Hermitage time – I went out into the world

I went out into the world this weekend,
greeting and cherishing lovely people
(and some banal strangers, truth to tell);
now I am exhausted by the exercise

and I greet and cherish the meadow birds and sunrise and ground fog and morning dogs with triple the delight, having been with the other kind of company.

I am more and more convinced that this life is mine, is best for me, is sweetest.
At least for now, I say to the naysayers. My chiropractor is one of these, so worried that I’m in quiet and peace and alone time.

Alone but not lonely, that was the goal months ago.

Now I know that, for me, the way past loneliness is to be alone.

Hermitage time – and time is flowing into itself

Do not doubt that tears are prayer,
that laundry is prayer,
that calling a friend for help is prayer.

Watch how a tree prays: trailing branchlets through the wind,
and sinking down, down, down to nameless sources,
and reaching up, up, up to nearly eternal Source.

Watch how a dog prays: playing when it’s time to play,
and sleeping in the sun when it’s time to sleep in the sun,
and cuddling up for connection and expression of love.

Lilies, field, allusions.

Back to center.

Be the prayer.
Then breathe.
Be still.
Amen.

Hermitage time – one’s own path

Sometimes I choose to work with four elements,
Sometimes three,
or seven
or five
or one hundred eighteen
or thirteen.

This is why we each get to write our own book,
call it a journal,
book of Shadows,
recipe book,
memoir,
grimoire,
poetry blog.

And I’ll read yours and you’ll read mine
and we’ll carry away what is also true for ourselves,
leaving the rest.

There’s a bird out there — it’s 4am, dark as pitch, but there’s a bird out there —
which makes a chipping noise like it ought to be a morning bird.
You do you, bird.
I’ll learn what I can from you.

Hermitage Time – losing track of the need to count days

The wind out there is absolutely gorgeous — it is rich with scent and humidity and depth and it makes the trees rumble like very small thunder.

I want to be in that other place today. In fact I want to be there every time that the wind makes this noise. The ache of being somewhere else instead is…

Big. Deep. Everywhere. Relentless.

It started when three rivers converged to create a raging torrent of grief and loss. It was my own annus horrible, and I am still — only sometimes — feeling the effects.

It’s further away now. Further but not gone, and when the wind is like this, the pain is fresh and the howl of my daughter’s anguish is carried back freshly to my ears.

So I go out and stand in the wind. I would not lose these memories or this experience for all the safety and comfort in the world.

Hermitage Time – Dark of the Moon

There will be some spirit writing tonight, yes indeed,
and the fun thing is there’s no telling who will take up the pen.

Dark of the moon, the deep, silent breath
The beginning without knowing of what

The Fool’s step,
the initiate’s step,
the white fox’s step, soft and sure, into a world which may or may not be ready.

Soft and sure, that’s it.
Gently now.
Nicely, Ensign.
That will do.

Back tall,
shoulders wide,
remind them of being queens themselves,
knights,
whatever they are in their secret hearts.

Part myself
and part the stories of others.
That’s as should be.
Neither diminishes its supplement.

Love does not divide,
it multiplies.

I can be wholly myself, now,
and still honor all the selves I once was
and shall be,
and if you will let me, I can be Storykeeper for you, as well,
by my own soft and certain step
reminding you of your own.