Wandering: Waiting on Ice.

Waiting on the Ice.

Twilight. March 13, 2013. 

I am waiting on Ice. Braced against the bitter winds by the grace of a White Spruce (Picea glauca), I am waiting for the Comet to present its glitter beneath the Moon. Some people find waiting easier using the steep, icy sheets of Earth as their personal noctilucent luge course. I do not.

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Until now, I entirely missed the gravity of the message, the omen presented to us when we returned the offering platter to the kitchen. The Waiting Moon left Her mark, as if to say, "Oh, yes. You will wait." Her sigil, a slow chemical reaction of elements, ingredients & sentiments, now resides above the stove: a constant reminder that we are waiting.

And I am beginning to think that all this waiting is not so much about the end result, the goal or destiny, but rather the process of waiting itself. What do we learn from this?

Sigil of the Waiting Moon, revisited.

There is something about this waiting that makes me feel a little bit of insanity, a Berzerker agitation, like a steer in the chute or a racehorse at the gate. I want to run -- charging into the Sunlight, shedding the layers upon layers of clothing. Snow bibs off. Down parka off. Pillbox hat off. Smartwool socks off. 

I want don my faithful, ten-year-old sandals & dive into loamy duff, filling my nostrils with its rich earthy aroma. I want to see Bluebells (Mertensia paniculata var. alaskana) erupting from their sepals -- a signal, a sign that now we may doggedly hunt for the elusive Black Morels (Morchella elata). When we find them, I want to rejoice with my tribe, the trees, the Spirits of the Land, anyone, everyone who cares to join us.

Instead, I imagine the shimmery High Desert heat rising off the rocks -- stacks upon stacks of hot rocks, lizard tenements. I imagine a tiny sliver of black sand beach in Dominica -- oh, to return there now. I imagine the Sun high above, warming deck chairs on an ocean liner filled with quiet, slow-moving passengers -- just like the ship that ushered me into what is now my present.

Instead, in the tension of the here & now, I borrow the High Priest's sanctuary & desperately, frantically spin, raising energy so I might release it. Dance practice & exercise: I find that they are no longer enough. Panting, sweaty, legs curled under, arms prostrate, forehead pressed to the cool, smooth bamboo floor, I cast it to the Earth -- please, please take it. For the love of Mabel, take it. I do this so I do not kill anyone in the waiting. From this act of reckless magick, I gain temporary relief. But it also makes me feel a bit... well, mad. As in Hatter.

Bohemian Waxwings 
(B. garrulus) waiting.

Yet, I only need to look out the windows to see that I am in good company. Those Bohemian Waxwings (Bombycilla garrulus) are also waiting. As they feverishly flit & flock by the hundreds, it seems to me that they are equally as restless. They shift en masse from tree to tree & back again. 'Round & 'round they go, sometimes all day, as if in search of something just around the corner. Perhaps they are looking for signposts to a new season. Perhaps they are waiting for some of the very same things as me. Like Spring.

But, I find I am also waiting peevishly for any single ounce of time to write. My heart tells me I must. My life says, "Wait."

I am waiting to master, or even minor, a dance I just met. I want it to feel natural, today. My body & mind say, "No. Practice... & wait."

I am waiting to learn & know all these Alaskan birds which, obscured by thick foliage, can never be seen in the green months. I want to recognize them now, while I can, but the daily obligations say, "Wait."

The same principle applies to Aurora Borealis stalking & the pile of books at the bedside, the emails & letters (which will likely never be written), the community lending library I spearheaded (Gah, what was I thinking?), the painting that begs to be completed throughout the house, the flying ointment, reorganizing the kitchen, the Bovini celebratory project I began months ago, the backing up of data, the "Winter Queen's Necklace" I began stringing, hanging all those mirrors (good grief! so many! narcissism?), the mobile Moon Shrine... 

I am also waiting for the-cat-who-was-left-behind to gain back some of the four pounds she has lost. Which brings me to the lesson of all this waiting. Or at least one lesson.

Sleeping Lady, ever waiting.
Some are infinitely patient. Others, not so much.

If we spend all our time waiting, wanting, yearning, braced for something which is not now, but down the road a little ways, or possibly a long ways, what do we overlook in the present? There is that adage, something akin to, "Don't squander your time living in the past..." But how about the future? Do we squander our present by living for future expectations? Waiting for vacation. Waiting until we think we have the money. Waiting for better weather, better circumstances, better odds. Waiting until the house is clean, or the laundry is done (which by nature, can never, ever be done). Waiting for a convenient time. Waiting for a new day. 

