Transformation

1. The Fall Garden
     You can never pin a garden down as being this or that. The moment you name it, it changes yet again. Growth, death, rebirth; the garden is never the same from one moment to the next. The fall garden, for instance, is different in September than in October, and November's a new story still.
     This past weekend, blessings of sunny, beautiful weather energized me to play goddess in the direction of the garden's transformation. Wild overgrowth that was, just a few weeks ago, green and vibrantly blooming, had turned frost-kissed and brown. Now the earth, once engulfed by a wild tangle of vegetation, has been cleared, expectant rows ready for a new cycle of creation. My ongoing canvas. As the energy begins its downward flow into the earth for winter's rest, I'm already looking ahead to the next growing season as I plant cover crops, garlic, and overwintering onions. The garden never ends. It simply transforms from one incarnation to the next.

2. I Will Be Turning 30

     At the beginning of the new year, I will enter the next decade of my life. I have never been very attached to age, but I must admit that 30 feels big: the official ending of one phase, the beginning of another. A landmark in the ongoing transformation of my Self. When I look at the 20 year old me and the me I am now, I laugh with wonder at the journey that has brought me here. On how many continents have my feet felt the earth, in how many languages have I said I love you? On how many beaches have I slept, under how many waterfalls have I swam? In how many arms have I danced, with how many sisters have I circled? How many places have I called home, how many gardens have I tended? And how did that girl, that me of once upon a time, travel so far that she found herself back in the woods and fields where she first started, no longer a girl, but a woman, a wife, a mother?
How many transformations have brought me closer to my soul, and how many more are to come? I remember once, back when I was a teenager, wondering how I could possibly mature and evolve beyond the point where I was at. Oh sweet girl. She had no idea.

3. Frida Kahlo
     Before I came inside to write, I was out caring for my extended family - the chickens, ducks, horses and goats: changing water, filling feeders, cleaning out old straw, laying down fresh beds. It is work I very much enjoy, out surrounded by beauty and God's creation. When I came back into the house, my old jeans were covered in mud and bits of straw, my hair frizzy from falling rain. I was in no shape to write.

     There is little I find more satisfying than changing into comfy clothes and making a cup of tea after working out in the cold and rain. But today, in order to write, I couldn't simply change into sweat pants and a tee shirt. Oh no. I needed a skirt, a pretty shirt, big earrings. A necklace and some rings. I smoothed my hair and braided it into two long braids. Looking in the mirror, I felt the inspiration of Frida Kahlo blessing me with a kiss.

     I have always loved Frida and her wild self-expression. Prints of her artwork adorn our home, while postcards of photographs capturing the beauty of her essence inhabit sacred spaces. My children also connect with her through a book of theirs called simply, Frida. Frida tells the story of her life through the magic and imagination she inspires. The book, written in Spanish, ends with these words:

Frida no imita el estilo de nadie. Sus pinturas son únicas. En los museos, cuando las personas ven sus cuadros, se echan a llorar, suspiran o sonríen. Y es que Frida convierte su dolor en algo maravilloso. Es como un milago. 

(Frida does not imitate anybody's style. Her paintings are unique. In the museums, when people see her paintings, they start to cry, sigh, or smile. And it's because Frida transforms her pain into something marvelous. It's like a miracle.)

     For some reason I always have to hold back tears when I read those words. If my children were to notice and ask me why I was crying, I would have to say because it's beautiful. 

     I have recently discovered an author I've fallen in love with, Alice Hoffman. I just finished reading her book The Foretelling, which is actually for young adults, but still thoroughly enjoyable for an old mama like me. (For an incredible journey into her writing, read The Dovekeepers. It's going down as one of my favorite books of all time).  The first line of The Foretelling is this:

I was born out of sorrow, so my mother named me Rain.

