the infinite generosity of Gaia

Yesterday was about addressing the last of our Tromboncino winter squash. This is one of those activities that inspires my mind and heart to wander, wonder, explore. I am fascinated by how such a ordinary activity can inspire so much heartfelt consideration. Yet, as a devotee to Gaia, I often pause to reflect on my activities – large and small, ordinary and extraordinary – and how they nourish and nurture my relationship with Gaia.

2024 was the first year I grew this particular squash, and I will grow it again. Throughout the summer I harvested a gardener’s ton, small, at around 12 inches long, to use fresh, as a summer squash, in all manner of cooking. Any overabundance was sliced and dehydrated. There was one squash, hiding, as all squash tend to do, that grew larger, and this delighted me because it chose to be the one to grow to maturity to be a winter squash. I love this about this particular squash, that it's wonderful as a summer squash, when small, and equally wonderful when mature as a winter squash. The squash pictured here has been feeding us for the last past couple of months. I would just cut off what we needed in the kitchen, and leave the squash in its place in cool storage in the basement. So simple. So generous. And like so many squashes, winter and summer, so versatile and useful in so many dishes.

So yesterday I cleaned, peeled and cubed the last of this Tromboncino, and filled two quart jars. I used a pint or so in a chickpea Thai curry soup that we enjoyed for supper. The rest will be used for this ‘n’ that over the coming days. And if I feel like I'm not gonna get to it, I'll dehydrate the cubes for later use. Or maybe feed them to the chickens. But if the stars align with my motivation and physical energy, I’ll likely roast and puree it to make some biscotti.

We shall see. In the meantime…

In this moment I feel the infinite generosity of Gaia. I could go on, and likely will in my blue ink journal (my writing journal) to give this particular gratitude more attention. But in this moment, this one right here, I’ll sit a spell in the gloaming of the morning to bask in the infinite generosity of Gaia.

Thanks for indulging me.

🕊️

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.

🕊️

Hibernation Continues

February arrives, and I find myself in the days of Imbolc, the Indo-European name for this sacred liminal space between winter solstice and vernal equinox. These days invite me to recall that winter's worst may still lie ahead, externally - sure, and also internally. I often refer to February as the longest month of the year... because, for me, the pattern is that it is. 

This year I embrace this liminal space - this time between times - by reviewing the list of My Wants, and I see things I have absolutely no recall of writing, and take delight in them, especially those that are made and making manifest in my world. I see other things that I realize do not belong to me, and I gladly cross them off the list. I see Work and work that needs to be done in the days and months ahead, and I honor the planning, plotting and doing that carries this magic. 

I draw a tarot card, as is my habit as each calendar month presents, and this morning I chuckled as I drew The Hermit, and offered hand-to-heart honor to the introspective, solitary realm in which I feel most comforted, most challenged and... most safe; a realm in which I may stay rooted for this calendar phase. And I am grateful. So in these days of Imbolc's liminal space I shall tend the roots of this verve so that my seeking may continue as I plan, plot and gently do The Things in my own way, at my own pace, for this world that I love so much. 

As I consider these ruminations, I step outside into the damp chill to offer Gaia gratitude for the abundance she graces to all life, even to the ignorant 'n' dismissive. I ask for gentleness, internal and external, as I tread through this long, long month of February, alone-n-accompanied by all life.

[ As my hibernation continues I offer mammoth gratitude for my Moonshine community. ::nods:: ]

Peace. 🕊

Solidago in Winter

It's a mild, overcast day in January. I have seed packets to organize into a "calendar" of action, as some will be getting started very soon. But I thought I'd catch up on vinegar (and other) infusions that got pushed to the back of the priorities shelf. What you see here is the plant matter marc of a local Solidago (goldenrod) species left from an infusion made on a sunny August day. So lovely, isn't it?

