The Shine

A couple of weeks ago I was writing an article about witches and pagans and turning inward during the dark part of the year. That gave me pause to think back over this year and in doing so I realized that I actually started that turning inward process round about July, and this year I have gone further inward and traveled farther to Other places than I have ever done before. 

This was not a deliberate attempt to disengage; my actions were instinctive and the journey itself was the only destination. Disengaged just happened to be one of the places I landed. 

The pause to think also led me down a thought road to the conclusion that the depth of my journey and the degree of disengagement both helped me make it through a time of year that is often extremely difficult for me. I hope this awareness does not change the process as I move into January's emotional storms. 

I have talked publicly and honestly about a lot of heavy emotional, mental, and spiritual stuff since 2011 when I first shared my thoughts about my youngest daughter's struggle with mental health and addiction. At first I wrote because I needed to get it all out of my head, and then because I hoped it might help someone else if they could see that there were not alone. The issues are different now, but I still write for both those reasons. 

I think it is important to be honest and real about the way grief, depression, and anxiety sometimes knock me down, and just as real about the fact that I always get back up. Always. I want everyone else who is struggling to know that it is possible to do that. I want people to know that it is normal to have a less than Hallmark holiday perfect life, that it is normal to talk about it, and normal to ask for help carrying the stuff that gets too heavy. That is it normal and real to enjoy a moment or an afternoon or a day and then have some random word or song or thought send you hurtling into the brick wall of an anxiety attack, then find your way back to good space. 

Life is like that sometimes. PTSD is like that sometimes. Grief is like that sometimes. Even love is like that sometimes. 

I watched my father drown himself in depression-fueled grief over his misguided and anxiety driven perceptions of every mistake he ever made in his life. I sometimes take similar nose-dives, especially related to my parenting failures and mistakes. But a huge difference between me and my dad is that I have learned how to do the work to get out of those riptides and he never did or never could. I will always believe that inability to heal is what killed him. 

Shadow work is not a walk in the park, but it is an important part of the process of deep healing. I am grateful for those who showed me that it is possible, and for those who help me along the way. I am doubly grateful for whatever or whoever it was that brought me into this world with a spirit that was never afraid to search for answers, knowledge, and magic.

These days I share a lot about the happy aspects of my life; Rhodes in his many forms of being, my kittens, my gardens, my spiritual path. Even though there are days I don't want to get out of bed, days when anxiety holds court, days when I cannot stop crying, I always look for the better, brighter side. I won't ever deny that the dark side exists, but I don't ever let it beat me, either.  

Part of defeating the darker aspects in any persons life and of this world is keeping them out in the open and shining light on them. When I ask folks to "rise on up and put your shine on" I am asking them to be a part of the light that helps keep darkness at bay or at least shows it for what it really is. 

That doesn't take a falsely manufactured megawatt smile, or a bubbly, gushing personality. It just takes being. 

Even the softest light pushes back the darkness. 

Peace out.

February Romance

 When trying to build or assemble or design something, I never had trouble stepping back if I hit a wall and started to feel frustrated. I'd go for a walk or sit down with a cup of tea and a good book; basically, I would hit the pause button and give my mind time to untangle the problem and find a new approach.

After my knee surgeries, I took that skill to the next level and became a goddess supreme at working out ways to accomplish whatever I wanted to get done. I even learned to accept help, although I admit I will never be comfortable with that. Two of the most important pieces of that adaptation were developing deeper patience with myself and acknowledging and accepting that it is okay to stop and rest when rest is needed.

Despite all of that, it took this long winter for me to figure out that I could address my creative walls and limitations in the same way. Who knew? I have long held the practice of letting Love elder Ego when dealing with other people, but it was no easy task to apply that principle to myself.

I've been writing for nearly 50 years. This winter, I renewed my love of the process and my love of language. I'm feeling pretty darn happy about that.

Here Comes the Sun - a Celebration of Science and Nature

This memory from December 2019 has been on my mind for the last few days. I know the extra challenges that isolation amidst the pandemic and other social issues are adding to my life this year. I can't help but wonder how many people are struggling to connect with something, anything, any piece of hope or happiness they can find. 

I originally shared this story to highlight how simple it can be to let someone else feel like they matter. A year later, when so many are walking a tight-rope, I am sharing it again for that same reason, and perhaps as a reminder that there is at least one seasonal option for a celebration that has nothing to do with faith or religion. 

December 2019

I stopped at a chain pharmacy store to pick up a few things tonight. I usually avoid new to me places, but I’ve driven by this one 13,000 times since we moved, there weren’t any cars in the parking lot, and I needed two specific items and some chocolate. Don’t judge.

I was browsing the holiday stuff aisle, amazed at how much crap we consume in the name of giving, when a voice said, “Can I help you find something?”

I looked up and almost walked out of the store when I saw the female clerk standing there. She was one of the far too many women who look like my Beth did towards the end of her life. Sometimes seeing those shades of my daughter is a total system shock, much like going into cold water for a swim.

I paused to catch my breath, then answered, "No, thank you, I’m just looking."

She said something about holiday shopping that I couldn't quite hear, and then she quickly walked away.

When I was ready to check out, that clerk was at the counter. I was determined not to even look at or chat with her, but you know I can't do that. I cannot treat people as if they are invisible. Once again, she said something about the holidays and then said, “Not everybody wants to celebrate them. Not everyone can.”

I responded with something like, you know it’s okay if you don’t. Somehow, that removed the wall between us, and while I was standing there at the checkout, she poured her heart out.

She isn’t a Christian and doesn’t believe in Christmas. Her daughter is 18 this year, and they won’t ever do Christmas again. It’s too hard, just too painful, and it costs too much, and, and, and.

And.

I just listened as she talked. She obviously needed to vent, and why not let her? Why not hold space for and share space with someone else’s daughter? The last thing she said in her recitation of pain and unhappiness was that she likes some of the pretty decorations, but there isn’t anything for her to celebrate.

I said, "Well, you know, the Sun is coming back. I think that’s worth celebrating."

“What do you mean?” she asked. 

I offered her a brief explanation of the Winter Solstice and Yule, that the days will be getting longer again, and that it’s just science and a love of sunshine and warmer days. No belief system is necessary.

She was silent while she finished ringing up my purchases. After I paid and she handed me the receipt, she smiled at me and said, “I think my daughter would like that idea. I’m going to see if she’ll help me look it up.”

Then she smiled an even bigger smile and wished me happy holidays.