     The story continues with Rain, Queen-to-be of an ancient tribe of Amazonian women. It is a coming-of-age story, a story of spiritual quest as Rain seeks to bring peace to her people during a time of war and bloodshed. Towards the end of the book, Rain tells us this:

As for me, I was ready to return as the Queen. I had made something out of my sorrow. I had stitched it together with a rope made of hair from the tail of my mare; I had used bones of my grandmothers and my mother and my sister as needles. I chanted my gratitude all the way home. Thank you to my sister the bear, to my sister-horse, to the goddess above us, thank you for letting me be who I am, for letting me ride into whatever fortune we made together. Thank you for letting me be Rain and no one else.

It was the ending of something. It was the beginning of something.

4. Miracles  
     On many accounts we are living in a time of sorrow. Chaos and upheaval appear to reign. But from that chaos something new is born; we can, with the power of the feminine, transform our sorrow into the healing of our planet. A miracle for sure, but miracles are within reach.
     This is the end of something; it is also the beginning. We can begin with ourselves. Let's change out of our comfy clothes and put on that which speaks to our Soul. Looking in the mirror, we can honor all that came before us and, with gratitude, choose to create something different. We can look to the Earth for guidance, pulling our energy inwards to nourish ourselves as She does, releasing what's no longer needed as we prepare for rebirth. Transformation: let's tend the seeds of our new vision. This life is ours to create.    

*Gratitude*

Unexpected

The Summer Solstice took me by surprise.

As in, I was not expecting to feel what I felt on this day. I knew the solstice was coming of course, knew the exact day and time and phase of the moon (almost full). But I did not expect to be birthed into a higher understanding of life on that day.

Yes I know, that was deep. Obviously the Solstice was a very powerful experience for me. But before I go on, let me say one thing: I love writing this blog. The words materialize inside of me, desiring release. I think about possible posts and how one day I would like to write them. I think every day, I will sit down and write. But I don't. How can I, when there is so much to do? Since the Solstice, however, my Self has cried out to myself: write! Woman, write. Even if they are not the detailed essays I sometimes produce, I must share this channel of my soul. So yes, I will try to keep posting. Even if they come slowly, slowly they will come.

So now, back to the Solstice. What a lovely time of year - the damp and cool and vivid green of spring lingers, but the plants grow with the energy of summer. I was just looking at my last post, written about a month ago, and the pictures of the garden amazed me. How bare, how little everything was! What a beautiful, glowing green and blooming purple Eden it is now. The process of life so joyously exquisite in the quiet, long light of late evening. Deep gratitude.

In the days, possibly even weeks, leading up to the Solstice, I wasn't feeling especially great. Not sick - physically I was fine - but drained, unmotivated, low energy. Kind of grumpy. After my experience at the Winter Solstice, I should have known something was coming. But I did not. 

The Winter Solstice, for me, was much anticipated. I knew it would bring about deep spiritual transformation, and that it did. I did not expect the same for its summer counterpart. 

The morning of the Summer Solstice, I woke up with cramps, dull, achy, and constant. This happens to me around the full moon, as my body cycles in her rhythm and releases those little eggs of my creative being. I can tell how powerful a full moon is by the intensity of my cramps, and I knew this moon was very, very powerful. Full moon on the Solstice, powerful indeed. 

By the time the kids were asleep and I was finishing up my evening chores, the cramps intensified to the point of no walking. I lay down in the grass, late setting sun shining his last rays upon me, and I surrendered to the waves of pain washing over me. I feel like I'm in labor, I thought to myself. Looking up through the tree above me, neon green with the deep blue beyond, distant hills glowing gold, I had the sudden realization that I was in labor. Giving birth to mySelf. Birthing in the energy of release, of evolution, of healing; a rebirth in the continuing cycle of spiritual transformation that has been occurring since the Winter Solstice. As I lay on the Earth, cradled in her embrace, I gave birth to a higher understanding of myself. 