I recognize that I must love, relish, cherish what I have, right now. I cannot live in the Land of Expectations. Love the demanding kids. Now. Love the gentle partner. Now. Love the skeleton-cat. Now. Love this frozen Place. Now. Love this precious & beautiful Life. Now. There is a feast in the waiting. Wait. Pause. Be. 

It is ok to wait, but be-present.

Be in the waiting. There is a feast!

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In the waiting for the comet, I am joined by a very special friend, a meow-friend. Sun-tanned & radiant, she tells me about her wedding. On a beach. In the Sunshine. In Love. It is good to hear her story & to feel all the warmth she brought back with her. 

Later, we climb two flights of clanging, frozen, steel stairs to join our boys on the wide, wind-swept rooftop of the park building. We gaze over the ocean & wait for the comet alongside a professional photographer wielding a camera as large as a cannon. He tells us about being a landscape photographer in Alaska. He talks about all the waiting, waiting for expectations which frequently never materialize. Luscious waiting. The comet never presents itself, but the frosty, sled-crazed children are so happy. We are all so happy & what the Universe offered us in all that waiting was much, much more than what I was waiting for.

The feast of waiting.

Doodling in Class: "The Animist's Bellwether"

Call it necessary multi-tasking, call it lingering adolescent rebellion. Whatever it may have been, I doodled in the High Priest's "class" this week, sketching out something I envisioned many months ago when I was first handed the gift from the Bovini. It has taken awhile, but I have finally drawn it up so that the idea is extracted from vision into material. It was a doodl-ey, exercise in commitment & focusing intent. Or something.

bellwether |ˈbelˌweðər|nounthe leading sheep of a flock, with a bell on its neck.• an indicator or predictor of something 

harbinger, herald, indicator, predictor.  -- Apple Dictionary 

"A bellwether is any entity in a given arena that serves to create or influence trends or to presage future happenings. The term is derived from the Middle English bellewether and refers to the practice of placing a bell around the neck of a castrated ram (a wether) leading his flock of sheep. The movements of the flock could be noted by hearing the bell before the flock was in sight."  -- Wikipedia

"The Animist's Bellwether"
Or more accurately, this animists bellwether.

I don't pretend to know what an animist should "do." Animism is such a personal art form. I just do what I do because it makes complete sense. (Sometimes I am not so sure it makes sense, but I get this feeling I should do it anyway.) However, I have been thinking for quite a long time about group practice & the special requirements thereof. It is all fine & dandy for me to take my feral self, my mate & my younglings out for improv -- we like it that way. But, what if I/we were to share the ceremony-ing with others?

After going 'round & 'round, I have acquiesced to the fact that human groups like choreographed "ritual." Most humans are habit-ists. This is a slightly bitter pill for the intuitive, spontaneous, somewhat disorderly urchin under my skin, but yield I must if I ever want to share the communing with community. Dutifully, I work away at the task of assembling a very simple set of meaningful, symbolic (or not-so-symbolic) actions that could be used to compose a ceremonial formula worthy of representing animist beliefs & values. (Or, at the very least, this particular animist's beliefs & values.)

The "Bellwether"* (pictured above) is the first step in this formula. 

Unlike the common use of bells to mark commencement of a rite to group members, the Bellwether is used for extra-group communication. The idea is taken from my personal experiences with bells during last winter's Night-Altar work & what I feel is a natural desire to draw attention to our entrance, arrival, availability, affability & interest in communicating with, celebrating, honouring, etc., the other-than-human world. 

I am not so foolish as to think that a gaggle of humanoids processing here or there goes unnoticed. In fact, I am certain it is quite the opposite. Consequently, the Bellwether's principal function in this formula is not to announce the arrival of the herd, but rather to express our awareness & availability. It indicates that we are initiating & entering a unique occasion. It says, "Please pardon us. We know You know we're here. But today, we're not just passing through, absentmindedly doing our people-things. Today, we are here for You. Care to join us?" 

With this in mind, perhaps it would be more accurately described as a doorbell -- for Them & for us. Whether They decide to accept our invitation is another matter.


* I really like this word(!). "Bellwether" possesses so many layers of meaning, nearly all of which can be applied in this usage. More elaborate definitions are available & I could prattle on about it at length, but really, this post isn't about my love of semantics.