Of course, she has no idea that I’ve seen that smile before. Of course, she has no idea that she brought a bit of unexpected brightness to my day, to replace the unexpected sadness.

I hope I brought the same to hers. 

Please choose kindness when you are able. Be the Sun.

And oh - Sing this with feeling. 

https://youtu.be/KQetemT1sWc

In Liminal Space

In the early morning darkness, I ease out of the world of dreams and into this here and now. Lately, I have slept deeply but without gaining rest. Sometimes I wake uncertain of where I am or whether I am actually awake. I wonder if the places to which I travel in my sleep are the real world. If so, then this assumed reality is not reality at all but is, instead, a dream.

My Gone Befores appear in my dreams more often than ever before. This world is in turmoil, and some of them seem unsettled by that. Some wish to comfort and give guidance. Others remember every version of the warriors they have been down through the long ages. Even now, they are ready for a fight.

I have spent many years walking between the worlds, and for the first time, I am no longer sure of the boundaries. Are they blurring everywhere and for everyone, or is extreme fatigue dulling my perceptions of space and time? Perhaps current events are so emotionally and relentlessly exhausting that I sleep hard like a sun-tired child. Maybe these in-between spaces exist only in my head.

These are my thoughts as I get dressed and then step out the back door. This is heady stuff for so early in the day.

The fog is hanging low and heavy, and the trees at the edge of the yard are nothing but shadow figures. The moment I acknowledge the shadow figures, a chill runs up my spine. I don't even give it time to run back down before I distract myself by thinking random thoughts about fog. There is weather lore that claims that there will be a snowfall in winter for each morning fog in August. In many an August past, I told myself I would keep track of fog days and snowfalls. This year, I have taken up the task. On the first morning in August, I wrote a heading on an index card: August Fog/Winter Snow, and taped it onto my desk. Every morning I made the tick marks; there are 22 in all. I am now prepared to see what winter brings.

I tend to the chickens, then walk to the south yard so I can trim back the gone-too-wild tomato plants. The fog clears for a moment, revealing the mountain ridge to the south. Low-lying clouds shroud its peaks. I am caught in a moment where another world beckons to the adventurer within me, and oh, how she longs to travel. I appease her with promises of a trip to the orchards to the south later in the fall.

The clear spot in the fog and the mountains beyond it vanish, and I am back in the mist enveloped world of the garden. After taking a deep breath, I turn to look at the tomato vines, reminiscent of scenes from the original Jumanji. Now that was very definitely a between-the-worlds space.

Moving to the far side of the raised bed, I settle into work on untangling the vines. Eyes and fingers follow the lengths of green vine until it becomes a meditative process. I pause to remove a bug or pick a ripe tomato, then move back into the meditation. Organizing, clearing out, and supporting are the dominant themes of the work. Breathe in. Breathe out. The garden is still wrapped in a light mist, with bits of morning color and birdsong all around.

The rumble of thunder sounds in the distant west. Should I head into the house to beat the rain? I start to gather the pruners, my knife, and the garden twine to put them back into my mom's dark brown basket. She purchased it years ago from one of those at-home parties and was so proud of it. She filled it with a spray of purple flowers and kept it next to a shelf filled with special treasures. I know it made her smile. Would she smile now to know that I use her basket every day? I close my eyes and call up her image, here among the tomatoes and marigolds.

How little effort it takes to move between those two worlds - hers and mine. The simple basket at my feet becomes a magical object because of the memories associated with it. I smile, remembering her smile and her love of her garden. I decide to stay and keep working, regardless of the rain.

Once again, I trace a green line back to its point of origin. Yes, this one can go. No, this one must stay. Snip. Snip. Drop the worm into the pan for the chickens. Trace another green line. Pause to talk to the sparrow and the wren, pause to seek out the form of Crow high in the tall white pine. He certainly has a great deal to say. Crow is another linking point between the worlds; I have been walking the Crow Road since before my Beth died. It seems I always will be, now that I am aware of its existence.

I had thought the road would end. That I would reach some destination after her death as I worked my way through the grief and trauma. But this is the road I am on now, even while I am living a vibrant life. Not one foot there and one here, but moving back and forth and between, sometimes in dreams, sometimes in memory, sometimes in reality. Crow has added layer upon layer of depth to my understanding of walking between the worlds and being in liminal space.

The rain begins. Coming first as a heavy, moving mist, but then the drops fall on me. I turn my face to the sky. The water washes over me. I close my eyes. I don't want to be aware of anything but the feeling of that water on my skin. I wonder if I will be in a different place when I open my eyes. Beth might be there with me, in the place where she is whole and healthy and always glad to see me. I hold my breath, and that moment of hope for a moment. I open my eyes. She is not. And I am not. I am in the Here and Now.

The rain keeps falling. I go back to the work that is simply work now. Good work. Healing work. The rain is warm and sweet, and its touch on my skin is gentle. I am content.

My Personal Almanac

There has been a feeling of detachment hovering around me lately, of disconnection and a low, abiding sorrow seemingly outside the scope of the world as seen through the lenses of the impact of the pandemic, isolation, and civil unrest. I haven't been able to pinpoint the source of these feelings,  and not for a lack of trying. I've just been missing something and I'm not quite sure what it is.

Two days ago I received a package from my favorite tea business, Catskill Mountain Tea Company, with seven different blends of tea. Rootbeer, Thorne Valley, Autumn Leaves, Golden Sunrise, Winter Cherry, Rip van Winkle, and Serenity Valley. The names themselves are delicious, and the scents overwhelmed me in a happy way as soon as I opened the shipping box. Sassafras, lemon, rose, ashwagandha, jasmine, just to name a few. I opened each bag and tin so I could take a good whiff of each tea and decide which I wanted to try first. As I did that I finally identified what I have been missing.

As much as I am a homebody, I also love to be on the go, adventuring with my love. I am used to noticing and marking the passing of the seasons by what I see blooming in gardens and fields as we drive along. The seasonal views and the bloom cycles of the native wildflowers of the Blue Ridge Parkway are part of my personal almanac, and I feel somewhat adrift for not seeing them.

I miss roadside produce stands and their hand-lettered signs that tell me what they have in stock, and thereby knowing what is in season. I even miss thinking things like, "It's too early for peaches here, those can't be local." I miss thinking nothing of driving down to South Carolina to find peaches, then driving home with the car filled with the intoxicatingly sweet scent of luscious, juicy goodness. I miss going on an unplanned day-trip around this area, seeking berries and corn and green beans and knowing that we could stop whenever we felt like it for a meal or a drink in a local diner. I miss seeing a large bloom of honeysuckle and parking nearby to breathe in that heady scent and harvest a few blooms to taste the nectar.

