Thursday, September 29, 2011

Thursday Poem - Assurance

You will never be alone, you hear so deep
a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills and thrums,
or in the silence after lightning before it says
its names — and then the clouds' wide-mouthed
apologies. You were aimed from birth:
you will never be alone. Rain
will come, a gutter filled, an Amazon,
long aisles — you never heard so deep a sound,
moss on rock, and years. You turn your head —
that's what the silence meant: you're not alone.
The whole wide world pours down.

William Stafford

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Connecting With the Gaian Tarot

When the box arrived at my front door on a sunny morning a few weeks ago, my heart did a little dance - I knew that what lay inside was a copy of Joanna Powell Colbert's gorgeous Gaian Tarot. What to do??? Should I dismantle the package right on the threshold and have the deck in my hands at once, or should I wait for the right moment?

I decided to wait for the right moment, for the unwrapping of such a soulful gift calls for spirit, an open heart, gratitude and deep respect - for the deck and its sublimely gifted creatrix certainly, but for the Old Wild Mother and all Her creations too.  First and foremost, this magnificent tarot deck honors Mother Earth herself, Gaia in all her times and seasons and boundless gifts.

Joanna and I are long time mermaid sisters, and I been watching in delight as her creation took shape over the last several years.  I have a copy of the exquisite handmade Majors only deck, and one Major Arcana card after another captured my rapt attention on meeting initially, each my favorite until I turned over the the next card.  The Seeker, the Moon, the Star, the Priestess, the Hermit, the Wheel, Gaia - I've come to love them all since encountering them for the first time.

In Joanna's inspired revisioning, the Fool has become the Seeker, and the High Priestess is simply the Priestess. The card called the Empress in most other decks has been reborn as the Gardener, and the Emperor is now the Builder.  I especially liked the reshaping of the Hierophant as the Teacher, the Chariot as the Canoe, and the Hanged Man becoming the Tree this time around.  Gaia, formerly the World card, is one of the most beautiful, inspiring and healing tarot cards I have ever worked with.  Other changes include Bindweed (formerly The Devil), Awakening (formerly Judgment), and Lightening (formerly the Tower).  The Death card in this deck is one of the very few I have ever liked.

The Gaian Tarot's Four of Earth is partially based on a photograph taken in one of my favorite woodland groves in the Lanark Highlands, and I cherish Joanna's gift of a print - the framed image hangs in my studio, and I can see it as I am typing way here.  No stranger to the Major Arcana, I thought I knew what wonders the Minor Arcana would hold, but when I opened the box, the contents dazzled mine eyes - they were a banquet, a symphony, a sumptuous feast for the senses. Every card was a jewel, the colors vibrant and glowing, the images flowing through one's hands like birds, like leaves, like the world itself in effortless flowing transformation.  How sweetly the cards sang, and their song seemed to be in the voice of this planet we all call home.  I was blown away on first seeing the deck in its entirety and sat quietly for quite a while, just holding the cards.  The Guardian of Air left me absolutely speechless.

This is a deck for those of us who love the earth, who follow her rhythms and strive to honor her in daily life and our spiritual practice, whatever form that practice may take.  The suits are elemental, Water, Earth, Fire and Air rather than Cups, Pentacles, Wands and Swords, and that feels exactly right.  The Court cards are Children, Explorers, Guardians and Elders rather than Pages, Knights, Queens and Kings, and that too feels right.  I have long felt that the notions of aristocracy implicit in the court cards of most tarot decks are not apt for our times.  There is a lovely balancing of male and female energies in this deck, and sometimes the genders depicted on the cards are different than those shown on traditional cards.  It is always surprising when it happens, and there is always food for thought when it does.

The book which accompanies the cards is a jewel on its own, eloquent, thoughtful, and the perfect guide to setting off on what is often called "the Fool's Journey".

One cannot work with such a remarkable deck without thinking about past tarot journeys, and this old road of mine has been a long and winding one.  My first tarot deck was the Rider-Waite deck created by Arthur Edward Waite and Pamela Colman Smith and published in 1909 by William Rider and Son of London, England.  I discovered the deck in my university bookstore as an undergrad, and it was the only deck there at the time - there were not as many tarot choices then as there are now.  I still have those original cards, and their once vivid colors have faded over the years - they're soft and pliable from so much handling, their edges dingy, fragile and quite tattered.  A cherished artifact from times gone by, my old deck marks the beginning of this fool's long trek through the living world with tarot in hand.

