Author Archives: Catherine Audette

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"Make way for the process (of regeneration.) You can expect it to be messy but worth it.

In these Northern woods, Spring is humming along, just under the surface. One has a sense that this precious season is waiting at the gate, almost ready to burst forth. We can feel it in the heat of the sun, in the buds emerging, and in the earth melting into the air, while the scents of both mingle and dance.

First, though, before this season fully arrives, I have one more step to take; a step I might call the dissolving and purging. The snow has melted, the frogs have traveled across the roads to their summer homes, the crocuses have emerged. And yet, I see, in my garden, litter that would interfere with new growth, hard to melt remains of last year, unneeded garbage lingering around on the edges and in the garden beds; there are places even, where the snow has pushed litter right up and into the beds, as it melted in torrents. These leftovers make for poor bedfellows with the emerging new, (the next photo shows tulips struggling through the winter cover.) Before the emergence of new life in the heart of our homes, I see one more great sweep waiting to happen, Everywhere.

Sometimes, I pretend I could overlook this job; I imagine skipping this crucial step, putting off or ignoring the difficult decisions, difficult choices and uncomfortable dialogues. I imagine I might simply dive instead into the excitement and thrill of planting, tilling and tending to the rebirth of life. But after so many years and attempts to bypass this culling and weeding through the old, I have learned that without the removal of the decay and trash, that the life-to-be will not thrive. I have learned it will have less room to grow, less room to bask in its fullness.

So today, I start raking, digging, weeding. I pull and drag the old, yesteryear's garbage out of the fertile soil and to the compost pile. While doing this, I am comforted to know that there, in the compost, the remains of the old will gain a new life. There it will transmute itself into the black gold my garden loves. It will recycle itself for future use. The composting of decay is welcome here.

Ahh, what a lovely moment, this sprinkling of fertilizer onto my garden to be... Mmm

But first, PURGE!!

There are decisions to be made. I must look and ask which plant is best to move, save, or recycle. This moment requires pausing, noticing how all the plants work together, or don't.

To create an ecosystem anywhere, where all can thrive and intermingle, where all can have sustainability and feel welcome, I must make room for each, keeping in consciousness their individual needs. So to make room for diversity, I have learned to pause, initiate dialogue with the plants rooted in my view, recognizing each contributions to the whole ~ their gifts. I like this part of the sweep, it makes me smile.

Some elementals, some people, and some systems have a much easier time than others digging out the old, culling and purging. Their makeup seems to make the process so much smoother. In Chinese medicine, these beings would be described as having a metal disposition. Me? I am a wood personality. I surge, grow, and expand. I flow, I bend and dance; I weave and gather.... But actively choose to purge? Ahh, That is not so easy for me.

So, Thank you! Thank you metal elementals! Thank you for being with me in spirit here today, walking with me, reminding me of the joy, the freedom and healing of letting go. Of reminding me of the necessity of letting things dissolve, letting them transform into other states. And thank you for showing me how to do so, without hesitation. Thank you, without you, I might simply cozy in, and settle into my known nest, and choose not to dig out the old, forgetting that the bigger visions, the dreams, all require initial ground work. The visions of beautiful gardens that thrive together require preparing the beds and soil for new life.

After taking this moment to breath into who is present, I return to the digging. I dig deep into the native soil to root out the weeds, rake off of the protective layer of leaves. Here I dive deep, there, I brush off surface debris, all with an eye to the work of cleaning out, cleaning up my inner ground so that life can create new life, and flourish.

There are, in all this cleaning, tricky moments, confusing areas, where the mess seems quite entangled in the history of the perennials that I love. Or where the messes feel too big for me to manage on my own. I am learning to ask Spirit for help, to ask the elementals around me to show me the way through the obstacles in order to bring harmony and progress.

