She sang in the darkness, threading her needle through a tapestry of gold, of shining stars on a black canvas, silver threads winding through them, shining and touching the world with love. She did it for the Goddess so that she might step closer to the Great Mother, to the Earth, to light.
I write and then go out to drink again, cupping my hand to the beauty of the forest, whispers in the wind. Fill myself up until I’m brimming with voices, crystal clear as a stream flowing. Bringing home little gems to put to paper.
Sometimes it feels I have no strength to write, but other times I do, and it’s because I’ve taken the time to breathe, to see and listen, contemplate something secret and unseen. Opened my heart to the sky, the earth, a world filled with beauty.
Other times I just have to start, be open to the trickle, to something coming through me, a few slow drips, sometimes less, sometimes more. To show up at dawn, in the evening, and write without pressure, putting judgement aside.
It helps me to read the words of others, the magic that others have felt and experienced. This is the book I’m reading right now. It makes me yearn for rituals, to walk between the words, to see the Goddess in everything.
I’m doing Nanowrimo these days, so it’s a little harder to find words for my blog. But here is something I wrote a little while ago, that I at first wasn’t sure I wanted to share. I think I overthink things.
I feel my life is starting over, like I’m being reborn, rewritten. I write this, unsure if I should be posting it because I’m afraid I’m making things up. But is is what I’m feeling right now. It is what it is.
I watch the birds play among the birch tree leaves, in a dazzle of sunlight, the grass silver and white behind them. It’s such a beautiful day, one that can take your breath if you stare into it for long, the sweetness of summer still lingering even in the breath of winter. Fire and ice mixing, the nights dark, a black cloak with white flowers, shining stars in the depth of space.
I love this time. Love the leaves falling like drops of gold, like rain, like fire dying away to darkness, to the cold chill of night.
And I feel myself dying and rising, breaking apart and being put together. I feel my old life dying away, and I want to cut the thread holding me to it, want to let it go and whisper thanks for what it gave me. Sometimes I feel old, like I’ve walked through a deep night, and so many things have happened, even with my life covered in ice, even when I couldn’t bare to look at myself, when I waited for something to happen, for me to remember who I truly was.
I feel old and aged, but it’s a weight I’m carrying, and I want to let it go. But it’s etched into me with fire, pain and ice, and so I face the darkness of this season, feeling some relief, like I can rest and slowly let go, and hopefully be reborn in spring. To feel joy at the return of warmth and light, and be different then, taking my first step onto a new path, one no longer burdened by the past. No longer cracked open, weathered and dry, but new, full of spring grass and colored flowers.
I dream of this. I feel this. And like I said, I’m not sure it’s true. It’s something I whisper to the night, and sense now as I look out the window, at brilliant sunshine and snow white frost. I feel the darkness closing it, stealing the sun. I try to let go of worry as the shadows fall longer, the days growing shorter, knowing it’s what I want now, even as I feel a slight fear, of change, of the unknown. Wondering how I will tackle the long winter when everything is hard and icy, my freedom restricted, the forest paths hidden by snow.
I saw a woman with white hair and kind blue eyes. And I felt I wanted to be her, to be soft and calm, and to sit by the water, sunlight playing among the waves. I want to age into wisdom, into kindness courage and strength.
I felt pretty down this morning, but I got up, and as the day drew closer it turned golden and green, and even the sky lost its greyness, painting itself a gentle blue. And I drew a deep breath, as though life was returning to me.
My dreams have been strange and murky, and I wonder if it’s because I haven’t been honoring them, haven’t been writing them down. The full moon is approaching and I’d like to prepare a small ritual for myself, put flowers by the statue of the Goddess, filling my altar with pink, red, orange. It is fall after all, and I’d like my home to reflect that, before winter, before a time of silver and white.
I’ve never truly honored the moon. I’ve looked at her from my bedroom window, but I’d like to bath in her glow, and call upon the Goddess, upon the angels, and to ask for strength, guidance, protection. I’d like to touch something sacred from my own small spot in the universe, to reach deeper, to see beyond the veil, to listen for whispers in the silence all around me. Blessings.
I knelt by the stream today, on the wet rocks, cupping water in my hands, drinking. I felt wild kneeling there, as though I had crossed a boundary, and stepped closer to something both natural and sacred. I felt that walking along a gravel path wasn’t enough, that I had to kneel in the dirt, feel the earth beneath me to truly be part of nature.
I had climbed down to the rushing stream, because I was thirsty, and found myself wanting to stay there. I looked up at the autumn colors, the blue sky behind the trees. I stretched my hands into the air, wanting to pray, to worship something great and wonderful.
This evening I stood beneath the stars, sending a prayer into the night, feeling it was easier to hear the divine outside the four walls of my apartment. I wonder what it would be like to live under the open sky, always.
Golden leaves over silver grass, silently falling, the morning light inching closer, touching the tree tops. The lake silent and without a ripple, bathed in autumn colors, reflecting a clear blue sky.
I try to take the time to think and breathe, and to look at the moment, at each leaf as it falls. Winter is at my doorstep, and the world lovely, breaking apart and turning more beautiful with each passing day.
