September 2015 archive
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?
I saw the stars and the wind and the black night, the vast empty space above me. Or maybe it was full of something, beings looking back at me. I always think this, and it frightens me a little.
Once while playing outside our cabin in the mountains, I looked up into the night sky and saw a star dancing to itself. It went back and forth and in circles. It seemed bigger than the others, and I watched it for a while, my heart racing. Then I ran inside, frightened by what I had seen, by the darkness and great mysterious things, the deep unknown.
My dad said he once went for a long hike with friends into the mountains, staying over at a cabin. There was nothing there, only nature, only rocks and trees, and he sat outside and saw a great light appearing in the middle of the sky. It shone for a while before disappearing. Then a little later it appeared in the same spot, deep in the night, shining like a lamp.
When I was little I pretended that aliens were watching me, playing with the thought of what they might think when they saw me do things, like putting on shoes. Perhaps they thought me, and all humans very strange. I must have picked this up from a story I read, but aliens was on my mind from a very young age.
Everything mysterious was close by. I was convinced there was a witch outside my window looking in, and it terrified me. I was sure ghosts could come through my wall at any time during the night, and I put my stuffed animals along the crack between my wall and bed as protection.
During the long autumn nights I would play outside a lot, usually alone. I would rake leaves, just for fun, not sure why, perhaps I had seen this on tv as well. Sometimes I’d see hedgehogs, or I’d collect rocks. Most of the time I’d watch the sky, and how black the night was, how bright and shining the stars were, so far away. I felt a mixture of awe and fear looking at them. I was drawn to those tiny pinpricks of light, and I didn’t want to wander too far off into the dark, always staying close to the house, to the warm glow of the windows.
I felt the stars was a way to communicate with something greater, with God. I’d pray to him while watching them from my bed at night, somehow feeling that a clear sky brought Him closer.
Sometimes though, I imagined gods, not just one God looking down at me, and I wanted to please them. I’d lie on my back at night, on the frozen ground and speak to these gods, asking for help for my mother who was sick with cancer. I’m not sure why I felt so much like praying. My family was not religious.
I guess I feel very small looking at the stars, afraid of what I might see, and yet hoping for something mysterious, something telling me we’re not alone. I wonder if aliens are out there, looking out for us. I believe this now, because there are so many people talking about it, about them helping us
I had a lucid dream once that made me see ETs in a different way, as beings full of love, and this dream stays with me now as I look into the sky, wondering if they’re out there, if we’re somehow connected.
Artist – Christian Schloe
The days are still warm, but the mornings come chilled, as though they are dipping towards frost, towards icy winter days. I wrap myself in wool and drink hot teas, and wait for the sun to warm the air.
Yesterday I climbed the mountain and stood for a moment, catching my breath, feeling the sun on my face, seeing it through the trees, playing with colors. I danced a little to myself, reaching for the light, because it was all so beautiful.
I sat a bit on the mossy path, seeing leaves fall around me like golden rain. I sat for a long time with my shoes off, naked feet on wet grass, and watched the quiet of nature, the silence that seem to be in the trees, in every blade of grass. I wanted that silence for myself, and felt it required a certain kind of trust, and a long time in the open air. Sometimes I meet people who spend a lot of time outdoors, and the outdoors seem to be in them also, like they become the forest, or the vast snowy fields. They seem a little more steady, a little more quiet in themselves, and I’m drawn to that.
When I go for a walk, I often feel restless in the beginning, but as time goes by nature starts to work on me, seeping into me, and I find myself noticing things I hadn’t before, like a veil slipping from my mind. It’s hard to leave then. I want to stay under the open sky, hear the voices of trees, smell the heather. I want to be the sky, the trees, the wind.
Walking home I heard the sound of water, trickling somewhere out of sight, gurgling beneath the rocks. I felt its crystal song inside of me, like a healing touch, like a silver light reaching for deeper hurts hidden away, in shadowy places.
The air turns softly fragrant towards the mid afternoon. I see pale yellow butterflies playing over the field, and I leave my windows open again, letting the wind brush in, ever so gently, on this quiet, wistful day. It feels like the last breath of summer, and I start to put my summer clothes away, leaving ones for autumn, for winter, for colder days.
Artist – Christian Schloe
I went for a walk, the sky darkening behind me, but there was a bit of sunlight, a little bit of sun breaking through the clouds. And it drew me outside to look at glittering raindrops, to see little streams meandering through the grass, trailing down rock and crevice, bubbling somewhere out of sight.
The lake was black and silver. I stood watching it for a while and felt how everything was fading around me, how the violets had paled and the trees bore more yellow leaves, a few always trailing on the wind.
I felt something shift in the air around me, a slight darkening of the sky and I knew it was going to rain. I started on my way back and was caught in a heavy downfall, soaking through my hair.
I sit inside now, my window open and the rain has stopped, though the sky is still a deep grey and the sun has come through, bathing the trees, the field in golden light. I love this contrast, between light and dark and I want to go out again and be in it. To stand still watching the sky, feeling the wind, the rain, the storm coming and going.
The Valkyrie’s Vigil by Edward Robert Hughes
Thinking about gifts made me remember something else I was given, after the many losses in my family. The mom of a friend gave me a tiny angel in stainless steel, with the words HOPE written on it. That too felt very special to me. She said she had bought in the US.
How strange that a few years later I would move to California for love, for adventure, finding my own hope and life there.