Wandering: Finding Love. (Again.)

Fruiting Body of a frozen world.
(I love gifts of Woo.)

Some weeks ago while pondering the victory of Winter's frozen landscape, I asked,

"What do we do with ourselves, now that our friends have frozen?"

Normally, I would say, "Just hold tight & hole up until we leave," but the answer I was told when I paused to listen was something different:

"Go out & find Love... more Love. Strange new Love. Love repackaged."

It happens that also a few weeks ago, the High Priest told me I needed to choose an elemental & go out & experience it, really think about how I feel about it, its presence, qualities, energy. To this I arrogantly snorted (to myself, of course), thinking (also to myself), "This guy doesn't understand what I do all day. He's used to working with people who never go outside..." 

Most days, I really should just turn off my arrogant voice...

Water as Ice as Planchette.

It is cold outside. Really, really cold. It is also beginning to look more & more like we might be marooned here in Alaska for the Winter season. (Gah!) This is bad news for someone who wears her Cheechako badge with pride -- better to get outta Dodge than sit around in the frozen dark for months on end. I don't care if that classifies me as a spineless snowbird -- it's just smart living. I overwintered in Northern Vermont & that was quite enough, thank you. The news is also bad because I left a fat slab of my Heart & Spirit in the care of our precious home in the desert -- the home in the bioregion I have grown to know & increasingly understand during the span between the Solstices. It is my sacred Land, the place where I have coffee with Breakfast Canyon, reflect at the Night Altar & commiserate with the Bovini. (Among many other things.)

Ice reclining on Water.

Yet here we are. Tables have been turned. For reasons other than cold, we have all been confined to the house, working like frenzied bees. Zero time out of doors since the Esbat. But at least we took some time out to be with the Moon & there, in waiting for Her, I listened to what Water had to say. It was overwhelming. I have always had great Love for Water, but I have never given Water as a creature of the Cold much airtime. It's just so cold! However, there in the frostbitten sunset I stopped on a frozen lake to listen to Water-as-Ice & I saw a winsome new face. I met more Love, strange new Love, Love repackaged.


Water is a sculptor. 
As Ice, it can hold its shape long enough for us to notice & appreciate, if we look. 
When Water-as-Ice plays with Air, together they fashion breathtaking & sometimes familiar figures.
When Water-as-Ice plays with Light -- the gleam of our Sun or Moon -- they style a lively, stationary dance. 
There is a Life to this Water, unlike that of any other creature. 
I want to know it.

A pair of Ice teeth.
Is there a giant missing them somewhere?

Even as my Spirit rails & my Heart aches & yearns & sighs, I look forward to more time with cold Water -- the artist of the frozenscapes, the subtle teacher. I look forward to the cold, in a strange new way, very much. Even if I don't.

A Strange Simpatico.

Tonight the boys had a campout in the yard to the East, not far from my stoop at the Night Altar. There, they set up a tent & made a fire in my mother's beloved cast iron firepot. 

In the firepot: An accidental Bovine Appreciation Fire.

I was trying to take photographs of Little Lad roasting a marshmallow when something occurred to me. This pot, shaped in the image of a cow seemed to have a magick all its own. My mind wandered to my bovine companions who have been moved to open grazeland for the season. I thought about them, such curious beasts & how they would have been drawn to our activity. I remembered how they will stand together, shoulder-to-shoulder in the night, facing inwards & gazing at a pile of embers left behind by our day's brush-burning. (As if scrying?) We have always called this habit their "worship circle."

My mind then wandered to what they give to us -- to humans & our domestic companions. They are not simply my nocturnal breathing partners. They complacently rest in the core of our American life -- at the core of my life. At least as it presently exists.

The Night encroaches on the Bovine Appreciation Fire.

This crappy new medical circumstance of mine has forced me to examine my food consumption in uncomfortable & inconvenient ways. But, it also has had a philosophical edge, the greatest lesson of which (thus far) is that I (perhaps a wee bit less now, but still) live on the labour of these priceless creatures. I am made of milk (mostly) & while I am still making milk, my milk is mostly made with nutrients from their milk. I do not much care for beef. Except perhaps in Bolognese sauce, but even then, I would take elk over beef any day. But Bolognese is also made with milk. This is exactly what I continue to see in my own lifestyle, over & over. Morning = pasture butter & half & half in my coffee = milk. Noontime = Greek yoghurt = milk. Hot afternoons = frozen dairy treats = milk. Dinner = the inevitable cheese = milk. Those cows are supporting, no, furnishing my lifestyle.

