01.02.17

Wandering: The Sudden Return of the Sun (A Very Strange Light)

Someone's Late Winter Wand.
Oh, how this strange light & snow draw the eye to places unnoticed. 

10:45 pm, April 18. I am sorting images in bed. I find myself astonished at how light it is outside. When did this Sun-thing happen? The all-knowing, data-oozing, cyborg-phone tells me that the sunset was at 9:30, but had I been insane enough to sit in the cold, I could have easily read a book out of doors for an hour beyond that time. 

Assorted cues are telling me that Spring may actually be in the process of springing, although here I think it snaps. I don't know this Place in this season, so I cannot be certain. Abdicating my snowbird status & enduring this Winter from its early beginning to its painfully late end, I believe I am allowed to exchange my "Cheechako" badge for some kind of "Sourdough" status. As I do not care much for labels, I will be satisfied with direct Sunlight on my face every day & retiring my pillbox hat, thank you. 

So here is this Sun, returning with a vengeance. Rising before 6:30 am, it will set fifteen hours later. Already. But the snow persists, enough so that when I make the (admittedly repeated) mistake of straying from the security of the groomed trail surface I will sink to to above my knees, often to my crotch. It is moments like these, clumsily flopping & wading about, hoisting myself back upon the the trail, when I am reminded why the Moose have such long legs. If I had their legs, I would have some amazing photographs. But, I digress. The Sun, combined with the lingering snow creates this weird light & hypnotic shadows. Try as I might, I cannot effectively capture the atmosphere with the camera.

Strange light, strange lines I cannot capture.

This strange dance of light & shadow is particularly mesmerizing in the Ice. I am certain, were I to remain for more than a long moment, that these places would share visions -- spontaneous scrying surfaces of Place.

Late Winter lines & shadows, trees & Ice.

Late Winter scrying surfaces: what do the shadows reveal?

And although in my tending to small persons, I neglect the opportunity to stop for visions in this world of light & shadow, I do find that so many things gone unnoticed are suddenly revealed. The strange contrasts bring them to the forefront.

Frosty meanderings of critters rarely seen in the green months:

Small mammal tracks.
Did they make them in the Moonlight?

The steadfast snow-resistance of certain plants -- usually obscured in the dense summer foliage -- offers them a showcase:

Light & Shadow draw the eye...

"Weedy" charms of the undergrowth rise to prominence.

It all makes me regret not purchasing that book about Winter grass & weedy plant identification...

Cast it away, regret is a wasteful emotion. Besides, I have survived... & none too soon. In these last few weeks I have felt the Dogs of Depression nipping at my heels, raising both my bitch-factor & my aptitude for snark by several degrees. It is with hope & gratitude that I welcome back this strange & increasingly persistent Light. Seek, hunt, soar in pure freedom, in the warmth of this great Light -- that was the reminder offered by a bald eagle circling the house yesterday. "Turn your face to the Sun & the Shadows fall behind you." I have always loved that saying, despite its obfuscated origins (is it Maori, Chinese, Whitman, Whitton, or otherwise?), so this is what I shall do. Turn my face to this strange & emergent Light. I have nothing against the shadows, but enough is indisputably enough, thank you. 

Winter Wanes: Turning my face to a strange Light.
(Rose coloured glasses help too.) 

Time to make updates to the (Alaskan) Wheel of the Year.

Poetry for the Esbat: Long Nights Moon, 2012

Galileo's Moon phases, 1616.
This bout of Sciento-appreciation courtesy WikimediaCommons.

Oh, how long they are!

I don't need to consider devising my own bioregional Full Moon name this month, "Long Nights" is really more than appropriate. I have been doing daily Solar "devotionals" (I do hope to find the time to write about that) & this practice has made me quite aware of the brevity of our day & of course of its inverse -- the great length of our nights. The weather experts tell us that the Sun officially rises around 10:15 a.m. & sets by 3: 45 p.m. But. When one measures the day against the time at which the Sun actually breaks the tops of the buildings to the South, we do not feel the direct rays of the Sun until after 12:30 p.m. By 3:00 p.m., we have already lost the Sun around the corner. Short days = Long Nights indeed.

The boon of all this nonsense is that the Lady remains long, long in the sky at this time of year. I awoke at 6:30 this morning, stumbled into the kitchen & found myself face-to-face with Her through the North-facing kitchen window. These nights, when the Moon swings opposite a low Sun, Her high trajectory keeps Her in view long, long indeed. Say goodnight to Her out a Southerly window, greet her with coffee upon rising in the North. I can embrace that practice.

