Here's the circle of Life and Death in action!
Shortly after mourning the death of poor Rocky and weeding the garden plot just across the way from his hutch, a coworker found a nest of baby bunnies. Knowing that the mother would have been smart enough to move her babes upon finding the nest disturbed, but also knowing that the bane of the farm rats would soon become that of these poor younglings, Auntie and I returned to the scene of the crime that balmy, mid-afternoon and took pity on them. We brought them home to care for them and re-release them when they are ready. Now, I know some of you chancing upon this blog will wag your tongues and shakes fingers, but, really, left on the farm, they would have only ended up finding the poison meant for the rats. Here, at my home they stand a much greater chance of survival. Hell! It's been about a week, now and they've already graduated from kitten formula to carrots with ease! They are surviving, but not only that, they are recieving motherly love from Auntie, my sister (who visits occasionally) and myself. But that not all! Auntie teacup Chihuahua has an endearing characteristic that we can only assume is a Napolean complex; he simply adores anything smaller than him. He also cannot help but stand stock still and stare at small creatures as if, well, as Auntie puts it, "As if he were standing next to Elvis." Then, there's dear, sweet, blind Sophia. Sophia is Auntie's Italian Greyhound and, being a Greyhound, we always fear her getting too close to small creatures. Having been a mother twice, then being fixed but always having a dazed look of longing to reclaim her puppies, she took right to the bunnies, and they to her. She loves them as if they were her pups come home. They lay with her and she cleans and cuddles them. So, you see, they are in quite a good place.
In a blog on life, I would not dream of leaving out yet another addition of new voices. Just two days ago I went with Auntie to claim her new chicks. We've got chickens and quail already, but Auntie and Uncle go through so many eggs that six more chicks (soon to be laying hens) have become quite necessary. Two Rhode Island Reds and four Americanas (although they might actually be full blood Aracanas, I am uncertain at this posting), all sweet and tame and ready to cuddle the hands that enter their warm, safe, red-lit haven. They will serve their purpose as they grow, but what magnificent little companions they're becoming. (The Chihuahua loves them, too, of course.)
Side note (that has nothing to do with Paganism, but everything to do with a bit of bittersweet mourning): I just watched the final episode of Pushing Daisies that Flimmi on YouTube was good enough to post for us poor Americans who would otherwise have to wait until May 30th. So, why not end this post with the gist of the end of the last episode:
Endings are only Beginnings.
Good night, Dearies.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Saturday, April 4, 2009
The Resilience of Youth and The Acceptance of Death
Rocky died yesterday.
We at the farm are uncertain of the cause until my boss (a veterinarian) can perform a necropsy. Rocky was the farm rabbit. He was docile and sweet, but came from a neighboring farm at which he was once "free-range." My boss' granddaughter saw and played with him every time he ended up at our farm. Eventually, she and a friend just decided to keep him at our farm in a hutch. Unfair and sad, my friends and I think, but they are only children and they took good care of him as a kept pet. He must have missed being free, though. I would have.
So, when Rocky passed on recently, I cleaned out his pen and hutch and left it at that. I didn't expect the poor girl to be oblivious of the death. Someone, I had thought, would call and tell her. It's not something you want to hear over the phone, but it's probably worse to come looking for him, ready to build him and his prospective mate (Rocky was going to stud...something I don't agree with, but, anyway...) a larger hutch, only to find it empty and devoid of any past life. I felt for the poor girl, too. I stepped outside of the barn to toss out a bucket of water and turned to find her making a bee line for my dry shoulder. She soggyed it up for me. What else could I do but hug her and console her with silence and understanding?
The acceptance of Death is something I inherently knew early on in my life. Perhaps I was a morbid child. (I did prefer my Ghostbusters action figures over my sister's Barbie Dolls and used to torture worms and inscets.) Perhaps it was just something I'd carried over from a former incarnation. I remember the funerals of two great-grandparents. Dry eyes and a heavy heart were what I wore to both. I knew that I was looking at dead people and gravestones. I knew that they were family members of mine. I didn't know one, and the other might as well have been the same for what the Alzheimers' took from him. Maybe this was why I had no tears? Yet, my heart was full of sorrow and love for these people I didn't know and saddness for those I did.