Unfortunately, I am not grappling with lactose intolerance. It is more serious than that. Then again, perhaps lactose intolerance would be a very serious thing for someone like me.

Anyway, I started to think about how we could honour all those cattle out there in our world, making all that milk & standing about in feed lots waiting to end up as someone's all-beef patty. How can we still honour the Tribe of the Bovini who feed & clothe us humans all over the Earth? We no longer live closely with them. They are no longer part of our household, our family. Yes, I know we can all stop wearing leather & go vegan, but this is not what I mean. I want to celebrate them. 

How do I/we do this? How do we honour their spirits? How do we give thanks for all that these gentle creatures give to us -- every single day?

I am thinking about a Bovine Appreciation Ceremony. I do not know what it will look like, but I suspect it will involve this firepot, the chill winter air, my Night Altar breathing companions & a fire that burns long into the night...

The Bovini. Let us honour them into the night.

A Gift from the Night Altar Delegates

A Gift from the Night Altar's Delegates.

I have been unable to visit the Night Altar since Hubby left for our northern climes. This is disappointing for several reasons, not the least of which being that I could really benefit from some peaceful, contemplative time in the presence (or non-presence) of beings other than my children. 

I must have appeared in dire need of a consolation prize.

A handful of days ago, the Little Lad wandered into the house after wandering the pasture. As he handed me the antler pictured above, he said matter-of-factly, 

"This is a gift for you. It's from the cows." 

"It's from the cows?" 

"Yep." 

So pleasant in my hand, I knew exactly what its purpose should be. Gazing out the window at my erstwhile companions I whispered, "I miss you gals too."

Spiritual Nomads Module IV: "Reinventing the Wheel"

"There’s no “right” or “wrong” way to move through the year, as long as it feeds you."  -- Dianne Sylvan

The main homework 'assignment' for week four of the Spiritual Nomads e-course was to examine your annual holidays & celebrations by starting with a blank slate (or blank circle, rather) & filling it in from scratch. I loved this exercise. Loved it. 

I had been meaning to reexamine the "Wheel of the Year" anyway, especially after my whole existential meltdown around Samhain. More importantly, as a gypsy snowbird with an eye towards bioregionalism, I find that the "traditional" wheel does not always work very well, particularly in the climes I inhabit. I worked on it with my husband, our effort comprised of part instinct, part reflection. This is the culmination of our work so far:

One Animist's Wheel of the Year.

The simplest way to discuss this will be to move from the centre outwards, moving clockwise around each circle, when appropriate.

I. The Core: The centre of the wheel shows our bioregions & the approximate portions of the year during which we reside in each. I never noticed this before, but this pictorial exercise reveals that our year is split very nearly by the Solstices; the waning half of the year in a boreal forests/coastal region of Alaska (I think it should be noted that this area is also urban), the waxing half of the year in a high desert region of Utah (this area is very isolated & rural). These two disparate sets of conditions shape our lives & are the building blocks for the most of the events on the outer wheels.

II. The Moon: (Esbats) The full moons are perhaps the most important for me, or maybe they are simply the most personal. My relationship with Lady Moon goes way back -- back to my childhood. So recognizing the ebb & flow of Her cycles remains a basic observance. However, do I have difficulty with the Esbats that fall after Midsummer in Alaska when the Sun remains in the sky most of the night. Recently, I have been considering using the window between the Summer Solstice & the Autumnal Equinox as a time to focus on Solar observances. 

III. Seasonal Events: These are the major, astronomical events that create the quarters. I stopped to consider if they were really actually important to me, to us as a family, or if maybe I was just clinging to the old wheel, but frankly, as an Earthling, they just make sense. We have been observing all of them as a family in one way or another, all along & for the most part, they played a part in my "days of yore" as well. For the Winter Solstice & Vernal Equinox we have well-developed family traditions. The Summer Solstice & Autumnal Equinox we prefer to share with our community in Alaska. (Especially the Summer Solstice which is an ever-developing, ever-growing weekend-long festival.)

*Season Names, (between the Esbat wheel & the Seasonal wheel) will be discussed in section V. Bioregional Influences/Events.

**The symbols for the Solstices & Equinoxes come from A Save The Universe Club (ASTUC), creators of this: A Bioregional Calendar (ABC). The purpose of the "ABC" is to provide "humanity with the ability to organize while encouraging autonomous cultural expression." Although I find the nomenclature of the calendar confusing, I am very attracted to its premise.

