May 2016 archive

A place full of starlight

My husband and I went for a walk in the mountains yesterday. It rained the whole time, and we were all alone among rocks and sky.

The energy shifts up there. The air feels clear and pure and full of starlight. There were still patches of snow clinging to the mountain side, and we filled our bottles by a stream with ice around its edges, that fell from high above us and gathered into a lake further down.

I wondered if I could touch the mountain and get a little of its strength, if I could feel eternity beneath my fingers.

At one point I reached up as though I could touch the sky, push my hands through the clouds. A low mist trailed over the peaks in the distance and I wanted to simply watch it, for a long time. In the very beginning of our hike, there was a waterfall that broke like glass over rocks, sounded like thunder far below me when I stopped to listen. At one point I felt surrounded by water, lakes and rivers and rain. I crouched down and touched the earth, saw the grass and moss and heather, colors of green, dark brown and burnt gold.

So that was my Sunday. It was kind of a surprise trip because we didn’t mean to walk for very long. It was raining after all. But the mountain takes a hold of you and won’t let go until you feel wet and tired and dreamy. I curled up on the couch in the evening with a cup of tea, saw the mist above the treetops outside, a deep blue evening.

In bed, I whispered to the Goddess in my mind, dreams and wishes that I held in my heart, and I remembered it was the full moon, though I could not see it in the sky. It felt like a time for releasing wishes into the night, hoping they’d come back to me, made real and true. One can hope. There is always hope.

I hope you had a lovely weekend.

When the rain comes

Sometimes I want to kneel in the rain, feel it dripping all over me. It’s coming down outside right now, as I write, and I can see it in the birch leaves that sprung out overnight, see it turn the lake silver and dark behind me. I’ve watched the clouds all day, the sun coming and going. I saw them steel grey above the pine trees with tips like shining gold. There’s a chill again, in the air. 

There is something about Fridays that gentles me, softens me. Maybe it’s the fall into weekend, or maybe it’s because it’s Her day, the day of the Goddess, and I imagine the golden hair of Freya trailing all the way through it.

And there is chocolate…

Earlier I sat by the lake, caught my breath because there wasn’t even a ripple in it, and it was like a great big mirror. It had clouds and trees and mountains in it. And yesterday there was thunder, hail, lightning. I watched that too, from my rocks, while it was still just a gathering storm. 

I’ve been writing every day on my novel. It’s a bit difficult sometimes because I have to try to stay with myself and not run away from everything that comes. I write what I feel and read beautiful books to inspire me. 

I’ve been wanting to share more of it with you, little pieces of it, but it still feels too scattered, too fragile, though it’s taking shape. I spent one night dreaming myself into it, keeping myself awake. 

I hear the birds now, the rain has eased up a little.  I’m wishing you a beautiful weekend. 

And if you love beautiful words, especially on a Friday, may I suggest you sign up for a bag of seeds and stars. 

Quiet Spaces

Blair_Leighton_God_SpeedThey are so fragile, these voices that want to come through. I hear them and close my eyes fro a moment, listening. But sometimes I feel too thin and worn to write them down, and I need more listening, more watching as spring comes out, the world unfurling itself in green and new colors.

I’ve been wandering through quiet spaces, looking for words, light, myself. The Goddess.

I went outside to see if my rocks were there, the flat ones by the lake. And I found them, only half swallowed by the recent rain, and I sat down, hugging my knees, gazing out on the sky and water, the distant mountains. The world felt warm and friendly, alive once more with bees and flowers, green grasses saying and gleaming in the sunlight. A yellow butterfly fluttered over the lake, and I watches waves lap against rocks, leaving wet glittering shapes. 

Later I gathered windflowers. There are so many of them now, like white blankets in the fields, and I pick them, love them. They’re my childhood remembered. But there are other flowers too. Dandelion, the first violets along the roadside. I walked in the warmth of the sun, picked green leaves to nibble on, heard the clear song of birds, saw shadows of wings on the road.  

These are light days, bright days, the world transformed into green and colors, and the nights are half nights, pale and without stars. In the evening, I look outside and I can still see everything clearly, the world draped in soft blue, the mountains black shapes in the lake.

I walk between windows a lot, between tasks, breathing the air coming in. I feel I’ve been woken from a dream, a dark winter dream, and nothing seems quite real. Everything changed in the blink of an eye. 


This is one of those posts I wrote but never shared. Sometimes I write things and then walk away from them, afraid to look at my own words and what I felt. It’s been a strange couple of weeks. I’ve been working on my novel, through the help of Camp Nanowrimo. And when May came things kind of slowed down and the words left for a while. But they’re coming back now. I had long stretches of silence yesterday, that I dared to be in, to immerse myself in nothingness, and I walked in the forest too, sat by the lake.

I want to feel small and unimportant. I feel there would be freedom in that, to just share things without worry, to just be a voice in the world without needing to make anything more out of it.


I listen to my soul today, and everything is quiet around me. I hear the wind knocking on my door, and see it move the trees, the light coming and going, washing over the pale green fields.

I think I see now, that listening was at the heart of me, even as a child, but I did not know it. No one did. I wanted to watch the sky and speak to God and hear things inside of me. But there was no name for this. There were only school and classes and tests, and quizzes that had answers, and no space for dreaming. Though of course I did dream, like all children do, are allowed to do, until they have to grow up.

I think I wanted room for magic, and I watched the stars at night looking for it, walked through the thick pine forest next to our house, climbed the hills. I wanted to follow the guidance of my heart, and let wonder grow within me, but again I did not know that’s what I wanted. No one spoke of these things. Slowly I felt guidance being crushed out of me, the little magic I had as a dreaming child, and I gave up. I just gave up and felt numb and proud, and confused.

What changed was that new books came into my life, and a nudge whispering, what if there is magic? What if there is more? And I learned about dreams, astral projection, the Goddess. I learned to listen, slowly, painfully. Perhaps I could sit with my heart and hear what it was telling me. And it was like learning an old language all over again. My mind did not like it, rebelled against it, and now I’m learning faith.

I’ve been writing quite a bit on my novel. Lately, the day has been in the way, and I wait for darkness, like my soul sighs in relief when it wraps its cloak around me, and there are bits of magic that I can more easily reach, bits of starlight, moonlight to spin into story. 

I feel writing is courage, because I put my heart out there for people to read, for people to turn away if they want to. And yet now I feel I have no choice. I have to write because I started and now I cannot stop. I’ve been very silent for a long time, and now I have to speak what I can, through writing.

I’ve been looking at the guilt I feel when I share something. And I see that I was taught to be very small, quiet, like a mouse. But mostly just a good girl. I was taught not to ask for what I wanted, but to be sweet and kind, and secretly hope that it would be given to me. Being loud and wild was met with frowns and a steel like quiet.

My childhood home was bright and happy, but quiet. We shared love, but not tears or anger, and never raised voices. Though this has changed a bit over the years.

We all have things to remember from our childhood, beautiful things, and things to learn from. It’s just interesting to look back and see how it shaped me, and that there is a reason for the way I am now, and that often how we act on the outside is not what we are on the inside. And being married to someone quite opposite to myself in many ways, has taught me a lot too.

Just reflections this morning, pouring things out onto paper as I drink my tea now grown cold, watch the bright birch trees and dark pine forest, seeing the light changing from one second to the next.

I would love to know your thoughts. What have you learned from looking back at your childhood? What comes to you now?