Winter Solstice, 2012

Here we are again on the shortest day of the year. The official beginning of winter. And here for me a bright sunny day with some clouds and a blanket of snow pulled over the ground - the first snow we've had this winter. It's beautiful!

Every year on the Winter Solstice, there are things I do. Greet the dawn. Light a candle at dusk. And somewhere in between, spend at least a little time thinking about what I want to take from the old year into the new, because this is a day for renewal.

So many things have happened to me this year. I've moved to a new house, finished the first draft of a novel, gotten active in my own spiritual life again, taken a good look at my D/s relationship, joined FetLife, came to the end of one Path and started another, told my immediate family I'm kinky, changed occupations, met my soul's sister and made several new and wonderfully diverse friends. It's been a busy year, and one with many, many changes.

I joke about the fact that I'm getting out more by saying I'm coming out of my cave, but that's really what it feels like. Like I've been dwelling alone and all the light and noise out here is overwhelming, but in a good way. If that makes any sense. I'm loving the discussions that make me think, the presence of my spirit guides almost constantly nearby again, the touches of people who aren't afraid to be intimate, and all the new experiences. I'm almost giddy with it all, sometimes.

It's this happiness, this feeling of being (in a way) new again that I am taking with me into next year. My new and old friends, the new insights, my optimism about the novel, my renewed hunger for life and learning. And I'll also be taking along some very old and dear things.

The most enduring is this. Many many years ago, as I was beginning to understand some of what my spirituality meant to me, I made a very important choice. I accepted that the earth is my Mother, the sun my Father, and the Creator is the source of my spirit. And I gave myself back to them in service. I marked the occasion with a necklace of stone and other beads, a close fitting thing I take off only to repair and restring. It looks like a collar on purpose. It is one.

Since then I've learned a lot, grown into my abilities (there's always more to learn) and gotten more comfortable with myself. Comfortable enough to give voice to things I've never talked about, like my confused gender identity and my kinky mind that enjoys tying people up and playing with them like toys. Comfortable enough to say flat out that I personally belong to Mother Earth, that I serve as my Father Sun's energy worker, and that my Creator made me as I am for a purpose to which I am submissive before anything else.

This Winter Solstice my heart is filled with peace from knowing and accepting all of that once more. I feel more whole than I have felt in many years, more comfortable in my mind and in my skin, and ready to face the challenges the new year may bring.

In joy, in love, in peace, I share these thoughts with you, my friends.

You Can Love.

Today the world teaches us that we have to have goals, plans, dreams. Live for the future. IRA CD stock market shares insurance pre-paid grave stones just add body. Corporate ladders and careers and a job well done. Make every penny count, and every step and sit up and calorie too, so you can live longer, healthier, more productive, get more have more rest when you retire.

You can love.

Even kids have ambition. What will you be when you grow up? Doctor, lawyer, scientist? Write the next great novel? Walk on Mars? You gotta have a plan to get there, gotta be hungry, gotta want it.

You can love.

Life is a struggle, and what we get out of it is exactly what we fight for, tooth and nail, no matter who else gets hurt along the way.

Do we know? Do we care?

Because if we care, then we have to do something, don’t we? Give something up? Not have, so someone else can? Be the loser, so someone else can win?

You can love.

There's a woman in my life who doesn't remember who I am, doesn't remember changing my diapers and holding me when I was helpless, not even able to walk. She's not really sure where she is or what all the things around her are. Sometimes she remembers that the books are hers, but they're hard to make sense out of. Sometimes she gets lost in her own house. She's scared, and lonely for the people she knew and grew up with. Mom, siblings, cousins, aunts all gone. Just this nice stranger who says she's a granddaughter and brings the food and finds the lost things. And tucks her into bed. Because she loves.

There's a man living far from his wife and the child they fought so hard to have, so many lost pregnancies and false alarms. He teaches young men to do a good job of protecting other people's safety while looking out for themselves, so more of them will come home on their own two feet. It's hard for him to be so far away as his child grows up and his wife tries hard to be brave because she misses him too and things sometimes happen even though the teachers are supposed to be safe. But he loves.

There's a young woman who has worked so hard to learn skills that let her help others learn, communicate, and grow. And when she comes home she has three little adopted loves who call her mommy, depend on her for everything, and give the best hugs there are in return. She misses sleep, grabs quick meals and hurries through chores so she can spend that extra little bit of time with them. Because she loves.

