Mid-January: Deep Winter Visits

Sometime in the early morning hours during our first deep freeze of the year, the pipes for the chicken watering system exploded with enough force that it knocked the whole thing askew. The crack and boom sound roused the dog, who in turn roused the Cottage Engineer, who in turn determined that with an outdoor temperature that felt like -3 degrees, an investigation into whatever caused the noise could wait until daylight. So it did, and the photo below shows what that investigation revealed on a cold morning last week.

Ouch. Best estimates: the shut-off valve from the rain barrel was frozen partially open, and although it seemed like the water supply had been turned off, it was not. Ouch again, and oops. These things happen, and we just move forward. Fortunately, the heated waterer in use inside the coop can serve as a temporary backup with the minimal additional cost of labor (mine) to fill that water source every day. Since the staff here at BPC are elbow deep in the kitchen redo, I'm grateful to have the time that gives us to re-think and re-engineer before we rebuild the watering system. 

This photo was taken when the coop and barn were first built. It shows the Engineer in deep thought about some project design. I am holding space for this forward for the water redo. 

I just came back inside from tending the chickens. It is currently 8 degrees and feels like -6 with the wind chill. Most of the girls were still in the coop; nobody was in a hurry to go out in this cold. Hank stopped at the back door and looked up at me as if to measure my sanity. Sorry, pup. If you want out, this is the only way to go. Two nights ago Hamish scooted through the back door when Rhodes and Hank were coming in. I spent 30 minutes tracking him all around the neighborhood before he finally allowed me to pick him up and carry him home. This morning, he looked toward the door with absolutely zero interest in traveling through it. 

It snowed all day yesterday, resulting in a sparse dusting on the ground here at the Cottage. This land is tucked into a sweet little geographical bowl, and weather systems are often funneled around us by the mountain ranges to the north and south. I would love to experience a good, heavy snowfall; it has been two years since a measurable amount fell here. Goodness knows we need the precipitation, but She also knows the many ways in which people and domestic animals suffer in wet, cold weather. Perhaps she is doing a kindness here. (note: silly, ridiculous, hopeful wishing on the part of this writer.)

No surprise that I am choosing to spend the remainder of this cold spell emulating the black bear by denning in. I will consume and produce words, do some hearth magic, and periodically fall into a state of torpor. I do not know for certain whether bears are grateful for their dens, but I am for mine. I'm going to go refill my tea cup and create a flexible map for the balance of this day.

With love from Bear Path Cottage,

Sheri

The Snow Princess

Sorrow crossed my path today. After a moment's hesitation, I greeted it as I do most old friends, with a gentle welcome and an offer to sit together for a while. I have never found a way to avoid it, anyway. No, holding compassion for sorrow seems to be the ticket, methinks. Besides, I cannot imagine carrying all that it carries without some kindness and a cup of tea.

During our time together, something reminded me of the way a beech tree holds its leaves through the winter. That reminded me of this tree I used to know and a poem I wrote in 2019. 

I am weary from our visit, but content. And so I will spend the rest of this evening with ghosts, candles, magic, and memories. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE SNOW PRINCESS

Golden-brown beech leaves
Shiver and shimmer on their branches.
Do not make the mistake of believing 
that it is fear that causes them to tremble.
They are simply wise enough to turn
with the cold wind as it blows through.
Not wasting energy fighting the current,
but moving with the strength of a swordmaster or a dancer,
waiting for just the right moment. 
Waiting for peace to return.

One breaks from the branch and
float-dances in the air right up to my window.
Tap. Skitter. Tap tap tap as it twists and spins along the glass
then drifts softly to rest on the frosty earth.
A ghostly reminder of how to let go,
Of how to say hello,
Of how to say I will always be here
Even though my form will change.

s. barker
January 2019

                                                                 

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.

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

The Winter of My Soul

Funny how long it takes to settle things in a home. In the moving-in process it was necessary to dump all of my stuff - writing materials, books, paintings and paint supplies, craft materials and materia magicae (sorry, Mr. Gray! 37 years out of Latin classes with you and I just don't remember as well as I should!) - onto the surface of the repurposed kitchen table which is now my desk, and envision it all perfect in just a week or two. In reality, although it has been functional for a while now, it took five months to get everything in just the right place.

Earlier this week I was doing the final sorting out, prompted by the need to create an easily accessible morning altar space. This process included going through an impressive stack of notebooks and journals and, because I have lost the ability to stay on task, I found myself reading through each one of them. At the bottom of the stack I found the journal I started when I realized I was in the Winter of My Soul.

Nearly two years ago, close to the end of the first year of life without my youngest daughter in this world, I wrote about wishing I could take a sabbatical for six months or a year. Mostly, I said, I wanted to get away and rest and renew my spirit. I wrote these words:

     "I have alternately felt as though I am lost, drowning, overwhelmed, cannot breathe, cannot slow          down, cannot move fast enough..."

I tried for a while to turn inward with the season. I tried to tend to my own needs, my own healing. I was successful for a short time, but then I let life get in the way. I allowed the expectations and distraction of other people and society to turn me away from dealing with the grief that threatened to consume me. In doing so I shut down all awareness that it was wearing away at me from the inside out.

Events in my life in the past year stripped away all those distractions, and those of you who know me best probably know that I severed the ties of expectations and obligation. While those life changes were immensely liberating and have opened doors of opportunity, they have left me standing face-to-face with the grief that is still raw in wounds that are wide open. This has not been an easy journey, and it is nowhere near complete. I have once again alternately felt as though I am lost, drowning, overwhelmed, cannot breathe, cannot slow down, cannot move fast enough.

A couple of weeks ago I made the decision to follow the seasons in the Turning of the Wheel of the Year, and to turn more deeply inward than I have ever done. To the marrow of my bones I know that it is the right thing for me to do.

When I found that journal yesterday I rediscovered a writing that woke a truth within me the first time I read it, and I read it out loud again as a prayer:

     "When winter comes to a woman's soul, she withdraws into her inner self, her deepest spaces. She refuses all connection, refutes all arguments that she should engage in the world. She may say she is resting, but she is more than resting: She is creating a new universe within herself, examining and breaking old patterns, destroying what should not be revived, feeding in secret what needs to thrive." ~ Patricia Monaghan, Season of the Witch

It is time for me to embrace that truth, and to live in each moment of this season. Self-aware, self-exploring, healing, learning, and turned as deeply inward as I can possibly go. I do not fear the darkness anymore than I fear the light.

I am living The Winter of My Soul.