compensation for loss

there was a need for wide open space and visible breath.

the swamps were calling.

 i answered the call with neglected camera

 and hopes of messenger birds.

 there were none except for crows.

=============

there is something un-nameable

 and ancient awakening within.

it seeks to slowly rise

 and wave with willows

on nightfall's breeze.

it is the witch,

 the goddess,

 the oncoming crone.

it is the bitter taste of knowledge found

 in the depths and heights of letting go

of foundations, love and resistance.

it feels like compensation for loss.

assurance.

proof that yes, all matter is energy

and energy only and ever transforms.

it is the gold-plated ticket 

to the exclusive, elusive night circus.

i stand at the gate, 

willow switch in hand,

not quite ready to join. 

the winter

there is nothing to do but trust. yet even that protective mantle is shrugged to the ground in not an uncaring way. it is just too much to contemplate~ the holding a space of peace in the heart-chamber, the knowing all will be well at the end of the day, the season, the odyssey. you must experience the winter, he said to me. and i cannot argue. for none of these cold experiences did i knowingly call to me and yet they happened, are happening and they will define the way i see stars and press my lips to yours.

the snowbound deep stillness calls up a light i have never seen before.

2013 magic {2}

the skies are mostly empty. no sparrow, no starling, nothing terribly common arcing under grey, laden clouds. except crows. everyday, the crows.

they are the messengers and the omens in this time of roiling stasis. they are never alone, traveling as they do in families and murders, pulling up the light with their wing beats heading east and drawing down the cloak of deepest grey in the rush to the roost.

they are masters at riding the wind. they command it and play in its vestments.

they portend change and manifestation. they are full potential in the yet-to-be-formed. they adapt, they communicate, they work together. they are the maps to ordinary magic.

for now, i watch.

riding the wind may come.

it is enough to know,

 as they tell me,

i am never alone.

2013 magic {1}

what the snow angel saw

what actual angels saw

let there be magic.

let it begin now.

create from joy.

share it.

i send you an angel,

from my heart to yours.

xo

This is how it began...

From Kelly

"2013 has declared itself to be The Year of Ordinary Magic.

Because you don't have to be a child to see the world through the eyes of one.

All you have to do is remember.

I hadn't really chosen a word for this year, though I had thought about declaring it the Year of Simply Being. You know, no agenda, no plans to lose this or gain that, just being.

But then, just as least year declared itself the Year of Discarding, 2013 quite suddenly decided to be the Year of Ordinary Magic. Which is not just any kind of magic, but rather the simple, everyday kind. The magic in the firefly that dances outside your window. The shape of a shadow that does not reveal its source. The flower that only opens in the moonlight. The joy of falling backwards in the snow, not caring if you get some down your neck, up your sleeves, in your hair.

There is wonder all around us. But sometimes, we forget to remember to look.

It all started with a a post my friend Graciel did, about letting go and rolling in the grass, to which my response was: "It's too cold to roll in the grass just now, but if we get enough snow, I promise to make a snow angel."

She held me to that promise, and we made a plan to make snow angels and then post the results. And then we had to wait for the right weather, and then for me to get over the flu. And then we invited another friend, debi, who lives a magical life in Texas, to join us by making her own kind of angel, because, well, snow isn't easy to come by in Texas.

And there it was: "We should do this periodically throughout the year."

So yesterday morning I donned my husband's big old gold and purple hooded puffy Vikings coat and a pair of red and black ski pants and my purple rain boots (yes, I looked like a dork) and I went out to the front lawn, (yes, the front, where everyone could see) and made a snow angel.

I can't remember the last time I did that. Perhaps when my son was a child, twenty-some-odd years ago.

And it was fun. It was snowing big, fluffy snow-globe flakes. The snow is so deep that it caught me gently as I fell backwards, and I lay there looking up at the grey January sky, and giggled. And it was magic. One tiny moment of ordinary magic.

So here's the thing: we want you to join us. Look for the magic, all year long. And then share it with the world.

It doesn't matter how you choose to participate. With a photo, a blog post, a tweet or a status. It doesn't matter how often. Once a week, once a month, regularly, sporadically, or only just once.

Because it's magic, remember? And there are no rules in magic.

All you have to do is keep your eyes open.

And every so often, let it catch you, looking."

Magic is HERE and HERE.

this is how it begins

i have no resolutions. i barely have a concept of what to do next. simply going with the flow and a consideration of faint impulse is all i care to manage.

there was a scrumptious dinner with dad for his new year's eve birthday, peppermint cheesecake for dessert (1 slice, 1 candle, 2 forks) and a soft pink t-shirt for bed. then the sudden impulse.

make an altar to welcome in the new year. fill it with things of meaning, of wish, of possible direction. turn on the night light and keep the altar lit throughout the night. oh, wait. even better, keep a lamp lit all night in the living room, the living room, to infuse the new year with light.

then, the word. the one i had no intention of choosing for twenty thirteen, but impulse shone through and i could not deny its cleverness. i did not choose it, it was given to me, this word, this umbrella edict for the year my mother will never see. clearly, distinctly it was light. then came the tag~line:

live it,

invoke it,

accept it

and

spread it.

midnight came, i sat on the floor of my bedroom and watched out my window as jubilant light filled the sky.