They have dreams, and plans, and goals. And have redirected them so there is room for love. And when their struggle is hard, the money is tight or the night is cold and long, love provides the courage and comfort to go on. Love inspires you to do things you never thought you could, things beyond your plans and missing from your dreams.

You can love.

There was a man who helped load groceries into a car for a woman with a broken leg. There was a man who passed his hamburger out his car window to a homeless man. There was a woman who held the hand of an accident victim until paramedics arrived. There was a woman who brought furry joy to patients in a nursing home. There was a boy who raised money to buy toys for kids in the hospital. There was a family that spent their spare time bringing food and hungry people together.

All that was love.

Not one would tell you that the time, effort, money wasn't worth it. Not one would say that they wouldn't do it again. And I bet, given the chance, that they’d help someone else again.

You, too, can love.

Walking With Wolves

Yesterday I went on a tiny little hike, a planned walking journey, looking to recharge and, honestly, to find the courage to take the next step on my new Path. My introverted little cave where I've spent the last thirty years learning so much was comfortable. Reaching out to others, getting involved with a community, that's not comfortable at all. And pushing myself out of that comfort zone because of an intuitive leap is just downright scary. It's going to take courage, I know. This journey would at least allow me to walk off some of my nerves, even if nothing else happened.

I made my preparations, gathered water, nuts for a snack, notebook and pens, a warm shirt. My walking stick. The camera, tucked into the little day pack at the last minute. And then I drove out to the park.

I knew where I wanted to go. Frenchman's Bluff has a cliff overlooking the river, a place where wind and sun touch the bare rocky bones of the planet. A place where power gathers and will tingle up through my feet. I've meditated there before. I hadn't made the hike since I gained titanium enhancements to my ankle, but I knew there was a shortcut from the Equestrian Camp, and I was taking it.

My phone's mapping app helped me find the right turns, the right parking lot. I took my pack and my stick and started my hike. Three deep breaths, clearing my mind of negative thoughts. A moment taken to ground and center myself. A check of my shields. Then off toward the gravel road that would lead to the trail I wanted, with easy, sure steps, paced to my breathing, my heartbeat, and the click-thump of my stick at every other step.

Monkey brain, that chattering part of me that needs to know why and how, that analyzes everything, all the time, I set to watching for the trail markers, to making sure my feet came down safely, to keeping the rhythm of my pace. Wolf brain, that intuitive, curious part of me that lives now and here and also in the place where spirits travel, I set free to take the lead, to see and feel and do whatever I needed to do on this journey. Wolf saw the path up to the cliff before the rest of me did, and up the hill I went. Out of shape me panted my way to the top, but Monkey kept the rhythm even and Wolf kept me going until there was bare rock under my feet, open air before me and running water far below. I stood in the tingle of power and caught my breath.

There were steps on the trail. A woman. A dog. A man. I said hello to all three. Friendly people. Friendly dog. They went on their hike. I picked my place and sat. Monkey brain kept watch for danger, kept my breathing even. Wolf took in details. A yellow flower right in front of me. Wind noisy in the cottonwoods across the river. Two little songbirds that skimmed out of the trees behind me and disappeared into those same cottonwoods. A skinny little cedar tree clinging to the side of the cliff to my right. The smell of turning leaves. A daddy long legs hunting around on the rocks beside me. The drone of a combine off in the not so far distance. A white playball floating in a cage of roots at the edge of the river, slowly turning and bumping against it's woody bars. Wolf wanted pictures to take home, so I snapped a few.

And then just sat and breathed and felt the wind. Eventually, Wolf remembered my purpose and sent out a call the spirits, asking for assistance. My spirit pack came first. The white wolf, the black wolf, they nosed me a moment, let me know they were watching, and moved off. Brother wolf and Sister wolf came and stayed, bouncy and playful as always. Before long, I had to move. Sitting still is so hard for them, it always makes it hard for me. I stood, stretched, gathered my pack and stick, took a moment to thank the place for the energy it had shared, then headed back down the trail.