I miss wandering through farmers markets, taking in the vibrant colors and aromas, marking the seasons by what is available, what looks healthy, what smells fresh and good. I miss asking the growers and makers about their products. I miss coming home with a basket full of goodness.

I am surrounded by gardens here at the Cottage, but I am in the early stages of knowing the seasons here because they are quite different than they were in the shadows of Mount Pisgah. When I moved from upstate New York to the mountains of North Carolina it took time for my body and spirit to adjust to the differences in how and when the seasons presented, and I was able to do that by paying attention to the sensory clues that nature makes available.

Now that I know what I've been missing, I will work on finding a way to adapt.

Juneberry Pie of My Dreams

There are a great many things wrong with the City of Asheville, NC, but one of the things they managed to get right was establishing a Food Action Plan that supports access to healthy food in a limited sense of those words. There are multiple places in the city where fruit and nut trees provide harvest for anyone to enjoy, and there is an online map to help folks find those locations. (Link at the end of this post.)

Six years ago I learned about Asheville's Juneberries (a/k/a Serviceberries) through an on-line group, and decided I had to see what all the fuss was about. I located some of the trees, periodically checked to see if the fruit was ripe, and when it was I sampled that sweet juicy goodness. The berries are small, taste like a mixture of blueberry and cherry, and instantly became my favorite berry EVAH. 

I requested assistance from my favorite co-adventurer and together we picked a couple of berry buckets full in less than half an hour. The trees we were picking from then were probably five or six years old and produced an incredible crop; what we put in our buckets and our mouths was less than a third of the ripe berries on each tree. We took our treasure home, and with our combined harvest I made a Juneberry pie and canned some pie filling. Two jars of that filling went to friends who also had never had Juneberries, and I put two jars into the pantry with the mindful intention of using them to call up summer when the weight of winter became too heavy. One particularly cold winter day I opened those jars of pie filling and baked a pie and a cobbler that each held the bright, warm taste of Summer's promises. 

That was the day I knew that if we were ever able to buy our own home we were going to plant Juneberry trees. And we did, and so we did. In about two weeks we will mark the one year anniversary of our move in date, and the day after that we will mark the one year anniversary of the Juneberry trees (Amelanchier x grandiflora, Autumn Brilliance) that were planted in our front yard the day after we officially moved in. Appalachian Creek Nursery helped get our dream of a critter and pollinator friendly yard off to a fine start. 

At that time I noted that when the Wheel of the Year began to turn back to summer again we should be harvesting berries from our own trees if we could manage to save any of them from the bears and the birds. I hoped there would be a pie or two made and maybe even a few jars set up.

It was a special sort of delight this year to watch as the leaves started to grow, and then the flowers came, and finally the first berries started to show. I've never had fruit trees before, and I thought I would have to race the birds once the berries were actually ripe. Wrong! One day I watched for an hour as a mockingbird came and went repeatedly, taking red, unripened berries from one of the trees. As with everything here at the Cottage, it was our intention to share the harvest with the critters, but I thought at that rate there would never be any harvest to share. I made the decision to net the trees to keep the birds away, and I will just say that is something I will never do again. The trees were miserable, the birds were confused, and I had to rescue several butterflies who became trapped inside the netting. 

Traumatic netting aside, the berries survived and within a week were ripe enough to start picking. The first taste of the first berries from the trees grown by Cottage land and Cottage energy was divine. I'm not saying that lightly, or tritely. I made a pact with this land, and this harvest was part of the reward for keeping my end of the bargain. Be mindful if ever you do something similar to do what you said you would do. The rewards can be grand in many different ways, but the opposite could be unthinkable.

I took my time picking those berries. I talked to the trees and thanked them, I looked at the branch structure, and the leaves, and even the saplings coming out of the ground. I also took notice of the cluster patterns of berries at the end of new growth, already beginning to get some idea on how each tree will need to be pruned back. And of course I was tasting berries as I was picking, standing in the sun in the front yard. I had waited a long time for this harvest and I wanted to enjoy every moment. 

This first harvest season for these trees I took about 8 cups of fruit, and the birds took that much as well. I believe that is pretty good for two year old trees, and look forward to the harvest increasing every year. I have been a bit surprised that the neighborhood bears haven't taken their share...yet.

Does it surprise you to know I baked a pie the night I picked those berries? I savored the taste of it at the very end of the day, and the flavor melted into my mouth and my spirit, a combination of the sweetest summer memories and the best summer promises ever made. These are the things that keep me grounded in the here and now, living every moment of every day. 

https://avl.maps.arcgis.com/apps/StoryMapCrowdsource/index.html?appid=4200139df5a245d5a1983b81798c97d8

Going Green, Gone Solar

About 750 years ago I was a little kid living in a small town in upstate New York. It was actually the only city in a rural county, surrounded by dairy and farm land, and from my youthful perspective not the kind of place where progressive thinking was a common thing. Yet somebody was progressive enough to install a solar energy system on a little house near the high school, and before I knew anything about anything I was enchanted by the thought of the Sun keeping a home warm. Solar energy became part of my eventual dream for a little cottage. 

Fast forward centuries later, and Rhodes and I bought a little house last year that clearly had the potential for becoming our combined dream home, and the house that needed some work became Bear Path Cottage. 

As a couple we are committed to going green as much as we can. We aren't ever going to win any awards for being environmental heroes, but we do our best to reduce our negative impact on the environment, and to reduce our carbon footprint. The green changes we have made to the outside of the property are the most visually evident ones; adding gardens and planting trees and other things to attract and sustain pollinators as well as make our family a little more food independent is a big deal to us. If we don't beat the birds, raccoons, and bears to the berries every year, well, that's just part of the gardening game in the mountains and they are just some of the neighbors we can share our harvest with. 

Some additional changes we made were replacing the electric tank water heater with a gas tankless system, replacing old windows with more energy efficient ones, and when we decided to add a parking space for my father-in-law's entrance to the house we opted for a permeable parking system. That choice was inspired by (though it looks nothing like)  the amazing parking system that we saw when we visited The Wild Center in Tupper Lake, NY. (https://www.wildcenter.org/thrive-together/sustainable-building/our-green-facility/) Those water penetrable paver lots made such an impression on us we carried the thought of them with us for four years. Thanks, Wild Center!