It’s strange how the wheel turns, how quickly time seems to pass. I love each season, especially when they are new or old, turning into something else, death and rebirth.
I read somewhere that our body holds onto emotions in different body parts, and I was surprised that it was scientific. It something I feel in myself. Like I’m holding onto something old, tears and anger that won’t let go.
I remember being a student and walking to my university, through the city and feeling as though my chest was heavy, as though something was pressing on it. I worried and went to the doctor, but he couldn’t find anything wrong with me.
So I tried to ignore it, leave it be, and eventually it went away, but tightened in a painful knot in my stomach, in my solar plexus.
I wonder if losing my dad, my mom and sister caused this heaviness to fall on me. There were just too many emotions to deal with, so I tucked them all away, without knowing I was doing it. In my family, we weren’t taught to show emotions, especially the negative ones, and I felt I had to move on, not feel so much and dwell on things, to not be a burden but continue with my life, be strong.
I watch the leaves fall, wondering if I can do the same, flutter to the ground and lie there, in the frost and sleep, relax, and let the world move as it will. Give up control and the need to be something special. Just let go and see what happens.
I realize now that I welcome the darkness. I want to rest. I want to sit inside and write, and walk the forest among naked, dark trees. I want to be calm and silent within myself. Right now the world is so brilliant and lovely that it almost frightens me. I feel this is something I need to learn also, to breathe in the moment, even if it’s like fire, even if it’s cold like winter frost, or as lovely as the wings of a butterfly. To be here, steady and strong, and silent, watching the world go by, loving it, admiring it, but without needing to hold on or control it.
So I look at the trees, the beauty of leaves falling, like golden drops to the ground, the pines trees breathing in light, the first of the sun on this slow, October morning. I see a few cars drive by, but mostly it’s quiet, still, the field frozen.
I feel melted inside, swollen and strange, like I’m crying and letting go, but all on the inside, like a slight tremble that might grow into something more. A wave tearing through, washing away old debris, making room for something new.
I want to write about a man I met on my trip to Slovenia. A few of us went to his house, to his small workplace where he creates blends of essential oils, and where he helps people heal.
A man with striking blue eyes, and an iron hand shake, that seemed fitting for the mountains.
I felt him looking at me, and I wasn’t sure if I should look away, or keep looking back, because I felt he was seeing too much of me, and yet I wanted to know more about him, like there was something unspoken passing between us. He was a healer, and I felt I could be one as well, one day, in my own way. I was intrigued by him, and how he explained that he felt his way into mixing the right oils together, without knowing much about them first. He followed his intuition, his inner guide, and I thought it was amazing.
He spoke about all the pain he had been through, physical pain. I thought of my own pain, which was emotional, and I felt maybe I could use it in similar way that he had used his, to help others. He was able to understand the pain of others, because he had been there.
He spoke to me directly once, asked me what I was doing for a living. I cringed a bit, but I said I was writing. He thought it was good, that I was doing something meaningful because he could tell I was sensitive. His response surprised me, and yet I felt embarrassed, that didn’t have a real job, only a dream.
I felt tears pressing behind my eyelids because he was seeing too much, and I was especially tired and exhausted that day. I tried not to think of the others looking at me, as the tears fell without me being able to stop them. They just came as though the cup was full, running over. I wanted to let them come, all of them, but I was afraid that it would be too much, that it wouldn’t stop, that I would scare myself and my friends. I felt shy, embarrassed, confused over my own pain, which I didn’t fully understand, and therefore seemed silly.
He talked about not running away. I wasn’t sure how to take his words, where exactly they fit into my life. I do often run from things, from myself, but I’m trying to stop now, slowly. I slid from his sight as he started talking to the others, and sat in the corner, mulling it all over.
I bought a few things from him, beeswax candles, a blend of oils, healing ointments.
I love how my home now smells of resin, of cinnamon and cedar wood, of the forest, of the mountains.
Have you ever met someone who reminded you of your path?
I’m in a different place right now, away from my regular routine. It’s easier then to pick something from my draft folder, that for one reason or another never got published, until now. This was written sometime in July.
Last Sunday I walked among the wide the open spaces, and quiet lakes of the mountain. I felt a peace up there, like everything belonged, like everything had a purpose.
I stopped by a body of water, glittering in the sunlight. There was no sound, only a deep silence, and yet I thought I could hear, or feel the movements in the water, little waves in the wind. It was a place outside of time, and my anger, my worries did not belong there, could not live there, and I gave them up as I walked, letting them seep into the earth beneath me.
I watched the trees, and how each one was its own being, had a presence that was unique, even among the same type of trees. I felt the forest would not be as beautiful if they were all the same, and I would not learn as much.
I thought of my big beautiful oak while lying in bed one night, and how I had touched it for a long time, and felt a response, as though it said hello, and knew I was there. I felt it was teaching me to be quiet in myself, and stay strong in the moment, no matter what.
I liked the feeling of my hands against its bark, how it made my worries seem small as I stepped out of myself, for a moment seeing the world as it truly is.