Every drive home from my maternal grandparents' house brought tears to my eyes and a worry that became acceptance as I matured. Luckily, no one saw my damp cheeks and I was able to deal with the concept of impending death on my own. Those carrides allowed me to think. Everyone dies. We are not immortal, and, besides, who would want that? I knew, eventually, those grandparents, the people I loved so high above most of my other family members, would someday die. I would have more funerals to attend and more sorrow to address. This is simply how the Circle flows.
We are born, we live, we die and make rich the soil so that another may live then die and return to the Earth.
So, as I grew into maturity, acceptance of Death came naturally. (Little did I know that my maternal grandmother would forget me, her family and herself, and my paternal grandfather would forget himself and his surroundings.) This is not to say that I don't cry when a lose a family member or beloved pet (Goddess Bless You in the Summerlands, Abracadabra), but the knowledge of what will come to us all has made it easier to travel the paths I choose in life and cherish those I meet for the love we share, lessons I learn or teach and enlightenment I attain.
All of this in my mind, and it still came as a surprise to me when I asked an hour or so later how Rocky's girl was dealing with his death. "I'm okay, now." Of course, she meant that she wasn't going to burst into tears at the mere mention of his name, but she had been with her father when she found out and they went on with their plans for a new hutch (which she then described as if her fuzzy, little friend were still lying on his back in her arms as he so often did.)
Thirteen is a tough year, but it is still so innocent and hopeful. When, exactly do we lose this resilience? When do we stop accepting the pasage of time and assume Death will simply forget about us or our loved ones? Why can't we embrace the final breath and see it as an opportunity? These are questions that will only be answered when we travel to the Summerlands. There we will find answers to questions we cannot solve in this lifetime.
Or will we?
We at the farm are uncertain of the cause until my boss (a veterinarian) can perform a necropsy. Rocky was the farm rabbit. He was docile and sweet, but came from a neighboring farm at which he was once "free-range." My boss' granddaughter saw and played with him every time he ended up at our farm. Eventually, she and a friend just decided to keep him at our farm in a hutch. Unfair and sad, my friends and I think, but they are only children and they took good care of him as a kept pet. He must have missed being free, though. I would have.
So, when Rocky passed on recently, I cleaned out his pen and hutch and left it at that. I didn't expect the poor girl to be oblivious of the death. Someone, I had thought, would call and tell her. It's not something you want to hear over the phone, but it's probably worse to come looking for him, ready to build him and his prospective mate (Rocky was going to stud...something I don't agree with, but, anyway...) a larger hutch, only to find it empty and devoid of any past life. I felt for the poor girl, too. I stepped outside of the barn to toss out a bucket of water and turned to find her making a bee line for my dry shoulder. She soggyed it up for me. What else could I do but hug her and console her with silence and understanding?
The acceptance of Death is something I inherently knew early on in my life. Perhaps I was a morbid child. (I did prefer my Ghostbusters action figures over my sister's Barbie Dolls and used to torture worms and inscets.) Perhaps it was just something I'd carried over from a former incarnation. I remember the funerals of two great-grandparents. Dry eyes and a heavy heart were what I wore to both. I knew that I was looking at dead people and gravestones. I knew that they were family members of mine. I didn't know one, and the other might as well have been the same for what the Alzheimers' took from him. Maybe this was why I had no tears? Yet, my heart was full of sorrow and love for these people I didn't know and saddness for those I did.
Every drive home from my maternal grandparents' house brought tears to my eyes and a worry that became acceptance as I matured. Luckily, no one saw my damp cheeks and I was able to deal with the concept of impending death on my own. Those carrides allowed me to think. Everyone dies. We are not immortal, and, besides, who would want that? I knew, eventually, those grandparents, the people I loved so high above most of my other family members, would someday die. I would have more funerals to attend and more sorrow to address. This is simply how the Circle flows.