We had long discussed and agreed that we wanted to implement solar options if we bought a house where it was suitable. The long roof side of Bear Path Cottage is directly south facing and is basically a solar dream. After we closed on the house I attempted to research reputable local solar companies, but it is not easy to find information about that. The regional electric company was also no help, and there is actually a great deal of misinformation on the internet. We decided to put that project on the back burner until we could find more information. 

We had just started talking about it again when I saw that a former colleague is working as a sales rep for a solar company. I chatted with her a bit, did some research on the company, and then she came to meet with us to discuss the process. We were excited by the options presented to us, and couldn't wait to get started.

In February of this year a crew installed the solar panels on our roof. I admit it was a little disconcerting to listen to people drill holes in the less than a year old Cottage roof, but the work crew was professional, our rep was on top of everything, and in half a day's time we had the bones of the system in place. 

Duke Energy seemed to drag their feet on their end of things that had to happen to get the system running, and then the arrival of a pandemic and the related shut downs also slowed things down a bit. No worries - we are patient people. After more paperwork, and more emails, and the installation of the net meter, we were finally ready to power up. 

Four days ago Rhodes followed careful instructions from the solar company and flipped the switches that officially turned Bear Path Cottage into a generating facility, complete with a net meter and a solar photovoltaic generating system. But what do these $5 words even mean? 

For starters, it does not mean that we are off the electric grid, and it does not mean we can make money from the electricity generated by our solar panels. Duke Energy doesn't like either of those things, and does not allow them to happen. 

However, it does mean that we are now offsetting our electric bills with renewable energy produced through the solar panels/generating system installed at the Cottage. This is how our solar company explains our system: "After solar panels are installed on your home you begin producing power. Any excess power your home doesn’t use will be sent back to your utility company. Your electric meter will run backwards. You will feed excess energy to the utility company during the day and then receive it back during the nighttime, at no cost."

It also means that some time down the road when solar batteries became an affordable option we will be able to store any excess energy produced by our generating system and then potentially go off grid. Additionally, we will still pay Duke Energy for whatever usage we have over and above what the Cottage produces. 

In less than four whole days the system has produced 58 kilowatt hours of electricity, and yesterday produced nearly 25 kWh. According to Duke Energy, we used 773 kWh in the last billing cycle of 31 days, which averages out to slightly less than 25 kWh per day. Translation: overall we are breaking even with output and usage, so are successfully reducing our use of fossil fuels and our carbon emissions. That's a good feeling, and another part of the dream coming true.

Dear hometown person from the 1970's who installed a solar energy system: someone noticed, and it made a difference. Thank you. 

Note: No photos, because the electric system bits are boring, and the panels blend so well with our roof that they are difficult to distinguish from the angle from which I could take a photo. So, here's a photo of the view from the Eagle's Nest at The Wild Center. 

Finding Grace

Today I wrote to a friend that I have been trying to find some grace in every day.

I am tired. Somedays I am exhausted, even beyond the normal fatigue I deal with because of some health issues, or the physical fatigue that comes from working outside as much as I am able, and I think that this is normal during this difficult time. The pandemic and the political climate in this country, on top of everything else going wrong in this world, can be overwhelming. So I make myself slow down, I make myself see, I make myself hear, I make myself feel, and by doing that, I find grace, which in turn gives me hope and some sense of peace in this Upside Down.

Yesterday morning I was busy moving wagon loads of plant debris from the raised bed in the front yard to the compost pile out back. Its a bit of a walk and on my second trip back I sat down on Blueberry Hill to rest. The sun was warm on my face and there was a light breeze blowing. I closed my eyes for a while and did a quiet meditation, then I opened my arms and let that wind move through me, carrying away all that was negative.

When I opened my eyes again the day seemed a little brighter. I heard the low cooing of a Mourning Dove in the loblolly pine branches above me, and I turned my eyes to see if I could find the bird. A pair of them had been nesting in another tree in our front garden, but had abandoned that nest after a wind storm. I was hoping to find their new home space, but they both moved in and out of the high-up branches and then flew away.

Movement on the ground caught my eye and I saw a female American Robin doing a funny little walk/run across the driveway, moving towards where I was sitting. She would stop and look at me, then run a little more. She eventually went up the hill past me and I watched until she caught a worm then flew up into the tree over my head. And lo, there it was. This year's nest in the loblolly pine. The minute she stepped close to it two little heads on two scrawny necks popped up out of the nest, and those little mouths were wide open, ready for their elevenses.

The Sun was lined up so perfectly behind that nest, behind that branch, that in that moment the babies were completely backlit. The light actually shone through their beaks, illuminating them and making them appear transluscent. It reminded me of last Autumn when the rising Sun shone through the sunflowers blooming in our front garden; the whole scene was so magical that I held my breath, not wanting it to end.

Then their mom moved to feed them, and in the next instant she was fluffing her wings and settling down over her babies in the nest. Take whatever message you want to take from that moment, from that image, but I was just so overwhelmed by love that I cried.

I sat there under the tree for a while longer, musing about that moment of grace and about the way the Wheel turns. Moments pass, days go by, the year moves on, but I am often gifted with reminders of how everything is connected. Sunflowers and baby birds kissed by the same Sun. Friends who share music that makes them dance, or laugh, or cry, or worship. Art that makes people smile or sigh. Garden talk and critter pictures; despair and hope; loss and love.

There is grace in every bit of it, and I am blessed.

The False Narrative: The Need for Forgiveness in Order to Heal

The False Narrative: The Need for Forgiveness in Order to Heal

The path to healing from trauma and grief is deeply personal and can be fraught with contradictions and confusion.

I have carried a great deal of anger surrounding the circumstances of my youngest daughter’s life challenges and death. Her mental illnesses and addiction issues took her into terrible circumstances and into contact with some horrible people. Over the years she shared details of some soul shattering experiences with me, and after she died I received confirmation about the worst betrayal of them all.

It has been my experience that many people do not have any idea how truly bad life can be right here in America. I don’t want to share those horrible stories here or anywhere else, but I will say that the cringe-worthy, frightening, nauseating kind of things you see in movies or read in novels or social media posts really do happen to people you know and to people who live in your community. Making that statement isn’t a quest for drama, nor is it an exaggeration. There are monsters in this world, and most of them are human.

