resting in suspension

🌑♒︎entry

I’ve been quiet.

Or so someone suggested.

It’s not for lack of words.

My mind overflows with words.

My heart overflows with feels.

A cacophonous libretti.

That overflow spews out of my heart, swirling within me… out of my crown, swirling above me, around me, below me, holding me captive within a ferment of letters and numbers, disjointed words, whole words, and so many feels… I just can't seem to grasp the pieces that I need to perceive, to hear, to share.

What’s worthy of feeling and expressing eludes me.

So for now, I’m suspended.

I feel that.

in prep of the calendar flip

I have my personal new year at my birthday, and then there’s this one that so many of us share. Historically, I’ve not given this one a lot of attention, yet in the past few years I’ve explored the shared social verve of this calendar flip time. That exploration has led me to acknowledge and honor a collective bit of magick that we share (knowingly, or not) that I used to dismiss. Where I used to poo-poo and push away, now I and observe and embrace (if not with some lingering reluctance) this time ‘n’ space of the shared new year.

The mystic in me can' no longer deny the collective verve of fresh starts ‘n’ new beginnings. I feel you, comrades. And I see you. I wish to dance this dance with you. Even - and mayhaps, especially - when it’s challenging.

Today, as I prepare for this shared magick in the lingering new moon in Capricorn, I reflect on the darker aspects of this past year. I’ve already considered the lighter bits during the dark moon phase. And make no mistake, there's plenty of overlap. I do this to make ready for tomorrow, that day #1 that we share, when I open the backdoor to let out the old year, and open the front door to let in the new. It’s a ritual that I practice twice a year at both new years… and, quite frankly, any other time that calls for it, which is rare.

When that backdoor opens, I invite it all to go. All of it. The good, the bad, all of it. I neither cling to the good, nor curse the bad. I honor it all. And I thank it all. Whether I like it or not. But, truth is, I like it. I appreciate it all. All.

When that front door opens, the back is still open, and I invite clearing, for sure, so the new can whip around my interior, into cracks ‘n’ crevices where old stuff can hide, so the new can usher as much of the old, especially any of the icky sticky stuff, out that back door. I invite in fresh air, and all that is meant to be with me in the coming year. All of it. The good, the bad, all of it. All.

And I exhale, inhale, and repeat… with all of it. All.

Now, understand that I use the words “good” and bad” not for judgey judgement, but rather for our collective understanding of these words, so I may convey my meaning. Make sense?

I could go on with some personal stories to convey the value this practice has added to my life over the years, or explain more about my relationship with judgement, or just ramble (it’s a skill), but that could take days, and we have this new year for which to prepare. And in case you’re wondering: Yes, I have lists.

And I invite you to have lists… to help you hold, acknowledge and honor your goods ‘n’ bads, so you may release them with conscious awareness. And if the ritual of the open doors resonates with you, and even if it doesn’t, I invite you to engage it. If you don’t have two doors, leverage one, and a window. No window? A single door will do. Start where you are, do the best you can, and let’s make some fresh, comforting, compassionate verve together for this year ahead. For ourselves, and for all of us. All.

🕊️

Putting Off Today

As you may already know, every morning I draw a tarot card for guidance. This morning I drew the V Swords. My brain first went to - what I consider to be - the conventional interpretations which perplexed me, and nothing was landing. Know what I mean? When I'm perplexed like this, I relax my brain, engage intuition to invite personal, and unconventional messages from the pure imagery.

I landed, in summary here: Chill, stay focused... and aware of the internal 'n' external discord. It's OK to give it a rest, and return to it tomorrow.

That resonated. So I put off some (exhausting) adulting planned for this morning, and will revisit it tomorrow. I also pressed the pause button on some of the The Work in which I’ve been swirling. In its stead, I harvested the ripe-n-ready garlic, even though it was damp from last evening's delicious downpour. It's drying in the greenhouse, and will make its way in a day 'r two to the curing tables in the garage. I took a shower (outdoors, ahhhh) and am chillin' in front of the fan as I type.

