Winter Solstice 2018

December 19, yesterday watched the birth of dawn, observed the death/rebirth symbolism found in nature, wondered why and how our Ancestors embraced such simplicity as sacred. It cannot be that far off from my own sensitivity to such mundane events that most take for granted. It’s only a day away from Winter Solstice, or Jöl, as my Ancestors would call it. The time of in-betweens, tell tale signs of sleeping earth. The sun makes his way to his lowest point in the northern hemisphere, begging for clarity. Our minds cannot comprehend such cosmic rays, the vastness of our place in this vision of universe. But we try.

We try to measure and analyze and quantify all that surrounds us, even the stuff that so clearly cannot be quantified or analyzed or measured. It all gets us closer to technological evolution, physical growth and expenditure, but further away from the simplicity of Spirit. And that’s what this season is supposed to be for, to me. It’s a day for rememberance, inward reflection, speculation on our Soul’s journey in our human experiences. It’s for intuitive processing, connecting with the Source that creates all things, destroys all things. It is for prayer and spell, the closeness of family-as we’re all connected.

This is not about dogma or doctrine, it’s about tradition and timelessness. The progression of nature’s turn from Dark to Light, contraction and expansion. I celebrate to share with those I love. I celebrate my Love for the earth. Forget monetary value, as there can be no price for preciousness. Forget material goods, electronic devices, technological needs.

Strip it all away, lay yourselves bare, and revel in the glory and agony of it all…of all it means to be human and alive to witness the sun rise with the turning of the year. Contemplate the clouds and rejoice with the songbirds.

Remember who you are and those you hold dear. Remember the sunset. Remember your origins, and be fulfilled: for it’s the Winter Solstice, the ending point of previous dreams’ gestation, and the birth of a new year.

✨Happy Solstice, all💙

Into the Wilds

I began to dream under the same raw moon as the tides that bare down on fragile flesh, the flesh of my forefathers. There’s blood in the apex of these stones, calling us to stitch the wounds of our own callousness and fleeting desires.

I wandered into the wilds, under sand pine prophets and oaken kings; I lamented on the nature of our odorous civilisations, our war machines and dogmas of oppression.

The egret and ibis heard my prayer and came to see the stranger in their midst. A creature of sorrow and sickness and greed.

But I wandered aloud, my footsteps bringing me to piles of rubble that once stood the test of time… and time is now mine under the stars of my newfound fortitude, this reckless keen edge of awareness budding to life inside my sleeping bones.

I was wary, once, of travellers of that forgotten golden realm; longing to hide in the shadows, a conscious observer of the night flights of those fighters, the fighters wringing the life out of the pockets of creation.

And I stood there watching while the memories came to dance about my head, spiders spinning webs in my hair to trickle thoughts of liberation into my brain.

I thought once of you, the way your eyes would move to judge the very fabric that weaves our flaws together. I set that memory free, and again turned to the wilds that so lovingly called me home.

I followed a deer growing thick with fetus in her belly, asked after the hymns that so wind their way around and through beast and tree, and she told me to listen.

So I listened to the gathering dusk, the crickets’ music transforming my soul, and then I was no longer afraid of growing old. So I climbed into the crook of a giant’s sheltering limbs, and I ate nothing but what I could catch in trembling hands.

I sacrificed my self into the hunt for this wealth, this need to resurrect what once was a feral heart. I stopped playing prey and found sanctuary in the blood of the earth, the blood of reptile skin and spear pointed teeth. And I became a solitary predator.

I dug into the midnight soil seeking a space to sink my roots, to wait and trap any form, any trace of food for my thoughts.

I wanted to grow wisdom. I wanted to relearn that Mother tongue of soil, muscle and memory. The language of the land’s savage composition.

I wandered the forest, aching to be found among the palmettos, a dying breed of mystic, planting seeds and craving all things that a human craves when burning that all to cinders and ash.

I buried myself in the darkness among cypress knees and Spanish moss. Letting nightcrawlers sing me to sleep. I wondered then what it would mean if I chose to stay, if I chose to let myself forget to be human for awhile.

So I tore from myself small strips of regret and tied the cloth of those sins to a dogwood tree. I cried at the wrath of the earth calling for my explanations of falling off the edge of this world, so long ago, now, it seems.

I entered the badlands of buzzing insects, leeches and steam. I let myself go back that way again and found the answer to that riddle:

 

I was never really me.

Love was an Old Brick Road

Once we carried wishes in our mouths, our bleeding hearts choked up on poetry and whiskey, the nostalgia of childhood dreams.

When romance was the ocean calling us down to the shore, we ran in rhythm to the pulse of the waves, and stripped down beyond our naked vulnerability, plunged ourselves deep into the indigo of what we thought we’d have.

When love was an old brick road, we danced in rhythm to the beat of the setting sun, kissed his feet goodnight and worshipped the moon as she rose.

Love was an old brick road, but somewhere along that path our travel plans unraveled, and I ended up walking alone.

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+LJ

Just another December day in FL

So much for hoping for a chilly winter. We’ve had some days here and there, but here in Florida we usually don’t see our coldest temperatures until January and February. And even then…

It’s not always that I hope for a cold Florida winter; lately though I’ve been craving seasons. I want more of those fall colors, more of the chill misty mornings that northerners know so well. I crave damp cool air where my breath leaves my body in little white puffs.

But hey it’s Florida and I should at least be thankful that I don’t have to deal with snow.

So what does a Florida girl do when it’s warm out merely 2 days after Christmas?

Garden work!

I went out and bought myself some new herbs and flowers, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t use the lovely warm weather to clean up and reconstruct what used to be my herb spiral.

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It is a medicine wheel now. 🙂 I cleaned and prepped the bed and soil about a week beforehand, and my new little herb corner should do lovely!

That’s how Florida natives roll. We’re either decorating palm trees for Christmas or working in our gardens in December!

 

Happy Holidays!

Under the November Sun

Florida always delivers on an amazing sunset. Her nature is unique, offering temperate and enjoyable weather as winter rolls in. Winters in Florida can be utterly beautiful.

 

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The birds that soar over the waves are migratory and natives. The air sings with promise, and the chilly sea breeze carries a mystical note reminding me of the necessity of stopping for a moment to enjoy what Nature is placing before me..