I'm a tree hugging dirt worshipper and I always have been. People ask me how I got led to magick and earth spirituality and I tell them it's a combination of a Catholic mother, a Christian Science father, one nana who was a psychic and one nana who died before I was born (so how could I not believe in the spiritual world?), an absentee birth father (so how could I not believe in miracles?) and an affinity to being barefoot and outside, while my best friends were trees.
I've been writing books and teaching classes on following nature as a teacher. And I do a pretty good job of riding the seasons and paying attention to the cycles of nature in my spiritual life. What I'm not so great at is walking the human walk. I spend so much time in my mind, analyzing things or finding deep symbolism that sometimes (oftentimes) I find the mundane steps suffocating. I want to fly - to burst forth - to sing my heart song.
When there's pain, I drum, or howl at the moon or splash in the ocean. Sometimes I crash cars, other times I pick fights with friends or family. I don't find it easy to sit and allow the process to unfold like a rose or the unfurling of a fern leaf. I rush forward at top speed looking for answers, so I can rest on my laurels in peace. And as in the case of the last couple of weeks when the tough gets going, I just add more hot sauce. Fight fire with fire until you're too exhausted to remember the pain.
Truth is, my family is breaking up and that makes me sad. It's not that I want to turn around or go back. I want to go forward and I am, day by day, packing box by packing box. But still, a dream is dying and I have to face it.
Today Lisa reminded me about the wisdom of the flower that sits for a time in the dark and stillness of Mother Earth, then moves ever so slowly from bud to blossom. She reminded me that I am birthing a new self and if I push too hard, too fast, I’ll tear. And that’s never good, plus it really, really hurts. It’s much wiser to follow nature’s example and allow yourself to open gradually. That I won’t likely be jumping from where I sit in this big house to another big house. I’ll be downsizing to make ends meet on my own. And that's okay, because just like the plants we prune to help them reach their fullest, most aromatic, most lush, I must give in to this death process so that I can be reborn better than before.
Okay, Lis, I’ll try…
I've been writing books and teaching classes on following nature as a teacher. And I do a pretty good job of riding the seasons and paying attention to the cycles of nature in my spiritual life. What I'm not so great at is walking the human walk. I spend so much time in my mind, analyzing things or finding deep symbolism that sometimes (oftentimes) I find the mundane steps suffocating. I want to fly - to burst forth - to sing my heart song.
When there's pain, I drum, or howl at the moon or splash in the ocean. Sometimes I crash cars, other times I pick fights with friends or family. I don't find it easy to sit and allow the process to unfold like a rose or the unfurling of a fern leaf. I rush forward at top speed looking for answers, so I can rest on my laurels in peace. And as in the case of the last couple of weeks when the tough gets going, I just add more hot sauce. Fight fire with fire until you're too exhausted to remember the pain.
Truth is, my family is breaking up and that makes me sad. It's not that I want to turn around or go back. I want to go forward and I am, day by day, packing box by packing box. But still, a dream is dying and I have to face it.
Today Lisa reminded me about the wisdom of the flower that sits for a time in the dark and stillness of Mother Earth, then moves ever so slowly from bud to blossom. She reminded me that I am birthing a new self and if I push too hard, too fast, I’ll tear. And that’s never good, plus it really, really hurts. It’s much wiser to follow nature’s example and allow yourself to open gradually. That I won’t likely be jumping from where I sit in this big house to another big house. I’ll be downsizing to make ends meet on my own. And that's okay, because just like the plants we prune to help them reach their fullest, most aromatic, most lush, I must give in to this death process so that I can be reborn better than before.
Okay, Lis, I’ll try…
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