Forgiving Yourself
First, a resource article aboutforgiving yourself for the holidays by Jennifer Louden:
PaganSquare is a community blog space where Pagans can discuss topics relevant to the life and spiritual practice of all Pagans.
Forgiving Yourself
First, a resource article aboutforgiving yourself for the holidays by Jennifer Louden:
May there be peace before us.
May there be peace beneath us.
May there be peace around us.
May there be peace within us.
I write each winter about how I feel pulled in two energetic directions at this time of year and those directions feel in opposition to one another: the inward call to descend, hibernate, reflect, renew, incubate, stew and brew up new magic, listen, wait, watch and feel, and the outer call to produce, perform, keep up, do, be, move, give, create.
This week, I saw that my own Past Self from about eight years ago had shared this quote and I’m taking it to heart:
“Focus is often a matter of deciding what things you’re not going to do.” – John Carmack
At this time of year I recognize that I often feel a type of defeat, like I’m having to “give up” on the year, on the things I thought I was going to do, etc. and each and every year I have trouble with that point of surrender—with acknowledging what didn’t come to pass, what could not be, what has to wait, and what can be laid aside. After I struggle and wrestle and freak out and whirl and sometimes even weep over the things undone, the surrender moment comes and I realize: “Yep. Not happening,” and there is a relief or release to that moment of letting go. After that, I usually remember that the end of the year is in many ways an arbitrary and imaginary or self-imposed deadline and rather than rushing and scrambling to keep up, I can instead lay some things down and look forward to the bright sense of possibility that dawns with January.
How might you soften and surrender?
How might you lay some things aside?
How might you honor the undone and unfinished and let them rest?
How might you mindfully embrace the twin pulls of this season and let effort and ease join hands?
May you honor wise secrets
and silent mysteries.
May you trust the touch
of the sacred
in all things.
Some resources for Winter Magic are available to you here.
In my dream,
the Summer Queen
is wrapped in summer’s fire,
garbed in gowns of gold and brown,
and blazing with desire,
the grass and grains
are winding down,
leaning in ebbing spires.
She feels the heat beneath her feet,
her stride is wide,
her lips are sweet,
her arms lift up to lightning streaks.
She twirls around on thirsty ground
raising the passions higher.
With hips and hopes expanding wide
her heart alight with joy and pride
her song is strong,
her howls are long,
her many prayers are hot and bold
and then her plans
find ease at last
remembering the wheel spins fast
it’s nearly time to share the floor,
as Autumn’s Queen
peeks round
the door.
In August, I feel held in a space between summer’s fire and summer’s fatigue. There has been a blooming and a ripening, and now a harvesting and a fading begin as the time comes to turn the page.
There are cracks
where inspiration dwells
and hope still wanders,
places where wonder seeps back
onto parched terrain
and breathes a promise
of joy to come.
There are droplets of courage
sprinkled across buds of faith
and tender shoots
taking root in hidden spaces
where they will twine into possibilities,
seeking and extending
tentative petals to the sky,
keeping the pact they made
before being,
to bloom when they can.
At this point in the year I feel held suspended in a space between summer's fire and summer's fatigue. The air is thick and stifling, the flowers are wilting, the ground is parched, and I feel a sensation in the air of the approaching time to "turn the page."
Be determined.
Hold your ground.
Set firm boundaries.
Be sharp when necessary.
Be sweet when you can be.
Bloom proudly,
or quietly,
it is up to you.
Have fortitude of skin
and tenacity of reach.
Don’t give up.
Mind the edges.
Wait for the right time.
Focus on the task at hand.
Be diligent in seeking opportunity.
Listen to the shadows and the wind.
Celebrate both rain and sun.
Keep company with those
who tend to the thriving of things.
Be patient.
Trust the ripening.
Many of us inherit our tastes from our parents. I am no exception. My mother was an artist with her own gallery. There she sold her paintings and a few decorative items that included carved wooden works by my brother and his wife, that might be bought by those who came in for a look around. She primarily painted abstracts, and she enjoyed wielding her brush to music. She had a brush in her hand most of every day. She once told me she had sold paintings to people all over the world.
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