…today’s garlic harvest, and yesterday’s french grey shallot harvest…

I'm gonna make some Thai dipping sauce to can - outdoors - using some of the previously harvested garlic. I failed to make any last year, and I need this on my pantry shelves. And I’m thinking I need to plan making the Monarda fistulosa (bee balm) jelly now that blooms are delighting. 

The rest today, though, will be wondering and wandering toward the calming shorelines of my mind (‘n’ intuition)... where secrets yet unknown to me may be whispered.

🕊

A Liminal Ramble from the Full Moon Hedge

 

This past full Lughnasadh moon, the first of two full moons this August, has expressed a pronounced yet gentle verve to me.

One of my habitual moon rituals is, at the full moon, to assess all that's in my moon cauldron and to engage the days of waning moon to empty these holy bits so that by the new moon the cauldron is void, empty of holy bits, so that I may choose what to add to explore during the waxing phase. 

So now, as we move beyond this brilliant full moon, it would be time for me to start emptying my moon cauldron in preparation for the upcoming new moon. Make sense? I sometimes wonder if it does. ::nods:: But that's beside the point. You see, this full moon handed me a word, and that word in Linger.

Linger.

I don't know what it means, but I do know that when Luna offers a gift, I accept it. I'll embrace it until such time I'm able - and willing - to acknowledge and honor what I discover as I unwrap and explore the contents of this gift.

Even in my befuddlement I feel how this word, this gift - Linger - resonates within and around me. It feels moored to another word that has been holding my conscious awareness, and driving my recent work - Liminality. This recent work, and the word itself, is inspired by the book Living Resistance, by Kaitlin B. Curtice (a read I most definitely recommend). This work with liminality has been going on for a while, and is anchored somewhere in early 2022, before I read the book, and when I returned to Hedge work, as I call it... working in and with those spaces between spaces. 

Linger. Liminality. Hedge.

So here I am, pondering the intersection of these web threads that are holding me, pronounced yet gentle. Swaying in their embrace as I prepare to pass through the gate of 65/11/2 in October. There's nuance here, yet I can feel the tug to leave that unexpressed for now, and let it linger.

So here I rest - for today - swaying with the swing, pronounced yet gentle, as I Linger.

Linger.

Peace. 🕊

Floral Medicine

In this season there's something to be harvested every day. This morning I'll survey our little acre to see what will have my attention for today's harvest.

Already I know there will be more comfrey leaves to harvest for drying, red clover and calendula blossoms. Yarrow, Saint Joan's wort buds, and other blossoms 'n' leaves will call to me, and most certainly the bee balms.

Plus I'll be looking for and harvesting other buds, blooms and blossoms, as floral Medicine has been calling to me again this year. I have a collection of June blossoms, and am now working on collecting July floral Medicine. I'm not sure (though I have a guess or two) how this Medicine will evolve 'n' make manifest, yet I'm confident that the call is worthy, and that the voices of the botanicals will sing their song to me ~ when the chorus is ready.

Of all the lessons that the plants have taught me, one key is that we can't rule or force them in any way. Not for their growth, bounty, beauty, their utility, Medicine, stories... their gifts, whispers, songs... their mystery...

I follow their lead, as they are more wise than I - or any two-legged - shall ever be.

Peace. 🕊

A version of this entry was originally posted July 9, 2019 at When Weeds Whisper.

Medicine, Furry Medicine

An unadorned cardboard box in a warm, safe space... seems so, so appreciated by this sweet little guy.

This cat was seen on occasion in November. We figured he was a local resident. But then, later in November, we saw him more frequently, and notice he had no collar. We would try to cajole him toward us, but he would scurry off. As November progressed, he'd come onto our deck as sunset approached, and would gaze through the sliding door window. We'd open the door, and off he would scurry. Finally, on a lovely, sunny late afternoon, late in November he came close to us, outdoors, rubbed against our legs as kitties do, and I was able to pick him up just long enough to discern that he was light as a feather, so skinny he felt fragile, before he squirmed out of my embrace and ran off yet again.

