~Folk Ways on the ridge~: Silver Thread and the River

~Folk Ways on the ridge~: Silver Thread and the River: What a year….. I have found that I use the year in holidays as markers in my life. The progress or regression, lessons and losses. W...

Silver Thread and the River

What a year…..

I have found that I use the year in holidays as markers in my life. The progress or regression, lessons and losses. What I have accomplished, planned or not. Events never unfold without a twist of lime. Sometimes that slice is what is needed to enhance the over all experience; other times it drops you to the floor in a mighty wallop. I have had both this year and the lessons of strength has been the reoccurring theme. I really hate the phrase “you are only given what you can handle”. I call bullshit on this. Why? Because it does nothing for the grieving heart, the body of pain and the lost soul. I feel it only shames us into the façade of strength. Real strength comes from acknowledging the event that stunned us, letting it settle into our being and then finding what your new normal is.

 These are a state of affairs that we will experience in our life-all of us. It is part of our life lessons. We each have a set of them that shape us, influence our decisions and at times overcome us.

Sometimes we are given events that we can’t handle. We shut down. Our brain freezes at a particular place and we can’t move past it. We tread water, barely keeping our head up. As we flounder, forgetting to breath we become so tired that we really just want to go under. At this point we either sink or swim. (I have always been a strong swimmer- I learned when I was young-another life lesson) and then automatic starts. Moving thru the motions of survival. Progressing thru the strong current and coming out the other side is never a betrayal to our lost love(s), it is survival. Our dear hearts want us to swim. The first deep breath as you break the surface,  fills your lungs and the light is warm on your face. Stepping on the banks of the river, feeling the might of endurance, the muscle that developed from being tossed into the waterway.

As the new year begins, we can’t help but to look back on the year that was, how far we have come and what is still holding us back.  Much of these circumstances are laced with pain-physical, emotional and for some, spiritual. They have a tendency to intertwine and morph in to one beast. I know that I have dealt with each of these on levels that I did not realize existed in my being. My spiritual house and foundation is strong and helps me move thru my river. I was thankful for this as my year unfolded and I was tested many times over.

 

The loss of a long time friend and co-worker (20+years) at the beginning of 2013 sent waves of disbelief that still has a rippling effect on many of us. I think of her sons daily and the struggles they have endured. My heart hurts for them as they make this journey together as brothers and separately as men.

My personal pain from physical injuries sustained that brought me to the decision of surgery. I do not regret that decision, but the place that I landed was and is a passage to the next crossroad. The loss of my sister Melissa, her husband and 2 daughters, 2 weeks after my hip replacement still seems like a movie I watched on the Lifetime channel. She and I were 22 month apart in age and 1 year apart in school. I do not remember life before her. Growing up, we experience most life events together-either as friends or fighting, as sisters do. She was my memory and I was hers. As adults, we chose different paths. Hers as a Christian, mine as a Pagan. We had to find a place of acceptance for each other. When I went to her home in Texas for the funeral, I was overwhelmed with the goodness of the people of the community, her Christian community. They welcomed me and my other siblings and extended family. They took us in, comforted us, fed us and gave us a place to rest. They gave us soul care that was desperately needed. The funeral was overwhelming. The eulogy and heartfelt words comforted but at times I struggled with the Christian God that was not my own. I found myself holding hands with my remaining sisters during prayer. I quietly slipped in to the “Silver Thread” meditation that my dear mentor, friend and teacher of the Appalachian ways, Byron Ballard taught me. I saw the thread unwind and weave it’s way to my sisters, then to my brother, mother, husband, daughter, nieces, nephews, new friends and neighbors. I let it slink around until we all were sewn together. I was able to find a bit of peace that day with the meditation and knew that I would again swim to the river bank.

I remembered one community member related how Melissa was the first to remind others that you don’t know what someone else’s story is and what brought them to this time and place.

 This is how she lived her life. I carry this with me each day as I move forward.

 

2013 had it’s share of good days.

 

The first day walking with out my cane, being able to dance and sway my hip ever so slightly to blues music, camping trips and kayaking with my husband, Circle time with my soul sisters who lift me up on high and being able to walk my dogs on the wooded trail behind my house.

 

These are the things that sustain me and make me swim harder.

 

The true about Saturday morning….

I awoke this morning to dog noses and snowflakes. Before the blurry dreams were wiped from my eyes, I could see what this snow was made of. It was the larger than life fluffy stuff from the movie “A Christmas Carol”.  I was gently encouraged by my friendly beasts to move a little quicker. I laced up my boots (a sure sign that she is getting ready to take us out) threw on my shawl, grabbed my cane and out we went. The peace of snowfall is unlike anything else. The gentleness of the air as you breathe in and awaken to the end of your week puts one into a mind set of contemplation of the recent days and the Saturday mornings of yesterday. As I viewed the vista before me, the flakes were beginning to change to a more dense and compact version of its previous self-still beautiful but heavier with more substance. A lot like the person I have become.  

I brought the wet nose dogs back into the house and made my coffee. I need the quiet reflection of this morning.

