April 2016 archive
I stood on the rocks today, by the lake, watching the sky, seeing it darken around the edges. Lights dimming as though slowly being switched off, as clouds stretched closer, and the water grew black around me.
I could not move. I had not meant to stay out very long, but I could not leave that sky. I watched it, heard rain start to fall behind me, felt the first drop of it on my skin, and still I stayed. I don’t mind getting wet, not when I’m close to home. And it was one of those moments that I wanted to be in the middle of, like in the heart of a storm, though there was no wind, only silence and a darkness inching closer. But there was light also, golden glints of it between the clouds.
I sat down. Waited for the rain. But it did not come, instead, I felt hail, heard it sing through the trees before it reached me. And it did not sting. It was a strange thing to sit in the middle of a hail shower, that felt soft, almost like snow. It filled the hood of my coat, and got in my hair, and I tipped my head back to stare into its silver thick stream. Gradually it stopped, and the lights turned back on, the sky a thick sleepy grey. So I got up, brushed white, soft stones from my coat and climbed up the hill, to the road leading home.
I feel at times I’m still walking through winter, even with flowers coming up everywhere, and new leaves sprouting on trees. The air is so cold, and the nights still breathing ice through my window. I do hope it will warm up, that it won’t be a cold summer like last year.
My husband and I went for a hike through the forest last Sunday, and I watched the sky then too. We came to a clearing with a dirt road and houses, and I saw how dark it was, beautiful, powerful, brewing a storm above grey apple trees. And it hailed, and I heard a crack of thunder, shaking the sky.
I feel the world breaking open, and earlier on my walk today, I imagined the Goddess tipping a pot of gold through the cracks in the clouds, making flowers and colors spread over fields and grass. I felt like sitting down, mouse still in the grass, watching clouds roll past me, getting lost in them. Sometimes I feel them swallowing me up, as though my spirit is not on the ground, but in the sky, and I feel their rain and light, the power they gather on their journey across the world.
Do you feel the sky speaking to you?
Light is returning, so I stand by my window in the early morning when the birds are singing to moonlight, and the sky is not dark, not bright, but somewhere in-between. The whole world is blue and shining, and I can feel dawn creeping closer, closer. It comes quickly now, so I grasp this moment with both hands, a moment of magic, two worlds intersecting, when standing by my window is standing between night and day. And I can see the trees, the lake, the mountains slip into brightness.
It’s strange how when the sky is no longer blue, but white, a touch of gold on the horizon, the birds fall silent. It’s as though they were only singing to wake the sun, or call down the moon. There is a stretch of quiet around sunrise, and then the day starts, the magic breaks and all is bright and normal again. The birds are just birds, happy song filled things, of air and feathers, and not mystical beings of the night, of the in-between, singing through dimensions.
Sometimes I have dreams that feel like a gift.
Last night I was in a beautiful landscape, and my spirit soaked it up like rain water. I remember simply watching the clouds, feeling the wind in my hair, thinking, I’m gathering jewels in my soul because it was all so beautiful. I thought of the Goddess as I fell asleep, and maybe she brought me a moment of magic, of beauty.
The dream world tends to be even more vibrant and colorful than this one, those moments when it shows up crystal clear.
And then I woke up and heard the morning birds, the ones calling out the time before sunrise. The world was a soft, dark blue and they must be different birds than the ones singing during the day because they sound different, mystical, magical. I listened for a while and then got up, crawled into bed, because I had fallen asleep on the couch. I’ve been sick with a stomach virus, but I feel a bit better today, on the inside as well. Maybe my dreams revived me a little. I feel I can write again.
I stood by the window, in my chilled, almost frozen bedroom, and watched the moon. A winter cold moon I thought, even though it’s spring. It was round and full and the world had fallen silent around it.
