And Now We Begin!

The world returns to routine today, the Monday after the holiday. Even if you work retail or health care where the places never close, energy moves underneath on the first workday back. Even for me, stretching through retirement.

I have PLANS for this year! I have repurposed a journal, I have committed to a thing, and an other thing. I have a loose list of more other things (because tight makes me procrastinate). Already, in day four, I feel the lightness in my body of returning to Joy.

I’m not going to write all of my plans. I’m keeping ego in check and not seeking outside affirmation, therefore I am not listing All The Things in one public post. Because when I listened to the impulse to do so, it was all about ego and not about accountability. Other folks will hold themselves accountable by public proclamations – my history suggests it doesn’t work that way for me. Heh.

Depending on where we are connected, you will see evidence of the things. If we’re deeply connected, you will know of all of the things. If we’re not deeply connected I am guessing it is safe to say you don’t give a hoot about all of my things and that is a-ok and as it should be.


Next topic:

Winter came today. I am not a fan. I get cold easily. Even with the hot flashes – irony to the 10th power, as bodies are weird and live on a scale of “1 to neener-neener” – I get very chilled. And yet!! When I saw the snow lying on the ground and felt the snap of cold air as I let the dog out this morning, something in me shifted and sighed “at last”. Having lived my life thus far in a place with 4 very distinct seasons, my soul has arranged itself to know things according these seasonal shifts.

I arose 1-2 hours earlier than I have for the last month. This is good. This is how I want it to be. I want my days to stretch with possibilities. I desire length to linger in them.

Hail winter! Welcome back.

 

Sometimes I just need poetry.

Excellent morning Reblog. ❤

beanalreasa's avatarbloodteethandflame

As I have had company these last four days, I have not been able to post this lovely poem from The Daily Good, as sometimes I just need poetry.

(If you click in the link below, you can listen to the poet, John O’Donohue, read this poem aloud, along with some rather lovely imagery.)

Beannacht: A Blessing for the New Year

–by John O’Donohue, Jan 01, 2016

For Josie

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets in to you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green,
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the…

View original post 83 more words

2015 – stitched through with sorrows

I cannot see the last year clearly. It is blurred by tears of sorrow. I wept more this past year than in many years recently passed. Sorrows pulled and punched at my soul, stretching its edges and pummeling new shapes into my life, my community, and my family. It etched old-new patterns into the world.

I am accustomed to change, mostly. I embrace change, mostly. Each change set a new road before me, pristine and waiting, leaving all not taken strewn like litter behind. Broken promises and never-to-be-fulfilled dreams fell and shattered on the fading landscape. My eyes cracked open and poured.

Regret and “wasn’t worth it” mantras are useless things hiding behind corners, reaching for my throat as I pass by. I won’t allow their clutching to find hold. To move forward without forever tendrils of remorse required honouring the almost-was, allowing the grief to be. I wept as I released the old stories.

Pockmarked with deep sorrows, 2015 broke, recovered, and broke again. It kept me off-balance in ways I am unaccustomed to. By the end of December I was stretched so thin I felt see-through.

Now I do the very human thing and look to the calendar hanging on the door to shed 2015, renewing hope with the turn of a paper page. I know it is a meaningless act. I know it is a sacred act. Turn the page and step out of sorrow.

I’m claiming 2016 as the year of joy, preemptively. And as I will …

Sometimes a Wild God

I was thinking about this poem again this morning, Sometimes a Wild God by Tom Hiron.

Tom Hirons's avatarCoyopa : words by Tom Hirons

I’m delighted to say that this poem is now available to buy in book form, with amazing illustrations by Rima Staines. There’s another of the illustrations at the bottom of this post. It’s printed on 100% recycled paper in the UK by a worker’s co-op. Do take a look – it’s a beautiful, pocket-size book and only costs £7.50 + p&p!

You can buy it direct from us at the Hedgespoken Press website:

buy-wild-god-now-2

View original post 706 more words

On Being Unstoppable

Oooooo, so much love for this. REBLOG:

“Life should be able to stop us. If not for beauty, then for heartbreak. If not for the joy of seeing a tree’s stark branches waving against a gray winter sky, then for the horror of seeing people starving to death in our own rich cities or drowning to death on the shores of Europe. If not for the pleasure of a beloved piece of music, then for the despair of another mass shooting. If not for the happiness on the face of a dear friend or family member, then for the agony present when they suffer or when we let them down. Let life be present to us. Let it stop us.”

Emotional wisps, treacherous illusions

My equilibrium is very uncertain during trying emotional times. As I slip I will try to grasp at a feeling, begging it to be the branch protruding from the cliffside that halts my descent. It disappears in my grip like wisps of smoke would. I see my hands convulsing – open, close, open, close.

As I fall toward the abyss, I wait for the cushion of darkness to numb my thoughts and hide my hands from my sight, so at last I may rest.

What about you? How do you “find your emotional feet”?

Childhood

REBLOG – I agree with this.

Amoret's avatara m o r e t

I’ve been thinking a lot about my parents lately, and wondering:

What if we all have to recover from childhood?

To be clear: I am not discussing abuse situations in this post. I am curious about the experience of being a child – small, without agency, growing and changing and learning at a fast rate – it is a very vulnerable state.

What if, regardless of parenting style, each person emerges from childhood wounded in some way? What if a reasonable, ‘normal’ childhood is an essentially wounding experience?

What if it is perfectly normal, perhaps even essential, to be wounded?

View original post

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Easy way to understand the Black Heart of Innocence by Elfwreck

REBLOG:

Piracy & The Black Heart

rainbow fairy

An essay about the Feri Black Heart of Innocence in the guise of a movie review. Formerly published in Witch Eye number, umm, 9 I think or maybe 10. Figured that “Talk Like A Pirate Day” was a fine time to share it with the general public.

Captain Jack Sparrow is the Black Heart of Innocence in action… From his sexy stance on the crow’s nest of a sinking ship to his bemused remembrances of past sins while being fitted for a hangman’s noose, Sparrow never misses an opportunity to flirt, drink or show off.


 

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