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Archive for the ‘Slowing Down’ Category

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April Snowstorm

April 4, 2016 - Winterberry Holly and Forsythia in side yard.

April 4, 2016 – Winterberry Holly and Forsythia in side yard.

“Perhaps what moves us in winter is some reminiscence of far off summer … The cold is merely superficial; it is summer still at the core, far, far within.”

– H. D. Thoreau

Our house.

April 4, 2016 – Our house.

 

April Snow, Main St

April 4, 2016 – Our Town.

 

Statue

April 4, 2016 – Cemetery Statue.

 

April 4, 2016 - Cemetery Pond.

April 4, 2016 – Cemetery Pond.

 

April 4, 2016 - Underbrush.

April 4, 2016 – Underbrush.

Photos by K. Houk and S. Rockmuller.

My dead-letter folder

It is true.

NOT that I have died, which may be the conclusion some of you have reached due to my blog absence.

I have not died. It IS true that I don’t send on chain letters. Maybe this has something to do with being a loner – despite all the gatherings I’ve planned and coordinated over the years.

Now you know. So please don’t send me any more chain letters. They end up in my dead-letter folder.

~~~

Right now I am in bed with my laptop, having hit my late afternoon energy wall.  I’ll begin posting here again, eventually. After all, it will soon be Spring, with its newness, freshness, and clarity.  Yum.

~~~

Descent to the Underworld for Wisdom

The Autumn Equinox ~ Stepping into the power of the dark part of the yearly cycle.

This is the time when the dark, which has been growing, is in balance with the light. We are grateful for the Harvest, but we also know that Life is waning.

This is time of year when Persephone descends to the Underworld to access her deep wisdom and compassion in caring for the dead. It is the time of her mother Demeter’s grief and sorrow, and with her we weep for our losses.

This year, Mabon, or the Autumn Equinox, is especially meaningful for me. In the past few months I have gone through losses due to an autoimmune disease signaled by a medical emergency in May. Since then, I have not posted much, because I have been resting, regaining strength by walking, and most difficult, getting used to my new life. Some days are good, others are not so good. Until I wake in the morning, I do not know whether I’ll be incapacitated by fatigue, or whether I’ll be able to do some work or visit a friend.

Some days I feel that life is indeed waning. This Equinox I enter the underworld of chronic illness and seek whatever wisdom I am able to glean from this dark place. Certainly I am learning much about patience, loss, compassion, and stepping into my power as I deal with the medical community. The dark also feels womb-like at times, and I can even appreciate how this hermit-life may suit me. This is a perfect time of year for introspection, for seeking wisdom.

Will you be descending to the underworld this Autumn?

Unpredictable

Sometimes, usually when we least expect it, an event happens ~ after which life is never quite the same again. There have been no posts from me for quite some time, as I learn and feel my way into new ways of living after experiencing a health crisis. Slowly, deliberately, over the past few months I’ve been regaining my strength, noticing the little things ~ and coming to terms with the unpredictability of living. We can never know what will happen tomorrow, or even in the next few moments. On some level, we all know this, but for me it has become a lived reality.

Photo by Seth Rockmuller

As a result, I’m not certain which direction this blog will follow. What shall I release? What shall I continue? As the leaves begin to drift down from the trees, autumn seems an appropriate time to sweep away the unessential. Samhain will soon arrive, heralding a new year, a new cycle. Its meaning will be deeper for me this year, as I welcome my ancestors into conversation, and walk on the wild side.

Time warp into Spring

The weather today was sunny and 82 degrees, but because of breezes and low humidity, it did not feel hot.

The cottage in western North Carolina ~

Trillium photo I took today in the Pisgah Forest ~

Today as I hiked the forest trail, the only sound was birdsong and the rush of water in small falls and rivulets down the mountainside. The new green of Spring glowed in the treetops, and tiny yellow, purple, and white blossoms opened in cracks and crevices, by stumps and rocks.

Huge old-growth trees towered overhead.

I sensed that inner expansiveness that arrives when I am reminded of my place as part of a wider, wilder world.

Snow-building as meditation

Another post from the Dept. of Post-Collapse Studies.

The icicle doesn’t fall far from the eave.*

Click on the photo below to read the beautiful accompanying blog post.

* If you missed it last year, please visit my post about my love of building snow houses as a child.

The White Stuff

Deep snow always reminds me of growing up in the North Country, near the Canadian border. Warm feelings for cold white stuff!

This morning, the view from the front porch looked like this:

Looking out my mother’s window I spied this blue jay with feathers all puffed up,  taking shelter in the rhododendron bush from the snow and wind.

Photo by Seth Rockmuller

Photo by Seth Rockmuller

Then there was the process of clearing the driveway, making paths to the doors, and clearing snow off the car.

Just now a gorgeous cardinal couple perched in the same rhododendron, but no photo – I couldn’t get the camera in time.

I love the slow pace of a snow day, grateful I have no place I must go by vehicle.Walking is a different matter – a walk is in my future, this afternoon. My new camera will be in my pocket.