We are born, we live, we die and make rich the soil so that another may live then die and return to the Earth.
So, as I grew into maturity, acceptance of Death came naturally. (Little did I know that my maternal grandmother would forget me, her family and herself, and my paternal grandfather would forget himself and his surroundings.) This is not to say that I don't cry when a lose a family member or beloved pet (Goddess Bless You in the Summerlands, Abracadabra), but the knowledge of what will come to us all has made it easier to travel the paths I choose in life and cherish those I meet for the love we share, lessons I learn or teach and enlightenment I attain.
All of this in my mind, and it still came as a surprise to me when I asked an hour or so later how Rocky's girl was dealing with his death. "I'm okay, now." Of course, she meant that she wasn't going to burst into tears at the mere mention of his name, but she had been with her father when she found out and they went on with their plans for a new hutch (which she then described as if her fuzzy, little friend were still lying on his back in her arms as he so often did.)
Thirteen is a tough year, but it is still so innocent and hopeful. When, exactly do we lose this resilience? When do we stop accepting the pasage of time and assume Death will simply forget about us or our loved ones? Why can't we embrace the final breath and see it as an opportunity? These are questions that will only be answered when we travel to the Summerlands. There we will find answers to questions we cannot solve in this lifetime.
Or will we?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
In the Now
My newest obsession is Steampunk. I even claimed and picked up an old typewriter that I had found listed on Craigslist! Though it's probably from the eighties, I'll still use it for parts. I also have in my possession a discarded watch and a small, toy train engine that, I can only assume, used to lead the remainder of an electric, Thomas the Tank Engine set. Those will be popped open and explored for parts, too. The aesthetic of the Steampunk, or Neo-Victorian genre has a sort of faerie tale curiosity for me. It's set in a time that is so far removed from mine, yet so familiar in technological advances. Though, for it's part, the technology is so much more captivating to see.
This has me thinking. Recently, a friend of mine (met through Anam Cara) was kind enough to read for me. Tarot has always been a comfortable medium through which I can accept validation from the Universe. If I listen to my intuition (which I now know how to do thanks to this friend, but I must practice), I will find my validation easily. Yet, as I have stated before, meditation is something I must work toward accomplishing for a proper outcome. I digress. We moved to the subject of moving forward. She had told me previously that I had chosen ten, very balanced cards for the reading and, among other things my subconscience and connection to the Universe was calm and even, and that by choosing The Sun and The Moon (the cards, as always, were upside-down for the selection process), my soul was admiting that I am a complete person. Whatever I search for, whatever I want, I can get. If I put it out there and truly want it, it's mine; all I need do is reach out and grasp. Obstacles should be regarded as mere lessons. There is always a way around, through, over or under. Always. I am a river flowing around the rocks and boulders. My path is clear and I must flow and move with the current regardless of the stones that lie before me. Again, I digress.
I must move ahead; forge that path, learn those lessons and become who I am; be who I am. I have learned from lessons in my past, but those times have gone and to live in the past is to ignore the present. What lessons can I learn now if I'm not here? This was the topic of our side discussion. Not that remembering good times or lessons are bad; far from it! However, if I am constantly thinking on what I used to have (emotionally, phyisically, materially, spiritually, etc.) how can I be who I have become? How can I learn anymore? I need to be present. I need to be now. I need to be. So, that brings me to my query: is interest in the Steampunk/Neo-Victorian genre detrimental to progress? I don't think so. It doesn't seem so, anyway. The clothing is aesthetically pleasing to me, and I must admit that I revel in my superficiality much of the time. Fashion repeats itself decade after decade, too. The technology is current but with an antique look. Am I making excuses to not move ahead, or am I right in my thinking? (Rhetorical, of course; merely musing online. Felt I had to share my revelation.)