Before you ask how to make such a thing, let me say that my spouse made this batch by filling a quart canning jar with flowering tops, filling to cover with organic, living apple cider vinegar, screwing on a lid and labeling the jar. It was placed on a shelf, out of direct sunlight, where it's been given gentle, loving shakes every so often. Today it gets strained, bottled, and labeled for use. That's how it's done. So simple, right? After all herbalism is The People's Medicine: It belongs to all of us. All. 

Normally I'd strain this infusion after 6-8 weeks, but this had been macerating some 5 months, and it's a lovely yellow, with gorgeous, golden pollen that settles to the bottom of the jar, and while I've made this before, I don't remember it being quite so bitter as this batch. Whoa. The sip I took woke up parts of me that have been resting since... well... summer!

One of the things I love about this infused vinegar is enJOYing it in deep winter as the daylight is lengthening in the cuore of cold winter; that time of year that here in southern New England we know spring is on the way, even as winter's roots are still sunk deep. To me, this mirrors the Medicine that was harvested in summer, as daylight was waning in the heart of hot summer. Know what I mean? No wonder it warms and wakes my late-January cockles, right?

I'll likely add this to water to drink as a delicious bitter beverage through these winter days leading toward spring. I may combine it with the Rumex crispus radix (yellow/curly dock root) infused vinegar, which I blend with other botanicals into a personal mineral 'n' vitamin supplement. But it's a fine addition to many a food preparation, salads, vegetables, meats, and - oh my yes - soups.

Whatever I do with it, I will honor and offer gracious gratitude for the generous Food and Medicine of Nature.

[a version of this post was shared 1/22/19 at When Weeds Whisper]

Peace. 🕊

Soap and Satisfaction

Gathering the things to make soap, as the cat keeps watch, and the geraniums bloom.

Prepping the water and lye, and waiting for it cool down to 95°-100°F, offering generous time and space to prepare the fats 'n' oils to the match those temps.

Blending the lye water into the fat 'n' oils, and - in this batch - adding castor oil, kaolin clay, and essential oils until they trace.

Pouring the soap batter into the molds, and covering them with boxes covered with layers of towels and blankets to temper the cool down. In the next day or two these will be removed from their molds. The block will be peeled out of its silicon mold and sliced, and the goddesses when they pop out of these old plastic molds easily, probably a day or two after the block is sliced. Then they all go onto shelves in a closet where they'll cure several weeks, and then into boxes where they'll continue curing for months, which is my preference. A long-cured soap will last a long time when in use. Know what I mean? Anyhoo...

There's something remarkably satisfying about making soap. To me, the alchemy of it is a delightful blend of art 'n' science... dare I say magic. This is my second batch this winter, this week, actually, as we finally have enough snow to leverage as the lye coolant. It's a tiny conscious choice to make a wee impact on my carbon footprint. Silly, perhaps, when compared to divesting, boycotting, and other such action, yet - from my view - every little choice 'n' action matters and counts.  

I have at least one more quart of rendered lard, made from fat from Howling Flats Farm, and with it I'll like make another batch of soap in the next day 'r two while we have the snow. 

We have a drawer worth of soap in the bathroom, some of those bars have cured for years. We have a wine box filled with bars from last winter, and now these batches. We have soap on hand for the long haul, and plenty to share in trades and as gifts.

And I am grateful.

Peace. 🕊

Vitamin C Tea Blend

Today I'm sipping a version of a Vitamin C tea blend I used to serve at the studio. This base recipe is just that, a base that may be adapted to suit your taste, constitution, your whims, to what you have on hand, or whatever! 

So, here's that base...

4 parts hibiscus
4 parts rosehips
2 parts lemongrass
2 parts lemon peel
1 part cinnamon chips/granules
1 part ginger chips/granules

Now, when I speak of "parts" - especially when teaching, or blending in bulk - I speak of weight measures. If you don't have a scale, use volume measures. Either way, start with a small batch and adjust to your liking with subsequent versions until you hit your sweet spot. Know what I mean? Or, if you're like me, simply blend up a version without rigid measuring, which is exactly what I did today, replacing lemongrass for goldenrod, and using both dried and fresh ginger root for added heat.