Other decks later followed the Rider-Waite into my tarot cupboard: the Aquarian, Marseille, Visconti-Sforza, Robin Wood, Motherpeace, and Daughters of the Moon, to name a few.  Then along came the Greenwood tarot created by Chesca Potter and Mark in the nineties, and that was my favorite working tarot for several years. For starters, I felt a bone deep kinship with what Mark Ryan described as the pre-Celtic shamanism of the mythic forest.  Then there was the profound causal relationship between the cards and the living earth  - it was a radical approach to tarot in those days, one that grabbed me and shook me right down to my roots.  Working with the Greenwood cards, I felt, not yet at home perhaps, but on my way at last and happy to be traveling the road.

There have been many other beautiful and much loved decks over the years, and they have all been fine teachers; Kris Waldherr's Goddess Tarot, Songs for the Journey Home, Will Worthington and Phillip Carr-Gomm's Druidcraft Tarot and the Wildwood Tarot (the Greenwood Tarot as newly revisioned by Mark Ryan, Will Worthington and John Matthews). 

The Gaian Tarot is among the most beautiful tarot decks ever created, and working with it is a wonderfully positive and uplifting experience.  When I do a reading, I feel joy and hope, the deep intuitive wisdom of the cards, a sense of rightness and being rooted, kinship with the earth under my wandering feet.  Such things are all too rare and precious in these, or any times for that matter, and they are to be cherished.

The Moon was the first card of Joanna's magnificent deck I encountered, and seeing it, I knew that something extraordinary was coming into being. The lunar card reappeared prominently when I did a reading with the full deck for the first time.  I seem to have come full circle with that reading, and that feels grand and magical.  Here's to La Bella Luna, lighting up the velvet night and our road to wisdom and connection, lighting the way along this dancing earthly trail we are on together.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Little Sister in the Garden

Common Eastern Bumble Bee (Bombus impatiens)
and "Autumn Joy" Stonecrop (Sedum telephium)
Yesterday morning's "bumble" will probably be one of the last little sisters to visit us this year. Nights are turning cold here, and the happy buzzing congregation of only a few weeks ago is just an echo in the wind.
The wee girl was alone for quite a while gathering late nectar among the pink and copper garden sedums, and she was moving slowly in the chilly morning air. When the day warmed up a little, she was joined by a scant handful of other bumbles, but no longer are there merry throngs cavorting among the steadfast bloomings of autumn.

There is a lesson or three to be learned from the ever cheerful and plucky bumbles. As our days shorten and temperatures plummet, they continue to do their appointed work, to buzz about and gather nectar as long as they can. Knowing all the while that winter is coming and their precious days are numbered, they move from flower to late autumn flower, and oh, how they sing in their last time on the earth. Smaller by far, but like the herons and the loons and the great geese, I shall miss them.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Friday, September 23, 2011

A Wreath for the Equinox

Whether you observed Mabon (the Autumn Equinox) a 
few days ago on Wednesday, or you are celebrating it this 
day, bright blithesome blessings to you and your kin.

May your larder be overflowing with the abundance of this 
harvest season, and your communal banquet table groaning
under the robust weight of your seasonal celebrations.

May the fire on your hearth be kindled with fragrant wood 
from fastnesses wild and much loved, and may it burn brightly
in the chalice of your fireplace, stove or chiminea.

May all good things come to you.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Thursday Poem - At Blackwater Pond

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have
settled
after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold
into my body, waking the bones. I hear them
deep inside me, whispering
oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?

Mary Oliver

Monday, September 19, 2011

Of Apples and Gingerbread

And so it begins...  Stalls at weekend markets are in full display mode with rank upon rank of gourds in every color of the rainbow, squash and early pumpkins, baskets of potatoes, carrots and beets.  Craftier enterprises offer strands of grapevine, autumn leaves and berries, wreaths, sheaves of standing corn, scarecrows and bales of hay meant to be used in decorating home and hearth for autumn. The craving to decorate one's surroundings at this time of the year seems to go hand in hand with pickling, preserving and plain old "putting things by" for winter.
This past weekend, the first Macintosh apples of the season made their appearance, and we came away with a paper sack of perfection - the intoxicating scent perfumed the family buggy all the way home, and Spencer insisted on being fed an apple, bite by succulent bite as we made our way down the road.
When my son-in-law was asked what sort of cake he would like for his birthday dinner yesterday, he asked for gingerbread, and I dusted off a favorite maritime recipe last stirred up around this time last year.  It too perfumed the house with its spice and sweetness, and the combined aroma of apples and gingerbread everywhere was heady stuff - the essence of this fruiting season in all its vibrant glory.   We served the cake up for dessert last evening with one's choice of whipped cream or homemade vanilla ice cream, and it was absolutely grand.  There is nary a bite left.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Saturday, September 17, 2011