As for moving ahead and getting what I want from the Universe, I have bought a lovely book titled Hedge Witch: Spells, Crafts & Rituals for Natural Magick by Silver Ravenwolf. Though I have only just begun reading and following the learning modules within, I feel I have already opened myself up to recieving what the ever abundant Great Spirit wants for all of us; whatever we want and the Spirit wants for us to have. (Incidentally, I have a friend whom I have known for about six or seven years, now who has constantly tried to convince me of the benefits of letting the Universe give me what I truly want. Well, T, I am ready to try!) I heartily recommend the book and will keep everyone updated on my progress and share my own truths in lessons learned. The Witches' Almanac for this year (Spring 2009 to Spring 2010) has provided me with enjoyable trivia this afternoon. This is the first time I've read all of the articles up to the first month before the first month has ended. Well, at all, for that matter. I usually would pick and choose which stories and histories I thought would be interesting and leave the rest for a time when they might be pertinent to whatever I might be practicing. I think that there are still articles left unread from Spring 1997 to Spring 1998 (the year I first became interested in Paganism and Witchcraft.)
So, forging ahead is the tone...for the month, at least.
Oh! By the way, Universe, thank you for the promotion to full time animal/laborer at the farm and for getting me out of retail and food service for good! It's exactly what I wanted.
Exactly.*^_^*
This has me thinking. Recently, a friend of mine (met through Anam Cara) was kind enough to read for me. Tarot has always been a comfortable medium through which I can accept validation from the Universe. If I listen to my intuition (which I now know how to do thanks to this friend, but I must practice), I will find my validation easily. Yet, as I have stated before, meditation is something I must work toward accomplishing for a proper outcome. I digress. We moved to the subject of moving forward. She had told me previously that I had chosen ten, very balanced cards for the reading and, among other things my subconscience and connection to the Universe was calm and even, and that by choosing The Sun and The Moon (the cards, as always, were upside-down for the selection process), my soul was admiting that I am a complete person. Whatever I search for, whatever I want, I can get. If I put it out there and truly want it, it's mine; all I need do is reach out and grasp. Obstacles should be regarded as mere lessons. There is always a way around, through, over or under. Always. I am a river flowing around the rocks and boulders. My path is clear and I must flow and move with the current regardless of the stones that lie before me. Again, I digress.
I must move ahead; forge that path, learn those lessons and become who I am; be who I am. I have learned from lessons in my past, but those times have gone and to live in the past is to ignore the present. What lessons can I learn now if I'm not here? This was the topic of our side discussion. Not that remembering good times or lessons are bad; far from it! However, if I am constantly thinking on what I used to have (emotionally, phyisically, materially, spiritually, etc.) how can I be who I have become? How can I learn anymore? I need to be present. I need to be now. I need to be. So, that brings me to my query: is interest in the Steampunk/Neo-Victorian genre detrimental to progress? I don't think so. It doesn't seem so, anyway. The clothing is aesthetically pleasing to me, and I must admit that I revel in my superficiality much of the time. Fashion repeats itself decade after decade, too. The technology is current but with an antique look. Am I making excuses to not move ahead, or am I right in my thinking? (Rhetorical, of course; merely musing online. Felt I had to share my revelation.)
As for moving ahead and getting what I want from the Universe, I have bought a lovely book titled Hedge Witch: Spells, Crafts & Rituals for Natural Magick by Silver Ravenwolf. Though I have only just begun reading and following the learning modules within, I feel I have already opened myself up to recieving what the ever abundant Great Spirit wants for all of us; whatever we want and the Spirit wants for us to have. (Incidentally, I have a friend whom I have known for about six or seven years, now who has constantly tried to convince me of the benefits of letting the Universe give me what I truly want. Well, T, I am ready to try!) I heartily recommend the book and will keep everyone updated on my progress and share my own truths in lessons learned. The Witches' Almanac for this year (Spring 2009 to Spring 2010) has provided me with enjoyable trivia this afternoon. This is the first time I've read all of the articles up to the first month before the first month has ended. Well, at all, for that matter. I usually would pick and choose which stories and histories I thought would be interesting and leave the rest for a time when they might be pertinent to whatever I might be practicing. I think that there are still articles left unread from Spring 1997 to Spring 1998 (the year I first became interested in Paganism and Witchcraft.)