I'm drawn to this blend today because it's cold and damp outside. Even with my fiery constitution I feel I need something today to warm me from the inside out, at least until the fire is stoked up, so adding that fresh ginger, and plenty of it (because I have it) will accomplish that. That said, I find this base blend - as expressed above - to be rather neutral, neither too heating nor cooling, and it makes a nice chilled beverage (as well as hot) in any season. 

Anyhoo... this is how I make a pot (about a quart) of this tea:

Bring fresh water to a boil. Place 5(ish) tablespoons of the blend in your steeping vessel (tea pot, canning jar, measuring cup, etc.) and pour the boiled water over the botanicals. Cover and let steep about 15 minutes. Strain it, serve it, be well, and enJOY. Or, as I most often do, make this - and other loose tea blends - in a french press. ::nods:: 

If you make more than you need in a day, refrigerate it, and use it up within 2 days. That rarely happens in our little hut, but it's nice to know it's an option.

As I go through my files I'll be sharing more of these "recipes" here. Keep watch.

Peace. 🕊

A Dark Winter Botanical Brew

 

Welcome to an herbal ramble...

I sip botanical beverages every day. I start most every day with the ubiquitous cup of Coffea arabica - coffee, my morning Medicine (some might say poison) of choice. Given the horrific history of this beloved botanical (among others), a history that's still alive today, I choose organic, fair trade coffee beans, grown in traditional ways, and I'm grateful for and honor the privilege to be able to make that choice, and invite you to do the same if/when you are able. But that's a ramble for another time, and that's not what's in this cup you see.

During the winter months I brew chaga (Inonotus obliquus) about once a month. Once a month? Yep, that's right. I take a couple/few chaga bits, which my spouse sawed into chunks from a chaga conk gifted by a friend from the land she stewards, and simmer them for several days, adding water every time I pour a cup. This can go on for a week, or more, depending on how much and how often I sip. Chaga is generous like that, and one-take adaptations of chaga brews feel disrespectful as well as selfishly wasteful. Anyway, as the days progress I add other botanicals suitable for decoction (that simmering process), and they vary, depending on what calls to me. This cup is chaga and codonopsis root (Codonopsis pilosula) which I added to the brew on the second day. Tomorrow I'll like add some of our homegrown, roasted chicory root (Cichorium intybus), and as the brew weakens I'll leverage the last of the fluids to make an infusion - a steeped beverage - with whatever leafy botanicals call to me in that moment. The spent plant matter is added to the compost where it continues adding value. Our rooted kin are so, so generous.

All these botanicals offer benefits in broad and specific ways, which is why I encourage folx to research and study and experience what is conventionally called herbalism - The People's Medicine. If you've studied with me, you know I recommend getting to know no more than three botanicals at a time. And by "getting to know" I mean not only intellectual research (heavy on actual herbalist sources), but experience as well; leveraging the botanical as food and/or Medicine, growing it, observing or getting to know its growing behaviors and preferences, and so on. So if you're called to start or renew your studies, this ramble offers three botanicals. ::nods:: That said, from a birds view... 

I enjoy brewed chaga for its appearance, neutral flavor, as well as its many medicinal offerings. It calls to me in winter because decocting herbals indoors is a winter practice for me, as it adds welcomed heat and moisture to our living environment. Plus, it's the cool seasons when sipping hot beverages throughout the day calls to me. I could drink chaga every day, I like it that much, yet once a month is plenty for reasons of respect for the botanical, respect for diversity, as well as medicinal considerations. I have arthritis, so I'm conscious of certain foods 'n' Medicines that might exacerbate the undesirable symptoms of that "condition," and chaga offers, along with other constituents, oxalates - some research indicates high content - which can, among other things, exacerbate arthritic symptoms. I've not experienced this with chaga, but it's part of my conscious awareness to respect the botanical and my body, and to do my best to make harmonious choices. Know what I mean? Plus I have a wall of herbs, and I want to honor most of them in my warming beverages.

