs me to understand.
I gathered flowers from the field, but they were already faded, already seemed pale and brown around the edges as I placed them on my table. But that is autumn, everything dying away, turning into snow, into sleep and a frozen earth.
I know I will love the first snowfall, the silence deepening. But that is still a few months away. Right now is the harvest, and the autumn equinox, and I will go into the forest and stay there for a time, just listening and let the trees, the wind speak to me. I want to be near the stream and feel the strange darkness in everything, even as the trees, the leaves turn to fire.
I sat in the forest, in a sliver of sunlight between the trees. I watched the sun slip lower in the sky, tall pines swaying above me, glittering with rain. I took my shoes off and sang a mantra, feeling that I was calling upon the Goddess to come to my aid. I imagined her as a fierce warrior, stepping forward, wielding her sword.
I’m sharing this video below, because it’s from the first Autumn Equinox I celebrated. I was given the task of representing the Goddess, and I was very nervous. I felt weak that day, but I remember watching the wicker man go up in flames, and I dreamed of courage.
This is the ceremony we did.
How did you celebrate the Equinox?
On the morning of the Spring Equinox, my husband and I walked up the hill together, under the fading stars. We wanted to get up high so we could see the sun rise above the mountains. We tracked through snow some places, losing the trail, walking by instinct, until finally finding our way to our spot by the ruins of an old stronghold. Only a few moss covered rocks remained now.
We dressed in white robes, pulling them on top of our winter coats, and sang a mantra together. The sky turned pink, and brightened. The clouds shone like gold above the mountains. We waited, and waited for the sun to show itself, and I started to feel cold, and impatient, but I did not want to leave until I could see it fully. It felt important to stay. So we did, in the wind, sitting, watching the sky. And then finally it came, the ball of fire above the clouds. I felt so happy and relieved. The trees, moss, heather, stones, were all bathed in golden light. It was beautiful. The moment, the energies felt special, sacred. I wanted to soak it all in it. I stayed for a while longer, lingering in the cold as long as I could. I wanted to gather it all in my heart, and carry it with me, those precious, golden rays of the Equinox.
Back home I took a long, hot shower, and was still shivering when I crept under the covers for a few hours more of sleep.
Later in the day we went on a road trip to visit a circle of ancient, mysterious stones, a few hours away.
No one seem to know their true meaning, but I thought I felt something as we climbed that green hill, and walked into their midst. I sat there for a while, as the sun started to set behind the hill, trying to read what I was feeling.
A few days later, as my experience had settled more into me, I wrote this:
As I walked among the stones, I thought I felt whispers of what once was, as though the veil was very thin, separating the past from today, thousands of years between us. And yet it felt like it could have been yesterday.
I sat for a long moment, feeling a touch of sadness, a longing for a time when nature and beauty was honored, protected, and love and light was like precious gems to be gathered and shared with others.
Do You Remember?
Do you remember the winter light of the solstice? The woman in blue, standing in a circle of frostbitten stones. The silence of the dark morning, the last stars fading at the rising of the sun.
Do you remember that long moment of reverence? Knowing what the light meant, to the world, to your soul. Can you hear the singing? Feel the sense of wonder, and relief as the first rays reach you, warming your skin, a little, in the depth of winter.
Do you remember when everyone felt the meaning of the sun, and could read the stars, the rain, the mountains, the earth. When the world was an open book of teachings to be honored, understood. When one sapling, one tiny flower could mean so much, carrying a message of light, from the universe, the gods.
Do you remember?