IV. Calendar Events: There are a handful of observances which are tied to the Gregorian calendar that we felt were important: birthdays, Thanksgiving & Lughnassadh. (Only our immediate family's birthdays are on this version. We did not include all the important birthdays because space was limited.) Lughnassadh is not exactly a carry-over from the "days of yore" because it has evolved & holds additional meanings for us. It is certainly remains a time to reflect on our harvest, but over the years of sharing this holiday together, it has come to represent the winding-down of Hubby's epic work season. It is a time when we celebrate the onset of a new part of the cycle, a time when he can slow down & we can spend time together as a family again. Lughnassadh is about creating a beautiful meal together & actually sharing it, or going to a park with a great ale & just enjoying the togetherness. 

V. Bioregional Influences/Events: The outer wheel. This is the rich & complex part where the natural world co-mingles with life & we find ourselves in a dance with the seasons. I begin at the Migration South which is followed by a brief rebalancing & the onset of our Season of Creativity & Production. During this window, little work is done outside the home except for volunteering, so there is much time for creativity, home improvement & preparedness. As time moves toward the Vernal Equinox, familiar signs of Spring emerge; my mother's hens resume laying, the cattle begin birthing, sleeping desert creatures begin to stir, etc. Passing the Equinox, signs of the waking Earth continue. Hubby must leave & the time for Planting & Preparing begins. During this time, the children & I tend to plants & prepare ourselves & our home for our departure.

After the Migration North, we have another period of rebalancing, coupled with the Summer Solstice which, in Alaska, is most decidedly a significant bioregional event. (All hail the Midnight Sun & then some!) The First Bolete is our symbol for the commencement of the Foraging Season. During this phase, we take our cues from the land & it's creatures most keenly. Fungi reign supreme in our hearts & minds while wild berries & salmon follow, a close second. Shortly after the Autumnal Equinox (typically) the arrival of the Termination Dust signals the beginning of a rapid shift into cold, darkness. This is a period of waiting, a time to Pause & Rest before gathering ourselves up & returning to our southern climes.

Final Considerations: I have been thinking about other celebrations & festivals that might be meaningful additions, but when I consider that Esbats alone make up thirteen events every year, it seems as though our year might already be adequately filled with revelry. However, I am attracted to the Chinese tradition of having a festival during the largest full moon of the year, I have a personal attachment to World Refugee Day (there is an explanation, but I don't want to elaborate here), I intend to look more carefully at the formal observances for specific deities & I have some interest in tracking astronomical events more closely. In the end, I believe there is room for adaptations & possibly further additions, but I will wait & take my cues from my Family, Community, Spirits & the Land.

DianneSylvan.com

For the Files: Notes on Nomad Meditations Week 3

My experience of the meditation exercises for Week 3 of the Spiritual Nomad course was tepid at best. Part of the assignment was to integrate a piece of writing, song or chant into the meditation. I had no difficulty in deciding which author's works I would use, although I did have some trouble choosing a specific piece. After much reading & rereading of a handful of work from Æ's Selected Poems, I chose "Oversoul"as the poem du jour. It is a very contemplative poem & made for a lovely reading. The trouble was not with the reading per se (although I confess it was a wee bit disruptive to the rhythm of my breathing-rocking to stop & open a book) but with the additional accoutrements I needed to do this outside in the dark. I found myself wishing I had a basket to tote all the stuff. Instead, I clattered out, into the Darkness with resins, burner, charcoal, lighter, book & candlestick. 

Somehow, I keep winding up with stuff.

Oversoul 

-- Æ, aka George William Russell

THE EAST was crowned with snow-cold bloom
And hung with veils of pearly fleece:
They died away into the gloom,
Vistas of peace—and deeper peace.
And earth and air and wave and fire
In awe and breathless silence stood;
For One who passed into their choir
Linked them in mystic brotherhood.
Twilight of amethyst, amid
Thy few strange stars that lit the heights,
Where was the secret spirit hid?
Where was Thy place, O Light of Lights?
The flame of Beauty far in space—
Where rose the fire: in Thee? in Me?
Which bowed the elemental race
To adoration silently?

I made some fascinating discoveries regarding mudras & postures which I will reserve for a separate post. My notes on the individual meditations follow.

Notes on Meditations at the Night Altar Week 3:

Night Altar Day 1:

So tired. Sleep.

