The Spirits of the Lodge...

I had not visited the Sweat Lodge in so long I could not quite remember just how long it had been.  It had either been a year and a half or two and a half years.  Regardless, it had been TOO long.

The Lodge is a unique place.  There is no other structure I know of with quite that type of none-linear time/space.  The Ancient Ones (the Stones) somehow meet us in that liminal place and there we offer our prayers but, more profoundly, there They teach us.

There have been times when I entered the Lodge knowing what my prayers would be, what my work and intentions would be.  This time I prayed silently for the Spirits of the Lodge to teach me what I needed to learn. 

I had made the two and one half hour drive by myself, beginning before dawn.  I had watched the sun rise in silence on a quiet road.  I had simply stayed open and quiet and allowed the Spirits of the Lodge to speak as They would to my soul. 

The messages that I received were about listening to discover what my loved ones need from me and what I need to be well.  About allowing my passions to remain strong but finding ways to express those within my own boundaries as well as the boundaries of those I love.  About the fact that fear and anger are not only acceptable but necessary emotions, that they are useful when kept in appropriate proportion and when put to proper use. And that love is not something I need to earn.  And that all things will manifest according to the commitment I afford them.

I give thanks for the Water-Pourer, the Fire–Tenders, the Ancient Ones, the Spirits of the Land, the Spirits of the Lodge and the Beloveds who care for all those present.

I will not allow so much time to pass before I return again.  Blessed be.  

Lunae Memoriae

Moon by Helen Jarvis Reynolds

My Lady sails through silver sky,

Her pale skin, a shade of light,

She glows in brilliant radiance, my lover faire.

With gentle grace she wanders through the night,

Her gossamer gown flows ‘round about her feet,

Her footsteps leaving stardust in her path.

She sings with laughter, starlight song,

Her voice, a gentle shining mist,

Whispering the mystery.

Her soft touch, cool as evening aire,

Her kisses shimmer on my skin,

Gifts of music, soft and sweet. 

Dancing through eternity,

My lover faire,

My Lady of sweet memory.

The mysteries...

For the past month I have been focused on trying to understand some of the secrets my shadow keeps from my conscious self.  In that time I have been dreaming incessantly.  It has been very disconcerting and has had me more than a little spooked.  At one point I did not sleep for three days.

One of my beloveds has suffered a loss and is grieving.  My heart breaks for this dear one and I weep for them often.  One of my beloveds has begun a new adventure and I rejoice for their excitement and new life.

I spent a wonderful October morning walking in the woods with my sister and High Priestess “solving the problems of the universe”. And an evening under the full moon around the fire with community, wanting to climb out of my own skin.

I attended the beautiful wedding of two cherished young people and was greatly moved by their love for each other and that of their family and friends.   The desire and hope for that kind of happiness was rekindled inside my soul and I hold onto my faith that it is possible with every bit of tenacity that I possess.

I have discovered a young poet who moves me with his voice and his eloquence and his passion more than I can describe because I cannot reach such heights as he although his words lift me up to breathtaking crescendos. 

And my beloved granddaughter was born eight weeks early.

My reactions to all of these things seem to me to be out of all proportion.  My immense joy at the birth of the first of her generation of my bloodline is overwhelming.  My heart seems to be exponentially smaller than it needs to be to hold the love I have for her tiny self.  And although she is very little in the physical sense, she is larger than the entire solar system in my other perceptions.  She also seems to have the magickal power to cause me to time travel.  I find myself reliving her mother’s birth and the pain of separation and all of the “might have been”s that we leave behind in order to live in the present and walk into the future.  And time travel seems to flow in both directions at once.  I feel as though forty-five years is not nearly enough time to love her enough, to teach her enough, to become the woman I want to be for her. 

Dreams and desires, grief and adventure, love and passion, birth and separation, time travel and death.  These are the mysteries and these are the shadows.  These are the lights and the beauty that may be found in the dark nights and sunny days. 

May the blessings of both be with us all as we travel through the dark of the year.