Winter woolen dress,
steady snowfall; a blanket
for Bríde, my warm heart.











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Participate via your own blog, then share your work here (it's moved to facebook this year, due to high volume i'll suppose):
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Brigid-Poetry-Festival-2011/124403944294363?v=wall

So, yes. It has been a riddle I've longed to crack, ever since I first learned of it: the Celtic orientation of night-as-beginning. I think I first heard it mentioned in 's 1987 made-for-tv series, The Celts. To many errors to count in that film, but the conundrum of starting my day at sunset, or at least orienting my mind to that paradigm, provided an interesting challenge. Could I do it? Could I reverse my mindset, to really see things differently?

Now as Samhain approaches, I think I've wrapped my mind around it a bit better. Standing at my kitchen sink-- where all my best thinking occurs, lately-- it struck me that we begin our very lives in the darkness of the womb, so why *not* consider the start of our day as the darkness of night approaches?

Then a new appreciation for this orientation surfaced, for a culture so beginning its day with not the first rays of light but indeed, the last of them, surely a reverence for and contemplation of mystery is revealed. For we cannot simply trust our senses as we do in the bright daylight, as night falls. We grope around, we seek carefully, we rely on other senses to provide us with the means to survive. That and the navigation of our own inner world of dreams, where things are never what they seem...

And upon waking into daylight again, as the Celtic day wanes with the ebbs and flows of that dream state, the tools begat in night find other uses for the day.

Is it a stretch? I'm curious how others experience it-- or how they've read of it in their own research.

Now I'm off to pick up the Little Deer from 'nursery, being as he is newly on half-days rather than full; my little poet-warrior has leaned too hard on the latter of his namesake, and so we'll try this new schedule 'til the sweet poet can be coaxed outward again...

My new-most-favoritist place:

http://www.callanishvisitorcentre.co.uk/

Thanks to this lovely film:
http://www.standingwithstones.com/

...has anyone else seen it?
Joy!
(to find others who get so giddy about old rocks...)

Once again a Sacred Day snuck up on me and caught me by unawares...


Luckily, though my Boo and I have been steadily collecting fallen leaves, twigs and blossoms, placing them lovingly upon our kitchen table. The Table has evolved into something of a seasonal altar in the time that we've lived here, which is appropriate I think; a good, down-to-earth and constant reminder of the "bigger picture" in which we live, while surrounded by our humble abundance and daily homelife. Oisin likes it too, and makes reference to it whilst we're out and about, which makes me a proud Mama.

But, ah, yes! Equinox. Day of Balance. Or something like that. It started out horribly-- an account of which you can read in excruciating detail here.

But as I took my last bite of that apple, something shifted. There was a scent in the air that played like sweet music. It danced up my legs and 'round my arms and begged me to join it outside, which I did. My boy came along and my funk lifted just enough for me to find the inspiration to make some cinnamon-apple tea. I invited my landlady, who lives just upstairs. Osh grew tired of our girly conversation and planted himself under the tree beside the house, digging the fine, powdery soil and talking to the tree. After a long while we wandered to the park next door and threw a kite in the breeze, and found ourselves enveloped in sweat and laughter-- such a gift considering the week we'd just had.

And so the day was spent in communion, with Each Other, with dirt and air, and of course that fine, musical breeze.

I'm continually amazed at these "holy" days, the marks of our year, which I plan for and educate myself about but which still catch me unaware each. and. every. time. But always, things mysteriously work out, celebrations erupt in unexpected, spontaneous events, and the day is "right" in the rightest way. I'm ever humbled by it. Enlightenment is awareness that you are not "one with" a thousand disparate things, but aware that a thousand different things are moving through "you", "making" this "you", or so says zen master Dogen. In my own mind, I picture it as the entirety of life is breathing through you, and you are the breath.

At any rate, I loved my Autumn Equinox this year. It was as though a bad spell had been lifted, and I've been able to breathe a lot easier ever since...