I remind myself - don't let go of the vision, nor the dreams~ Explore, question, dig, ask questions, and always, when in doubt, pause. An answer arrives, a shift will occur. An ecosystem in harmony is a moving tide. Presence, breath, heart all mixed in equal measure, creates the balance of beauty, laughter and joy. I hold the faith that in the whole, there is great potential for life, which in turn has an ability to dream itself into creation, into manifestation.

And that is a miracle. Under me is a miracle waiting to happen.
Messy at times, yes;
beautiful in the end.
A miracle and a blessing.

The earth is crusty underfoot. A thin layer of ice-hardened crunch covers the soft receiving Earth-turned-mud floor. My feet break through this frost layer, making crackling sounds as I go. Crunch, crunch, crunch, crackle, crackle, Rustle rustle, (of dry leaves), then crunch, crackle all over again, breaking through yet another layer of ice. And when I do break through, I also break down to the tender invitation of soft enveloping Earth, the Support always underfoot, always present.

The wind blows in today too. As I walk, the day's windy news arrives at random, and then quickly recedes, leaving me with the impression of something new arriving every moment. The wind has a unique quality to it this day, one that I can not place, hold, or name. As I reach for understanding, the wind shifts yet again, and changes like the changing of outfits, and then moves on.
Aha, free and unfettered.

I muse, what if part of the magic of Spring is that it is the very nature of this season to hold and have conversations between all the possibilities of weather and elements all within one moment?! Back to today's wind, the word that best describes the conversation of the wind is more like the contribution of a question. An opening, an invitation, a suggestion.

Here, a wind arrives now, as though it could curl into a hug, moving both leaves and clothing. Only to change the next moment into a howl of rushing air.

Pausing, I lift my head to listen. I can almost hear the words now, the ones that the wind leaves behind ~ A whisper of it, like the suggestion of pink that resides in the edges of the clouds hovering over the western sky. Right now, the message is a hint of color suggesting more to come. This story, this message feels like a whisper, arriving in a conspiratorial way, including me in the story, a discussion, as though, I am already in "the know."

Trying to better understand, I ponder and pause, what are the possibilities of this message? What is the gift?

And suddenly, another gust arrives, coming as a cold blast ~ strong, cold and biting. Oh, Ohh! Cold!

And then ~ Ahhh. I realize I had been holding my breath, against the cold, I realize I can relax into and breathe in deeply, bracingly, taking all that cold in as a drought of medicine, embracing the experience. As a sailor who might turning the boat toward the wind, to meet the coming squall, in order to better ride the waves and shifts of the ocean tides. Like this sailor, I turn and face the wind.

The effect is immediate and full bodied. My inner fires rise and meet the cold. I burn brighter. Elated, my Spirit gladly rises to meet and greet the wind as a playmate.

In facing the wind, I felt the wind move through an emotional veil. One that I had unconsciously raised. I had curled into myself, holding my breath, bracing against this cold, resisting the changeable quality of the weather, rather than welcoming the gift of it all, rather than welcoming the presence of a new guest. This unconscious resistance, this shallow breath, separated me, walled me off, making me deaf to the present, and to its gifts.

Deep breath, and Again, deep Breath. Breeeaathe.

The wind coaxes me out of my shell to enter the dance. By breathing, I can turn to face the wind, the day, and feel my own Spirit rising to join the Spirit present. And now, I feel more alive.

The wind calms now, and returns to the sighs and whistles of a sleeping giant. Fluttering the edges of the covers gently as the giant exhales, and the wind wraps around me again in a gentle hug.

I could end here, and maybe that would be enough, but more comes for me to say, in a summary way ~

The stories of all time are present for us with each step.
Stories that we dance with, engage in, and live with.
I hope to choose this moment. This very present moment,
Letting all concerns be swept aside in the breezes blowing today.
Because, I feel how, in arriving to the attention of the present, all tension in my body relaxes.

In arriving, I have a chance to see and feel as though the wind is also within me. Moving me, and bringing me to the tune of the day. As a swimmer in the river, I feel the current within me meeting that current that previously I had felt outside of me.

