Spring Equinox Healing

Some of you may remember that my favourite place to reconnect with my wild side is my “secret garden” on the Mont-Royal.

Since I can’t bike through snow-covered streets, in winter it takes me a good hour just to reach the bottom of the hill, waiting for several buses (plus another half-hour of plodding uphill). This winter was so intense – weather-wise and otherwise – that I was unable to go there at all, so our Spring Equinox reunion was all the more powerful.

The equinox itself is a beautiful mystery to me, as is the Earth’s axial tilt. In 2015, the Vernal Equinox took place in conjunction with the New Moon and a total solar eclipse… All together, these events were apparently opening an auspicious window, inviting us to envision our wishes for the future.

The light was very soft when I entered the cemetery, but soon a clearing in the clouds allowed the sun to say hello.

I think this is something you can do whenever you have a strong sense of connection and alignment with both your intention and the world around you, preferably in a place that sustains this feeling.

On March 20th, when I realized that this conjunction of events was happening on my day off, there was no stopping me. (And during the past two days, the snow and ice had melted just enough in the streets for biking :o)

On the left: tracks of a small-footed person, whose coat was trailing in the snow :o)

When I left the path to walk through the deep snow towards my familiar place, the slant of the sun through the remaining clouds underlined the rolling hills and the bare trees in a beautiful, contrasted scenery: a perfect setting for celebrating the return of the light.

The previous night's tracks had melted a little in the morning so they were blurry,
but I think they were Raccoon's (and a Marmot's)

My friend the Rowan tree, who is an inspiring companion up there whenever I am drawing, meditating, dreaming, or simply soaking up the present moment, was patiently waiting for me. 

The Rowan's undulating branches enchant me - here in their early June's vibrant incarnation.

Her bark is also inspirational, soft and strong, shimmering with green, bronze, orange and red.

All around us, the light was suffused with hope and tenderness, and with a deep sense of renewal. I hugged the Rowan in gratitude and awe: the fresh scent of her bark, the slow rush of sap I could hear underneath, were unexpectedly exhilarating. 

I have just looked up on the Web what the Rowan's symbolism sounds like, and she is apparently the perfect tree for reconnecting with your wild child – your creative, intuitive self – particularly when you have been denying this wild child for a while.

“Using meditation, Rowan is helpful with clearing the mind and opening our inspiration. The Essence of Rowan is used in vibrational medicine to assist in attuning us to nature, broadening perspectives, and making room for a deeper understanding of our place here in the universe.  It also has a significant role in protection.”

There was a wonderful lightness in the air, carried by each scintillating wave of the hill below, that made me dizzy with relief. I was myself again – free to dance wherever my wild child would lead me. 

And for now, that was enough. Somehow, I knew that once reclaimed, free from external influences or from old patterns, my intuition would help me find each following step, whenever the time was right. 

So I simply made a solemn promise to do just that, from now on. 

I said it in a smiling voice, to the hill and to the Rowan tree, to the sun and to the wind, to the light and to the shadows. 

Chrysocolla, Chrysoprase, Fire Agate, Lapis-Lazuli and Petrified Wood.
Interestingly, the Petrified Wood kept sliding through my fingers towards the Rowan's roots.

I said it to my open palm, where I had placed a few stones to help me remember this promise, the way I did effortlessly last summer.

I know. This is my true self, radiant and at peace. I won't forget her again.

Then I playfully climbed down the hill: it would have been safer to retrace my steps to the path, but symbolically it was important for me to go ahead in fresh snow, which I did by venturing across the slope below me. This time, the snow reached up to the hem of my skirt. 

Before...

The Wild Thyme Fairies were fortunately my only witnesses, and they probably had some fun ;o)

…and after. My boots were so packed with snow (as you can see) that I was unable to take them off.
I eventually managed to remove most of the snow by sliding my hand inside each boot...

And then I biked home, shivering for having remained in the cold a bit too long, but feeling as hopeful and brave as a freshly opened crocus popping up from the barely warmed-up earth.

Indigo and purple stars lighting up the bare land.

When the First Quarter Moon appeared in the sky, a few days later, I understood that I had to keep my promise lighted up, every day – thanks to meditation and writing, drawing and dancing, but also through my interactions with the world.

If your purest promise to your soul is alive in the way you look around you, in the way you listen to others, in the way you talk to them, then it will be carried back to you, enriched by these encounters, and it will strengthen your resolve.

You are my witnesses, dear readers and friends  :o)

xo

Soft Light, New Moon

The day of the Spring Equinox, which was a special one in many ways, I visited my secret garden for the first time this year, in a simple, grateful ritual of my own.

The light was very soft when I reached the bottom of the hill...

It felt so good that I would like to share this with you, so here is just a little preview (in black and white) to say that I will be back in a few days, when my current translation is done  :o)

… and on the other side, the sun was shining.

Happy Spring, my friends!

xo

Bird by Bird, Breath by Breath

It happens when I am “being a good girl”. 

Let me explain this.