There are many victims of those events and those monsters; the individuals who experience them, their families and friends, the communities that absorb the impact, the EMTs, the police officers, the social workers, the emergency room personnel, the detectives who work countless hours to build a case. The list goes on and on, moving out in endless ripples that create small waves for some and tsunamis for others.

In the midst of all that overwhelming motion, victims are often told that they should forgive the person who caused the harm. They are told that forgiveness is the only path to peace, that in order to heal, to move on, to become whole, they must forgive the offender. And if the offender has found religion, found Jesus or Odin or the Divine in any form, the victim especially must forgive them and welcome their presence in community.

I had been hearing that call for forgiveness for 50 years, and after Beth’s death I wanted to believe it because I wanted to finally move away from the pain her years of suffering had caused. I was willing to grab hold of whatever seemed like a viable means to do that. Three years after her death, three years of feeling and processing and thinking, I have come to a point where I call bullshit on the topic of forgiveness as a means to healing.

There are times when forgiving someone may be a healthy thing to do, as when persons in a healthy, balanced relationship have a serious conflict or disagreement and then come to a resolution of the matter. There are times when an individual’s faith allows forgiveness to bring peace. But there are times when forgiveness is a toxic tool, the use of which is driven by misperception, laziness, selfishness, and power imbalances present in outdated patriarchal religious, legal, and community systems.

Who benefits from forgiveness, overall? What falsehoods are behind that mask? Sometimes victims are urged to forgive an offender because it makes it easier for everyone else to move on with their lives, and because the existence of their pain and trauma is an inconvenience to others. Harm caused creates an imbalance that is felt as an energetic negative. Individuals and communities, consciously or subconsciously, perceive that imbalance as a debt that must be paid to restore wholeness to the individual and to the collective. The presence of that debt is, consciously or subconsciously, discomforting and disturbing, and so the whole presses for balance to be restored to itself above the needs of the individual victim. Salving the conscience of the people who cause harm or those who are made uncomfortable by anger and grief should never be made the burden of the person who has been wronged or injured.

The act of forgiveness implies that a debt has been settled or released, and the suggestion that the victim must release the offender from that debt creates an unnecessary burden on the one who has been wronged. It creates a false narrative that forces the victim to give yet another thing to someone who has already stolen things of immeasurable value, and creates a disturbing cosmic sense of the balance of debts owed and paid. Furthermore, there are circumstances in which any debt owed by an offender is owed at a level beyond human constructs; when the injury caused is so grievous a matter that the debt created is held by the Divine, and so the matter of forgiveness becomes a matter between the offender and their own Divine.

Contained within the grief of losing someone are multiple boxes. One box holds anger and all the other negative feelings directed towards the external factors that influenced a loved one’s death. Another box holds all the questions that can never be answered, all the regrets and unspoken or unaccepted apologies, and all the misunderstandings and miscommunications that were never quite sorted out. But there is also a box that holds the love, the happy memories, and the hopeful dream of one more sunset, one more conversation, one more smile somewhere on the other side.

Comes a time, and it is different for each person, when one realizes that the weight of what is held within that negative box is overwhelming, that its presence causes weariness, that one cannot rise against its pull. With that realization comes the choice to be made: which box makes life better? Which one is worth carrying? Which one is it time to put down?

It is possible to experience compassion without forgiveness. It is possible to have an understanding of circumstances without forgiveness. It is possible and healthy to focus on healing one’s self without carrying the responsibility of healing others, and forgiveness is not a necessary step on that path.

Peaceful, Easy Feeling

This weekend didn't go quite as I'd planned, but I'm not complaining. Rhodes and I have been running hard for the past few weeks, and without setting an intention to do so, we spent this weekend in a state of semi-hibernation. We caught up on some much needed sleep, ate good, healthy, home cooked food, and stayed up ridiculously late at night talking, reading, and watching some thought provoking television. We also spent a few morning hours lazing in bed together, watching the birds through the big bedroom window that I still love so much.

The feathered extravaganza in the backyard never ceases to amaze me: our avian neighbors include Blue Jays, Cardinals, a pair of Eastern Towhees, Carolina Chickadees, Titmice, Song Sparrows, Carolina Wrens, Downy Woodpecker, Hairy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, White-Breasted Nuthatch, Mourning Doves (I am sure they are the same babies that I watched mature in our front yard last spring), Cowbirds, Phoebes, Brown Nuthatch, Robins, Red Winged Blackbirds, and Black-Capped Chickadees. They move in and out of the yard in a casually choreographed way, their flight patterns as they come and go weaving a spell into the fabric of the Cottage's being.

The weather and temperature were so perfect today that we were lured outside to do some projects. We finished construction on the raised bed garden for the North Wing, and I can't wait to see how it will look later when it is full of beautiful, vibrant plants. Here are some before, during, and after shots of the project:

We also marked out the space for planting blueberry bushes along the north fence line, and sat on that hill (yes, it will become known as Blueberry Hill!) for a while, soaking up the sun and talking. Plans were made for hammock, witch hazel, and hazel nut tree placement, and plans were finalized for placing the habitat fence along the existing fenceline. Although we've had a compost pile since last spring, today we built the first of three compost bins, using pallets we've acquired with rock and materials deliveries; another of the ways in which we are slowly sorting out how we fit into this beautiful space we now call home.

North yard sitting and then wandering as we talked turned up some gifts from the bird neighbors: a scattered collection of Blue Jay feathers. I hope I can find a way to save them that will preserve the colors.

And now the kitchen is calling, and I must go. I'm going to carry this peaceful, easy feeling with me for as long as I am able. "I've got a peaceful, easy feeling, and I know you won't let me down, cuz I'm already standing on the ground."

https://youtu.be/n-0lRkuNyj0

Topsail Island Sand and Prayers

A little more than seven years ago my new lover and I took a trip to the coast of North Carolina; for different reasons we both wanted to touch the waters of the Great Mother. We arrived sometime after 4 a.m. and went straight to Herself. I walked across the moonlit sand feeling a mixture of joy and reverence in the duality of Her presence there, slipping my shoes off as I went, already talking softly to Her, eager to get my feet in the water.

My lover, a veteran of the U.S. Coast Guard, ran past me. Two seconds after I said "Hello, Goddess," I heard him shout "Hello you bitch, I'm back!" Then he laughed like a maniac as he strode into the water to meet Her. I learned over time that their relationship was often a tempestuous and challenging one, but he loves Her, unfailingly, in Her form as Ocean. I married him a few years later - best decision I ever made. 