The message of the wind: Will you Join this current that is rising from within?
This current of Spirit that rises to meet in Spirit of now.
Breath, Breath it in
Breathe it out.
Rising and receding.
Blessing and releasing.

The winds you feel, that dance on the forest floor, and in the wooded canopy, also rise from within us all, As these winds reaches for us, we reach for them, as an eternal flow and a circular current

Today, still walking the with the winds of the ethers that blow through to my shores. I hope to remember to dance today with the partners present, watching my step and feeling the soft support beneath my feet. Remembering underneath is all softness, and I can relax into it as I breathe.

I find it is time, past time even, for an invitation for tea! Let's meet every year, dear friends, when we can dream of the most fanciful cups of tea together.

Please, Come, share a cup of tea and dreams with me today. Let your fancy follow the rainbow to the Gold of your heart. Let your imagination soar on the wings of the eagle and find you have arrived, let the stories unfold with sparkling mysteries keeping us afire with inspiration.
Here is to you ~

In this post, I have made a montage of the Gifts that the Equinox has brought to me today. Wishing you all a Blessed Equinox. If you wish to read more entries on other matters of the heart, here is a link to the Venus page where I muse on other fancies of the moment ~ Venus Muse~

Sunset has not yet happened, but here is a photo of a sunset in another year ~ So Much Love!

Mist came this morning
Ushering in vastness,
Covering the browns and ochres,
The twists and turns,
The shiftings of melting snow,
Changing the landscape.
Behind this Veil of unseeing, life disassembles
all knowing.

Birds are returning North. Oh, the sound of those words almost reflect the wonder I feel in seeing their flight across the fields, above the trees, or out of the mist, bringing a lifting of life within as they follow the upward lift of air with agility. Hope is close to what I feel in the stream of this sight.

Rising hope,
like the sap that rises during mud season, sounds amazing. This day, I feel less agile than these feathered ones, and the wise trees. I feel upturned with the fits and starts of the year's changing season. One moment sunshine joy from the treetops to the cat's toes. The next one, introspective with fuzziness of concern, while snow lends a gentle blanket to all creatures on the ground, reminding us to return to deep meditative silence. Gifting us with the return of cold, to return us to the quiet that holds.

Then hours later, when the frozen stillness thaws, and sap is pouring from the maple trees, filling buckets with possibility like clear ambrosia, then the trail before me emerges, and clarity of hope returns.

Yet, I do not hold this clarity easily right now. When the ice arrives, hardening the Earth below my feet, I feel a confusion, Questions and fear. I feel these concerns, these fits and starts, tying me into knots.

I know beneath the visible, the trees prepare for growth. I know the unknown mysteries hold magic. Yet, my blood runs, like the season, in fits and starts, thickening, and thawing.

The mist that rises this morning from the river in the valley comforts me. As I watch the mist fill the rises and falls of the river valley floor, a large flock of Robins flitters up and out from the trees there. The Robins bounce up and bounce down, fluttering together loosely, as they fly, moving vaguely northwest.

Out of the veil, this morning, arrives a clear harbinger of Spring. Out of the unknown valley of mist, comes the vision we crave, the answers we seek. Offerings, like possibilities, and freeing me from my shackles of coagulating thoughts, unfreezing my heart of the entanglements of fears.

The trees know to wait, to rise, and rest in the slow gradual process of Spring. To thaw and pause. The trees trust this path gracefully, holding the snow of yesterday in their arms like prayers. Prayers for those of us who cannot see yet. Cannot yet trust that the step is there, just behind the curtain of mist and time. The impossible is indeed possible. The trees know to offer prayers for the world to restore the heart of peace.

I read recently, in To Speak for the Trees, that trees have a tryptophan-tryptamine pathway just as humans do, in our minds, to generate neurons for thinking ~ in other words, Trees think ~ They generate pathways of thought, to which, like humans and other sentient beings, they respond.

Today, They are holding their arms out in prayer, in gratitude in joy, in quiet, in offering.