Night Altar Day 2:

So very tired. Sleep.

Night Altar Day 3:

+ 1 Glass of cool water
+ 1 Incense burner, charcoal, Dragon's Blood incense powder (not resin)
+ Candlestick, candle, Selected Poems, by Æ

Lots of stuff with new assignment: Book & candle, candlestick & lighter to read in the Darkness.

The stuff causes me to forget the glass of water. (Though I do not realize it at the time.)

Remember.

Monkey says: This Dragon's Blood powder burns quickly, too quickly, resins are better...
Breathe in. Breath out.
Having a desire to focus on elementals.
Breathing with Earth: Feel the soil beneath my feet.
Breathing with Fire: Feed the charcoal.
Breathing with Water: Bah.
Inside for a glass of water because the monkey brain won't let it go.
Breathing with Water: Being with the water in my belly.
Breathing with Air: Cold breezes in my lungs, nostrils filled with sweet, scented smoke.
Cannot ground well, but I read anyway.
After reading, I look to the stars...

"Where rose the fire: in Thee? in Me?
Which bowed the elemental race
To adoration silently?"

Night Altar Day 4:

+ 1 Glass of cool water

+ 1 Incense burner, charcoal, sticky, sweet-smelling, black resin (a dark variety of myrrh(?) from the box of unlabeled resins)
+ Candlestick, candle, Selected Poems, by Æ

Remember.
I can't remember, except that it was cold. Cold, dark & silent. Every noise was a distraction. Despite my adoration for Æ's poetry, what I really wanted was not to read, but to just be.

Night Altar Day 5:

Didn't take notes, but I remember a shooting star.

Night Altar Day 6:

+ 1 Glass of cool water
+ Candlestick, candle, Selected Poems, by Æ

Skipped the incense because it felt too complicated tonight.

There was a cow bellowing from the Eastern corrals. She was in labour or perhaps some other kind of pain. Gates rattled, cries & moans rang out, echoing off the canyon walls. I tried to stay. Where are they? Why isn't someone checking her? 
It made me sick & I had to go inside. No breathing, no reading, just jaw set & stomach tight.

DianneSylvan.com

For the Files: Notes on Nomad Meditations Week 2

"For there is a Beauty that hath no fitter ornament than Silence."

                                                                  -- Aleister Crowley

The altar exercise for Week 2 of the "Spiritual Nomad"lessons was to consider your altar items & place or replace three items on it. The objective of exercise was obviously to narrow down which items have them greatest spiritual significance or symbolic value. Of course, given my experience with the exercise last week (see: "Altars & Mushrooms & Other Revelations") this assignment placed me in a quandary. How can this soul-searching hominid improve upon a beautiful canyon, an open pasture & the star-dappled night sky? I find myself in agreement with Mr. Crowley once again -- there are some things which gain nothing from embellishment, addition or enhancement. 

So, I sought to consider what might enhance my meditative experience. I asked myself what items I always include on one of our transitory altars, be it for family, improv, holiday, etc. It seems to me that I consistently use incense, a candle, a vessel with water & a stone, salt, plant, animal or fungal material. The latter items abound at my Night Altar & need no additional representation. Quite instinctually, I determined that the water was to be brought to the altar in the vessel of my body. Thus, I began a ritual of drinking a full glass of fresh, cool water before stepping outside for my devotional. I have found this process particularly valuable. The first two items, the incense & candles, remained to be tested. These would be the two items that I would experiment with & carefully consider for the week's exercises.

My first night, I took a Chinese joss-stick outside with me. It was one of those pink & tan, low-smoke sticks which abound in Chinese markets -- we have been using them regularly in Sunrise "devotionals." However, I am ambivalent about this "low-smoke" variety of incense in general & I found it wanting. The second night, I took a candlestick & stub to my Night Altar. This was most unacceptable because it chased away the Darkness. I confess I was pleased when the wind took action -- where I lamely delayed -- mercifully snuffing out the flame halfway through the meditation. The third night I tried a Japanese Nippon Kodo "Koh." These are nice sticks & the Sandalwood is captivating, but without the bamboo core (or dish of sand), I kept breaking it on the frozen ground. I tried the Koh in Amber with a holder, but was uninspired. Finally, I used Greek "Livani" (Frankincense resin, or "tears") with charcoal in a burner. Not surprisingly, this was the best incense experience so far, although I may prefer a different resin. I will enjoy experimenting further with myrrh, benzoin, copal, dragon's blood, etc., presuming future assignments allow for it. 