On that trip I gathered shells and sand and ocean water from the various beaches we visited. I'm a Witch; that's how we do. I've kept them all in carefully labeled mason jars for all this time, just like I keep herbs and flowers and horsehair. One never knows what one is going to need to make a correspondence or connection.

I've been doing the musing side of working on a ritual for the safety of someone I love very much. Like many others he is in danger because of the dire lack of statesmanship and intelligence that exists in this world.  I've been trying to piece together the hows of sending energy around the world. Things like this can be so very simple, and so very complicated. 

Then tonight I was reading a passionately beautiful and righteously angry post by Corky Edwards of Australia, who while writing in response to how some folks are trying to help with the fires devouring that country reminded us that "Every grain of sand and dirt and stone touches that which is next to it, from one grain to the next, covering the entire globe. You can send your energy everywhere and anywhere if you focus."

The little light bulb in the closet in my mind went off, and I made my way to the closet in the study where I keep my Craft supplies. I searched through dozens of mason jars until I found the one I was looking for. Then I found just the right candle and some other supplies, set my altar for a specific purpose, and essentially asked my Topsail Island sand to convey the message to that sandy land so very far away.

I am tired,and a little sick, and a little sick and tired, so I'm going to acknowledge that I don't have the energy to write this to completion tonight. I'm not always as good as I want to be.

Goddess, please bless all the people caught up in this unholy storm. Shelter those who can be sheltered, protect those who can be protected, heal those who will need healing, and be gentle with those beyond such need. 

Safely home, kid; you and all your brothers and sisters. Safe in body, and as safe in mind and spirit as you can possibly be.

Solstice Day

I woke in the darkness this morning, and before my eyes were even all the way open I could feel the shifting energy of the approaching Solstice. This is the shortest day of the year before the return of the Light and there is a thread of expectent delight weaving itself through everything I move through today. 

I sat in the darkness of the living room for a couple of hours; I did some meditation, my morning prayers, an internal inventory, and then I just listened to Rhodes breathing down the hall, and to the Cottage breathing all around me. 

Although it is cloudy here today, I longed to be out of doors, so I lured my adventure partner out of our warm bed and down the road, seeking. We had a brilliant adventure, sharing views, conversation, music, and a thermos mug of hot mint tea. The Sun, Himself, made a few appearances through thinning cloud cover; bright and brilliant and confident as ever in His ability to shine. 

When Rhodes and I finally wound our way back down the road and home we went for a walk around the Cottage grounds, checking the plants and trees and our plans for the future. I was amused to learn that we have the same plan to build a rock seating wall around the Eastern Red Cedar in the North yard sometime down the road. 

This afternoon I am kitchen witching in the sweetest way, filling the house with memories and love of my Mom, my Grandmother, and the Great Gramma Lewis I don't remember at all. It is her sugar cookie recipe that made one of the most magical parts of the Christmas holiday happen in my Mother's kitchen and at the dining room table.

I don't think it is a secret that my mother was not a very good cook. Whether she was locked into simplicity by the demands of feeding seven children, or had no interest in culinary exploration, family legend says (and my mother herself confirmed this) that when she and my father first married she actually burned a pan when trying to boil water. I don't recall things improving much over the course of my childhood.

But Christmas cookies? Oh, man, that was her shining time of year. I have no recollection of how many batches of cookies she made, but during my early years the list was always the same: mincemeat cookies, pumpkin cookies, oatmeal cookies, peanut butter cookies (always pressed so prettily with a fork to make a cross-hatch!), chocolate chip cookies, and sugar cookies (rolled and cut with cookie cutters into stockings, stars, trees, angels, and santas).

She made so many cookies at one time that she mixed the cookie dough in her biggest cooking pot, and I can remember the first time I was allowed to help. I had to sit on our wooden high chair with no tray on it at the kitchen counter because I couldn't reach. She taught me how to use a spoon to cream the sugar into the shortening, and let me find out on my own just exactly how nasty vanilla extract tastes right out of the bottle. My favorite part of the making was using the flour sifter. She helped me to carefully measure the flour into the sifter, and then had to help me turn the little crank handle because I couldn't get it started myself. I was fascinated by that process, and when she said we had to do that two more times I was excited.

I don't know how she had the patience, or even the time, to teach me to set the sifter into another bowl, and carefully scoop the once sifted flour back into it; then repeating the process again with the other dry ingredients added. "Go slow. Go slow, or it will fly all over the place." And she laughed at me the first time that it did.

I don't remember actually doing so, but I know we were allowed to help decorate the sugar cookies. If we all participated, that would have been 7 kids turned loose with colored frosting and sprinkles and cinnamon red hots (I do remember that I loved to press those into warm sugar cookies, they looked so pretty) and some years those really pretty little silver balls.

I'm setting the stage for that magic today, baking Gramma Lewis' sugar cookies to decorate with Katie, Justin, and Emily tomorrow. I'll make the icing in the morning, and the bottles of sprinkles will be all lined up and ready to go. 

If you find yourself in need of a real sugar cookie this holiday season, come on by. I'm happy to share the magic!

Solstice blessings to you, my family and friends! May the returning Sun warm your body as it warms the body of the earth, and may the returning light fill your heart and spirit with joy and hope. Blessed be!

Sweet Journey

I have been writing tonight, revisiting the concept of smooring. Such a lovely Scottish word, and such a lovely action whether it be a hearth fire or a candle to be smoored.
I am grateful for all the wise and powerful Witches and women who have shared knowledge with me over the years. It can be a tricky thing to be a mostly solitary practitioner but still build ties to community. I have been blessed.
Are you growing weary of these dark days? Hold fast, my friends. Solstice draws nigh.
Good night, peeps. May your dreams be soft tonight, and your sleep a sweet journey to morning.

Not Your Mother's Table

THIS IS NOT YOUR MOTHER'S TABLE

I bet you all thought I was going to forget to remind you of this, this year.
Wrong! Some parts of me are with it and balanced.

So, without further ado: Holiday guilt-free pass.

I have a dear friend who suffers from debilitating anxiety. She posted a meme that asks people to understand how difficult the holidays can be for people who have anxiety, and described some of the ways in which they struggle.

I add to that this request: please be kind and understanding about the schedules of your family and friends, especially when it comes to your adult children. More than kind and understanding, please also be generous enough to be the person who gives them the gift of a guilt-free pass.