By the Door

I have been thinking for the last week or so that it is high time that I posted a vibrant threshold image here.  The image looks a LOT clearer if you click on it for a slightly larger (and clearer) view.
The first autumn frosts will arrive within a few days and the welcoming botanical tableaux on our front walkways will be over for this year.  All our doorway lovelies are fading away, and it will not be long until they have expired and returned to the earth from which they came.
How quickly time seems to fly away...  It is so cold in the mornings now that one needs a warm jacket, hat and gloves for early walks, and our collars are turned up against the wind before leaving home. 

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Thursday Poem - At the Door of Night

at the door of night, my mirrored
pond holds the setting sun like a jewel
and all the herons homeward go,
backlighted against the trees

upon the shore we three stand
watching rapt, as the thousand
things that formed this day
are folding inward slowly

(kerrdelune)

Monday, September 12, 2011

Nectar and Early Light

Eastern Bumble Bee (Bombus impatiens)
and Sedum (Autumn Joy)

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Mantis in the Wind

Praying (or European) Mantis
(Mantis religiosa)
One is never quite sure whether to curse or bless the brisk winds that sweep across the Lanark highlands in September.  Blessing is always better....

Capturing images at this time of the year involves a fair bit of what I like to call "dancing with the wind". In my case, the dancing is a combination of hobbling, lurching and flailing about with camera in hand - it bears little or no resemblance to dancing cranes or the flowing katas of any Oriental discipline I can summon to mind.

One never knows just what the results of one's windy photographic efforts will be, and I am always happy on returning home to find that the marriage of wind and weed and little wild green cousin has been fruitful.

The mantis danced on her swaying stem, and I danced around her in a circle clicking, both of us content to be there in the sunlight and doing our own creative thing on a fine morning in early autumn.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

In My Hedgerow Turning....

Virginia Creeper
(Parthenocissus quinquefolia)

Friday, September 09, 2011

Friday Ramble - Migration

Can it be? Another September has arrived in the world with its changeable skies, rains and winds, confetti colors and tumbling leaves. One of my favorite British poets, John Keats, called this time a 'season of mists and mellow fruitfulness", and his words come back to me this morning as I tap away here at the keyboard and look out the window occasionally.  However one looks at it, this is a time of transcendent change, restless movement and migration.
A lovely word, migration has its roots in the Latin migratio, migrationem and perhaps the Greek ameibein, all meaning to change or transform.  In chemistry, we use the word to describe the orderly movement of an atom from one place to another within a specific molecule.  More commonly, we use the word to describe the seasonal movements of birds and animals from one climactic zone to another and then back again. We do not (and perhaps never will) understand the precise algorithms of migration, but it has long been speculated that sensitivity to the Earth's magnetic fields, the length of days and nights and the position of the sun and stars overhead all play their parts in the equation.
I am slowly making my way through David Lewis-Williams' The Mind in the Cave: Consciousness and the Origins of Art, and his weighty (but controversial) scholarly work is providing me with much food for thought. How interesting to think that in the beginning, humans were migratory animals too - we were compelled to follow the seasonal migrations of the ancient herds which provided our food supply along with materials for our clothing, footwear and tools. Somewhere along the line in our migrations, we discovered time and started to mark the passing of days and seasons on the walls of our caves. If Dr. Lewis-Williams is correct, and he makes compelling arguments, we discovered art, ritual and shamanic transformation around the same time, and we have never looked back.
After a visit to Lascaux in the early forties, an astonished Picasso told his guide that humanity had not learned a thing about art and creativity in twelve thousand years. He was wrong about the antiquity of the magnificent paintings in the French caves (they are at least five thousand years older), but his amazement and awe as he stood in front of the Chinese Horse echo down the years.  How far have we come anyway?

In autumn, the geese fly south, and snug in our bothies we listen, far from traditional rhythms of hunting, gathering and seasonal movement. Modern day human migrations are those of the spirit and imagination for the most part, but they are no less adventurous and transformational for all that. No longer compelled to travel from one place to the other in search of food and warmth, we curl up by our hearths, and from them we can indeed take wing.

This past weekend, a heron in my Lanark pond lifted her face and looked up at the flocks of migrating northern geese silhouetted against the clouds - it won't be long until it is her own time to go, and I suspect she was thinking of that.  As I watched her from nearby, it seemed to me that there was infinite patience and yearning in the tilt of her perfect head, grace and wordless eloquence in every curve of her expressive wings. It cracked my heart wide open, and if I could have held her in my arms, I would have.

