The Goddess Gaia is alive In this time and in this space She speaks in sunrises And waves against the shore She sings with the wind She dances in moonlight She holds you close Your heart beats in time with hers A great, grand hope and possibility For this planet.
A blush of green begins Delicate lace of wild plums Graces gray forestscapes
Heartbeat in the forest sings The passion of life untapped. The soul of the world is speaking the language of spring.
During the drought we experienced in Missouri around three years ago, a lot of the trees in our woods died. Some of them died that year, but we weren’t absolutely sure they were really gone until no new leaves grew the following year. Some of them died the following summer, probably due to having been weakened so much by the drought conditions that they couldn’t rebound. This past winter, for a variety of reasons, we decided to cut some of them down. It felt, and continues to feel, like a somewhat “selfish” decision to have cut them, like we should have just let the cycle of the forest continue its life and rhythm unimpeded by human interference. It was hard to evaluate the variables of good woodlot management, firewood procurement, and personal safety while also feeling like I was betraying my sacred spot in the woods, betraying the relationship I built there. I still don’t know whether we made the right choice. I do know that the landscape in the woods has changed now and it pains me to see what we have done.
When planning a ritual involving children, I always have to remind myself to keep it short and simple! Just in time for Spring Equinox, I'd like to share the simple ritual of spring welcome that my family and I enjoyed over the weekend with a group of our friends. This ritual is designed to be done at night around a campfire and to be followed by a drum circle...
Bone wind has returned mother of winter’s chill sweeping through bare branches and rattling dusty leaves.
The remnants of summer have completely faded and the doorway to the new year has cracked open.
With the skeletal swirl of frost and freeze I see the hint of new things waiting to burst from behind the door.
Hibernating now perhaps hunkered down to wait it out resting, biding time, percolating nestled in darkness but, oh so ready, to grow.
It is only on the surface that the world prepares to take a long nap underneath the crust change boils life bubbles new ideas gestate and time crowns anew with the promise and potential of birth held in cupped hands.
The flame of fresh ideas flickers and catches until the blaze of possibility envelopes the cold.
One Imbolc, former pagan blogger Teo Bishop wrote about creating community poetry for use in liturgy based on the starting line, "I keep vigil to the fire in my heart." As someone who frequently experiences spontaneous poetry in the sacred spot in the woods behind my house, an experience I refer to as theapoetics, I was instantly captivated by this idea. Imbolc has a natural connection to the cycles of pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding and the fire in my own heart burns brightly for these pivotal life experiences. So, I went down to the woods, opened my mouth and this is what emerged…