As for codonopsis, it's a root I started leveraging less than ten years ago when I engaged it in a tonic formula inspired by the late Stephen Buhner, focused on respiratory and immune support, though it holds other values as well. I find myself often adding it to my cool-weather decoctions.

And chicory... common chicory root, harvested and gently roasted until dried, is a decocted beverage that I've long loved, like so many of our rooted kin that are classified as bitter herbs. A chicory root brew is often described as a coffee substitute, which inspires shivers in me since, aside from some of the bitter flavor it offers, like coffee, it tastes nothing like it, and offers no caffeine. I'll admit, though, that something about this brew must satisfy some receptor site that identifies with coffee and satisfies cravings. For me, anyway. 

And yeah, I do love coffee... the aroma of fresh ground beans, the scent of it brewing, the color and flavor, and yeah, the morning caffeine jolt all appeal to me in a deep way, and have since I was a kid who was only allowed to smell it brewing, and later when my Nono would make me a demitasse of warm milk with a splash of coffee, the love affair really took root. Yet, my physical constitution doesn't always appreciate added stimulation, so sipping a dark brew that offers some delicious bitters sans the caffeine is a welcomed warm beverage during the months warm beverages are enJOYed all day long. And that's why I'm sharing this tale of one dark winter botanical brew with you. 

I hope you will explore, learn, and perhaps brew one or all of the three botanicals I share here. And please, if you do, do your best to acquire them respectfully, sustainably, and with reciprocity, be it from land you tend, a local herbalist, or other source. ::nods::

Peace. 🕊

An Honor to the "New Year"

 

My new year occurs as October transitions to November, yet I acknowledge and honor to a minor degree the conventional "new year" of the collective: The flip to this current year most of us refer to as 2023 (CE). I mean, I have a new wall calendar, the fab Ricard Levins Morales Liberation Calendar, and I made a version of a creamy garbonzo bean soup for dinner, because: Beans. Eating beans on January 1st, like many of you, is a custom I grew up with, and one that I continue to actively honor for the broad and deep symbolism the bean/seed offers in this part of winter; symbolism and story that resonates deeply for me.

I started reviewing my saved 'n' leftover seeds from 2022 (and earlier), and am making decisions of what, if any, fresh seeds I desire to purchase. As a dedicated, flawed and evolving anticapitalist, I do my best to purchase less and less... and - at the insistence of my rooted kin - to stop treating seeds in all their incarnations as commodities. And that's likely a story for another day.

I also leveraged this collective idea of "new year" to do some deep indoor cleaning, as well as to burn some of our homegrown Artemisia ludoviciana to send prayer outdoors, in the form of blessed smoke to be carried through the air 'n' ethers to where it is intended, and most needed. A significant piece of that prayer was in honor of one of my sister-in-laws whose spouse passed on the first morning of 2023. 

I knitted, crocheted, and read some fiction. I continued reading my LANDBACK magazine from NDN Collective that arrived this past week, in the hopes that I may continue re-learning so that I may become a better ally to all my kin, Mama Gaia included (of course), as well as continue to do the work that I may become a better white person. ::nods:: 

So, like every day, the wheel turns with the "new year," life evolves with glories 'n' grief, blessings one and all. May all the days ahead treat you kindly, offer you genuine healing, and chasmic contentedness. 

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. 🕊

This Thing We Call The New Year

To those of you who honor and celebrate the linear measure of calendar time: Happy new year! 

It is - indeed - an extended moment of collective recognition of the passage of time. That said, I do want to offer my gratitude to all who showed support to all things Walk in the Woods this past year. I appreciate you. So, so much. It was a year of transitions, transformations, and - dare I say - transmutations for me, and for many of us. And here we are in this year we call 2021... and we all have a lot 0f work to do. ::nods:: We always have, yet it feels as if time - complete with this "new year" focus - is of the essence, and it's time to step up, speak up, act up, or get... out of the way. 