Thursday, September 08, 2011

Thursday Poem - Fall Song

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.

Mary Oliver
(from American Primitive)

Wednesday, September 07, 2011

Tuesday, September 06, 2011

Sheep May Safely Graze

A cool sunny morning in September, blue sky and fluffy clouds from here to there, fields unfurling into the distance like bolts of of gold and green linen, the sturdy companionship of a placid flock of Border Leicesters at the farm of friends in the Lanark Highlands.

There is something timeless, enduring and soothing about hanging out with a flock of sheep.  It's time well spent, and no matter how I feel when arriving at the paddock, I usually depart in a frame of mind both peaceable and reflective. Who would have thought that sheep were given to smiles and expressions of blithe regard?  There is one golden eyed ewe who is always delighted when I turn up at the fence, and her undisguised pleasure shows in her happy ears and her wide grin. 
Reaching for the creaking latch at the farm gate, I find myself humming a few bars of Johann Sebastian Bach's Was mir behagt, ist nur die muntre Jagd  (The cheerful hunt is all my heart's desire).  A handful of melodies from the maestro's magnificent creation have a lovely way of ambling through my thoughts on mornings like this one.  BMW 208, usually called simply Jagdkantate (Hunt Contata), was composed for the birthday of a long ago Austrian Duke.  The noble himself has not walked the earth in centuries, but the fifth aria, Schafe können sicher weiden (Sheep may safely graze), is gorgeous stuff indeed, perfect for clear autumn mornings and visits with woolly ruminants in pastoral settings.
Several hundred moons ago, I loved playing Bach on piano and pipe organ and later managed to produce decent renditions on my cello and alto recorder - fine musics, wild places and the company of fellow creatures like the sheep continue to gladden and pacify this old hen in her terrestrial potterings - they dish out in elemental grace and careful abundance what the British poet Chaucer called "sentence and solace".

One of these days, I shall get out the old cello - these days it seems much bigger and heavier than it used to be.  I shall park myself comfortably out by the paddock fence and play a little Bach for the flock.  However lacking my tunefulness and technique may be, I think they might enjoy it.

Monday, September 05, 2011

Sunday, September 04, 2011

Rivers and Wildnesses

Beyond Geddes bridge, the river is a jewel in early September stillness, a shining strand in Indra's web but lower now before the coming of the autumn rains.  The wind stirs the trees and trails its fingers in the waters making shimmering ripples here and there.   On the other side of the bridge, a lone heron stands in the shallows, and loons call to each other in haunting voices across the bay

Crone stands on the bridge and snaps a few photos of a place she loves, late afternoon sunlight and ripples on the water, a favorite chunk of rainbow granite with the waves washing over it - the river kicks things up a notch and intensifies the colors of the old stone like a polarizing lens, making it sparkle like a garnet in its place.  Her thoughts are much like this this winding river making its way through the highlands between guardian rocks and old trees.
She thinks of her long ago childhood and all the times when life seemed beyond enduring, when she was in desperate need of sanctuary and fled to what she called her "wildnesses" - the enfolding woodlands and what Dylan Thomas described as "rivers of the windfall light".
She stands here in wildnesses many years later, watching the play of light across the water and trying to capture the moment with her camera and notebook.  The loveliest part of these moments at the edge of time, and indeed the whole equation, is what the river is saying: "Just rest in this moment, nothing else is needed at all..."   Even as a child, she knew that.  She smiles as she turns to go, thinking that in some measure she will be here by the autumnal river forever.

Saturday, September 03, 2011

Gathering

Potter Wasp and Garlic Chive
(Eumenes fraternus)

Thursday, September 01, 2011

Thursday Poem - Do Not Expect....

Do not expect that if your book falls open
to a certain page, that any phrase
you read will make a difference today,
or that the voices you might overhear
when the wind moves through the yellow-green
and golden tent of autumn, speak to you.

Things ripen or go dry. Light plays on the
dark surface of the lake. Each afternoon
your shadow walks beside you on the wall,
and the days stay long and heavy underneath
the distant rumor of the harvest. One
more summer gone,
and one way or another you survive,
dull or regretful, never learning that
nothing is hidden in the obvious
changes of the world, that even the dim
reflection of the sun on tall, dry grass
is more than you will ever understand.

And only briefly then
you touch, you see, you press against
the surface of impenetrable things. 

Dana Gioia