Since that solstice experience, I have felt different. Slower, more relaxed, joyful, full of peace. Reconnected to Spirit after a very, very busy spring. My perspective, always expanding, now perceives a deeper understanding of my truth. Continuing on with the work of this year, old patterns were released- unsupportive patterns passed down from generation to generation, passed on from experiences of lives lived long ago: patterns of scarcity, anxiety, anger, control, fear. Patterns no longer needed in my Being. I release you with a kiss. 

While living the daily routines of life, it is easy to forget that we are in the midst of transformation: the feminine is rising, the masculine is healing. Coming into balance. I see this healing in the faces of the mothers holding hands in Turkey as they protect their protesting children from violent forces. I see it in the strength of my friends as they bravely leave unhealthy relationships to create a truer life for themselves and their children. I see it in my family as we learn to communicate and connect on a deeper level. I see a vision, and it is beautiful. I see the blossoming of my garden reflected in the universal stars. 

I invite you to open your eyes and birth your Truth into the world.

*blessings*

{this post is dedicated to Alisha, Megan and Kerry - your strength and beauty are an inspiration}

Wise Earth

I'm not sure if this post will ever get written. It will take many days for sure.

This is not because I have infinite words to express (although the expression of the earth is infinitely wise), but because I have suddenly found myself the head mistress of a true blue farm. And it's spring time, and the days are long, and outside is so much more enticing than inside, and my garden wants me and my animals need me and my children desire all my attention and everyone needs to be fed and maybe a dish or two washed and the laundry's been sitting there for a week and the woods are oh so lovely this time of year. And then it's time for bed.

Does that make any sense? Probably not. But just keep reading, because I'm drinking my first cup of yerba mate in a month (since before my cleanse) and it'll kick in in a few minutes, and I'll start spouting the enchanted poetry of my soul.

I hear my poetry best in the evenings. Evenings are one of my favorite times of day. The light lasts so long, I'm able to get in some blessed garden time once the kids are curled up in bed, faces angelic with the serenity of sleep. If it's been cloudy during the day, or rainy, or windy (as it is apt to get up here on our hill), it is usually clear by evening time, and the garden glows with the last rays of the sun. It is quiet but for the singing birds, and nobody is there to divert my attention from the lovely earth. As I sit, hands in the soil, gardening questions on my mind, the earth shares her wisdom and suddenly I know what must be done.

1. The soil up here in our sweet little coastal range is generally full of clay. There are a few sections of my garden where the soil is like butter, but most of it is heavy and dense. It takes a long time to dry out, and if dug too soon, turns into clay rocks when the sun shines. This lesson I learned well this year, as lovely March and April weather got my garden hands itching. In my eagerness to plant as soon as possible, I worked the earth too soon, and gradually my plants were growing out of hard, cracked earth. Where was the butter? Thankfully the earth's wisdom came to my rescue, telling me to break up the surface soil (with a trowel and my hands, strong hands) and mulch.

2. I have a new game plan. Last year I played around a bit with no dig gardening, and I'm going to try it again. We have a large patch of ground that will be home to corn and squash. Anthony rototilled it up for me, but the resulting soil does not inspire images of abundance. I mulched it with straw to retain moisture, with the intention of removing the straw at planting time. But one night, as I sat in my garden under the gaze of the new moon, the earth spoke to me. I understood. My clay soil wants top soil built upon it. Lots and lots and lots of top soil. And thanks to the chickens, ducks, and horses, I have plenty of poopy straw just waiting to break down into beautiful composted soil. So, my corn patch: I'm going to leave the straw in place. I'm going to spread a layer of horse manure [mixed with straw] over the top of it, followed by a layer of mostly decomposed compost, followed by a layer of soil (which we did have to buy). Into that soil my seeds will be planted, and as their roots grow, they will find rich layers of organic matter to nourish them to glorious maturity.

3. Gardening is a constant lesson of finding balance. Of patience, of faith. Of loosening control. Of listening. I love the courageous sunflowers and nasturtiums and cosmos and bachelor buttons and sweet peas that spring up wherever their soul desires, in this bed or that corner or the middle of the path. I leave them where they sprout, grateful for their blessings. Flowers are as important to me as the food I grow, and they appease the creative fires inside me. Fresh bouquets are a fountain of joy.

