A Prayer

Great Mother Spirit,

I call upon you today to seek solace. To find refuge outside of time. Our day to day world is so laborious…I feel the clock ticking, and grow anxious as images of rusty copper gears, and whirring bearings cloud my view.

My body is sick, and my body is tired. Instead of fully giving over to rest, I stress and worry that the amount of time I have to rest isn’t enough….sabotaging my serenity from the start.

Take me to a place outside of time… where the only constant motion or sound is of a lazy river, gently flowing towards the ocean. Does the water worry when it will make it there? No, because water is simply meant to flow. It will greet the ocean with a soft kiss, perhaps not even noticing right away that the two have merged and become one.

Please help me to embrace and embody FLOW. To allow myself moments of reprieve and solitude, to listen to what my body tells me, and honor what it needs. Help me carve out a river inside myself, and in doing so, help me to know that all I need to do is flow towards your spirit and energy. I know you will always be there waiting for me, like the great oceans…but for now, please help me learn to softly river my way through.

And so it is.

Pisces Season

You have been circling my conscious for a while now, like a bird along a lake…widely swooping low, and then banking up towards the sky again… you have not touched down….unsure if you’ll briefly visit, or fly on. The surface of the water frantically dapples and glimmers…seemingly reaching out as if to say, “Wait! I am full of fathoms and hidden treasures, if only you’d come close enough to see ME…instead of how easily seemlessly I mirror your mettle.

-once an Empath.

Noon on Winter Solstice

Why don’t I feel it?

The slab of sorrow that is slowly poured over my body, and then cements into place like heavy concrete. Constricting my airway. Weighing on my heart. Holding me heavily in place. Rendering my intellect and imagination grey…there are no specks of sparkling silver in this sidewalk, unlike the ones of my childhood, where fisher price roller skates were strapped onto my shoes…little legs buoyed up by your cheers of encouragement.

I know grief. I know how my brain and my body should react. Hell, I even dramatized it here at the beginning of this page.

I suppose I could call it up, summon it from the depths of 8 years ago…except if I’m honest with myself, I think I’ve already tried that.

And it didn’t work. It didn’t plant.

You are Perennial. Yes. That’s it, that’s the answer.

Your love is, and has always been everlasting.

Unfaltering, in every season and storm of my life. Your love and prayers for me thrived.

So much so, that not even death himself could wither your bloom.

Flynn gently plucked your picture off my altar today, and brought it into his room at nap time… simply saying “Nana”, and setting you beside his bed.

And so here I sit, in the quiet of his nap… thinking “this is the moment!” The tears and anguish will finally come flooding through after witnessing the pureness of my child’s understanding. Death and I are well acquainted, you see, so he would know exactly how to turn the taps on my watery heart so that the ashen dirge begins to flow.

But it doesn’t come. I breathe.

I look.

I wait.

And like Persephone, I feel your love as a soft spring breeze, and am warmed by your eternal light.

On the coldest day, and in the darkest, and longest night…your flower will forever abide in me.

Eight Years

I watched as the dawn softly blew it’s breath on the dark this morning…it was such a subtle, gentle shift…like the ripples that appear when I blow on too hot tea. It has become that way… this grief of missing you… quietly curling around me, but still enveloping wholly.

When did it change? I can’t begin to answer that question, and I smooth down the panic and guilt that swells at the prospect. I will not question it. Not anymore.

Eight years ago, your death irrevocably changed my life. For so long, I was lost in the pain and darkness of it…not able to comprehend even the IDEA of you being gone from this life. And then you appeared again… in little ways at first, and then in utterly magnificent ones.

Ever since, you have walked beside me in spirit, and guided me down a path I could never have imagined for myself, or withstood without your strength. On this day, and every day…. I remember. On this day, and every day…. you are with me. I love you, Beth. THANK YOU.

Ritual

Light a candle with intention. Let nature’s tendrils and vines brush against your face. Meet with a dear friend, and hold space for one another- exactly where, and as you are. Stand at the edge of the ocean, and allow your tears to mingle with the salty air….Step into a stone chapel, and lift your voice in Divine offering.

