The Turning of Days

December 31, 2018December 31, 2018 / Lisa / 7 Comments

Well, it’s here. 2018 has thankfully ended. Maybe 2019 will be better. But I’m not sure what is meant by ‘better’. Some things will never be better, like the loss of Sam this year. But maybe, even if some things don’t ‘get better’ other things will bring us moments of happiness. I’m not looking for joy, but we could sure all use some smiles. Maybe some laughter if we’re lucky.

The year has been hard for many friends and family. I hope the year has also included some moments of peace and circles of love. I hope those I care for found hugs when they needed it, like I did. I hope they found someone to wipe their tears and hold them up when they couldn’t stand on their own.

For those who had a wonderful 2018, I hope you keep that joy and find it increased in 2019. Thank you for taking that joy of yours and spreading it around, and allowing others to feel its warmth.

I’m going to try and find joy in 2019. I’m not too worried though. Because if I can’t find it on my own, I know those in my circle of life will share and I will bask in those moments like a tiny Twinflower in the woodland floor when a beam of sunlight makes it through the forest canopy.

There are so many ‘Happy New Year’s’ being voiced right now and I appreciate the sentiment behind the words. But this, found on the Facebook site ‘Contemplative Monk’ resonates with me so I’m going to share it here for its wisdom.

‘The old year is worn and tired. Time now to kiss it goodbye. Take with you its wisdom – the authority and the power of all you have learned. Remember the past year with love, but let go of its despair. Live the year that lies ahead with fresh energy and hope. Be strong, have courage. It is time now for something new.’

What is new ahead of us in 2019? Obviously I have no idea, but the sun is out melting the snow, ice is now water dripping from the tree branches, and change is in the cold and brilliant air. So let’s step out and see what we find.

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For the Future

December 23, 2018 / Lisa / 5 Comments

I’m reading an excellent book right now called If Women Rose Rooted, by Sharon Blackie. Subtitled ‘The Journey to Authenticity and Belonging’. It’s an excellent book. Which means I’m reading it with a highlighter in hand, marking passages I want to remember.

‘To enter into any wood is to enter into a realm in which transformation seems inevitable…’

‘Before there was the Word, there was the land, and it was made and watched over by women.’

‘To inhabit the remotest of places, to find its wildness reflected in myself. To find out what is left when those elements strip you down to the bone, and to let the rest fall away.’

‘Through all of this, I began also to understand the source of my anxiety. Early losses or abandonments, in whatever form they may come, or early failures of nurturing – all of these things make it difficult to trust: either people or the world.’

‘It wasn’t that I wanted to replace a male god with a female god; it wasn’t that I wanted to find a religion at all. I was simply looking for some sense that women might have worth. And I found it: there in the old stories of my own native land, I found it.’

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Those are a few of the things I’ve underlined.

Someone reading the book after me, might wonder at all the things underlined, at what was going through that poor woman’s head, that such a variety of things spoke to her enough that she highlighted them.

This is what goes through my head when words catch me enough to mark them bright yellow.

Wow, that really resonates with me.

YES!

Hey, that will work great in a story.

What if a character…

Hmmm…(insert name) should see this.

In a way, if the person reading the book after me, knows that I spend a lot of time in daydream stories, the markings might make sense. But if the person doesn’t make the connection to writing, all the highlighting will have no consistency, no theme, and could even worry the reader. ‘Geez, I never realized she was…’

…so sweet?

So for the future friends or family, or whoever inherits all my books some day, don’t worry. I might have been thinking of you when I highlighted something. I might have decided a dark thought would work perfect for a specific character. I might have read something that triggered an idea for a story.

I’m there between all the pages, exposed by yellow marker.

Just remember it might not be what it seems.

Dreaming the Night Away

December 19, 2018December 19, 2018 / Lisa / 10 Comments

Halloween, or All-Saints-Eve, or Samhain, or whatever name you choose to call that time of year, is traditionally seen as when the veil between worlds is the thinnest. It may very well be; who am I to say?

But for me, the veil is the thinnest at the winter solstice, or Yule, or Christmas, or whatever name you choose to call this time of year. This shortest day. At least in our hemisphere.

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Now is when most of life has spiraled down into that deep sleep and into those deep dreams. Bears are hibernating (or should be; there’s a local guy who didn’t get the memo). Trees have slowed their respirations and sap has seeped into the roots.

The days have shortened to this moment, and now they turn on their spiral and slowly begin moving upward. In a few days the light will be called back and the days will lengthen in increments too tiny for us to notice yet, as we rush through our hectic lives. But that sleeping, dreaming, earth out there knows.

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This time of year has always been full of magic for me. From the younger days when I clutched my wooden nutcracker because I just knew he would come to life at midnight on Christmas Eve, to a parent telling a skeptical child that I choose to believe in magic at Solstice. And that those who turn away from the magic, whether you call it Santa or something else, will have lost something forever.

His magic elements – the dog sneaking up on the toast and jam, the tea, multiple books, his Fat Cat, the afghan his aunt made for him, and the long wait ahead.

So why wouldn’t the veil be the thinnest right now, in this deepest of sleep, in this darkest of nights?

Why wouldn’t there be magic?

My Christmas tree has always been my memorial tree. The decorations are old and showing their age, but each one was touched by someone in our family now gone. Each one has a story. And each winter season I remember. And they feel closer to me than at any other time in the year. This year we will add a tiny green kayak.

So no matter how you celebrate this time of year, I hope you sleep deeply and dream, and in the dreaming, find what you seek.

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