 I remembered what Saturday morning was like as a child; a day to eat sugar cereal and watch cartoons, giving my mother the opportunity to sleep in a bit. We would wake her and ask if we could walk to the little store and buy 1 box of cereal for breakfast. She would always direct us to her change purse and off we would go giving her a little more of the blessed sleep that is always lacking in a Mother’s life. Cereal was not a regular occurrence in our home, but Saturday mornings we could get away with it.  When I became a Mother myself, I had the cereal ready and would sleep on the couch in the living room as my daughters watched the Saturday line up.

The work week is brutal and Saturday morning is my salvation. The work week world (WWW) demands from us, (you and me) on many levels and in return leaves depletion. I need this time to sit quietly, reflect on what has been done, what I can fix, what I can’t and what I won’t.

This is soul time.

 

 I do not give this time up easily. I will fight it tooth and nail and do what I can to plan things for the afternoon.

I have been known to share this time with others.

My dog friends are the perfect Saturday morning companions. They follow me around my homestead protecting me as I take them to my most sacred places and share my heart. They keep my secrets and stay by my side. I have 2 full grown collies and 1 sheltie. I knew as a child that these were the dogs of my heart. 1 of the collies is a recent adoption. He was the companion of a long time friend who passed very tragically. He was a witness to the happening and I feel his pain and grief. He is on our small country ridge to heal and is already deeply close to my heart. Dogs really are the perfect friend. They always know the truthful deed when you cry; they lick your tears and let you hug them with no judgment. How fortunate am I to have them in my life.

 

Beck on the left,

 Rufus in the middle ( he is the leader)

 and Bodhi on the right

Happy Birthday

This morning, when I took the dogs out for there morning constitutional, I heard a disturbance in the tall pines off to the side of the house. At first, I thought it was the busy squirrels. As I looked up, I could see the pine cones falling. My initial though was, the first day of fall and they know what to do. The trees have color, the fields lining the roads are golden with highlights of dark pink and purple. The beauty of this time is beyond words. I compare this vista to my wise sisters. They to have beauty that streams afar with seasoned perceptions running like deep undercurrents alerting the pines to lose there cones. How fortunate I am to have them in my life. I like to speculate on the mystical force that brought us together and the trust that we have between the 4 of us. Fate, definitely played a part in our birth, but was there another time and another place that we were together? I do not have the definitive answer; that lies within purple rimmed fields of gold.

Today is the birthday of The Wolf Spiders. We are 6 years old. That is an accomplishment. Coven years are like dog and cat years. Many Covens do not make it past the 2 or 3 year mark, yet here we are still strong and going forward. We have been thru tragedy, loss, sickness and conflicts and yet we still stand together.

By Kith and Kin,

Wise Sisters step in.

By Serpent and Toad,

we are the Sisters of old

As above, So Below

Wise Sisters,

I will see you at the cross roads

We are in our season, and this is the time of our lives.

Transition of the garden

As I approach the Autumn Equinox or Mabon, I am reminded of the work that must be done on the ridge. The physical tasks are many and with my bodily disposition, it all seems very daunting. During the warm weather months, I was able to slowly work away on a memorial garden. I immediately named it “The Ancestor’s Garden” as they were the ones that guided me; but as I transition the small space for the winter, I realize how much it represents. From the placement of a rock to the growth of a new vine, this space is very sacred. I’ve used it for my summer hearth, a meditation destination for late night dilemmas, a reverence for a lost brother and planted friendships for my dearest circle sisters, new and old. How then, do I put this to rest for the cold? It feels like the parent that moves south for the winter, leaving the adult child to deal with the impending winds that will soon change the landscape.

This is how treasured the newly arranged garden has become to my soul; greeting it in the morn as the  blooms open, saying hello as I return from my day of struggles and a  good night with a shot of Bushmill’s Irish Whiskey. My space has become a steadfast friend, a conspirator of relief- knowing that it will always be in my path as I return from each day’s journey.

 

The realization that I would need to ask for help with the upcoming tasks, came to me with a slap to the temple as I tried in vain to fix a fallen trellis the other evening. An unforgiving tree branch knocked me on the side of my head and left the inevitable goose egg.

I am struggling.

 The transition of this garden represents the changes that are upon me that I must go forward with.  Asking for help when you are the usual giver of such is not always comfortable.  

With that, I retreated to my in-door space.

 I took control of my daughter’s old bedroom some years back and made it in to my “arte of the craft” room.  It is overflowing with aspects of my workings, books, music, dance costumes to list a few, but dedicated to my Ancestors, Spirits and Guides to whom I speak with on a daily basis. I poised the question to them (Ancestors, Spirits and Guides) and they never lie to me…sometimes they speak in riddle and I must decipher what they are trying to say. But they never leave me without. My relationship with them is built on trust; this is not a one way street. We rely on each other to communicate and to do the work; and like most relationships, this took time to build. It was not a light the candle come what May situation. I had to prove myself and sincerity to them, and learn to listen….

I heard them loud and clear. 