Lunar map by Thomas Harriot.
Harriot was the first person to make a drawing of the Moon
 through a telescope. He completed this work on July 26, 1609,
 over four months before Galileo. @ WikimediaCommons

While I am getting Sciento-technical here, I must point out that certain ahem, calendars have indicated that the Moon is full on the 28th. But actually, the helpful folks at EarthSky have offered clarification for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere: "the moon turns full before sunrise on Friday – so in that sense, tonight is the night of the full moon for our part of the world. The full moon occurs on Friday, December 28 at 10:21 Universal Time (5:21 a.m. EST, 4:21 a.m. CST, 3:21 a.m. MST and 2:21 a.m. PST)." That means 3:21 a.m., for those of us marooned in Alaska. Why don't calendars just print the UT or GMT?

With the closure of that discussion, I am opting to segue directly into the poetry, skipping a variety of other discussions (such as Tarot, bioregional names, etc.) for the sake of brevity & time. 

I went back & read last year's Poetry for the Esbat: Long Nights Moon 2011. It caused me to think about how place frames one's perspective, expectations, mood & thoughts. I find myself reflective, self-protective & introverted this year. I selected this Moon's poem not because it speaks so much to the Moon herself, but because of how it speaks to me, about us, about all the creatures who endure the long Winter nights under Her watch. 

Although the piece was written about the preparations of the trees & their hunkering-down for the Winter, there is something in the language of the poem that made me immediately think of human creatures. It seems to me that many of us also engage in a similar "attiring & disattiring" as part of our Winter ceremonies. Beneath Her liquid gaze, we dress our bodies, we dress our homes, we dress cocktails, we dress a variety of roast beasts & other foodstuffs, we even dress trees! Then, come the dissolution of our calendar year, we undress it all, put it away & hunker down to endure the remaining months of the Winter. None of this really serves to make us more "prepared." (Or does it?) How peculiar we are... we don't even have buds.

Winter Trees by William Carlos Williams

All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.

May we glean an ounce of wisdom from these trees.
Blessings to you this Esbat my friends.

The Magic is Here & Now.

An Ent with a very fine moustache.

Today is a "High Day" but yesterday was Magic.

Walking in places where two (or three, or four) worlds meet, opening ourselves to all that which surrounds us, we found Magic.

Brushing along the Birch skins under the foreboding Devil's Club, we found the beautiful ones.

Magic is big,

Everything I need. All of it, Magic.

& Magic is small.

Diminutive, orange slime mold fruiting bodies.

Magic is in the symbols we encounter

Quite a pair of Gemmed Puffballs (Lycoperdon perlatum).

& in the symbols we create.

Hubby's Inukshuk.
This one, a Guidepost for a departed friend.

When we seek, we find gifts of Magic anywhere, everywhere.

Mama & baby Moose under the Moon. Yesterday, Point Woronzof.

Magic: Amanita muscaria, the Fly Agaric.

Magic is here. 

Magic is now.  

Magic is within & without. 

Magic is above & below. 

Magic is every single day. 

Magic beckons us at every turn. 

We are all creatures of this Magic Earth.

Magic is our Native Tongue. It need not be complicated. 

We find Magic when we allow its approach, when we make ourselves available.

• We need not escape into fantasy, looking elsewhere, beyond ourselves, beyond this magnificent Place to find Magic. It is here, now.
• We need not spend our lives yearning for transcendence, dismissing the wonder of this Place in the hopes of something we imagine is superior. This Earth is sublime. It is Magic. It is here, now.
• We need not wait for the gods to bestow Magic upon us, barking at their heels for gnosis & believing we cannot achieve this for ourselves. We are Magic. We are here, now. 
• We need not wait for the "special" days, times, hours to create, work, share Magic together. The Magic is right now, right here.
• Magic has its own rules. Listen & believe in no others.

Go find, capture, make, discover, conjure, harness, seek, embrace, share Magic... here, now...

& may it be a blessed Day for all.

For the Files: Love A Tree Day Children's Ceremony

World Tree(s), by friend & kindred spirit Bryan Perrin.

The Wee Ones & I tried out our own rendition of the Love a Tree Day for our "Reinvented Wheel." It seems with the children it is best to keep it simple & meaningful. So, in some haste, I came up with a rhyme we could say as we fed each of our trees (the shrubs got some too). I wanted to be sure to save it here for following years, although I confess, the rhyme could use some re-working to make it flow more smoothly. But, what can one expect from a rhyme composed in the car en route to a T-Ball game?

Since we have some saplings, some medium sized trees & a couple of very large, old trees, we adjusted the words to fit them more personally, alluding to the future/potential of our younger trees & speaking to the past/present with the larger, older trees.