Ritual is all around us if we allow ourselves to receive it. This is medicine. This is healing.

This is my voice, these are my words, and my offering to the Mother… to Mary, and to Magdalene. She received it and gave me the gift of the ocean’s waves in return. (Click link below to listen.)

235-n-water-st.m4a

Blessed Be.

Witness

I had never witnessed the taking of a life before. A privilege, I know, in today’s world. I heard the machines before I saw them…and was drawn outside by my son, who at first only saw the monstrous vehicles as characters in his children’s books. 

We walked out to the end of the driveway, staying a safe distance back…and Flynn’s notion of what these machines were “supposed to” be for immediately left his head. He gripped my hand tight and watched with concern, as the machines continued to hack at it’s victim’s limbs. As they fell to the ground, we watched men robotically pick them up and throw them into a shredder, with no regard for the perfectly healthy, beautiful resiliency that they still had left within them… that life breath turned to dust within an instant. 


My little boy looked up at me and asked, “Mama?” that one word holding so many questions in his little mind. He wanted to know why. Why were they killing this life force, tearing it apart piece by piece. 


My answer to him was a silent kiss…a meaningless reassurance.  How could I explain to this untainted soul that these men were taking this life because they believed it was too close to our comfort and connectivity. They believed it was better for it to die, then to let the possibility of it someday “interrupting” or inconveniencing our lives.


Flynn still clutches my hand, but his other hand is now clutching his stomach…his little body unable to understand what is happening. I could feel his concern and discomfort flooding up my arm where our hands were connected. 


This life had lived in this place for close to 100 years. It remained a steadfast fixture as the world and people changed around it. How many generations had it watched come and go? How many families looked upon it daily? How many animals had it sheltered or fed with it’s abundance? 


And now all the limbs were shorn off, it’s body naked and exposed where it’s life force once spread tall and wide. 


I was at an execution that no one could stop- I could only look on in sadness and remorse…. guilt seeping in like I was a part of the destruction. 


I couldn’t watch the men finish. I didn’t want to see emptiness where a strong, long, life once stood. 


We went back into the house, and I distracted Flynn with a game of catch, but my mind was still outside…. and in detainment centers….and in jails…and on boats…and behind walls…and in every other place in the world where humans kill and destroy for the POSSIBILITY that the lives they are taking may threaten or inconvenience them at some point. 


I watched a tree die today. 



I watched because it was right outside my front door. As I write this from the safety of my home, I now realize that I have watched humanity die every day on the news, and social media, etc. Why has it been so much easier to walk away from it, or turn a blind eye and pretend it isn’t happening? NO MORE. 


Great Mother, please give me the strength to NOT look away, change the channel, or go inside. Give me the courage to stay…. and to intervene. 


Blessed Be. 

The Weaver’s Prayer

She sits by the fire with her eyes closed, lost in contemplation…allowing the strands of life to ebb and flow around her freely.

These chords, memories, and connections fly around her beneath closed eyelids, where only she can see them. There…the thick translucent blue of the umbilical chord where her life started. Where she was destined for a path of the unknown and of inner strength.

A slim but mighty silver thread flashes by and grabs hold….her chosen family, not of blood, but of love. The silver thread forever embroidering her life force with another’s- her sister, and soul friend. More strands come into view now… the emerald green of true love, the joyous blue of motherhood, all beginning to intertwine into beautiful patterns and textures.

This woman is the keeper of many chords….not just her own. She holds the red thread of life in her hands and has stitched countless people back together through her service in medicine. That red thread has given life back to those in need…she is a healer.

With her eyes closed she can see a thickly braided chord of moss green and vivid purple… soul mates who were brought together because of her tapestry. Stitch by stitch, her threads have impacted the world. She has created literal beauty in her knitting and quilts, but the real magic of her life is in the power to create NEW threads, and know when to let go of the ones that have frayed. A tear rolls down her cheek and she sees it for the first time….a spool of Golden thread…just for her.

This thread is not often seen… it only exists in certain people… those who have walked through darkness and have come out on the other side to create anew. She breathes deeply, threads her needle and opens her eyes to begin. After all…. she is a WEAVER.