Wolf (and Brother and Sister) could have taken other trails, could have sent me on a long walk, but they didn't. They headed back toward the horse camp, toward the car. There was so much to see, though. Tree roots and tiny flowers. Fallen logs with shelf fungus. Broken rocks littering a steep hillside in patterns that resembled houses seen from an airplane. Walnuts falling to the ground with dull thumps. Two cars went past me on the narrow gravel road, and I waved at their drivers. Monkey brain stayed focused on it's task, and I didn't turn an ankle or take a single sliding step on the rocky, washed path. My stick tapped the ground with every other measured pace. Brother and Sister ghosted off into the woods, playing in the sunshine and the sound of wind in the leaves all around us. They stopped at the edge of the paved road I'd have to cross to get back to my car. Stopped just as the hawk flew over my head and landed in a tree just past that road.

I smiled and said hello to her. Brother and Sister left quietly, deferring to this living, shy creature. Wolf took me on along the path, across the road, beside the tree where the hawk waited. She watched me. Let me get a good look at her. And then she flew, skimming just a couple of feet off the ground, past my car and onto the top of a dead, cut tree. I followed. I left my pack and stick leaning against my car but took the camera with me. The hawk let me take her picture, not once but several times, while she alternately watched me and the field below her.

Then she flew. Past a cluster of shade trees, along the fence line, then up and gone. Did I snap a picture? No. I was busy watching her glide so effortlessly, until my attention was caught by a tree. An oak tree, of course, with leaves starting to turn red in patterns that were fascinating. I leaned against his trunk to look up, and was welcomed there, comforted by the solid, peaceful, happy presence of him. It didn't matter that he was a stranger to me. I basked in his welcome and shared my own joyful energy with him before I took some pictures, then leaned on him again, hugging him, thanking him for his kindness, welcome and the breathtaking beauty he'd shared with me. I wish the photo really did him justice, but it's a pale view of the experience.

When I turned from him, I was gifted with another photo op, some huge mushrooms growing at the base of another oak nearby. And when I turned back to my car, there was a beautiful view of early fall colors and clear blue sky.

It was enough, really. Although, on my way out of the park by way of a road I'd never followed far but my phone's map said went through to the highway, I met a small flock of turkeys, was waved at by a groundhog, and was totally ignored by a box turtle walking patiently down the side of the road.

This morning, Monkey brain (who has been analyzing all this all night and this morning while editing photos), says; "Look what happens when you just remember; Be, See, Play, and Balance. You have beautiful memories, nice pictures, and a new tree friend. And you're all charged and ready for tomorrow. You can do this new thing, if you just remember those things. Be your own authentic self. See what's there without judging. Play, because you can't take everything so seriously. And remember your balance, because when you are balanced, you are confident and sure of your capabilities." Wolf brain simply knows that I am ready.

Timing and Teachers

On 8/28/2012 I wrote:

The steps of my path have been winding, looping crooked things taking me past and through so many places and lives that it is a dizzying experience. I attempt to understand it all, to see the many sides as I whirl by. To mull it like spiced wine until it tastes right and rich within.

Synthesis and acceptance are the gifts of my journey. I love the world, it's scars and it's beauty, it's fragility and it's hardiness. I love the people, the sweet, the shy, the bold, the wild. The beautiful diversity of what is around fascinates me. Together, such a wondrous whole. Individually, such marvelous beings.

My path continues, always. The urge to teach is as strong as the urge to learn. I have moved from "Be" to "Grow" once again. This uncomfortable state both terrifies and woos me and I can't fight the wind of it. Embracing my imperfect duality was a step, knowing I was not alone was another. Each story I write externalizes my journey. I can learn from them as well as teach with them.

I am not broken, and neither is anyone else. This is the most important lesson of all, that each individual is exactly what they should be, following whichever guides they choose to follow. 

I posted this in my FetLife writings, but I didn't post what followed, what happened the very next day in a chatroom connected to a FetLife group I belong to. We were talking about rope, someone suggested I look up a certain well known presenter on rope bondage. One google search later and I’m looking at a teacher who resonates with me on so many levels. Down to “love” inked onto his skin. I know that what I need for my journey will come when I need it. I’ve known that for years, since I started to understand Path and Oracle. It’s really no surprise at all that I found, right after such a deep revelation, right after the first personal runic reading in years that screamed a resumption of my journey, right after the itchy feeling in the back of my head started up, right after the flock of crows that burst across my path, right after an emotional storm so strong it left me physically ill, someone who speaks to what I am becoming. 