4. In prior times of my life, art was one of my main creative passions. The open pages of my journal eagerly accepted my voracious creativity as I collaged, painted, and wrote. It is a rare day that I create art like that any more, as my life exuberantly fills with other endeavors. More and more I am seeing that my garden is my canvas, and my creativity flourishes as flowers from the earth. Especially as the fenced field this garden once was develops into a more defined space, I am able to apply my energy ever more creatively.

5. The enchanted poetry of my soul flows best at night, when my world reduces down to me and the earth on my hands. The words flow through my mind like water in a river ["everything is governed by rule of one thing leads to another. We can't really place blame, 'cause blame is much too messy. Some was bound to get on you, when you were trying to put it on me." Sorry - old Ani Difranco song that I recently rediscovered and am re- in love with.) If only someone were listening in on my brain and transcribing those graceful words for me, I would produce brilliant posts every day. But instead, I enjoy them in solitude, pausing to look at the golden blue gray light of the clouds and the setting sun. I look back down at my hands and the earth speaks to me.

6. She tells me secrets about myself. She reminds me of my ancient being and ways of living that feed my soul. She nourishes me. She is faithful, she is generous, she is abundant blessings.

7. I am almost finished with a new garden bed. It is totally awesome, I must admit. And I made it as I planned to above in point #2, although it is not in the corn patch. And never again will I attempt digging out our clay soil. Oh no baby, I build right on top. Everyone is very happy (the plants, the earth, me). And the children are happy. They love using their shovels, filling wheelbarrows, climbing dirt mountains, digging holes, and generally getting dirty and being silly. And I have sweet satisfaction in my creative heart.

8. My life is full to the brim, and fuller it will get. I learn how to balance the barely contained chaos. I flow with the earth and the moon and my body and my family and learn to live my joy. I see my personal journey mirrored in the cosmos: the healing of feminine energy, the balance of the masculine. Receiving the energy of the Universe, I feed it back down to the earth. The Earth: her wisdom resides under my fingernails, permanently fixed in the crevices of my hands. I hold her close to my heart. I heed her words.

9.  May your hands dig deep in the earth. May you listen closely and heed the sage words of our Mother. May we all receive her blessings, opening to her healing ways. May we live in harmonious balance.

*Gratitude*

Spring Happy

Spring is happy.

As I step out into the early morning, the coast range mist giving way to early light, the symphony of birds gives rise to joy deep in my being. Breathing in the fresh air, I ground myself to the damp earth from which the flowers bloom. The ducks are quacking to be let out, and Xango ("shango") the rooster must be driving the chickens crazy with all his crowing. After collecting the blue, tan and brown eggs the chickens have left us, I feed Harold and Avalon. The barn gets mucked out, and Rosie the broody hen gets some love. Always I am accompanied by my helpers, Yasmina and Bella. Looking in the greenhouse and around the garden, I see the cabbage and the kale are ready to transplant, the broccoli, spinach, peas, onions, and beets are doing very well, and some early beans and zucchini have sprouted. Surges of energy rush through my body as my hands eagerly anticipate digging in the earth. Oh yes, spring is very, very happy!

And busy. Very, very busy. In years past I have let the busyness overtake me and make me crazy. But not this year. This year I will flow through the season with serenity and grace, doing what I can, releasing what's not important, and simplifying the rest. I am keeping my perspective wide open: I do all that I do because I love it, and I will not let that love  turn into [silly, senseless] stress. I will prioritize that which brings me joy, and I will remember to take time out from "doing" for just "being." I will be still. I will breathe deeply. I will welcome my gratitude and enjoy the multitude of blessings that are my life.

At least, that's what I'm striving for. I'll let you know how it goes.

Many blessings, my friends. The garden is calling!

The Return

I have been dreaming.