Yesterday I caught my first taste of autumn, as red leaves rolled under my bicycle tire and a chill in the evening air raised bumps on my bare arms.

The change always comes so quickly, doesn't it? One moment you're sure you're just going to die from the heat and intensity of the sun, and the next, everything *does* start dying...

I( It's good to be back here this morning, y'all.  )

...do you have your LJ published in book form each year- or ever? Do you like the result? And if you've got other blogs going, do you publish them (& have a publisher to recommend)?
Thankya,
p

Happiest Solstice wishes to everyone...

Though I must admit, with recent news of oil spills in Alaska and now Egypt, in addition to that big one in the Gulf, and the ongoing spills in Western Africa; fire raging in Arizona and violent storms here in New England... *happy* is not quite the word that jumps to mind. In fact I am very much overwhelmed by the destruction these days.

But still, Solstice being solstice, there is a little celebration in my heart for things that remain "very right"; such as baby grapes making their appearance on the backyard vine, and good mama earth bedecking herself in the jewels of every shade of flower she can find. The sky here is a most brilliant blue, with marvelous cumulus clouds building themselves into all sorts of wild, puffy shapes. And happily, it is not quite as humid, though the day is as hot as one would expect in the summertime.

I've been daydreaming quite a lot about this holiday for the past week, seeking a way to best express what it means to me both in story to my son and activity in my celebrations. And once again, I find myself surprised by the gifts of my subconscious: like the armload of fairy lore books that called out to me at the library; or the walk in the sun I found myself enjoying after errands at the stroke of noon, purely by happy coincidence; or the handful of cilantro I gathered for lunch, shortly before reading a naptime story to my boy that highlighted that gathering herbs on midsummer's day insured in them an increased magical, healing potency. Once again, I am quite the accidental pagan in my celebrations, with the bright sense that "someone out there" is really looking out for me.

Or maybe, she is just deep within-- this knowing, this able follower of good intuition, of something far older than herself...

The day remained a bright one, and I celebrated in it:


...an inspiring bit of sunshine peeking through the front window



...and a little more of the same, through the paperweight holding down my boy's glitter painting



...wonderful light cast all throughout the house



...herbal flowers from the garden to honor Bride and bless our kitchen



...and a feast of cranberry-walnut salad, herbal scones, quinoa & asparagus with pine nuts, fresh snap peas, and wine!

I hope you enjoyed your day as well, by the grace of our ancestors and the brightness of our most favorite star.

Coming up on Bealtaine, and I'm convinced we must be descendants of fairies, for once again we are on the move, once again at the fairy-moving time of year. Once again boxes and piles of all our things surround me, once again with a fine coat of mold-spore dust upon them, once again which I must diligently wash off and pack away to once again unpack with great care. I am hopeful and nervous about our next home-- it's a wonderful neighborhood, very near Inman Square in Cambridge and so lively and bright. And unlike the playground that is 4 blocks from our current home, the park that is all but 1 block away there is constantly full of children and people doing things. And the elderly landlords are wonderfully sweet to my boy, bonding with him instantly at first meeting-- but upon closer discussion of his illness because of the mold, she got nervous: "We're not going to have any trouble, are we?"

And so here it is that I sit amidst my things, a quiet morning which is indeed a very RARE thing these days, and time in which to write and sit quietly and drink my coffee, and listen to the rain...

So there are blessings, and I am trying hard to focus on them, trying hard to not let it be "like last time", when our world was pure chaos and feeling a lot like something close to hell.

Can I say what I am dreaming? I'm dreaming of more mornings like this one-- not with the mold and the extra phlegm and sore chest, no. But the quiet spaciousness which allows me to spin such wonder in my mind. I think it has been at least 3 year's time since I could do that... not coincidentally the timing of the birth of my son, but also our very first trouble with flooding and mold, the spring melt after blizzard season in Colorado that drove us from our little cabin there.

But 3rd time's the charm, so perhaps now is where we get it right?