Balancing the holiday demands of multiple families can be a nightmare, especially if those families all insist on sharing a meal or even time together on the same day. Rushing from one gathering to the next makes for an exhausting day filled with stressful expectations.

Guilt-free pass: "Hey, I know the holidays can be crazy. Don't worry about Thanksgiving Day here (or Yule, or Christmas, or Hanukkah). Let's plan something around your schedule. And by the way - this is a GUILT FREE PASS. I love you."

Saturday afternoon dinner or dessert, or Sunday brunch or Wednesday night sandwiches and chips, when everyone is relaxed and happy, can be every bit the holiday you make it in your head and heart, especially if it is all about the love and being thankful.

Morning Routine

I am out of bed early these days, whether or not I have slept. I am re-learning the power of being true to my body's natural rhythms; for me that includes being up and productive before sunrise. My creative energy flows best in the early hours, and I love the inherent promises imbedded in the arrival of each new day.

I've just been outside to greet the rising Sun. Today He is dressed in long gray robes that flow down from the sky to drape the mountains that surround me. The rain that is falling is cold on my skin; the jellycoat I love to wear for warmth is not exactly water repellent but I have never minded the rain.

There is enough of a breeze to blow the rain onto our narrow front porch and to cause the rain chains to sway in a little morning dance, and I find myself moving with them in the soft ages-old dance of every woman who has ever held a child on her hip. I love the plink-plink-plink sound of water flowing down the chains, through the lotus cups, and down the chains again. I settle into one of the front porch chairs, my hands and fingers kept warm by my favorite mug holding my currently favorite tea.

It would be easy in this time of year to forget about the land that holds the Cottage and focus on indoor projects only. Days are often cold and wet; going outside often requires bundling up and putting on my wellies. Most green things are tucked away for the cold and dark days, held safe in the body of the Mother where she will either consume or nourish them, so it seems like there wouldn't be much to see. But the getting acquainted with my land and the land spirits who dwell here doesn't stop with the turning of the seasons; neither does growing a relationship nor educating myself about the terra, flora, and fauna for which I have accepted stewardship. Rising before dawn, the first cup of tea, going outside to walk the land or breath fresh air, to check in with the land as I start my day - these things are part of the routine that are necessary to my healing journey.

On this soft gray morning I watch the way the water runs down our driveway. I see where it cuts across the stones into the Cottage Garden and note that I will have to consult my Chief Engineer about doing something to re-route it there. I carry my mug to the end of the porch and stand leaning against the railing, watching to see how the water moves around the lavender bed and I am content with the dispersed flow through the river rocks piled there. The statue of three little bears makes me smile, as it always does. I affirm our plan to put a rain barrel in under the downspout on the corner of the North Wing, and make a note to check out the South and back yards for rain barrel placement as well. Creating plans for the future helps me to feel grounded in the Here and Now.

I move back to the other end of the porch to sit for a while longer, and am pleased to hear the morning bird chorus start its song. First one, then another, then another joins in. They call back and forth to each other as they work to sing the Sun into the sky. From where I sit, the plink-plink sounds of the rain chain provide an under-rhythm to the combined sounds of falling rain and bird song. In this moment, everything feels right. I carry the fluid grace and soft energy of this day into the house with me, back to my desk, and into my healing process.

Peace out, people.

Rolling Towards Autumn's Sweet, Sweet Days

I grew up watching the Waltons on television, swept up in the romantacized story of a large extended family sharing a home. Of course there were conflicts, but they were always resolved by the time the "Good night Momma, good night Daddy, good night John Boy" closing lines rolled around.

My great-grandfather LaPorte lived with us for a time when I was small. I don't know how long he stayed with us, but I have lovely memories of him, and I associate his presence in our home with happy things.

Twice as an adult I moved in with my parents. Multiple times my adult children moved in with me. I am not a stranger to the concept of family sharing a home, and it is one that makes sense to me in many ways.

When my husband's mother died four years ago, we began to discuss the possibility of asking his father if he would like to live with us. I think we were mostly concerned that he would be lonely on his own. We talked it through many times, but never brought it up with Larry because we didn't think he'd want to leave the last home he had shared with Jan. He is in good health, and very active in his church and other community groups. When we told him that we were going to leave the Mountain and hoped to buy a home, he surprised us when he suggested that we look for something with an in-law apartment. Because Rhodes and I had discussed it so often, we were ready to make the adjustment to having Larry live with us, but we weren't certain that he had thought it through. We waited a few days, then talked with him to make sure we all had the same expectations, that we would all be open about communicating needs and issues, and that he really wanted to make such a big change.

The biggest concern that this dear man had was that his laundry schedule not be interrupted. Monday, he said, was laundry day. Rhodes and I just laughed. Of course he could have his laundry day! (Which has since been switched to Wednesdays, because why not?)

I miss my parents every day, and I am so aware of what a blessing it is for us to be able to have this time with Larry; for Rhodes to have so much extra time with his Dad. We all have our own space if we need or want it, but we often watch television together, and share evening meals almost every night. On days when our schedules mesh, we sometimes have breakfast or lunch. Rhodes and I enjoy it when Larry wanders into our side of the house just to talk, and I love listening to the two of them laughing and talking together.

There is an extra sweetness to these days, an awareness of Autumn approaching in the normal cycle of the Turning of the Wheel of the Year, but also in the spinning of the wheels of our lives. I can close my eyes and see the pattern as the days weave the deepening colors of Autumn into a cloak that I can pull around me for shelter and warmth when needs must.

Living with an attitude of gratitude, and counting this adorable Elder as a special blessing in my life.

Peace out, peeps, and Blessed Be.

~sheri

Moving Day

Moving Day

It is 10:30 in the morning, and except for the cats who are stuck in the bathroom until the movers work their magic and deliver all our furniture and heavy boxes, I am alone in our new home. Bear Path Cottage. My dream come true. We will spend our first night here tonight, but our first sleep here will take place sometime this afternoon when we've made the bed and Rhodes and I and the cats settle in for an afternoon nap. I've been looking forward to that nap for days.

When we took possession of the house two months ago, a nap wasn't at the top of my list for "first thing" in the Cottage, but this has been a long, happy, stressful, joy-filled, exhausting, thrilling, two months. An afternoon nap in the soft green-tinted natural light that fills our beautiful bedroom is absolutely the most perfect celebration I can think of.