And in this moment: That's all I got. ::grin::

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. 🕊

Spring's Light, My Light

Merry spring, friends! Or autumn, as the case may be. 😊

Yesterday's vernal equinox ushered in the season for which I am ripe, as I am ready to cast off winter's dark mantle. The seasonal mantle that feels so cozy and comforting at winter's arrival, and which grows heavy and cumbersome as the season evolves.

I honored the day of spring's arrival with journaling, with seed starting, with making the season's first batch of pickled eggs, with a wee bit of time outdoors, and some quiet meditation. And reflection.

If you follow this blog at all, you might remember my February ramblings where I shared the perplexing binary challenge - silly though it may seem - that I was facing, and how - by the light of the reflective Moon - it offered me an expanded perspective that guided me deep into the disquieting alchemy of it, into the need to stir my cauldron with all the contrary verve, and allow it to simmer that it may temper and manifest something delicious from the discomfort.

Time has passed, and space has shifted, and now I'm deep in the verve and guidance of The Hermit, where I find Myself shining My light on the spaces I choose. Dare I say, a seasonal serendipity.

The guidance I've chosen since November has been challenging, sure, yet it has nurtured a deepened relationship (roots) to those things that most nourish and sustain me, and - more importantly - that hold blessed potential for nourishing and sustaining my tribe, my rooted ancestors, my beloved Nona Gaia.

And it's fascinating. I'm noticing patterns more easily. And honoring the Medicine within them. There are dots connecting in serendipitous ways, offering deLIGHTful opportunity. Thanks sweet Hermit! One such opportunity will come to fruition in April as I enter my next guidance phase of The Lovers. I feel a ripening. And I am ready.

So - in this vernal moment - as I reflect on the choices I've made these past several months, I offer you this: When you ask Spirit for guidance, heed it well, and follow its lead, for I am confident that providence will greet you.

EnJOY the journey. 

Peace.

Imbolc Blessings

I don't know about you, but as we spiral into this part of the year - the midpoint between winter and spring - my mood lifts as I witness, without doubt or question, the lengthening daylight. Even as I know that winter's worst may still lie ahead, even as I awake to a winter wonderland, I feel uplifted by the light in this aspect of the seasonal tunnel, and the promise of spring that awaits us all.

To bolster and nourish my lifting mood, I've gone through my saved seeds, my leftover seeds that are still viable, and my recently received batch of organic heirloom seeds from Baker Creek. With this annual ritual, I Know that the season of seed starting is here and with it, and with every seed I plant, I shall collaborate with Nona Gaia in nourishing the promise of spring, the promise of abundance, and more. Much more. Growing and preserving the lion's share of our own Food, and much Medicine too, offers blessings I count year 'round, and I encourage all who are able to grow as much Food, Medicine and Empowerment as they are able.

If all you can manage is a pot of something on a windowsill, that counts. Go for it! 

And with that I wish you a blessed Imboc.

Peace.

Sol Bread and Solstice Blessings

Sol bread. Mixed, kneaded, shaped and baked with the brightest of intentions to guide us through this long, dark night and to the sunrise of expanding light and hope and compassion and all that is Good and whole and holy.

And ale.

Solstice blessings!

Peace.

Get Ripe, Get Ready, Go.

Today is a day of expectation. I feel anxious. I feel ripe. I feel ready. Yet not without a sense of trepidation. The feeling is palpable, visceral, undeniable in the light sweat that surfaces on my palms, and the physical vibration that cascades down my legs.

Seeking Deep Guidance is challenging. Dark. A touch frightening. If it isn't, you're skimming the surface and no matter how much you tell yourself you are, you're not seeking Deep Guidance. That's my story and I'm sticking with it.