So, forging ahead is the tone...for the month, at least.
Oh! By the way, Universe, thank you for the promotion to full time animal/laborer at the farm and for getting me out of retail and food service for good! It's exactly what I wanted.
Exactly.*^_^*
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Ah! Spring!
Granted, it's just as chilly today as it has been for the past few days, but tomorrow's high is going to be around fifty. It's a lovely thought, even if it doesn't happen right away, the warmer weather is finally coming. We've hit the lotto on sunny, end-of-winter days out here on Cape Cod, though. I don't think I've seen a sunnier, more cheerful end to winter, to be honest! We've had minimal snowy, rainy or cloudy days these past two or three weeks. Sure, it's been windy, down right gusty some days, but the sun's been there to remind us that soon we'll all be complaining that it's too hot. *^_^* Ha!
Especially in my house! All throughout this frigid winter we've turned the heat on in one, closed off room only (though I did have a few nights when I had to keep my heat on in my room no higher than fifty-five for the lack of another body in my bed.) Sweaters are a wonder in our house. Even better? Soft, cuddly robes over sweaters with some sort of booty-socks to keep every inch of our skin covered. This practice we've adopted is great for our budget and the environment, not to mention showing the electric company that we do just fine with little of their intervention, thank you very much.
Here's the rub: venturing out to places of business or friends' or relatives' homes has been taking its toll on Auntie. She seems to have the worst time adjusting to the heated buildings. Though Uncle and I have our share of requests to "turn the heat down a little," poor, poor Auntie flushes, almost swoons and often must take herself to the door, sometimes requiring a step outside for cool air before she can rejoin the fun. *U_U* I feel that I can adjust well. I prefer the cool air to true cold or true heat. Lukewarm is fine with me.
My point? The heat is coming. Spring and Fall are the easy favorites in this household. We're all creative and active enough to get out there and enjoy the weather, but once it hits "too hot" or "too cold," we retreat to the inner sanctum and laze about the house, finding other ways to enjoy the weather without being in the thick of it. Of course, it doesn't hurt that Sissie's apartment complex has a pool.
Equinox's and Solstice's bring sweats at my Anam Cara's sanctuary. Her husband was grand enough to build her a modernized (plastic tarp to keep the heat in; strong, plastic piping to keep the form; resilient canvas for the "roof" protecting the structure, rocks and sweaty people inside from the outer forces of nature), Native American sweat lodge. He's a marvelous man anyway, but he takes responsibility for the upkeep and function of the lodge, too. Before sweats, he builds the fire on a pile of rocks varying in size and shape. That fire needs to go for the majority of the day; at least four hours! He tends the fire and rocks as Anam Cara readies the vat of water, bough for sprinkling the water, lavender and other herbs for scenting the sweat and other spiritual purposes, centering herself and cleansing herself and space for the safety and enjoyment of all attendees. Once we've all arrived, but before we enter, each member of the sweat is smudged [which means that our chakras/auras/energies/whatevers are cleared of negative energies and opens our chakras up to healing, positivity or whatever other good things one hopes to gain from the experience of the sweat] with sage, sweetgrass, incense or other forms of Air Element-related cleanser. We enter the lodge one by one, because that's the size of the door, not for any other spiritual purpose. (Anam Cara is a very relaxed practitioner who welcomes all for of spirituality into her sanctuary (My Secret Garden in Mashpee, MA), as long as you are respectful of others.) When we have all settled into our spots (cushions on the ground with enough room between each of us that we can lay down if the heat becomes too much, but not enough for us to leave), Anam Cara's hubby-helper comes in with a metal basket of hot rocks, glowing red and carefully empties them into the circle of stones in the center of the lodge. He retreats, and Anam Cara soaks the bough with water, then sprinkles it onto the rocks, pulsing with heat. They hiss like snakes and steam emerges. She continues with the water until we've hit a satisfactory temperature, only sprinkling again when the heat begins to subside.