I lay in my bed and remembered they wanted to cut it down, and I felt pain, and did not want to linger on that thought much longer. I was surprised at the hurt I felt, and understood that to me, that tree was now special, a friend, a teacher, and I felt connected to it. If it was cut down it would also wound something inside of me.
It made me think of what’s real, and what’s imaginary. If there is much more this world than we are taught to believe.
Up there in the mountains I picked blueberries, a mushroom, and heather to bring back home. I saw a toad, beautiful dragonflies, and a baby bird calling for its mother.
I still feel soft going back there in memory. I wish to feel the same softness here where I’m sitting now.
Looking at the trees outside I feel them calling me, and so I’ll step outside again, and breathe deeply, sit on the rocks by the lake, watch the sun slip behind the mountain.
This is something I wrote in the beginning of last month. Sometimes I don’t share my words because I’m a little afraid to them.
I want is a life dedicated to the Goddess, to grow a rose inside, to let it open and bloom. To walk in quiet peace because I’m with her, even when the winds turn icy cold.
I want to be with her in everything, look for her, like a glimmering light between the trees.
I don’t want to be cold and alone, but filled up with beauty, love, and know I’ll never be abandoned.
I read somewhere about painful things happening for us, not to us. At some deep level I feel this is true, that the loss I’ve been through has some use, some beauty. That it’s opening me up, teaching me, preparing me for something.
Maybe the divine loves us even as they bring us pain, and maybe there are angels of light that never leave our side in our darkness.
I reflect on these things as I try to understand, try to heal, to let go of my anger. An old anger, from when I thought they didn’t care, thought I was abandoned by God. But as as soon as I asked for help everything changed.
I feel suffering makes us beautiful, if we transform it into light.
Catching the stars in your cloak ….. Marianne Stokes (1855-1927)
One day I’d like to invite someone in for tea, herbal tea and cookies. Something made from lavender, or rose.
I’ll have crystals and flowers in my window sills, and we’ll sit for a moment of silence, watching white light or rain fall on glass, hear the sweet sound of chimes in the wind.
Then they’ll talk, and I’ll listen, and see a flame trapped inside. I’ll show them their light, their beauty, what they can bring to the world, and to themselves. Maybe I’ll speak of the Goddess, if I feel they want to know her, – the true healer of hearts, and I’ll let them talk, and cry, until the river is spent, and the sky clears, if only for a moment.
I want to create a place of healing for them, with fragrances, incense, sacred oils. A place beyond time, to rest, to recover, to remember the spirit, and dreams of the heart.
I feel this place inside of me, in a house of white walls, and I wish for it to be created, some day, when everything is ready. When I’m ready. Perhaps one day we’ll all bless ourselves and others, touching the world with our dreams.
It was the farmer’s market that brought this back to me, and the woman at her stall, surrounded by lavender. I bought herbs from her, and she gave me apple mint tea, and I wanted to linger for a while, because the sweetness of that place felt like something I needed.
I feel we can bring so much healing to others, by sharing of ourselves, our gifts.
I felt it was a day of dreams, and spirit speaking. I bought a book on sale, that I had wanted to read again. It sat alone outside the shop, waiting for me, a book about daring to live our dreams. Dare your life, it said.
I did share a little of myself that day. I went to the hairdresser, and felt shy, as I always do when I feel I’m expected to talk, to somehow entertain others. What I really wanted was to read or close my eyes, but that felt a little rude, so I politely responding to his questions as best I could.
Then I felt more comfortable asking him questions, about his life, his dreams even, as I had shared that I wanted to write a book.
And he told me many things, interesting things, that you would never know from just looking at someone. And he said he too wanted to write, but he didn’t think he had the time, didn’t think he could do it. And yet, he seemed inspired, and that uplifted me, and I hoped he would honor his desire to create something, to share stories from his life.
I told him I actually had written a book, a very short one, and I gave him the name of it. He looked it up and said he would check it out, and seemed sincere. Again felt very shy, but grateful, happy even. I was glad that I had written that little book, and didn’t feel so much like tearing it apart like I often want with things I create. I felt grateful that I had tried, that I had written something from the heart, from a place deep within and put it out there. Because I wanted to, hoping it could bring a bit of light to someone.
What do you dream of?
I’m sharing a video in Norwegian, but with English subtitles. It’s an interview with the author of Dare Your Life.
There is a voice in things, between trees and water, and grass growing.
I sat in the darkness, listening for her voice, hearing the sound of waves outside my window, the great pine black against the sky.
I listened, hoping to feel her close to me, to sense her touch, hear her song. I wanted to be near her, for I felt alone, and I wished for something to reach me.
I wanted her to step close to me, in that silent white dress. I wanted to feel safe no matter what.
In the night I hear whispers, my soul speaking of secret things I feel to be true. There are no words, only a deep longing, and I wonder what happened to my day. Where was I?
The night brings relief. It comes with a quiet hush, and I start to remember, myself, the thread of the life I want to live, the path I want to walk. But when daylight comes I grow confused. I can’t quite calm myself, and go to her.
I need the kiss of morning, to not sleep through it. I want to watch the sky grow brighter, as I sit with her, listening, speaking through the silence. I want to remember her, and not walk through my day alone.