Sometimes I float through life as in a dream. An incredible, demanding, joyous dream. I must go outside and feel the earth to keep grounded. This is Winter, the coldness reminds me; the time of dreaming. Dreaming of what's to come. Dreaming of what to next create.

But slowly, ever so slowly, I am awakening. The energy is stirring down in the earth, pushing tentatively upwards, like the daffodils through the cold soil. Buds are forming on trees, the bright green of new growth appears in my vision.

In my desire to turn chaos to order, these times of transition inspire me to organize and cleanse my home. Cleaning out the cobwebs and the dust and the clutter and that which is no longer needed, I bring harmony to my worlds, both outer and inner. And reading this article from Mystic Mamma [my favorite - be sure to check it out] about Mercury in Retrograde connects the energy I'm feeling all around me to that which is swirling in the cosmos. As above so below.

According to the insightful and wise counsel of those quoted at Mystic Mamma, Mercury in Retrograde is an excellent time to engage in "re-" activities. And that is exactly what I find myself doing.

*Reorganizing

I have been staying up late, moving things around my home. Rearranging, rethinking. Making piles to be passed on to someone else. Creating space. Our little chimney fire has instigated change [and a bit of chaos], but now I'm looking around with pleasure at the outcome of transition [even though our new propane heater can't quite match the warmth of our wood stove]. Blessings. Life gives us the tools for creation.

*Realizing and Releasing 

Outside, I have been pruning my fruit trees and blueberry bushes. I cut off what is not needed, redirecting the plant's energy into healthy regrowth. Similar work is happening in my inner garden. Over the dark months of winter I have developed a rhythm or two that need pruning. I realize that what once served me is currently not needed. It is time to take my cue from the full moon and release, time to redirect my energy into healthy regrowth.

*Renew and Rejoice
Spring is coming. The time of rebirth is just around the corner. What do I need to renew my Self? [Nourishment. Sleep. Quiet. Being outside. And a bit of creativity here and there.] And the sunshine, how I soak up the sunshine at every opportunity. I rejoice to hear the frogs and the red wing blackbirds and the two-toned whistle of the varied thrush. The winter wren sings a fairy song of spring.

*Reflect

My perspective, although in a constant state of opening, is still relatively small. I weave the pieces  of this and that into the grand tapestry of life, whole and beautiful. As I reflect on the path my life has taken me, full of blessing and wonder,  I can only humbly surrender to the magic of it all. I overflow with gratitude.

*Realign and Remember

It's so easy [for me, at least] to get a little lost as I try to keep up with the forward motion of my days. I can easily get caught in the small stresses of daily life: a sink full of dishes, a rug that desperately needs vacuuming, children running around without coats or hats [or, if you're Yasmina, running around the garden completely naked {in February, mind you} stealing duck eggs and covered in mud from head to toe.] I have to keep bringing myself back to center, reminding myself to perceive with my Spirit eye. I have to remember to hold still and breathe deep, to honor my blessings and to release my gratitude. I realign myself with my highest intentions as I remember who I really am: Spirit incarnated into this messy, beautiful, crazy, awesome life. Let me be a portal of love down to this earth.

Dreaming. Let's all keep dreaming.

*Gratitude*

Stirring of the Seeds

Today was a day that foretold of Spring.

The weather was [comparatively] warm, the sun blessed us with golden kisses, and we spent the whole day [may I repeat, the whole entire day] outside. Gardening.

Oh sweet Bliss.

And it was perfect for such a day, for today is the festival our ancestors celebrated as Imbolc. In reverence of the sun who gives us life, they celebrated the sacredness of fire and the days now visibly longer, evidence that life would grow again.

Although it is still winter, I see signs of spring all around. Signs of a gentle, humming energy returning to the Earth. The frogs have returned to fill the night with music, and birds sing their beautiful songs all day long. Tops of daffodils tentatively push through the cold soil, and little buds begin to appear on stems previously bare. Seeds are stirring from their winter's sleep, preparing to send out their shoots. Our hens are laying a bounty of eggs. I feel the quickening of energy as the Earth begins to anticipate Spring's rebirth.