Since my autumnal new year I have felt what I can only describe as a stirring of deep seeds. Seeds that are tugging at my conscious awareness... for the nurturance they need to survive past their sprouting. I feel something imminent awaiting me. And if feels vital.

I know this may sound odd or dramatic (or both) to many, and I'm cool with that, but this realization (like so many others) is born from the kind of personal work to which I've dedicated myself for - at least - the past 20 years or so, and I take it seriously. While this work has been externally supported, it has been exclusively solitary, and yet today I am reaching beyond my inner sphere of wisdom for external perspective, vision, and ::gasp:: guidance. It's exciting. It's disquieting. It's impending.

And I am ripe for it.

More on this later. Maybe.

Peace.

Rest, For Now

Here we are at the end of November. It's a bit hard for me to accept. The year has whizzed by so quickly and I've been struggling to keep up with … my Self. Know the feeling? Yet, as November drifts to December, my world begins to wind down, contract gracefully, expand within, and slow to a pace that nourishes me. Deeply. I look forward to the winter months.

I look forward this season of the soul despite the challenges I see awaiting me. Some are familiar challenges-in-progress, others are "new." Most are challenges that I manifest for myself, and others are born of the Collective. Know what I mean? I welcome them all, for without challenge life would be dull at best. Yet, I'm careful for what I "wish" into my existence.

I see my "new" year sprouting from familiar roots. I see my "new" year extending roots grown fresh, reaching ever outward and ever deeper into the verve of life. I see days of sunshine and shadow, nights of glimmer and dim mystery … and I see mySelf reaching for all of it.

Gently.

Gracefully.

For now.

Yet, I find mySelf resting on the floor of my Well and it is dry. Dry as dust. This is a familiar place. I've been here before. I know what to do. I know that it is time to gather the tools that support me in seeking the cool, refreshing waters of Life … and Love … and Peace. I know it is time for the sledgehammer and pick ax, the hard and heavy instruments that have sustained me in this dark, dry, dusty place in times past. But I've grown weary and feel too exhausted to handle them, to do the work that is necessary to mine the refreshment that is … mine. So, for now, I rest in the darkness of the heart and gather my strength.

For now.

Peace.

Unfamiliar Blessings

It's hard to believe that honoring this winter solstice included harvesting two cabbages from my garden. I've plucked kales, collards and herbs, and even mulched root crops in the past, but never cabbage. It weathered the October snow and the several mild frosts we've had with a grace that feels both welcome and suspect. 

I'll enjoy this unfamiliar harvest with the seasonal comforts of carrots, garlic, onion, ginger, shoyo, beef and noodles. It's a different kind of winter solstice dinner … yet, if the times are changing, I'm obliged to change with them.

May you rest easy in the heart of darkness and in the promise of light as we move into the deep love of winter (or summer, as the case may be). Bright blessings ~ today ~ and every day.

Peace.

A Midwinter Offering

On this first full day of midwinter the dried peony and calendula petals that I had reserved from high summer were returned to the earth. All but a handful. As I scattered them around my mostly-snow-covered little acre I asked them if they recognized this landscape. They did. It's all one, they assured me. Equal opposites. Opposing harmonies. Contrary balance.

Winter food for polar thought.

That's what I made today. Peace.

Spun Order

I made a morning of managing bills, invoices and numbers, making order of things, and doing some business review and planning. I'm still procrastinating the last leg of the income taxes though. All in good time. I made time to go back through the list from the brainstorming meeting I had a while back and started to plan and plot more herbal and art workshops for spring, summer, autumn and beyond. In years past I would have had such things planned and "inked-in" long before now. I suppose I'm just a bit more fluid in my rigidity now than I've ever been, and I'm cool with that.

I made time in the kitchen to get some osso buco (from The Farm) simmering and got the dough ready for tonight's pizza. In between I journaled words and spun some new Spirit Cords ... in the colors of winter.

That's what I made today.