I feel I live for drops of beauty in my life, moments I can tuck away somewhere inside of me. And they are everywhere, especially in spring when the world is ready to burst forth with color, and yet is taking its time doing it. In a way, I’m glad because then there is time to watch it happen. Yesterday my husband and I drove to look for something he lost while stopping along the road a few days ago. We ended up wading through a hill full of windflower, which made me want to lie down among them and feel their voices. We didn’t find what we came for, but we got to be in an ocean of white for a while.
I also wanted to share some videos with you. There’s a series of them, where myself and others are talking about astral projection, dreams etc. You can also see my husband there, a guy with dark curly hair and a friendly face. I feel a bit shy sharing, just because it’s hard to see myself on video, but maybe you’d like to watch them.
Cavé, Jules-Cyrille (b,1859)- My Daisies, Flower-Girl
I gathered wind-flowers and put them in a vase next to where I’m writing now, to stay close to their magic. I also noticed the first of the nettles, peeking through the dirt, and watched the sky for a long time, above the glittering lake.
Something was gathering power out there, coming back alive, the sky full of clouds, dark and white ones, with light between them. I felt I wanted to stand in the wind, watching them, feel into that slow brooding something. It reminded me of summer, which often feels like thunder, like sun and rain and storm, and yet most of the time nothing happens. But I love that beautiful contrast, darkness tinted with gold.
I went into my bedroom, because it lets in the evening light, though its window is narrow. And I can only see green branches, pine cones, a bit of sky, and distant mountains.
I sat gathering flowers in my heart, mostly roses because they are a favorite, but also violets, forget-me-nots. I was reading in that white silent space, hearing the wind outside, mending something inside of me that had been hurt, a worry that says I can’t trust myself, what I sense and feel. The world has its loud opinions, that I shrink from, turning to the Goddess, the angels, praying that what I hear, deep in my bones, truly is their guidance.
Sometimes I go from room to room, window to window, watching the sky. And just before sunset I see waves of light on the walls, streaming through my apartment, and the birds are full of magic and song, and I hear them, like crystal water, calling forth the night.
I’m drinking tea, at a cafe in the city, warm chai tea with chocolate, until I’m warm again, after sitting in the park, in the white sun and cold. But there were flowers, white ones, blue ones, and a great seagull on top of a black statue, pigeons looking for treasures beneath my bench.
I tried to find words there, but they eluded me and still don’t want to come, only glimpses here and there, traces of something. I wonder what I can do to make them come, but when I ask all I get is love and trust, so I try to listen and drink my chai, look out the window. I search for beauty on the internet, words of others, pictures that touch me, rose and wind and pearls. And then back to my own words, which scare me, so I look away. It feels like I’m dancing around the edges of something, slowly circling closer to a place where I can write. It’s almost always like this.
A touch of magic
The other day I saw a squirrel, as I was sitting in the forest. It scurried up very close to me, this tiny red thing with a white belly, and I sat like a statue, afraid to move, to do anything that might scare her away. I’ve never seen one so close before, because they’re usually shy, hiding in their trees. Not like the ones in California, which were big and gray and everywhere.
The last place we stayed was in a beautiful, old victorian building. It wasn’t as fancy as it sounds, though, but I still loved it. It was a bit worn down, that grand old thing, a white building that just rocked slowly when there was an earthquake. We lived on the second floor, and I when I first saw it I prayed that we would get to rent it because it had a wide windowsill to sit in, the kind I’ve dreamed of since I was a child. One of those you could sleep on if you wanted to, and look at the stars, dream away.
The apartment also had a closed up fireplace, and I placed flowers on top of it, and sat on my windowsill, looking down through the branches of a large tree, down to the street below.
A squirrel lived there, among the leaves, and it talked a lot, seemed to have a lot to say, chattered at nothing in particular.
This tiny red one did the same, scurried up the tree behind me, and talked as it did, so I left, feeling perhaps I was upsetting it. Still, there was a bit of magic in the encounter.
What is the most magical creature you’ve met in the wild? Or would love to meet?