The question is: can I find the courage to introduce myself after reading through blogs and journals and listening to podcasts while nodding and hissing "Yes!" to so much he's said, so much he's written? I'm not good at these things, I know. I'm an introvert, and I'm pretty socially awkward - unless the spirits are talking to me? Are they now? Well, I can say maybe. I mean, he just wrote about being human on his own FetLife profile. And in that more than a month since I first set eyes on his website, his name has been brought up to me over and over by people who don't know each other at all. Yesterday the crows were circling in flocks. Flocks of dozens of crows. When did I see them? In the car, while I was listening to one of those podcasts again. 

Maybe it's a good thing my guides can hit me over the head with a spiritual brick. I seem to need that every now and again. I am off, right now (in the middle of the night, of course) to write that introduction. Honest! 

The significance of the horseshoe.

I talked about the dream I had, the dream that has come to me any time I've wandered away from my spiritual path, or questioned it, or even ignored it for too long. The dream that has undergone only small changes throughout the years. The largest change was the symbol on my right foot. Over the years I had seen a swirling water symbol, a racoon's print, a bat, a salmon and many other things before I knew what it was. I became convinced that it was in some way related to the water, and in a very odd way, I was right. Let me tell you a story before I explain.

Once upon a time there was a mare in my life. Her name was Abigail, and she was a full blooded Haflinger pony. For those of you who don't know the first thing about horse and pony breeds, I need you to understand that Haflingers are a big pony - almost big enough to be classified as a horse. Measured from the ground to the top of her shoulder, she was 4'10" (that's 14.2 hands high in horse speak), and she weighed pretty close to 1200 pounds. She was broad chested, heavily boned and heavily muscled, like most of her breed, perfectly capable of carrying a rider but really built to pull things. Because of her, I know how to put a harness on a horse, attach her to a buggy, and drive.

This particular summer, a friend of mine and I had the opportunity to drive Abigail and her buggy a lot. We drove up and down the gravel road where we lived, stopping at the blacktop on one end and the river ford at the other. It was good exercise for her and a lot of fun for us. Nothing is as soothing as the steady clop clop of a trotting horse and the light crunch of gravel under steel rimmed wheels, with a breeze in your face and a shady road to drive. I got a lot of practice driving that summer. Then one day, in the driest part of summer, with the river as low as it ever got, we decided to drive across it.

The ford was meant for trucks and tractors, not cars. With the water low, it was still ten or twelve inches deep in the middle. But the gravel was solid and the road bed level enough for both horse and buggy. We humans knew that because we'd crossed it both on foot and in the truck. Abigail, though, knew no such thing, and she planted both front feet at the edge of the water. We coaxed her with words and reins from the buggy, but she simply stood her ground and eyed all that moving, scary water.

We were left with the decision to give in to her worries or talk her into going on, which really wasn't much of a decision at all. If we gave up, then it would be even harder the next time. So I got down from the buggy and went around to the mare's head, taking a moment to soothe her and remind her she wasn't alone. Then, with a hand on her bridle, I took a confident step forward, into the water. Abigail, who had followed me this way so many times before, stepped into the water herself, trusting that I wouldn't lead her into danger.

That fifty or so feet of water crossing wasn't easy. The rocks shifted under my feet, and only my hand on the rein kept me from falling more than once. Abigail, the sure footed and steady girl that she was, braced her head every time I stumbled, turning herself into the support I needed to walk across the ford beside her. But we made it, both of us, uninjured and no wetter than necessary. She stepped onto dry land with her head held high and her eyes on the road. And one ear cocked toward me, the leader who had shown her that she really could cross all that moving, frightening water. I'd boosted her confidence, and she made the return trip without me beside her.

Water, and a horse who trusted my leadership enough to do something scary. Trusted me even though I stumbled, and did what she needed to to help keep me upright. That memory is what came to me one day as I was driving to a friend's house with the radio on, singing at the top of my lungs. I had been contemplating that dream again. I'd had it again, after all, just the week before. The memory of crossing the river beside Abby started me thinking about horses, which isn't a hard thing at all. I've been crazy about horses since I was a kid. For that matter, I've been crazy about horses longer than I've been crazy about wolves.