But he returned to the door, most every evening... looking in the window. At first, when we'd open the slider he'd sniff at the interior, but not enter. Then, during the last week of November, he'd enter. We'd give him water, which he imbibed with (what I perceived as a sense of) satisfaction. We gave him some of our home-canned fish - premium stuff - that he'd barely nibble. We gave him pets 'n' lovin' which he accepted until such time as he was ready to leave. We'd open the door, and off he'd go, disappearing into the night. I wondered if he had been abandoned, and suspect he was, for he was - tentatively so - accustomed to two-leggeds, bowls, and kindness. This continued until the evening of December 1st, when he came through that slider to shun the open door, and - it seems - to stay to make us his.

The 1st priority of December 2nd was all about getting food and litter. He knew the sound of the food bag, from which we rationed small amounts to this furry bag of bones. The following morning he peed, not in the litter box, but in the basket lined with one of my old shawls. The next day he peed in the litter box, and - finally - pooped, not in the box, but on the bedroom floor where he hard peed the day before. Thank the gods for hardwood floors. We put the poo in the litter box, which he was using for the liquid stuff, and around day five he relented, and is now using the litter box for all manner of waste.

He's an early riser. That first morning it was 3:30ish. We're early risers too, but anything before 4:00 am is too early, even for us. I explained this to him, and now he holds off his morning antics to 4:00/4:30, which is acceptable to us. 

His ears were a mess, and causing him discomfort, pain even, and I've been forced to man-handle him to address that. It's hard because he's so skinny (but finally filling in a bit) that he feels delicate, and I feel like I might break him. It's been slow-going, and I'm still at it, but we're making progress even as he shuns and runs away from me after every treatment. I tell him, "One day, you'll thank me."   

My spouse has declared his name as Sammy. I call him Zamee, SamZam, StinkyPoo, and a host of variations (much as I do with our hens). He responds to none of it. He's settling in, and has no interest in any open door. To me, he feels heavens' sent (much like our last dog, Halley Josephine). I am grateful that he found us, claimed us. We shall be Medicine to one another. ::nods:: 

 Peace. 🕊

The Lusty Month of #NoMowMay

 

The lusty month of #NoMowMay welcomes you. 

Historically, the holy days of May Day/Beltaine have been highly social for me. They involved group camping, lots of hugs, food and beverage sharing, drumming, dancing, fire, joy, passion, and - for some - ceremony 'n' stories of meaning 'n' value. While I've not engaged that verve for a while now, I miss facets of those days, and at this time/in this season I am mightily grateful for my solitary nature as COVID cases are on the rise again, not "just" in far-off places, or even within my own region 'r state, but right in my own little town. And yet I see folx "returning to normal" (an opportunity lost), gathering in sizable groups in spaces open 'n' oh-so-foolishly closed, so many unmasked, unprotected 'n' unprotecting, with the concept of distancing clearly an abandoned practice for many. I see so much selfishness. I see too little communal guardianship. I see memories that shall - for now - stay rooted as memories of Medicine. Past, present and future. 

That said, I am grateful for my little patch earthly paradise, where - during the holy days of May Day - I shall gladly commune with the compassionate and intelligent beings of Nature. I shall hug the trees, embrace all my rooted kin, share nourishment 'n' sustenance with them, with the mundane (of the earth), as well as with the elemental beings that choose to join us. I shall drum, dance, express joy, and engage ceremony 'n' stories of meaning 'n' value with Nona Gaia, all her kin, with the chickens and my spouse. And I will count my blessings, with care, and cast them to the directions to go where they are most needed. And as the these days twixt spring 'n' summer return to earthly days (also holy), I will focus on tangible ways that I might share my blessings in and with my community as the moon waxes and the wheel of the year continues its sacred pirouette. 

I pray that you might join me. Not for yourself, but for others. And - while I have your attention - join so many around the globe in #NoMowMay. And if you feel you must mow, consider a mechanical mower, and/or a scythe - we use both. Consider the earth and all her kin. This month and forever onward. Not for you. For our holistic 'n' collective future. For our beloved Nona Gaia. In the name of all that is sacred 'n' holy, may we kick the fossil fuel addiction. ::nods::

Peace. 🕊

Buon pesce d’aprile!