I found tiny feathers along the forest path, white fluffy ones, perhaps from a bird’s chest, or beneath a wing. And I bent down, touched them, so soft, smiled. It made me think about angels, how people say that a white feather is a sign from them, and I wanted to believe, but then frowned, leaving the feathers were they were. Yet something had touched my heart, a whisper of love saying we’re here, we’re here.
I wonder if they want me to look for miracles in everyday things.
I want to write about the Goddess, but I hold myself back. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I’m afraid of displeasing people somehow, in some way. I once went to a spiritual expo, got a reading, and the man said I had been killed in a past life for my beliefs, and he said there was nothing to worry about now since that couldn’t happen anymore. I was 20 then, and not really on a spiritual path, but I broke down in tears. I also feel this is a popular thing being told to people, and I don’t know if it’s true. I just feel that fear inside of me.
As a child, when I imagined God, sometimes a line of old, stern men would come into my mind, dark clad and angry. Maybe they are from a past life too. I don’t know.
I stood in the shower yesterday, letting hot water pour over me, and I felt the Goddess in me, in my flesh and bones and blood. I felt she was speaking about light, and how we’re all a light that just needs to shine, simply, for what we are.
And the other day I prayed to her because I felt alone, lost. I seem to fall back into those places now and again. And I wondered where she was. I got the feeling to look into my heart, to feel what my heart wanted, what it yearned for, and that she would be there.
I felt I could not control her, make her come to me, though I’d feel a rush of love when I asked for help. A rose opening inside of me. Perhaps she’s always there, intimately connected to us, and when we forget our true hearts, we forget her.
Earth and Sky
I feel more and more people becoming curious about her, and that there is a longing for her to return to us, though I’m sure she never really left. I feel there needs to be that balance, between male and female, earth and sky.
Maybe if we saw the earth as the Goddess, we would not destroy her, because it would go against our spirituality. Now we cut things down, poison, destroy, because trees, grass, and flowers, the ocean, are not seen as living things, with soul, beauty, purpose. There is greed too, of course, which blinds us.
I walked in the forest and wished that beauty was our highest value, and that we would not cut down a tree, because it was just too beautiful, and we would find some other way to build our houses. The forest around me is lovely, but it is mostly pine and fir, which means it was put there to one day be cut down, which is big business here. I often come upon areas with hardly a tree, just an open wound in the middle of the woods, and it hurts to be there. I don’t like it. It feels like the sun is too harsh, the air too open and hurting, and I want to hurry through, to be among the trees again.
I’m just pouring out my soul this morning, it seems, as I watch the sun touch the birch trees outside my window, a play of light and shadow, my favorite moment of the day.
I was wondering if you have felt some of the things I write about? Do you long for the Goddess, do you feel you have lived before? Do you want to protect beauty in the world?
A beautiful rose-colored post, which inspired me.
In the Meadow, by Auguste Renoir.
Something I wrote the other day…
Some days feel all wrong like the world is out to get you and nothing goes right. You ache and feel exhausted for no reason at all, and yesterday I gave up, went to bed early and curled up, glancing at a star outside my window, between the branches of the pine tree. I didn’t even try to pretend anymore but went to sleep explaining things to my Divine Mother, speaking to her in my mind, just pouring out my anger, my worries, my pain.
My dreams were a mess, chaotic. But I felt I was going on a journey in them, and I woke up feeling healed, if only a little bit. The sun was already on the mountain, and I made myself a cup of tea and sat by the window, thinking about the morning, how it makes things brighter, not so heavy and dark. Sometimes we just need to wait for morning.
There are signs of spring everywhere, budding leaves and white flowers, orange butterflies. I can get lost in beauty, the longer I stay in a spot in the forest, the more it comes into focus, the more I see, and the longer I want to stay, curled up on green moss.
