I’ve taken another hiatus from blog writing. I “knew” this was coming, and I’ve been (kind of) patiently wading through the weeds of my consciousness, working every day in earnest with my Morning Pages journal and consistently asking my guides, ancestors, and Spirit to help me find clarity, and for advice for what’s next. In a nutshell, the answer has been "in small steps."
My muse comes back to me when I immerse myself in nature. This year, my writing energy shifted around Lammas, the first of the harvest festivals in a Celtic pagan tradition that falls on August 1st. It marks the halfway point between the summer solstice and Mabon, or the autumnal equinox. Shortly after Lammas is my son’s birthday, which is also a natural time of contemplation; it’s when I think about wrapping things up from the summer and moving into the next season of change.
Where I am in the northeastern US, evidence of Autumn is already present, even if just slightly. It brings me comfort and a sense of peace that things are still moving, still progressing, and that the world of nature is still going in a forward direction. I am rekindled with hope and optimism, even if it’s just a little bit; it makes a difference. The energies of Mother encourage me to keep moving forward, too, remembering that change is the only constant in life. It must be done.
Many moments this summer have me feeling like I am in a motor boat in a pond of grasses and vines, jamming up my propeller and unable to escape my predicament. It’s an uncomfortable place to be. I have to wait and have no choice but to "just be." Am I looking in the water and seeing what is there, or what my mind tells me is there? Turtles? Or piranhas? How far down do those grasses and vines go? What awaits my next move?
It comes back to me that I’m in a space where the well-being of those I love and the future of what is most important to me hangs in the balance, and I’ve been forced to remain in a holding pattern.
I wouldn’t say I like that space. What is the reason for all of these weeds? I ask myself. Why did my boat end up in the water grasses, whose origins I can’t see in the deep, dark water? Was I careless in my navigation? Did I not pay attention to the weather? Do I feed the piranhas or save the turtles?
The storms come so fast around here. After they pass, I bathe in sunlight and momentarily feel the cool breezes wash over me. When I’m basking, I don’t need to see the violence the storms left behind: washed-out roads, blown-down trees, broken bridges…
The Helpers come and make navigation safe again. But the way previously traveled may be irreparable, and only a detour will do. Such is life.
I watched my son in the ocean. He was the only one in the frigid water save a black lab and her owner. My son clung to the boogie board, tilted his head back to receive the sun, and floated. He moved with the motion of the ocean, in complete trust and harmony with his surroundings. A moment of peace overcame me.
Epiphanies come gently and quickly. I surrender to Spirit by being open to receiving such blessings gifted to me by my son. So even though I feel like my propeller is still entangled in the grasses and vines, I can at least take comfort in the gentle rocking of my boat and look for the turtle on a nearby fallen tree, even though there might be piranhas underneath me.
Thanks for listening.