 

Or, if you prefer, happy April fools' day. 

That, and a new moon too.

This April arrives with me emptying, 'n' releasing, as is my new moon habit. This pursuit allows me examine - every month - "things" that don't nourish 'n' sustain the world (and me) in any way, and offers me an opportunity to offer thanks and release them to go where they are needed, wanted, 'n' worthy. These "things" include activities, behaviors, relationships of every kind. Now, as the moon waxes again, I shift my focus to filling my vessel with "things" that do nourish 'n' sustain the world (and me). That this new moon makes manifest with Pesce d'aprile (April fools' day) offers me a potentially playful perspective to consider as I fill my waxing lunar vessel. 

We live in odd times, though the foolish ancients and their consorts of folly remind me that all times are odd times. That said, I feel challenged to lighten up, to embrace some folly, familiar 'n' foreign. It's a challenge to be light in heavy times. And it can be Medicine. And I feel drawn to it, and shall do my best to heed the tug of the mystery that guides me... nourishes 'n' sustains me.

I hope you will too. Consider this your invitation. 

Peace. 🕊

A Spark

This was the scene a year ago today. A farewell blessing to a physical space. A space that had 'n' held such amazing spirit. A space that transformed to pure verve... a verve that wafts in the ethers, a verve that is carried, still, in my heart, and in the hearts of others, a verve that keeps us connected.

I don't miss this physical space. What I do miss is the vibrant, light-filled spark that was born there of many an exchange, individual and collective... a spark rooted in relationship 'n' reciprocity, a spark that burns still. 

And I'm feeling grateful. So grateful.

Peace. 🕊

Arachnid 'n' Halley

 

I've been experiencing enormous comfort from these insistent rains, and in working in the officina (apothecary, if you prefer) these past couple/few days. Yesterday I was able to both harvest carrots and plant carrot seeds; a medicinal metaphor of meaning if ever there was one. Catching up on tasks 'n' communications that had been forfeited over the days prior, sorting through DPM (dry plant matter), especially the powders, to see what stays 'n' goes, making plans for students 'n' workshops all served to offer meaningful focus through which I was able to harmonize needed function with necessary sobbing. It's been a time of grieving, mourning, and healing, to say the least.

I'm still stunned at the expanse of this loss; the feeling in my chest - my heart - is palpable. Tears well up without warning, and fall like the rains. 

I've been working with Arachnid since Tuesday to hold my fractured heart open, yet together without breaking apart, as I grieve. She's woven a strapping 'n' silky-soft web around my heart, with the shattered pieces held open 'n' in place as I feel the feels that must be felt. When the time is ripe, she will assist me in mending the shards together with gold. 

I'm mightily blessed to Know and have relationship with Arachnid, a personal ally since the mid-1990s. Consciously, that is... I'm confident that the relationship is much, much older. She is, in my experience, never demanding. She shows up at will - her will - with unmistakable messages when I need them; I mean, you tell me that a spider bite on your butt doesn't speak with clarity. She responds without hesitation or judgement to my calls for support. She responded to my call to weave support around sweet Halley's backside on her final day with us. Between her loving fibers holding my heart - and me - together without falling hopelessly apart, and beloved Anubis holding Halley in her final day with us (more on that later), I feel grateful beyond grateful. 

It is a mighty comfort to have blessed Arachnid holding my heart, my life, my love, right now. I am beyond grateful for her blessings.

Peace. 🕊

Gods, I Loved Her.

I wake today to a space that is forever changed. It is void of a 70 pound loving presence that I shall infinitely miss. Yesterday, our beloved Halley Josephine moved from this realm to the big mystery. Gods, I loved her.

It all happened pretty fast. Which is a blessing. A month or two ago she began favoring her rear left leg. She was old, 14 years, and in being on the old trek myself, I chocked it up to years 'n' milage, and adjusted her medicinals. Despite her age, she always thought she was a puppy, and was filled with a cheekiness she'd express with dogged regularity. She'd jump like a lunatic when dinner was served al fresco, though not as high in recent days. She'd bark sass at her DaddyGuy when he didn't leash her up fast enough to get going on the walks she loved, be it around the neighborhood or around the little acre. In this vein, I could go on, and in saying that, there may well be more posts to honor her unselfish yet demanding spirit. Gods, I loved her.