That angel was special to me. I kept it on my night stand. After my dad passed away I became very curious about what happens when we die, where we go. I searched online, and bought books, trying to learn as much as I could about astral projection. I would then go to sleep concentrating on my little angel, seeing it my mind’s eye, because that’s what I had read I should do.
This is how I had my first out of body experience, which became a portal for me, a doorway into a new way of seeing the world, and my life in it. I realized there was so much more than I’d been taught to believe. There was a whole new realm full of magic and possibilities, where I could fly and move through doors, visit distant places. And it was real, very real, as vivid as my life here.
An article on astral projection
Griet by Beatrice Offor
Yesterday we walked in the forest, and I picked blueberries, looked for mushroom among the dark trees. It was raining hard and water streamed down the forest path, making it difficult to walk, and yet it was beautiful out there, especially when the mist came in, turning everything silver.
On our way back I gasped as a great animal crossed our path a little ahead of us. I whispered for my husband to be quiet and I pointed to the trees, where the moose had disappeared. We saw her dark form move between them, and I was sure we had frightened her away when she suddenly stood before us, apparently just as surprised as we were. We stood frozen for a moment, staring at each other.
Her ears twitched as she seemed to regard us, what we were, if we were dangerous in any way. I felt timid and awe struck, because she was so big and beautiful, and I had never seen a moose up close before. I felt she was a gentle creature, and yet at the same time I was a little afraid that she might see us as a threat and run at us. I moved a little, and then she turned, running back into the forest.
I let out a breath and felt a little sad that I had frightened her away. I wished I had been calmer, that I could have looked at her a little longer. Still I felt grateful for that short, rare moment when we had seen each other.
I sit and say good bye to the day, in my own way, listening to the rustle of leaves, having a moment of quiet to see the lengthening of shadows, the light turning golden, slowly slipping away.
It was a strange brooding day, dark clouds hovering close, at one point blackening the sky even as the sun shone brightly on the forest, the field, the lake. Tomorrow there will be rain, and the next day, and the next. The forecast showed nothing but grey clouds and raindrops, so I look at the light now, drinking it in before it’s gone.
The moon is dark, and so are my dreams, seeming to have fallen into chaos, and I can hardly remember them. I’m more tired also, and have little to say, or to write, and I just want to sit and look at the trees, the play of light and shadow.
When we drove to the store today, I looked out on yellow and purple flowers, and fields of burnt orange. I saw glitterings lakes and white clouds hanging low in the sky, and I felt the day was rose colored and golden, and I could not speak in fear of not being there to see it all, feel it touch something inside of me. I thought of winter and how everything will be white, or a muddy brown and I knew I would miss all the colors that are so bright and shining now, how I would miss the sound of water and leaves.
Edward Robert Hughes
A talk with a friend made me stumble across an excerpt from the Prophet, that touched me deeply. It’s been such a long time since I read the book, that I hardly remember it. It was given to me as a gift after my mother passed away, and I was very young then, only 13 years old. I wish I remember who gave it to me.
I know I was in the living room at the time, and a woman was there, smiling as she handed me a black thin book, with golden letters. It felt like such a precious gift, even though I did not know her, did not know what it meant. I treasured it and read it slowly, feeling the beauty of the words.
On Joy and Sorrow
by Khalil Gibran
Then a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the reassure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
Christian Schloe- Moth Princess.
I sat quietly, feeling, listening, but all I could feel was snow silently falling all around me, as I walked a winter landscape, cold and glittering. Snow floating, soft like feathers upon the air.
And then a distant summer, fields of green, of color, flowers in the grass. A glimmering light just out of reach.
And silky petals of rose, swirling inside of me, in my heart, as I knelt before the altar in the still of night, whispering thanks.
I prayed to her, to the goddess I long for, but whom I forget to trust as I walk through my day, my life, and then wonder why I feel empty, alone. I always want to be filled with something, with rose, with love, and I forget it’s possible to go there, to step into that softly colored light. I look for her, hoping for her touch, her kiss, petals of rose swirling.
*Painting by Victor Nizovtsev
I woke up to the soft sound of chimes outside my window, the cold air spilling in, the world full of sunshine and bright shining mountains.
I feel I have no words in me today. Maybe they’ll come a bit later, but I’ll share something I wrote a few days ago, that I left unpublished because I had already written so much that day.
We drove along the narrow windy roads of home, and I kept silent, captivated by the glittering lake so close to us, by the light in the trees, the overflowing gardens. The day felt so fresh and sparkling, and I looked at the sky, saw how yesterday’s storm lingered at the edge of everything, dark clouds along the mountains and hills. But they had opened up, letting the sun spill into the valley, leaving it bright and golden. Everything was so full of color, the purple heather, the bright green moss, orange flowers in the grass.
I saw autumn forests reflected in still black lakes, and wondered if there could be anything more beautiful. I wanted to kneel down and dip my fingers in the water. I wanted to breathe the air and feel the sun on my face, in my hair. I wanted to slowly step along the path, without rush, without a place to be or anything pressing to be done.
I hear the eagle now, though I don’t see her. The day is slipping away, and I’m afraid it will be gone before I can take it all in, deeper, into my soul. I want to listen, to something, I’m not sure what. Perhaps I feel something happening, something trickling forth around me, inside of me. I can’t quite put my finger to it, what it is, what it means. My dreams still stay with me, and I would like to sit quietly for a moment and listen to them. I feel they have a voice, but I’m not paying enough attention. I feel them nudging me, asking me to remember, to open my eyes and see.
The sun is slowly setting, inching closer to the mountains. I want to sit on the stairs, in that sliver of sunlight before it’s gone.