May I be like the trees and the flying birds with all their grace, beauty, wisdom and knowing. Knowing when to rise up and take flight to the north of my dreams. And when to settle down into quiet meditative silence, listening to the whispers of change that hint at the possible, if unseen, hint at the change, hidden within and without the moving mist, which presents like a riddle. And may I Trust this magic to bring needed transformation learning to rest, allowing for Mystery to reshape, renew us, and allow us to emerge as new in the rising light of Spring.

" Let it carry you away, Let it carry you away...
To Remind all restless souls of the beauty of being here at all." J Gonzales


A sticking snow gently fell, outlining the trees in the witch hazel grove. What was invisible to my eye, emerges, under the soft hands of crystalline water, into the magical beings, as seen above, who's arms reach out gracefully, in blessing, and communion. The arrival of snow unveils my eyes to see the extraordinary that is in, and always present in the ever present ordinary.

A storm illuminates gifts ~ sometime, during the last Spring storm, a large gathering of goldfinches arrived. I discovered these small visitors when I awoke that morning to a moving mass of feather friends on the ground. There must have been over a hundred of them. And I have heard from other bird watchers, that every bird station in a 30 mile radius reported the same thing! As one friend wrote to me, "It’s hard to believe that anyone else has had goldfinches, when I thought we probably had them all!" I felt the same way.

They moved with determined self-possession, unapologetically mingling with those who reside here through the winter. The mass moved wing to wing, under and over, on and off all the residents, my two feeders and each other. Their behavior demonstrates a determination to make themselves fully at home. They join the locals confidently and fervently, chirping, hopping and eating with single purpose focus outside my home. Even when I opened my door to restock the supply of seed, they barely moved off. They felt most tame for a goldfinch

Here, in the hills, a Spring storm brings many types of surprises; I go to sleep with the dark, and when I awake, maybe I'll wake to snow-blankets smoothing over the rough edges, or ice crystals layering and defining, crystal rainbows shimmering, rivers flowing spontaneously from underground springs, wind blowing in wild news, or, as in this case, the arrival of new visitors. For now, the ground is a moving spectacle of feeding birds.

Curious to hear what lessons today's news brings, I watch and listen to the moving tide of feathered beings outside my door. I notice here, under my feeder, moves a community mingling, communing, connecting and leaving room for all to eat, belong, and have a place. A community holding space for all individuals present. And enough for all to feast.

The residents appear to take it all in the stride of their day. Occasionally, the Juncos do seem overwhelmed by the crowding as they take their seed elsewhere often, to enjoy their meal in more accustomed solitude.

Perhaps the Blue jays are a little less scarce as well. I can imagine that the crowd of birdness would make their usual landing style difficult. No room to fly in on the "run-way" in this gathering. No room to make their usual landing accompanied by "shriek," and "hop, hop, hop." Now, as I think about it, no one would take much notice of them or their shrieks. The birds who flew in from afar, have other business at hand. They are more focused on other concerns and passions than a loud neighbor.

I suppose one's need for space varies not only on personality, yet also on one's species special gifts.

And the change is a gift to watch and share. I love watching how the finches have a sense of belonging, and a sense of place. And that here, under this one feeder at least, there is A place for all, and All with a place.

Then overnight,
the flock left. All still.
All so, so quiet.

Maybe the message today is to welcome all the visitors who arrive even if they disrupt the usual flow of patterns, force a change of habit. Maybe especially if they force a change of habit. They may be ushering in a carpet of welcome change

Their transience, their unexpected arrival, reminds me of Rumi's poem, The Guest House. Here are excerpts from it ~

"This being human is a guest house,
Every morning a new arrival.

(Whether it is a bird, an experience, or a feeling.
They can arrive most unexpectedly.)

"Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture
Still, welcome them all honorably

This guest may be clearing you out for some new delight "

"Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond"

This being alive brings the unexpected.
The gifts inherent in that often feels invisible, how to welcome them even so....