About a week ago the favoring of the leg became more pronounced. She had jumped off the deck to run at and bark at a rabbit, so, again, I didn't make much of it, figuring it was a strain that would mend. Yet each day the favoring progressed. On the 3rd  of July I contacted a vet who specialized in at-home emergency and end of life care. She was out of state until the 6th, offered compassion, and options if we weren't able to hold out for the three days. So as the favoring and her hobble progressed, we did our best, as did she, to hold it together. I need to express that the fucking 4th of July bombing adorations didn't help any, and I was especially grateful for her passion flower 'n' chamomile CBD chews that night. We all went to bed early that evening, windows closed, fans running to muffle the loathsome explosions of neighbors near 'n' far. I spoke silently to Halley's spirit, prayed to Anubis 'n' others, as we all tossed 'n' turned with discomfort, occasionally switching on the soft light to see if she was trying to get up. Gods, I loved her.

The 6th came and with it a confirmation that Dr. Leah of Holistic Home Veterinary Services LLC was on her way. The waiting was pregnant with so many feelings, and in that time we did our best to comfort 'n' love our ol' girl. I can't even express depth 'n' width of my gratitude that we could do this at home, by her side, caressing her, whispering our love to her, with a vet of remarkable compassion. She was such a good girl. Gods, I loved her.

Today is hard. So hard. Overflowing with tears and gut wrenching sobs; smiles 'n' laughs, too. I'm nurturing the feelings, every one of them, for this little 70 pound bundle of attitude 'n' love gave us so much, and filled our little hut with more love than I realized. Gods, I loved her.

She will be missed beyond measure. Gods, I loved her. We both did. So, so much.

Peace. 🕊

Well, Look at That: It's March

February, the last full month of winter, managed to live up to old, notable patterns by offering much-needed snowfall, and by taking its time. For me, those 28 days lingered, and I'm grateful for the time and space in which I immersed myself in some expansive (mostly) inner work. I appreciate the s...t...r...e...t...c...h of time in isolation, uninterrupted by social activities of days past. It was Medicine to me. Yet with March's arrival I'm still deep in unresolved hibernation work... and feeling ready to shift with the seasons. So ::shrugs:: I'll carry my unsettled work into the shift.

Isn't that always the way?

And it feels fitting. As seed-starting picks up a pace of need and urgency this month, I'll tap into the seasonal metaphors, connections, and erstwhile work that will support the evolution of February's immersion. The work that nourishes and sustains. The collaborative work with Nona Gaia.. The work of Life; mine, yours, ours. And - in multiple realities - I have more seeds, in volume and diversity, this year than I have - quite possibly - ever had. And that feels fitting too.

So, now, with spring's arrival within reach, let's get to work, shall we?

Peace. 🕊

February, February, February...

I don't care what linear, logical, conventional measures of time say, February is the longest month of the calendar year. 

In the best of times, February can be immensely trying. Even in days BC (Before Covid-19), so many of us would feel the feels of longing 'n' loneliness. In days BC, when I was blessed with space in which community would gather, February was expressed by many as a lonely and challenging month. In those days it was a month when drop-in visits picked up, as well as scheduled sessions, not to mention the month when community gathers were consistently well attended. 

In my part of the world February is the final full month of winter. It is a month that many of us - consciously or not - sense the stirrings of spring, the green feelings within that long for the green stirrings without, like the alliums in our kitchens 'n' pantries; we feel something sprouting that has no ordinary earthy space yet to ground. It is a time that calls us to be imaginative, to create imaginal space for our February stirrings to settle 'n' root. 