Waking up at 7 am on Saturdays to catch the 8:30 bus.
And remaining focused instead of watching dreamily the colour of my ginger tea in the glass pitcher.

Most of the time, this means focusing on something that needs to be done: washing the dishes, working on a translation, getting ready on time for the bus, brushing my teeth, sweeping the floor, and so on.

All the while, I am only Half Breathing.

Half a breath comes in, half a breath comes out. Half of the required oxygen gets in, half of the toxins get out... Meanwhile, the diaphragm gradually gets tense after all these hours of holding back.

Also, you can't breathe easily with a - 28 C wind chill and a scarf over your face all the time.

This combination is an excellent recipe for getting tired and tense, and for being suddenly overwhelmed by your emotions and feelings when they do manage to come out.

Moreover, I also tend to hold my breath when I am focusing on something that I really enjoy doing, like drawing, painting, taking pictures, or practicing yoga. Isn’t it strange? 

Drawing birds allows me to reconnect with their freedom and grace.

Not really... Because this kind of careful “focus” is the opposite of engaging myself truly, and freely, in these activities: without thinking, without worrying about doing it right. 

Remaining focused in a serious, careful way is the opposite of my true nature: the Wild Child that needs to be completely absorbed in her current environment, activity or feeling – when I can loose my sense of time, when I don't need to achieve anything. 

Then I am fully alive, and fully myself.

American Goldfinch.

Well, I can grow even more tense and tired when I am “being a good girl” (i. e. focused, organized, reliable) for the sake of somebody else.

Because of my personal history, when someone is asking me to support them in some way, it can be very difficult for me to say "no" (I care for this person; their project or need is important for them; I think I can actually help) and yet, for these very reasons, it is equally difficult for me not to divest all of my energies towards this responsibility.

If that responsibility has a limited time frame and scope, and is then removed from my hands, then the story has a happy ending.

But on a few occasions, things went a bit out of control.

If the project/problem is entrusted to my care for a while, or if it has no real ending/solution, the responsibility slowly invades my mind, obliquely. I become less involved in my own life, but also less grounded. 

This is definitely a sign that something is wrong, and it's a slippery slope. Ultimately, if the process goes on, I begin to loose my sense of self...

So you see, in that kind of situation, I am holding my breath both physically and mentally.

The Wild Child in me is no longer able to tug at my sleeve, like she usually does when I am focusing on my own projects in the wrong way. This time, she has to be locked away in a remote room so I can’t hear her voice. She becomes wilder, and more desperate. She cries for light, for air, for freedom. 

(All the while, I am doing my best to remain faithful as well to the person I promised to help, so these conflicting loyalties are bringing me down, fast.)

When I can’t stand it anymore (after several weeks or months, as I am not initially aware of what is going on), I run blindly to her secluded room, where she was first locked up a long time ago*, and I find her shaking with sobs, with exhaustion, with despair at not being seen or heard, again. 

I fiercely promise never to do this anymore, ever. I am, too, shaking with sobs, with exhaustion, with despair at not being seen or heard, again.

I am crying as I write, because a similar story has in fact happened to many children, literally or symbolically. And because I am standing there right now, free at last, but still shaken, exhausted and vulnerable.

I took up this particular responsibility because I thought I might be able to do it all by now (or, to be frank, I thought I should be able to do it): juggling between my (many) own projects and somebody else’s. 

You know, like grown-up people do all the time.

Well, I am still not able to. But I am now quite convinced that I don’t need to. I probably don't need be a Grown-Up, either. Or even a Good Girl. 

Quoting Charlie Brown: What a relief!

I did not arrange this conversation, okay? I was merely there at the right moment.

What I need to do, instead, is to let my Wild Child lead the way.

As in: drawing a Yellow-Rumped Warbler that is multi-coloured and looks like any other young bird.
Except it's my own.

A few weeks ago, I took my healing stones outside in the new, thin crescent of moon that is smiling up there every time, for each one of us, with a promise: everything will be all right.

I let them glow in the sun the following morning, for good measure.
Mingling with tiny ice crystals.

This was a wise move, as the full moon in Virgo on March 5th turned out to be particularly unsettling and distressing, apparently for good reason. Meditating helped, but I kept my stones inside.

(I happen to be a Virgo and a Dog, two signs known for being loyal, reliable, intuitive, helpful, and for doing things right. Quoting Charlie Brown again: Good grief!)

Oh, Bluebird. I miss you, and our long summer afternoons on the hill.

February 2015 has been the coldest in Quebec for the last 140 years, after a long, intense January. But March is here, and a few hours ago North America has switched from Winter time to Summer time.

I am ready to drink up every hour of sunlight, every slender moon, every breath.

Right here, inside each moment.

Fully alive. And free.

Broad-tailed Hummingbird.

Thank you for reading this story with me. I feel better already :o)

xo


(* I started to put away my true self when I was about 10, gradually losing contact with my real personality and with life in general. This is another story, but it has a happy ending :o)


ps - You have probably read Anne Lamott's wonderful book: Bird by Bird, Some Instructions on Writing and Life. It is very uplifting, reassuring, and deep-breathing.