Quiet Slipping

Here in my kitchen it is new years eve.  Chaos reigns despite all the good intentions.  My home is a heap of memories, half finished projects and a reticent quiet.  

The world tells me it is the end of the year.  Tomorrow begins the mysterious, grizzled with determination, 2018.


One second to another.  Endings, beginnings.  Starts and finishes.

For practicalities sake this is how we are told it is.

It is not.

Finite ends and beginnings are not the way of this world.  The spirit has departed but the body still remains.  A relationship is over but lingers through grief.  An idea is born but still exists in another plane.  A child is conceived but gestates.

Where I live it is winter.  Winter is both death and birth.  Winter is otherworld times.  Secret times.  Winter is where in old times we exchanged the tools of the field for the tools of the hearth.  Creating and mending, honoring the past while looking towards the future– making plans for when the sun is bright and full.

This in between space, this creative space is the seed dropped into the soil and nourished by the wisdom of the crone.

Growth acknowledges the past and enacts the lessons learned there.

Growth looks at the bullshit in the eye.  Examines and learns from it.  Owns it and applies it.

I hope that in this wintery season you are able to find your own shifts, honor the wisdom keepers in you and around you and sow those dream seeds for the next bend on your spiral.

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