Overall, this has been an interesting process & despite my natural tendency to pursue projects in less than orthodox manner (read: not very good at following directions), I think I am still considering the essential questions. My notes for the individual meditation experiences follow.

Notes on Meditations at the Night Altar Week 2:

Night Altar Day 1:

+ 1 Glass of cool water
+ 1 Fukwai Jintan joss stick

Remember.
Remember breathing. Remember the stars & the Red Planet.
Remember grounding easily.
Supplication, gratitude.  Smooth, easy.
I feel present, more present than ever before at the Night Altar.
Eyes closed. Listening. Breathing. 
Hear the river, the cattle.
Feel the cold breeze on my face.
It is cold outside, but I am not.
Smell the manure, the damp soil, the melting snow.
The incense.
Did the incense bring this awareness of scent?

Night Altar Day 2:

+ 1 Glass of cool water

+ 1 candle stub & candlestick

Remember: This candle is too bright. It chases the Darkness. 

It's light surrounds me. I feel like a beacon in the night.

Remember being preoccupied with the flashlight in the corrals on the far side of the pasture. 

What are they doing?

Never grounded.

Thank yous & goodnight.

Night Altar Day 3: "White Face's Lesson"

+ 1 Glass of cool water

+ 1 Japanese Nippon Kodo Sandalwood

Remember.

Remember the ease with which I grounded.

Remember rocking, breathing. Rocking -- without Baby.

Listen. Listen to their breath. Heavy. Slow. Rich.

They are somewhere nearby, with me here in the Darkness. Breathing as I breathe.

Remember no longer feeling cold. Remember the heat across my forehead.

Inspiration: to be more present in the moment.

Expiration: thankfulness for this Life.
Remember feeling present, alive, electric.
She turns her head.
She was resting there with her white face turned to the Darkness.
So very near, all this time. All this time, breathing beside me.
Awareness is so much more than ocular input -- yet how we humans rely upon it so -- at the expense of all other awareness. 
This is White Face's lesson.

Night Altar Day 4:

Unexpected guest.

Night Altar Day 5:

+ 1 Glass of cool water
+ 1/2 Japanese Nippon Kodo Amber & incense burner

Party.
Remember sonic booms & cow parade -- urinating.
Baby crying. Fiasco.



Night Altar Day 6: "A Reply from the Gods"

+ 1 Glass of cool water
+ 1 Incense burner, charocoal & Livani tears

Went out feeling ecstatic after passing on my "Secret Garden" to a friend (more on that later). This kept me amped up & it was difficult to ground & centre.

Remember.
Remember not hearing the river or the cows.
Breathe in.
Breathe out & the cows exhale with me.
Breathing. Breathing & rocking.
The energy is strong within me tonight. The night is very still, very quiet. Only the cows breathing...
The stars are clear & beautiful. No Moon.
There has been no Moon for days now. I miss Her.
I drift in & out of my meditation. The energy is so strong. The night is so silent.
Breathing. Rocking.
During scattered thought -- monkey brain -- it occurs to me that I have not spoken to the gods directly in a great deal of time. Always the mushrooms, the plants, the animals, the canyons.
Breathing. Rocking.

Monkey says: Why not now? Why not ask Them, "What say you? What are your words?"
I ask in silence. I ask aloud.
The river is loud now, but it is the suddenness of the Owl that stops my heart.
The geese -- silent thus far -- chime in & a single dog provides the chorus. All the while, Owl continues Her staccato call from the Darkness.
I feel so present, feeling the intensity of all these voices. With some trepidation, I half expect someone to step forth from the Darkness...

I have forgotten to breathe.
The dog is silent. The geese settle back in. Owl continues Her call, but it too is fading.
All is quiet again. The cows breathe with me.
I look to the stars, the canyon, the pasture & the frozen soil beneath my feet. 
I give thanks for this Life. I give thanks for Their words. 
I am listening.

Night Altar Day 7:

+ 1 Glass of cool water

+ 1/2 Japanese Nippon Kodo Amber & incense burner

The neighbors left their floodlight on. I can see the cows sleeping along the fence where the Darkness has been chased away. Is this where they rest every night? So close. Closer than I thought.

Remember trying to focus, to ground, to breathe. Remember the black cow standing, watching. 

Monkey brain. Thankfulness & goodnight.

DianneSylvan.com