It's a glorious feeling! Usually, we'll keep the lights out and talk. Last night, we dedicated the first round to healing and offered up names of those who are in need of a little extra help from the cosmos, Great Mother, surrounding spirits, guardians angels, etc. Breathing deep, I filled my lungs with the hot steam and felt it course through my veins to the tips of my fingers and toes. When I sweat, my mind wanders, but less outward. More inward. Inward thinking and feeling brings me to my Self. The Self I hide from everyone, including myself in day to day life. I breathe in the moment. I live in the moment. I exist in the moment.
I exist.
I love sweats for this reason. Last night's experience enhanced my feelings of being especially. I'm uncertain as to why the trees loomed more glorious when I emerged from the heat into the cool, new Spring evening air. Why the Sky's hue was glowing blue likened to the color of my favorite moonstone ring; the one that makes my eyes feel brighter just gazing at it. Why it felt immensely greater to be alive last night, when most days and nights I simply move through the paces. Being alive was never so full of wonderment as it was last night, and it has carried through to today; hopefully beyond. But living in the moment, feeling my body adjusting to the temperature, feeling the chilling effect of the ground on my feet when the rest of me expelled foreign toxins through my skin, it was...
Indescribable.
For years, I've listened to spiritualists and enlightened friends recall instances of self and existence. All without fully understanding. Not only could I not understand what they had gone through because I wasn't them, but I couldn't understand because I had never been in the moment.
My mind wanders, you see.
It could all be part and parcel of being an Air sign.
I might just be flighty.
Whatever the reason, I don't ground well, so my experience of the now has always been punctuated with thoughts of the future or memories of long past. Not really the now. Not truly feeling myself. The Self I find when I sweat.
Though I didn't concentrate on healing or praying or meditating, as such, I feel that I realigned my Self with the Universe. I was all out of whack, and last night, the Spring Equinox, Ostara, for some reason clicked me back into place. I've been wondering if I would ever have one of those awakenings. You know? The kind that change people. The kind of awakening that helps people realize what they want, helps them plan the path of being and happiness and wholeness and helps them become exactly who they are meant to be; not just who they want to be.
I have a lot of energy that is waiting to be tapped. Or so I've been told.
Yeah, I think it's one of those kinds of awakenings.
Welcome, Spring! What's in store for me, now? What seedlings peek through their snowy blanket for me to discover as the ice melts and the Wheel turns?
Especially in my house! All throughout this frigid winter we've turned the heat on in one, closed off room only (though I did have a few nights when I had to keep my heat on in my room no higher than fifty-five for the lack of another body in my bed.) Sweaters are a wonder in our house. Even better? Soft, cuddly robes over sweaters with some sort of booty-socks to keep every inch of our skin covered. This practice we've adopted is great for our budget and the environment, not to mention showing the electric company that we do just fine with little of their intervention, thank you very much.
Here's the rub: venturing out to places of business or friends' or relatives' homes has been taking its toll on Auntie. She seems to have the worst time adjusting to the heated buildings. Though Uncle and I have our share of requests to "turn the heat down a little," poor, poor Auntie flushes, almost swoons and often must take herself to the door, sometimes requiring a step outside for cool air before she can rejoin the fun. *U_U* I feel that I can adjust well. I prefer the cool air to true cold or true heat. Lukewarm is fine with me.
My point? The heat is coming. Spring and Fall are the easy favorites in this household. We're all creative and active enough to get out there and enjoy the weather, but once it hits "too hot" or "too cold," we retreat to the inner sanctum and laze about the house, finding other ways to enjoy the weather without being in the thick of it. Of course, it doesn't hurt that Sissie's apartment complex has a pool.
