And Then September Crept In…

And Then September Crept In…

August flew by at an alarming rate. And it was an uncharacteristically cool August the first couple of weeks, which usually never happens. The Earth’s cycles seem to be changing. It’s a secretive and subtle change, but I can feel it. Even in the Florida heat, I can feel it.

The first two weeks brought the rain storms. I’m hoping the remaining hurricane season is lazy. But the whole month of August was a quick one, albeit with low pressure systems lazing about in the tropics; not the kind of lazy I wanted.

Hurricane Hermine hit as a Cat 1 early last Friday morning. Even though it was a lazy hurricane by Andrew’s, Katrina’s, and Ivan’s standards, it still left a hell of a mess. We were without power for four days; some parts–especially where the eye came ashore–were completely washed out. Lovely St. Petersburg had a hell of a storm surge. Some places up to seven feet.

But as us Floridians know intimately, cleanup commences and life goes on. Only two more months of hurricane season then we can let out our breaths.

But August was a memorable month…

My little fireling started kindergarten this year, and before the start of school we were crafting and playing and creating. Those first two weeks of August gave us comfort and the underlying feeling of change over the horizon. My little girl would be starting a new journey, as would I. The time we’d had those first two weeks of August felt almost like it was in-between, holding still, and hanging in the breeze we were so much enjoying. I could smell opportunity in the wind.

We celebrated our Ancestors during Lughnasadh as we made bread and fruit salads. We crafted wands, lanterns, faery houses, and we planted new garden babies.

I spent some time with my mother and discovered an unlikely friend in gardening right down the road. I was welcomed into his garden and was gifted with a beautiful bounty. Lemongrass, mints, three varieties of spinach, baby papaya trees, and patchouli for Spirit journeys through Earth. I’ll be visiting him again soon, with ideas of writing a bio on him and a story about his garden and apiary.

And here we are into September already, recuperating after Hermine, falling into the rhythm of Florida fall. Last night’s moon is a reminder that all things turn and change, ebb and flow, constrict and contract.

As for now, I have much to keep me busy. I’ve got a few students whom I’ve been tutoring, a couple of writing contracts, and too many plants that require daily conversations and TLC.

The light half of the year is so close to the end of its cycle, the Autumnal Equinox is right around the corner, and the Celtic new year to follow. So count your blessings, make room for more, and welcome joy into your home. 🙂

St. John’s River

St. John’s River

There’s just something about Florida rivers. The lazy meandering of hidden currents, the tranquil relief the waters offer at the end of an extraordinarily hot day.

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The spirits of the rivers of Florida aren’t ordinarily sought out, but they’re no less potent than Ocean, Great Lake, or Sea; the soft drifting melody of the river’s voice is enough to cleanse and renew just as a wild tempest sea roaring ashore in crashing waves.

This I came to love about Florida’s rivers: that calm surface hiding worlds of knowledge just beneath, a surface smooth as glass, reflecting the earth and sky above it.

Response to the Daily Post Daily Prompt–Glass

 

Within tempestuous Nebulae

Within tempestuous Nebulae

Stars collide
Within these eyes
Memories seducing
Blood alive
Cosmic shifts
Rip meaning from time…
And I became high
A sweet euphoria
awareness
Pulsating in rhythm
To this
Galactic lullaby

[Featured image: Cone Nebula, star forming region located within the constellation Monoceros; photo courtesy of constellation-guide.com]

I dreamed this dream of wooded Wilds

I dreamed this dream of wooded Wilds

I dreamed this dream of wooded wilds, dripping moisture in the grey air. The Earth’s many scents release when the rain drops onto pine needles and oak leaves. The pat-pat sound of the rain on the palmetto fronds is familiar in my mind.

I rise from my bed, surrounded by quiet and the familiar hum of the ceiling fan. It is early morning, the hour of in between twilight just before dawn, and I hear a voice. A man’s voice outside. From deep inside the dark cool trees, his voice travels out to me. I know that voice.

I wander out of the house, at odd morning hours. My bare feet padding down the lawn leading to the edge of the woods. I hear a crow, the rain, and his voice calling to me.

So I enter that wild realm of insects, birds, spirits. The wild god who waits for me.

He calls to me again, his voice warm and dark as fertile soil. My pulse thickens inside my skin. Shivers tremble up and down my spine, but still I long to find him.

I wander with soft steps on sacred ground. The smells inundate me, decay and life and rain. I weave through the thick trunks of ancient trees, winding thickets of brush and bole, over roots jutting out on my path.

And then I find him. He waits for me by a stream. The sounds of pipe and drum hit me then, though he holds no instrument in his hands.

His face is unmistakable, though I only ever see it in dreams. He whispers my name, and I approach his perch above the swirling water.

“Look,” he tells me. “Your strength is in this shadow, buried beneath the birch tree.” He smiles a cryptic smile, as a teacher might to his student who is working out the solution to something in her own mind. There are no birch trees here.

He reaches his hands out to me, and I take them in mine. His hands are warm and rough, mine cold and unsure.

He pulls me to his body, his warmth, his earthly knowledge. He smells of pine and soil and the decay of leaves.

His mouth covers my own, and I suck him in, all the scents and senses, the knowledge and heat.

Then I wake. I’ve had this dream before. It’s as if this vision, this dream message and messenger are begging for clarification. And I can’t seem to (or I’m not meant to) decipher it yet. But it’s always the same, always ends before the best part.

I like these dreams though, when I have them. They’re comforting and mysterious, as if my fate can be divined by some dream Being’s mood swings in the ephemeral world.

 

 

[Featured photo found on Pinterest]

The Juxtaposition of a Warrior’s Way

The Juxtaposition of a Warrior’s Way

I am a Warrior.

That much I know for sure.

I have not lived this life without conflict, resistance, or chaos. I have lived with peace, joy, love, and harmony. Yes. But the darker shades of being are always present. Always sliding in rippling music underneath my skin.

My blood carries songs of days long past, and I welcome openly all the senses these musings gift to me. Even those of nightmares.

Fear is a gateway to transcendence. It makes us aware of the unwants along our strands of the Web. Fear calls our instincts to action.

Do we fight or run the other way?

I prefer to fight. This can take many forms: fighting through the negative fears and doubts to get to the positivity; fighting through a personal dilemma to come to a solution; fighting through a tragedy to heal emotional (and sometimes physical) wounds. There are countless ways in which we fight every day. Sometimes we run away from it all.

But the key to fear is that we should not fight against it (usually the thought of fighting against something bigger than ourselves is what causes us to run from our problems), but rather fight through it. Fighting through rather than against is what helps us become more of ourselves. Fighting through that which we fear rather than against it is opening up to the possibilities of strength and growth. Fighting against something is futile.

Change is ever constant, we can always count on it, and change offers ways to evolve and become stronger, better versions of ourselves. Fighting against change is pointless; fighting through that change and attendant fear is where we give ourselves the opportunity to come out the other side…changed.

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Fear awakens our senses, our darker reptilian instincts that, in my spirituality, should be conquered. Fought through. Our base selves will call out to us: fight or run; and we must call on our higher selves to fight. To wage a war through the resistance that we don’t want. Fight to find the solutions, fight to overcome the fear of change, to fight through emotional doubts and challenges so we can become stronger and more ingrained in who we are, what morals we hold, and how we handle ourselves in future circumstances.

Never fight against change or challenge, but fight through it, and the obstacles will fall away.

 

 

[Featured image found on Pinterest]