I sat on the ground among light and tree shadows, having gone for a long walk, wanting to feel the earth in me, to get out of my head, into my body, my heart. The world is being filled with sound and music, after a long silent winter, and I saw those grey and white birds, that make me laugh, because they seem a bit confused, running around in circles on the road, back and forth, not sure what to do with themselves. I love them, and I’m so glad they’re back. The English name for it is apparently white wagtail.
I wonder sometimes what it would be like to be a priestess, especially now since I’m writing a novel about one. What would it be like to carry the Goddess in my heart, to go about my day, doing my tasks in her honor?
In the evenings I’ve been standing by the window, drinking a cup of rose tea, looking at the sun setting behind the mountains, above the lake. Everything glitters and the sky is bright, clouds tinted with gold, and I breathe deeply and thank the day for what it was, even if it was difficult.
Do you feel the change of seasons where you are?
Artist – Kim Yoon Hee
I went for a walk today, to gather words, watching the mist on the mountains, hearing the birds call from hidden away places, seeing them gather in the trees around me. There’s always more beauty that draws me forward, making my walk longer than I meant to, but I’m just so grateful to be in the midst of nature, to hear the song of spring.
It feels like winter has been here forever. It’s almost as though I can’t remember summer, – like I no longer believe in it. The turn of seasons is so achingly slow, and I long for more, more warmth, more flowers and leaves in the wind. But then I’m not sure I’m ready for the burst of color of early summer, feeling I have to be eased into it, my spirit slowly waking up.
The telephone pole outside my window was on fire this morning. I mean literally, sparks and flames coming out of it. I got my landlord to take a look, and later three young men came to fix it, and all day I watched them dig in the dirt, and climb that pole, working. They cut the power, so I sat in my shadowy apartment, reading on my kindle, which thankfully has its own light. It was lovely, really. I felt too tired to work on the computer. Sometimes I feel burned by it, as though I’m too sensitive, too raw, my skin too thin, so I absorb everything.
I’ve been reading and writing. My story is taking shape, bits and pieces coming together. I’ve updated my Pinterest board.
Also been re-reading this, which still steals my breath whenever I pick it up, so so beautiful.
Yemaya. The white goddess of the sea
There are prisms of light in the trees today, drops of rain that fell at night, and now the sun sparkles through them, making me catch my breath, making me pause what I’m doing and lean a little closer, holding my cup of tea, sipping it slowly, drinking in rays of beauty.
I feel a well opening up inside of me, that I can drink from, that somehow is the Goddess, love everlasting. Sometimes when the day has waned a bit, and I’m getting tired, and I’m alone with myself, I get anxious, feeling there is something inside of me that I want to hide from. But my mind is too tired to hold onto words on screens or in books, and I grow restless, afraid of myself, and I reach for her. If only I could be with her always.
I’ve felt alone a lot in my life, and now I wonder if that void was formed inside of me so that I could fill it with her, her light, her love, so that I would search for the God and Goddess.
I’ve had moments when all I felt was her presence, wrapping itself around me in love, in rose colored light, that made everything around me seem like rose and beauty, and the simplest of things spoke to me because she was in it. I remember staying at a friend’s place, and lying down on the bed, just staring at the fluttering curtains, the night deepening around me, and being lost in the simple beauty of the wind and dancing fabric, feeling so close to her that my heart swelled and almost hurt to the point of breaking.
It felt like a held a secret, a precious gem inside of me, that I needed to protect. But then it faded, the outside world seeping in, or rather it grew more important than her. I wanted to please people, make them like me, and I felt what they felt, and read them like an open book and I didn’t know how to shield myself, protect what was growing in my heart. But I’m learning still, how to walk with her, how to place at the center of my day, my life.
There is a quote from Jesus, from The Book of Thomas the Contender that touches me, makes me yearn for a place of strength and rest and truth.
And the savior answered, saying, “Blessed is the wise man who sought after the truth, and when he found it, he rested upon it forever and was unafraid of those who wanted to disturb him.”
My book – From Darkness to Light
Video on the Goddess