Equinox's and Solstice's bring sweats at my Anam Cara's sanctuary. Her husband was grand enough to build her a modernized (plastic tarp to keep the heat in; strong, plastic piping to keep the form; resilient canvas for the "roof" protecting the structure, rocks and sweaty people inside from the outer forces of nature), Native American sweat lodge. He's a marvelous man anyway, but he takes responsibility for the upkeep and function of the lodge, too. Before sweats, he builds the fire on a pile of rocks varying in size and shape. That fire needs to go for the majority of the day; at least four hours! He tends the fire and rocks as Anam Cara readies the vat of water, bough for sprinkling the water, lavender and other herbs for scenting the sweat and other spiritual purposes, centering herself and cleansing herself and space for the safety and enjoyment of all attendees. Once we've all arrived, but before we enter, each member of the sweat is smudged [which means that our chakras/auras/energies/whatevers are cleared of negative energies and opens our chakras up to healing, positivity or whatever other good things one hopes to gain from the experience of the sweat] with sage, sweetgrass, incense or other forms of Air Element-related cleanser. We enter the lodge one by one, because that's the size of the door, not for any other spiritual purpose. (Anam Cara is a very relaxed practitioner who welcomes all for of spirituality into her sanctuary (My Secret Garden in Mashpee, MA), as long as you are respectful of others.) When we have all settled into our spots (cushions on the ground with enough room between each of us that we can lay down if the heat becomes too much, but not enough for us to leave), Anam Cara's hubby-helper comes in with a metal basket of hot rocks, glowing red and carefully empties them into the circle of stones in the center of the lodge. He retreats, and Anam Cara soaks the bough with water, then sprinkles it onto the rocks, pulsing with heat. They hiss like snakes and steam emerges. She continues with the water until we've hit a satisfactory temperature, only sprinkling again when the heat begins to subside.
It's a glorious feeling! Usually, we'll keep the lights out and talk. Last night, we dedicated the first round to healing and offered up names of those who are in need of a little extra help from the cosmos, Great Mother, surrounding spirits, guardians angels, etc. Breathing deep, I filled my lungs with the hot steam and felt it course through my veins to the tips of my fingers and toes. When I sweat, my mind wanders, but less outward. More inward. Inward thinking and feeling brings me to my Self. The Self I hide from everyone, including myself in day to day life. I breathe in the moment. I live in the moment. I exist in the moment.
I exist.
I love sweats for this reason. Last night's experience enhanced my feelings of being especially. I'm uncertain as to why the trees loomed more glorious when I emerged from the heat into the cool, new Spring evening air. Why the Sky's hue was glowing blue likened to the color of my favorite moonstone ring; the one that makes my eyes feel brighter just gazing at it. Why it felt immensely greater to be alive last night, when most days and nights I simply move through the paces. Being alive was never so full of wonderment as it was last night, and it has carried through to today; hopefully beyond. But living in the moment, feeling my body adjusting to the temperature, feeling the chilling effect of the ground on my feet when the rest of me expelled foreign toxins through my skin, it was...
Indescribable.
For years, I've listened to spiritualists and enlightened friends recall instances of self and existence. All without fully understanding. Not only could I not understand what they had gone through because I wasn't them, but I couldn't understand because I had never been in the moment.
My mind wanders, you see.
It could all be part and parcel of being an Air sign.
I might just be flighty.
Whatever the reason, I don't ground well, so my experience of the now has always been punctuated with thoughts of the future or memories of long past. Not really the now. Not truly feeling myself. The Self I find when I sweat.
Though I didn't concentrate on healing or praying or meditating, as such, I feel that I realigned my Self with the Universe. I was all out of whack, and last night, the Spring Equinox, Ostara, for some reason clicked me back into place. I've been wondering if I would ever have one of those awakenings. You know? The kind that change people. The kind of awakening that helps people realize what they want, helps them plan the path of being and happiness and wholeness and helps them become exactly who they are meant to be; not just who they want to be.
I have a lot of energy that is waiting to be tapped. Or so I've been told.
Yeah, I think it's one of those kinds of awakenings.
Welcome, Spring! What's in store for me, now? What seedlings peek through their snowy blanket for me to discover as the ice melts and the Wheel turns?
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