Feeling my way into marrying my medicine bundle and ancestor veneration practices. Remembering plucking a feather from the Bodensee after wishing it to shore has me working with swan, wishes, desire, necessity, water, summer... and the mysterious moment when the one you think you’re pursuing turns out to be leading the way. Thursday evening T could see what was coming, and asked if I was going to work all night, I said no, but he was right. Making what spirit show me is a really important part of my practice, and they've been showing me something of this ilk for quite some time, so it's exciting that it's time to bring it into being. I look forward to seeing how they want to use this piece, hopefully not as a votive offering thrown into a lake, but you never know.
As I worked I re-listened to a recording of Sharon Blackie speak at last year's International Herb Symposium where she spoke about how the cure lies in the otherworld in Celtic folk wisdom, and to receive that healing one must bind that cure to the one who needs healing in this world, finding balance. (That’s wildly paraphrased, I hope I did her words justice.) This seems very relevant to the creative process, to me.
So here, 45 hours later, a gift for swan, and my old folks, at least for now a place to sit together. Intarsia (or mosaic), and applique embroidery with tablet woven edge, using gifted or long ago purchased materials. Wool, goat skin, gold (as well as metalic foil), acrylic size, cotton, beeswax.
Our class, Becoming Medicine for the Earth is now live! The link to more information can be found in the bio of @deliciousginger , my sister in this work. We are so excited that the time has come to bring forth this offering, and can hardly wait to see who else will circle up with us!!
Wishing you a blessed Imbolc tide! We put out cloths a couple nights ago, as is one tradition celebrating the potency of this time, asking that they be blessed as healing cloths for the year to come (though one is still but freshly spun yarn). Thank you Willow, Hazel, and Hawthorn for holding them these past two days.
I don’t think I will wait so long this coming year. I suppose any day could be a good time to ask this favor. .
The 25th of this month was the 300th day in a row that I’ve made my way out to visit water, most often larger bodies of water, but sometimes weather, too. There has been so much to notice... the relief of rain after a long dry stretch... feeling the winter’s first ice on the sidewalk... seagulls bathing in a flooded park... amazing clouds... listening to the sea in the dark... the seasonal migration of people and birds... so much to be curious about...
Day 265 visiting water. So many changes these last couple weeks here... praise to the first ice edged puddles and sparkling snow. Praise to the buffleheads as they return to the shelter of the bay. And marveling at the simple, yet deeply stirring gifts that have come from showing up.
I’ve been doing my best to retreat from social media for a time, as I was starting to feel like I was being pulled out of myself. It’s been lovely and strange to let my heart rest, and I miss knowing things friends have shared. But I'm finding that it makes me want to reach out directly, and actually spend time together.
221 days in a row visiting water. Today, water was all around. Such a deep, soaking rain. And still now, hours after standing by the swelling bay, I’m listening, and the rain again is dropping thick against the roof/leaves/grass.
We sought vision in community at the Weaving ritual, now a few days past. I saw paradox... water and mud and fire and good roots in unlikely places.
It’s not yet clear to me what the water is saying or asking. And I recognize, now, that old anthropocentric, self reliant, hubris that is so easy to slide into around here. But I’ve been trusting water’s invitation, and that it’s important to respect and respond the call. I’m realizing that I’m feeling a new subtle pull after 200plus days of visiting. Especially when the tide is high. And I’m feeling a bit rude, having waited so long to share an actual conversation.
But maybe the conversation couldn’t happen with out the consistency of all those visits. And maybe, like Percival and the Fisher King, it’s finally time to ask. We’ll see...
Practicing mother, weedwife, animist, human, who's very thankful to live on the coastal plain of Southern Maine, in Wabanaki terretory, near a place called Owascoag.