While pouring food, we addressed each tree:

Great Old Tree, Great Old Tree,
Thanks for all you give to me,
Under thee,
The shade is free,
Here we'll ever happy be.

(Substitute "Middlin' Tree" & "Little Tree" for Great Old Tree. Adjustment for future tense of saplings: "Thanks for all you'll give to me... the shade will be free.")

Part of me wants to add more to the rhyme, but I must remind myself of the limitations of the children's ability to remember all of it. Perhaps we can add more lines over the years, as the grow older & more able to memorize a longer piece.

Reinventing the Wheel: Love A Tree Day

In light of the "Reinventing the Wheel" project, I have been keeping an eye out for meaningful days of remembrance, celebration, reverence, etc. to consider adding to our newfangled "Wheel of the Year." Today is one of those days I think just might have merit: Love a Tree Day. According to the National Wildlife Federation blog, "Love A Tree Day comes on May 16th, right in the middle of Garden for Wildlife Month..."Garden for Wildlife Month?!? How awesome is that? 

Black Locust (Robinia pseudoacacia)
blossoms, much loved by bees.

We are always trying to make planting choices for the land here that will support the local wildlife. If we add flowering plants, we try to add plants which will support bee colonies, butterflies or will provide nectar for hummingbirds. We try to keep our eyes toward native species, but when that is not possible, we opt for trees & shrubs which can provide browse, shelter or nesting habitat for various beasties in the neighborhood. This Garden for Wildlife Month & the accompanying Love a Tree Day is right up our alley (or corral, rather). 

So, what shall we do today, this inaugural venture into Loving-Trees-This-Day? I think we'll go feed all our ratty weed trees 'cause they're all we've got. We can even give them a hug for all the colour, shade & aegis from goatsheads (along with crappy seeds, runners & falling limbs) they give us... every one of our mangy, scrubby, Western "Trees to Reconsider." We love them all the same. 

Our largest Siberian Elm (Ulmus pumila)... too big to hug?

For the Files: And I Remember You...

Fire Pit "Of Yore."

I've been thinking back today, probably because it is a quiet, non-Bealtaine / Beltane / May Day. Although, we have found an astounding abundance of coupling ladybugs. So, maybe it really is Bealtaine after all. 

Today I was remembering my life in Massachusetts, probably because I have always missed the community & friends there. It is an awkward idea to have a festival alone & Bealtaine is particularly awkward. Solo Maypole? I think not. 

Anyway, these thoughts reminded me of the old photos I found while sifting for images for the "Guru Board" assignment. There was a small batch of prints from a home I once knew in Massachusetts. I don't recall taking them. A few years ago, we came across the undeveloped roll of film in the basement. When the prints arrived, I joyfully became reacquainted with that unique place.

Stones of the Fire Pit.

The house was tucked away in the forest & backed up against a wooded hillside. Behind the house we had a path that led up through the trees & into a clearing where we had a really lovely fire pit, ample seating & a small shrine to Thoth. It was a special place, a sacred space. Much magick happened there. 

Last week I had another piece published over at No Unsacred Place. In the story ("If These Walls Could Speak...") I described my experiences with this house I once knew:

"Years ago, I lived in a tiny cottage in a New England forest. Once a vacation cabin, it had since been converted into a student rental. I adored the tiny hut, but it returned my adoration with a noncommittal, unsentimental attitude. My impression is that it was ungrudgingly returning to the Earth (as evidenced by much rotting, sinking and mildewing). It never had any solid investment in providing shelter for an endless stream of transient humans. Why should it when there was a beckoning forest and so little reciprocity from its ephemeral residents?"

The house & it's environs are now part of who I am. Part of my heart remains tethered there. That house; a place of growing up, a place of many gains & so many losses. My beloved cat is buried there at the base of the penta-furcate tree which served as my shrine to Thoth. I have only been able to make one visit to that house & my cat's grave since I left over a decade ago. 

Curiously, after all the time spent there, I do not have a photograph (of which I am aware) of the house from the outside. However, I do have that small set of photographs which capture, as least faintly, the space we created on the hillside above:

 There was a path up which wound up the hill & under the arching trees.

For special occasions, we strung lights along the path & over the arches.

Tiny, bright lights beckoning us to follow, piquing curious spirits.

The path led to this clearing.

A space where we celebrated with friends.

A place where I could be alone,

almost.

Kindling ever-ready...

...its fires warmed us, inspired us, mesmerized us.

Those fires...

...how I remember them.

How I remember you.