The process of restoring this house and filling it with good vibes, love, and peaceful energy has at times been a challenge, and a solid, tangible, touchable metaphor for the painful healing journey I am on. I have learned that the Cottage will not give up the scars it carries from its 37 years of existence, and I have learned that it is okay for those scars to show. She earned her scars just as I have earned mine, and although they don't always reveal their backstory, they are a testament to strength.

If there were a banner across our front porch it might read "This Home was Made with Love." I am (and Rhodes is too) deeply grateful to the family and friends who helped us fill these rooms with love, laughter, music, and memories through the days of transformation. It might be difficult for some folks to understand that moving into this dream and knowing that Beth will never physically be here with us is deeply painful. The built-in memories and hand-crafted touches of love that we are starting with help to ease that pain.

Last night we heard a bullfrog singing his night song somewhere down the road, and when we got back from a riduculously late dinner our yard was filled with fireflies. The gardens are growing, and yesterday we found fresh bear scat in the part of the yard we call the North 40. Our notch-eared neighbor rabbit makes an almost daily appearance in the front yard, and the birds fill the air with song and raucous calls. We are surrounded by nature. We are surrounded by magic. We are doing our best to respond with love.

Six years and three days on the Mountain, and now that we are leaving, we are finally home. Welcome to Bear Path Cottage.

Peace out, peeps.

~sheri

Even When All You Can Do Is Remember To Breathe

There are moments in any given day, and days, and weeks at a time when my grief for my youngest daughter, Elizabeth Jean, washes every moment with tears or finds me standing at the edge of sanity, wondering if I shouldn't just jump. Those moments have been many, of late. I am grateful for the anchors that keep me here. 

She was drifting away for such a long time. I have missed her for ages, and can only hold on to the belief that someday I won't have to miss her anymore.

May 30, 2106 - I didn't publish this one, because it was about Beth.

(Never) Lost
Those who don't know can't know it,
And those who do try hard not to show it.
There is always an empty place at the table,
Always a do the best you are able,
Even when all you can do is remember to breathe.
There is always some old when to remember,
And always an extra chill to November,
Even with extra hearts hanging on your sleeve.
Color the tattoos, run in the sun,
Color outside the lines of your life, Learn again how to have fun.
Live every day to remember how to live every day.
Even when life begins to seem better, there will always be an empty place at the table.

May 30, 2016 - This one, I shared, because it was about Beth and so much more.

Never Lost
The sun rose today and I reveled in its warmth.
The sky was blue, with wispy clouds, and I adored its promise of forever.
I adventured to a place where I walked a mile high,
And I heard the wind singing wild songs through the trees and the wires.
I walked 600 feet into the body of the Great Mother,
Where I felt Her heart beating in time with mine, felt Her love brush away the cold breath of death remembered, and the tears She wept for fallen warriors kissed my head and upturned face.
I talked and laughed with, and hugged and kissed, the man who is my best friend and lover.
I soaked up every minute of living, filling my spirit with Life each time I filled my lungs with air.
I ate ice cream and drank sweet tea and drank in honeyed love,
Because your lives and your deaths have taught me the importance of being in the here and now.
I thought of each of you today, I grieved and cried and smiled at memories of you.
These are the things that keep you safely in my heart.
My faith tells me that you are safe and at peace somewhere on the other side.
Safe in heart, safe in your own heaven,
You are, then, never lost.

Peace out, peeps.

~sb

Reading List (Or, Down the Happy Rabbit Hole)

Random musing: I was delighted this morning to see that the lavendar in the front garden is starting to bloom! This was the first thing I planted here at the Cottage, and I have hopeful plans for a larger lavendar bed somewhen down the road. I love the scent of this flowering plant, and just walking by and brushing the leaves to release the scent or clipping a small piece to carry with me can elevate my mood. I have also been reading that lavendar can be helpful with improving memory and reducing stress. 

I have difficulty focusing for long (and short) periods of time these days. (Thanks, fibromyalgia and PTSD.) The twisted one I live with suggested that I write just the first sentence and end this blog post there. I think not! It has taken me three days to write this, but I will see it through to the end. 

One of the things I am doing to work on healing my brain is reading. Remember books? Those physical objects, bound with paper or cloth or some version of it? I sure do. My love affair with books started before I was four years old, and actually holding a book, feeling the paper, and even the scent of a book can help to ground me. Those things can also send me off into a world of daydreams, but that's not important right now.

In a couple of weeks my pile of unread books will be stacked in a crate on my desk where they can tease my mind every day. I hope that eventually I will be back to my old reading 2 or 3 or 4 books a week self.

What's on your reading list? Please feel free to share in the comments below!

Here's what I have in my To Be Read pile, in no particular order:

• Touch the Earth Kiss the Sky: Allowing the Rational Mind to Welcome Magic & Spirtuality – Diotima Mantineia   (not yet available, but soon!)
• The Boy and The Girl Who Broke the World – Amy Reed (not yet available, but soon!)
• Carrots Love Tomatoes: Secrets of Companion Planting for Successful Gardening - Louise Riotte
• Roses Love Garlic – Louise Riotte 
• Hexology: The History & Good-Luck Meanings of the Hex Symbols - Jacob Zook and Prof. Johnny Ott 
• Hopkins: Poems (Everyman's Library Pocket Poets Series) - Hopkins, Gerard Manley 
• Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays - Christa Wolf 
• Personal Mythology: Using Ritual, Dreams, and Imagination to Discover Your Inner Story - David Feinstein Ph.D.
• The Heroine's Journey - Maureen Murdock
• Writing Fiction, Tenth Edition: A Guide to Narrative Craft (Chicago Guides to Writing, Editing, and Publishing) - Janet Burroway
• Beyond the North Wind: The Fall and Rise of the Mystic North - Christopher McIntosh
• The Lavender Lover's Handbook: The 100 Most Beautiful and Fragrant Varieties for Growing, Crafting, and Cooking - Sarah Berringer Bader, 
• The Seven Perfumes of Sacrifice - Amy Logan
• Leaves of Grass – Walt Whitman 
• MISTY OF CHINCOTEAGUE - Margaret Henry 
• The Fern Herbal: Including the Ferns, the Horsetails, and the Club Mosses - Elfriede Martha Abbe 
• If Women Rose Rooted: A Journey to Authenticity and Belonging - Sharon Blackie
• The Mythic Moons of Avalon: Lunar and Herbal Wisdom from the Isle of Healing - Jhenah Telyndru