I miss the nurturing of this little online hearth; something will change again, I'm sure, and I'll have my words back to me. 'til then-

Alright already, I've been a lurker long enough: it's time to write something. But, what?

I've been ruminating a lot lately on my spiritual lazy-assness. Maybe it's well deserved-- I mean, we *did* just live through a major trauma and all. But I lament that I have seemed to lose my religion, a bit. The phrase "Zen Failure" pops into mind constantly, which is funny, because ha-ha, as the koan goes, there is no such thing.

I see that what I will write about on this GORGEOUS spring day is that I miss so badly the sense of connection I once had to mystery and place, and most especially, wonder. I just turned 40, and already I feel like some old persnickety hag. Some humorless, dried-up curmudgeon. When can I have some humor back, please?

Ah, now, I am longing for something. Wide-open vistas, ancient puzzles, and... hope.

I watched a gorgeous video on ~I think~wisewomanjudith 's sister's lj-- spring equinox celebrated at a passage tomb in Ireland. sigh.

Why can my heart not race just at the sunrise that greets me in my own house, on any given day? Instead I linger under soft covers, clinging to my pillow for as long as I'm able (usually til just the moment when Mr. Pilar leaves for work...).

I'm a sad mama, an uninspired mama, a trying-hard-to-amp-myself-up mama... It's not just this new age of mine, really-- I've long been keen on turning 40. And it's not just because my little boy finally started "pre" preschool-- we were both more than ready for that event!

But here's a clue... A friend of mine recently wrote about a sense of gnawing agitation she tends to feel at the start of each spring. She wondered if seeds might feel the same way, just before they burst?

Over the years, I must say that this holiday has become my favorite, even over Samhain... And over time, its meaning has shifted a bit. Always there will be a longing in me for a gathering of women to celebrate the day, but that can wait. For now it is a day of quiet meditation, of gratitude for motherhood and for the special, sacred quality of Winter Light.

I began my celebrations of Imbolc on Sunday, meditating with the Zen group down the street and later, with the making of bread and lamb stew, to be enjoyed for our lunches throughout the week. And then the wonderful news came: my very dear friend had given birth early, early that morning, to a little girl!

I thought of the tradition as it began: a gratitude for the coming of new mothers' milk, and that of the ewes-- life-saving to the families whose larders were depleting just now. So that is what this day means to me: the miracle of life, even amongst hardship; and the miracle of milk, mothers and birth.

So last night, as I lit a candle on my new Brigid's mantle and created a dinner for my family, the soft glow served to remind me of what I am grateful for. And with gratitude as a stepping-off point, my winter-weary mood shifted and the promise of spring to come shifted to the ever-present now. Life!

Today my boy and I marked the new morning in a very special way: I actually remembered to sain the house this year, YES... And I sained it with this very dear water... this rain-water I'd caught during the happiest summer of my life, 17 years ago!

This has been such a time of Letting Go, that it seemed most fitting to follow it up with the cracking open of that vial. The sensibility of freedom and happiness that rained down on me-- oh, yes. It was high time to let that laughter go free!

After saining, I poured a bit of it in offering cups for Bride and for our ancestor altar. And then my boy and I walked down the steps and into the bright, cold morning to offer the rest of it on a bit of ground peeping out of the sidewalk. The grass therein turned a lovely bright green, and we did a little impromptu dance for it, and Oisin brought in a "very special" bit of evergreen for our seasonal altar.

A morning of creative play followed-- I introduced Osh to watercolors, and he loved it-- and then, of course, our lamb stew. And now it's naptime, so here I sit and write and meditate on the light that is filling the house...

They say it is to snow later, and it really has been just that sort of day where we travel from warmth and light to cloudy and snow...the sky does a great dance for us this day...




This Lady... such a healing grace, the like of which I never thought possible, the love of which I am glad to know... Could I ever hope to sing enough of that which knows no boundary? It is a concert I feel so lucky to join...

A lovely Imbolc to you all, happiest blessings of light to you, and love.