To celebrate Imbolc, Mina, Jai, Bella and I planted the first seeds of the season [in the greenhouse, of course]. Spinach, lettuce, endive, parsley, and arugula will all hopefully be the makings of our first spring salads.

As we covered the seeds with a light blanket of composted manure, we put forth some intentions we would like to manifest in the coming year. Trips to the beach to collect seaweed [and starfish, says Jai], a playhouse for the kids, the acquisition of pigs, goats and horses (!!?), and a 2nd annual Dance Retreat were planted down into the fertile soil.

May our dreams grow as real and as vibrant as the fruits of those tiny seeds.

*Blessings*

A Morning of Blessings

For days now, we have woken up to a world kissed with frost and an earth frozen in silence. It has been dry and cold, with the trees on the distant hills frosted white. All collections of water are solid, and we experience the delicious sensation of skating over slick ice.

Lately we've been waiting for the sun to peek out before we venture to play, but today we were out to greet the morning. And what blessings we received!

And finally, back inside for pancakes.

 Many blessings to you on frosty mornings!

*Gratitude*

Preparing for Solstice

 Tonight, on this eve of Winter Solstice, I send out my blessings.

What is going to happen tomorrow has been the subject of many speculations around the Mayan calendar and the future of our earth. I personally have no fears that the end of the world is coming; instead, I am filled with great joy and excitement for the possibilities that are opening to us.

The Mayan calendar is not ending; it is completing one cycle and starting another. We are not at the end; this is a beginning. The breath of spring in the cold dawn air. The last cycle won't repeat itself.

Even if you don't believe the prophesies that tell of a coming enlightened age, and even if you don't believe that tomorrow's Solstice holds any magic at all, it doesn't matter. We can all choose to change, right now. We can all take this opportunity, real or imagined, to shed our old skins and transform into our highest selves. Release old patterns. Open our perspectives. Love with our hearts. [Illuminate.]

Wake up, sweet loves, wake up.

In order to aid you on your journey, I would like to share a Solstice ritual. Last night, in collaboration with eight other beautiful women, we preformed this ritual to cleanse ourselves of that which no longer serves us and to call in that which will.

First, in the company of yourself or with friends, make a sacred space. An altar of some sort, as elaborate or simple as you desire. I personally like to have the four elements and the four directions represented: air [East], fire [South], water [West] and earth [North]. Add any other sacred or beautiful objects that call to you. I then smudge myself and the four directions to open my circle [even if my circle consists only of myself].

After taking a few minutes to meditate and connect with yourself, take a strip of paper and write down everything you are ready to let go of. This can be anything - attitudes, patterns, energy - whatever it is that no longer serves you. [Think big, go deep.] When you are done, take another strip of paper and write down everything you wish to welcome in. Then roll your strips up and put each in the center of it's own little square of fabric. As an offering, add some herbs, dried flowers, loose tobacco, or even a snip of your hair along with your paper. Then pull in all the edges and tie the bundle up with a piece of string. When you have finished, you should have two bundles: one to release, one to keep.

Make a fire. Inside or out, or use an earthenware bowl or a large shell if nothing else is available. Burn up your releasing bundle, and let go. [I got really into this part. As we get closer to Solstice, I've been compelled to do some deep cleaning in my house. I gathered up all the old herbs and dried flowers and sacred objects - our Mayday goddesses and the gratitude flags we made last Solstice - and burned them up as well. As blessings, as offerings. It felt REALLY GOOD.]

Next take your bundle of all that you're calling in and place it on your altar. Light a candle as you affirm those energies you are welcoming in, and state them out loud. Take some quiet minutes to feel the effects of all this in your body.

To finish the ritual, close the circle by smudging yourself and the directions once more.

Many blessings to you as we enter the darkest day. Many blessings as we release our old, stagnant, and negative energies. Many blessings as we take hands and walk into the new light.

*Gratitude*