This can be challenging even in times when we're able gather and share our February stories, green hugs, compassionate smiles. This year, as we - with healing in our hearts - continue to isolate, discourage discretionary gatherings, especially in indoor venues, and as we hide our smiles behind masks with 6+ feet between us, we face exceptional February challenges, like none in memory. I, for one, await days here in the damp, breezy chill of southern New England when an outdoor fire will offer enough comfort to invite a loved one or two to sit beside me, safely distanced, to share a cuppa, a simple meal, a visible smile... and to hear the healing music of collective laughter... quite possibly the shared Medicine I most miss.

Yet there's other shared Medicine that sustains me: The botanical Medicines of February, the mid-winter Medicines of Nona Gaia. This is the month in which the seed-starting dance picks up its tempo. And I am ready to dance with these familiar friends. So blanking ready. I could go on and on here, but instead I invite you to join the dance, especially if you've never danced this dance. Find a vessel, fill it with soil, and place a seed (or a few) within it. Water it, breathe into it, sing to it, and whisper your secrets to it. Dance with it. Tend to and care for that vessel and all it holds, and join forces - quite feminine - to nurture mystical life into ordinary manifestation. Life, that when reciprocal relationship sustains, offers bounty to nourish more - much more - than our bellies. Dance together. In February, and beyond. 

For me, this may just be the most sacred of Medicine that February offers. It is light in darkness. Always. And especially in these dark days we all share. Dance together. 

Peace. 🕊

Welcome to December's Deep Darkness

I'm taking December serious this year... with some earnest down-time, some ruminative stillness, quiet, and BEing. Because I can. And that's a mighty blessing.

December, in my hemisphere, invites us to delve deep into the expanding darkness of night. December reminds us it's our last chance in this turn of the wheel to do so. December cajoles us to quiet ourSelves... and others, to nest 'n' rest, to sleep more... to light candles 'n' fire... to simmer, stew, braise, roast... to embrace meaning in the long night of the soul... and then some.

I feel remarkably blessed (privileged) to be able to fully engage this December verve this year, without demands 'r distractions. Yule, I expect, will be especially sacred after honoring the darkness of the season in ways I've not done for years, quite possibly ever. While I anticipate the return of the light of our world at winter solstice, I shall continue diving deeper into the blessed darkness that the final days of autumn offer us. It's Good Medicine.

Given the nature of our shared world this year, I invite you - as much as you are able - to make time 'n' space to dive deep into the dark depths that only December delivers.

Peace. 🕊

A Mighty Invitation

The thriving October garden.
Blooms for the pollinators.
Past, present and future.

October is the month in which I prepare for the new year. My new year. 

It's the month, in my region, that the summer gardens release their hold. For those in my region who grow 'n' gather their own food and Medicine it's a busy month. Busy, to be sure, yet a variety of busy-ness that is paced and filled to overflow with meaning and value. A month of harvest, seeding and putting-by. A month of past 'n' present. And future.

It is a month of reflection for me. As I harvest, plant, preserve and be in the shifting landscape, I reflect on the activities, relationships, and so-called outcomes of the past year. I reflect on what has added value to my life and to the lives of others - near 'n' far, known 'n' unknown. I reflect on - and with - the ancestors in every way that I can conjure them... the green slime, Nona Gaia and all her - our - kin, the elementals, my parents and their lineages, and others, including those of the imaginal realms, all who join me and share their LoVe 'n' wisdom when I seek 'n' request such.

Traditionally, I seek projections my October reflections. Yet, in these days we live in projections hold less value. For me, that is. This past year is changed. The present is changed. And so, too, the future.

This year I hear the ancestors, all of them, requesting a shift in action, and as I sit - quietly... in stillness - I hear them whisper an invitation to return to the eternal now... to the present. 

It's a mighty invitation. And worthy, methinks. If I want to continue to affect positive change on the future, I must continue to affect positive change to the present. The conventional world (if you know me, you know what I'm talkin' about) feeds us anxiety for the past and want 'n' worry for the future. That conventional world invests in distracting us from the present... because that's the only place that change can happen. 

So, ironically, as I reflect and project, I recommit mySelf to the present... to positive change... for me, for you, for the past and future, for the earth, for life.

I invite you to join me. And the ancestors. It's a mighty invitation. And worthy.

Peace. 🕊

Autumn Fey

The sketch was made last week, and embellished with watercolor this morning.