My lesson from them is this: To be a healer you need to be healed. To understand pain, you need to feel pain. To be able to help others, you need to ask for help.

So today, 24 hours after my first surgery since my car accident, I can reflect back on the lessons of the last 2 years. The spiritual growth has been immense. Growth is not painless, if that was the case, we would not resist it. However, knowing that my pain is also a phase (sometimes a long one) gives me the gumption to push ahead.  

The transition of my garden, my summer space, needs to be shared with those that love me and look to me for kinship. What a perfect place and time to ask for help and celebrate Mabon, the birth place and date of my circle of Sisters.

 

 

I dedicate this to my brother Richard who passed away this winter.

I find myself a little melancholy as we fully enter the season of re-birth. It seems we skipped a large part of spring that I look forward to every year since I was a young child. The very beginning of newness and discovery-the time when the grass is still brown, the leaves have not begun to fully bud, let alone tulips in bloom. As a child, this is the time that I would set out in my boots and poncho and explore the field next to my house, the property behind our barns and the creek that ran behind them. The winter snows in central New York always had a way to leave strange things behind or uncovered. I remember specifically walking the field, thinking aloud and talking to whoever would listen about my discoveries. As much as I loved to muck the field, the sight of the initial stages of leaf buds and the tops of flower bulb greens poking out of the earth, always put joy in my heart. Even as a child, I was in tune to seasonal rites. I suppose we really did not skip this part of the season, it was just fast tracked and like anything else, when you do not appreciate what is in front of you, it will be gone quickly. So my lesson learned, It will not happen again to me by my own oversight.

So, with the seasonal weeks ahead of us in this circular race, many are playing catch up with their spring cleaning. I have to say that I am doing good in this particular area. A few years back, I started to put myself in the spring mind set during the Imbolc holy tides and observances. February for me, marks a transition month; a time to take stock in what you have become during the darker, hermit times and where you want to be as you emerge. The long winter nights as a child seemed like they were never ending. I won’t go into detail now (another blog perhaps)of the utter dismay that I had as a child during these nights. I will say that I have learned to embrace them as the time of great learning and healing that my body and spirit need for survival. I liken this to the animal that has shed it’s former skin or shell. When I emerge my colors are more vibrant, I feel more supple. But alas, with growth and discarding of the old comes the need for cleansing and clearing. My closet runneth over. We all know that the mundane work has to be done and much of it can go hand in hand with your spiritual, magical and mental housekeeping. However, in my life it is just as important and maybe more so to put the many lessons of the winter to creation. To do this, I must have a clear road/path. I know at this time what or who needs to be discarded. This may sound a little harsh, but when you have had a long winter of healing the hurts of your heart, it is time to go forth,  take care of yourself and your own backyard. If you have survived the winter and still do not know the truth of your heart, your path may  have many obstacles that a spring cleaning will not fix. With that said, the first full moon of spring this year falls on Good Friday. Although I am not a practicing Christian of sorts, I do have a Christian background and I recognize the spiritual energy that abounds. Why not tap into that energy and use it for your own needs?(I did this at lent with incredible results)

I will use it. I will clean up the sheds of my winter and give them to my earth spirits to recycle. I will discard those who chose not to be a part of my winter evolution, because as the wheel turns, so does the understanding of my place in this universe. I do not wish them harm, I just wish them away. The blockage that they embody upon my lane does not serve me and my wellness. I thank them for the lessons and return to them that which is theirs-

I do not need it.

I do not want it.

I will not make apologies for this practice. I am very forgiving, loving and loyal. I have a slow fuse, but like most of us, I have a limit. When I make a clearing from my path, it is not an easy choice. It comes from much contemplation. It is hard, deliberate work that must always involve my Ancestors, Spirits and Guides; but when I realize the sweet release of the blockage, I know that I am living in my truth.

This winter has come to a close, and with it the middle road has been cleared for the influx of what the future holds.

I survived the loss of family and the sorrow that is it’s twin. I lived with the hermit for respite and found the remnants of the girl in the poncho. I took her hand and we walked thru the field. Together, we found the winter’s deposit and gathered it to ourselves. We walked to the creek and thanked the spirits. We returned as one to faced the road.

Richard and I... Spring 1970

*My ritual cleansing are my own that I share with those who can listen.*

The Tradition of death

Tonight this subject ways heavy on my mind, as I struggle with the unknown of the ways of others. Perhaps I am looking for comfort from a source that seems to be just out of reach or unavailable. I know what I want to say and what I want to do, but it is not his way. I look to the ridge and the passing of the seasons. I remember those who have passed and the visits they have gifted me with. I can only ponder as to where he will want to go and if he will stop by for a visit. Just in case, my candle will be lit to make the path bright. I will sing him to the place he needs to be. This is the only comfort that I know to offer him. The present family  tradition is not true to my heart, but I will stay silent in my words, only offering my personal interjection when I know that it will be received with the love of it's intent. This coming event is not of my ego, but of a remembrance of a hearty laugh, a quirky smile and the heart of gold. I go forth with these memories firmly in my mind to share with the future and those left behind.