In the Pines

The seasonal search of Yule/ Solstice have a bit of conflict for many devoted at this intense occasion of Christian beliefs.

We have come down the path of Samhain; the exhilaration and the solemn experience that is claimed and embraced by the Pagan community. I have no catchy phrase of putting a God form back in the season, but what I can do is remember, breath deep the cold air into my lungs and step forward in my path. Much of the holidays practices come from another time that with deep roots to cultural beliefs and the truths of those times. Decorating a tree is usually the first thought in everyone’s mind.

My tree reflects the history of the my life to this point. Ornaments for celebration of my marriage, birth of children, grandchildren and beloved pets. It reflects my heart.

I put candle like lights in my windows for the homecoming of those who are now gone from my life.

I burn my bayberry candles and a Yule log for luck, prosperity and light in the new season. I make and give gifts that come from the depths of my soul.

When the wind blows through the pines in the evening, I go outside and listen to the screeching of the trees. My homestead is surrounded by pines. The tall thin White Pines that cover my ridge move with the wind in an ancient dance of winter. Sometimes I get the distinct impression that Cailleach is swinging from branches and tree tops. I see her long grey hair blowing wildly in the bitter wind and if I did not know better, I would say she was bare, much like the Maple,Oak and Apple. 

My pines protect me and my way of life. They give shelter to the small creatures that I welcome to my acreage.

They ground me, listen to me, bring me the vibration of the Mother and all her wild Spirits that visit my Ridge in this season and the next.

As I strew the outside of my home with branches and bough of the eternal green, I know that I am working the ways and bringing protection of the pine spirit into my life and that of my loves. I ask it to hold us close as we trudge the path of Yule and winter beyond.

Was this the actions of my Ancestors as they celebrated and embraced the season of dark? I only know what my soul depth tells me and I listen to my truths.

~Folk Ways on the ridge~: Talking Bear

~Folk Ways on the ridge~: Talking Bear: Flying over Kansas, I could see the wanning moon of day. I am on my way to see Momma. She seems to be in her last stage of life. Lung can...

Talking Bear

Flying over Kansas, I could see the wanning moon of day. I am on my way to see Momma. She seems to be in her last stage of life. Lung cancer is a beast and my other sisters need respite so I am doing my part. I have been filled with much anxiety the last few days. My place in this story, my ability to be of service and the amount of time I will be spending away from home. My meditations have been deep as I find my way in this situation of death but also, I am sensing other spirits close. I had ritual at my homestead on the ridge Saturday night to celebrate the first harvest. During the set up I kept getting glimpses of something close. The evening was beautiful with drumming, crafts, collective energy work, feasting and sharing of life, love and challenges. I pulled out a tarot deck for quick readings and a focus for our mental magic.

 

 It gave me a chance to practice my skills and to solidify the group collective.

 

I felt this evening was a perfect setting  for heightening our work-to tap in to a deeper place of spirit.

I have purchased a variety of ointments from Sarah Anne Lawless. I love to share them with my inner circle community, as well as using them on a solitary level.  Soma seemed to be the group favorite of the night. I also enjoy the benefits of the pain relief and passed this along to one of my sisters who was suffering from a stiff neck. I have moderate Osteo and Psoriatic arthritis and my pain can be intense at times. I am always looking for secondary pain relief, particularly at bedtime . The Soma is very helpful for drifting to sleep and at times ushering talking bear to my bedroom window.

Strength he says.

That is what bear is about.

 Standing up straight

 being fierce

 and over the top protective when threat is presented.

So I am.

 

Sarah's Forest Spirit salve led me to my place in the woods where the buck left his signature. I needed his commanding ability to move forward.

 

So I left him apple cider.

 

These are the things that are on my mind as I wind my way to Texas. My lovely community of sister friends, my belief in the Ancient Mother and her many spirits that recognize an obliging and compelling relationship and how to ease my Momma's passage- for her and my siblings that will feel as orphans do.

Ancient Mother I hear you calling, Ancient Mother I hear your song.

Now that Imbolc has come to pass, I am able to put my understanding of this fire festival in to words. As I age, my awareness of deeper meaning of the cross quarter days seems to deepen. Samhain and Beltaine are exciting times of celebration with great fires, dancing and mischief. But the subtle influence that the “lesser” events have and recognizing them is a sure sign of my seasoned soul. When I  began to plan and day dream of what I will do for Imbolc, My mind went immediately to candles, sacred wells, waters and Brighid. What I discovered this year, was the complete immersion of healing, hearth and home. When I invited my sisters over for the evening I was in a quandary of what direction the ritual would take. I had 2 scenerios that I played out in my mind. I love to use music and dance to create  energy to send out to the pulse of the earth and I have done this with great success in the past. This year was different. I had those around me (including me) that needed to be helped by the flame of herself.  As a group we worked on a sewing project . We sat in a circle on the floor and we each took turns stitching in our own hand love, peace and acceptance of  what we could not change and the need for release of the pain emotionally and physically. We laughed, sat in silent contemplation and let the words and music of  our Ancestors sink into our being. We worked as our Mothers, Grandmothers, Aunties and kin did before us. We came together on this cold night and understood just a bit of what our sister kith lived.

We took our work into the “Witches room” (as my daughters named it) and began our mental magic. I love this part of the rituals that I facilitate. The building of energy or force that surrounds us, directing it toward out goal and the release.  This type of group work is very rewarding but exhausting. When you choose to do this it comes with the disclaimer of taking the next day for rest. As we pushed our pulse down to the earth, she pushed back and gave us a jolt. We took this and pulled the gift from our spirits and shaped it into the force that was directed toward our intent of the hearth. With the release came the peace and contentment of a lover spent. We did our work well –the seasoned ladies of the hearth.

~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