My practice of heART journaling is always good Medicine.

Peace. 🕊

Welcome September

Even as aspects of The Garden are past 'n' waning, there's still plenty to tend 'n' harvest well into autumn. And autumn's not here yet. And I am grateful for these final days of summer.

August flitted, I blinked, and linear time has delivered September. Given this dashing verve, meshed with some solitary immersion and inner work, I've found myself in a place to stay for a while. That may sound cryptic, but it's not. It's simple, though not without nuance, and it's the nuance that's gnawing at me. And so it is that some plans have shifted so that I may do the work I'm called to do, and face the challenges I'm called to face.

I'll be staying in The Garden for a while; the one you see, and the one I know. This fits with this transitional month in ordinary and extraordinary ways. I feel a tug - a tug for all of us - to nurture the Gardens, the communities and the wisdom that reside right in our own backyards. We are being called to honor the places where our roots sink, and as we do, we will re-cultivate honor for the earth, the soil, the water, the air, the plants, all life - everywhere - with our behaviors, choices and actions. Actions that may nourish and sustain life, near and far, rather than starve and deplete it. 

This is the Medicine we are called to make manifest.

I pray we are all up to the challenge.

Peace. 🕊

Welcome April and the Vernal Emergence.

The landscape on our little acre still looks more winter than spring. Nonetheless, I've been looking close, and see signs of onion grass, dandelion, chives, celandine, garlic, clover, plantain, butterbur, cleavers, any other rooted kin emerging. Sections of the main vegetable garden have been seeded with peas, spinach, lettuce, and beets. The chicken coop will be moved - on this fool's day - out of the main garden and into its summer space, and I'll be able to get more annual seeds into the warming earth, in between the April showers.

Nap time is over. The vernal voice says so, and confirms the message of my full-year tarot spread. ::nods:: The spread that speaks to changes on the horizon. Shifts whispered in the vernal winds of change. 

Spring is here. I await the vibrant energies of the season, the greening of the landscape, the buds and blossoms that paint the world in colors missed for a full year cycle. I welcome it, and the pace that shall quicken. And the care I must take to keep up with it.

May you welcome spring. May you feel the quickening - without and within. And may you take care so the pace may nurture and sustain you.

Peace.

Welcome January

It's really winter now. And with it - for me - comes the most earnest of the quiet time, still time, and inner time that I experience throughout the whole of the year's turning. Yet, unlike the rather indulgent dark days that lean into winter, these dark days have a light that shines progressively brighter on that which is vital, that which must be seen, that which cannot be denied. As the calendar flips and winter sinks roots, I see myself, winged, flying under an obscure wire. As I reflect on the mystery in this portrayal, I also pull it into the cryptic  guidance received from my full year reading. As I do, I see the roots that have coiled, curled, and grown around one another since my new year in November. I gaze outward from a perched position into the shared garden of life and ponder the mysteries that are broadcast there. I sense the plants - their roots and seeds - luring me deeper into their subtle seduction. In this place we - the plants and I - lean into one another, and at once I observe the plants recoiling from others. I hear their tacit longing and feel - yet again - a fathomless heart tug to be a better champion... for them, for the earth, for all life. And an oath is renewed. I glide throughout this terrain that they - my beloved botanicals, my rooted ancestors - reveal to me. I listen intently for their expressions. I hear and feel a deep-reaching blessing wrench from the roots of my heart's actions and axioms. And without doubt or question, I know that the plants want more of this kind of attention. From all of us. And an oath is renewed. Peace. 🕊

a bird

there is a bird
a giant bird
a transient bird
near the oft flowing waters
of the little acre wood

her south facing gaze
follows the flow
of the sometimes stream
of the slope of the land
and the portal of passion

she invites me
to join her
as she fades away
into the trunks and branches
that give her form

there is a bird
a giant bird
a transient bird
who chides me

to spread my wings

to soar with the mystery
to bring it back
to the land
to the life
that weeps for the gift

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Bad poetry in honor of the moment, and of the uncontaminatable essence of life; past, present, and future.

Peace. ☮️