It was that thought, right there, that almost made me pull off the road. I did shout in triumph, pound on my steering wheel, stomp with my free foot. Because the answer to the question of what that forth symbol was had been right in front of my face all along, the most obvious thing in my whole life. The thing I'd been crazy about for as long as I can remember.

Of course there were horses in my life. First horses on tv, doing everything from saving the Lone Ranger from danger to a famous eight horse hitch that graces beer commercials. There were toy horses, posters of horses on my wall, stuffed horses, stories and books about horses. I checked out every book on horses our local library had. I learned about horse breeds and horse history. And I took every chance I could to touch real live horses, even though I was a city girl. When I got the opportunity to help a friend work with her three year old quarterhorse gelding, I jumped at the chance, and learned even more. Enough that, when that summer with Abby came around, I was ready to do ground work with her, to ride her just a little, and to learn to drive.

But you know what I really learned from her? That when you're sitting on a horse's back, the most important thing to do is relax, let your body move naturally, and just balance. When you have those reins in your hands and your butt on the seat of a buggy, there's another kind of balance between you and the horse, the balance of keeping a light contact on the bit without pulling too hard on the horse's mouth, of letting her know you're still paying attention without getting in the way of her movements. And when you're walking beside her with that lead rope in your hand, there's a balance between your leadership and her willingness to follow, based in trust.

And I realized that that's the same balance, almost exactly, as the balance between the dominant and the submissive in a BDSM dynamic. The submissive trusts the dominant to lead, the dominant trusts the submissive to follow, and that is the basis of the dynamic no matter what else is happening in the relationship. Power is exchanged, but the balance remains.

Balance has been an important part of my shamanic journey, too. It starts with the personal balance of body, mind and spirit that allows me to be ready for whatever I am shown, for whatever I need to accomplish. It goes on to each person's internal balance,  the balance of people in relationships with other people, and the balance of population with the land and the sky. Balance permeates the health of everything, everywhere.

And everything is connected, balancing perfectly with everything else.

And I am a whole person, not a writer, and a daughter, and a caregiver, and a dominant, and a shaman, and a friend. I am simply all of it, perfectly connected and balanced with myself.

Just like that woman leading the horse across the river, steadied by the strength of the mare beside her. That is the significance of the blue horseshoe; water and a domestic horse and the leadership and balance needed to get through that small crisis. Balance that is exactly like it is in the whole of myself, and the whole of everything.

And do you know what? The answer was there all along. It was simple and profound all at once. And it has changed nothing and everything in my life. Just like all those teachers and wise people always said. Funny how that works out, isn't it?

The Dream

Many of us dream, but those dreams that come back over and over are the ones that have bring us deeper meaning.

In my dream, I’m sitting in my favorite park under an oak tree, but not my long time burr oak friend. It’s a stranger tree, but still very old and patient. Quiet, this one, it doesn’t like to talk much. But it will take my energy to ground with it, be a presence in meditation. I knew all this in my dream, even though I'd never sat under that particular tree. There’s more I know, things important only to me and my personal symbology. I wore four marks in the dream, although I’m sure they weren’t physical. Filling my right palm in vivid bloody red was a paw print, the mark of the wolf. Filling my left palm was a bright green oak leaf, the same round lobed leaf that the bur oak bears. On the sole of my left foot was the black feather of a crow. On the sole of my right foot was a blue horse shoe, although that last image wasn’t clear and changed over the years, flickering, as unsure as I was. In the dream I wasn’t meditating, just sitting grounded and centered and resting with the tree at my back, enjoying the day, my eyes closed and a breeze bringing scents to my nose. I could hear waves on the lake, leaves sighing above me, birds calling to each other. And then some rustling in the grass and a sense of movement nearby prompted me to open my eyes. Standing some ten or fifteen feet away were some people. Three people, two men and a woman (although that configuration has changed off and on as well). One is the leader, and he speaks, his voice light and clear and full of joy. “Welcome, sister. We’ve been waiting a long time for you.” I know he is dark haired, and his body has changed over the years, and I actually think I’d know him if I saw him.

Those four things, wolf, oak, crow and horse, have come into my life in many ways, full of lessons of all shapes and sizes. But these things are the most important that each one has taught me.

Wolf, my totem, taught me to play.
Oak, my ground, taught me to be.
Crow, my messenger, taught me to see.

Horse, my companion, taught me to balance.

Simple things, and so profound. What have your dreams taught you?