What visitor has arrived at your door today? This moment? Who is a possible new friend who will unveil your eyes to see beyond the ordinary to the blessing reaching for you. Ready to drop gently into your hands, your outstretched arms, as crystal water that melts so softly to the Earth, who in turn reaches for the gift with open arms.

Postscript: I want to share that my blog had a server challenge ( I HOPE all fixed), delaying the posting of this piece. As I finish it now, to send to you, a gentle and steady snow graces us again today . A different storm. And a storm in perfect timing. As each flake brings unique beauty, so does each cloud of snow brings a flavor of ki's own. One sticky, one icey, and another gentle and persistent, as this one is. The magical many-fold languages of snow! A uniqueness that we begin to perceive, to discover and then to better receive. Each one with a blessing, and each with news and stories to share.
This one falls like magic cascading from the heavens with intent to land softly on our hearts.

I send the the energy of gentle cascading love falling you into you.
SO much love.


Walking at night, I notice the shimmering stars shining through the trees. The air is crisp and clear. The snow crunchy underfoot. As I watch, I notice that there is a dance occurring between the stars and the trees.

One step forward, stars appear between the limbs; one step more, another appears, and others disappear. Stars shining brightly through the bare limbs. One moment revealing, the next hiding, revealing, hiding. Step, shimmer, step quiet. Step, twinkle and glimmer, step covered. Together with the trees, as I take this evening walk, a dance of lights twinkles overhead. Fairy lights glittering in and out of hiding. Conversations held and shared. I imagine there would be laughter too, in this meeting between the trees and stars. Laughter, that is ever ready to burst forth as it does between good friends; with each step I take on the road, a dance of joy and light occurs overhead.

Moving my limbs, gifts me with an opportunity to see another angle ~ another angle of light bursting into visibility. The twinkle of light distracts me from where I just was looking, and I shifts me to the next point of focus. In and out, shifting, merging, unveiling, evolving, and always reminding me of magical presence.

glittering in purity and clarity,

holding me in wonder.

A dance of light shining their presence.
A presence that is always with us.
Even if and When unseen,
Under the guise of cloud, daylight, fears, distractions, the light shines on.

Pausing now, between steps, holding a foot in mid-stride, I attempt to hold this tableau of light in my sight.
I stand still, as if to "see" it all better. As if to grasp it in stillness. I imagine I could best contain this moving laughter of light and the wonder. As if in holding my breath, I could contain the mysterious ineffable stream of light.

And in imagining all that, the magic of the glittering stars became still and silent. In trying to hold on, I lost the point, and the mystery.

Surrendering, I returned to wonder and resumed my steps.

And in that moment, the dance returned.
And of course, I realized, I am dancing with the stars and trees too. It is together that we co-create this elusive mingling wonder of light and movement. It is in stepping forward, moving, shifting, that allows for the dance.

So tonight, I dance and marvel ~ who will reveal themselves next? Who will flicker into view now? Who will flicker out? Who will appear in all her wonder, and who will hide. A mystery always present, and sometimes, hiding from view.

Tonight, I remember that I get to participate in this magic, if I allow for mystery.

A Sycamore's bare limbs of winter

If you wish to read more observations of the seasons and the land, there is more in Venus Muse, and more photos here.


I see myself as a river. The colder it is, the darker my waters.
The colder it is, the greater the ice, and sometimes, the sharper my edges.

The process of transformation creates a great potential for creation.

I embrace this truth about myself. I am beautiful as I am ~ edgy and flowy no matter the temperature. The colder the temperatures, the deeper I dive. And at best, I still transform, create and flow.

I am not a mountain. Nor do I pretend to be. I have a friend who reminds me of a mountain. Mostly, because she pauses and thinks before she speaks, and her laugh comes slow and sure. She also, as it happens, specializes in "twitter-length" prayers. She texts them to friends. Slow, careful, thoughtful ~ that is a unique specialty.

Then there are those of you who shine like the sun. You, who can absorb the golden light, that pours universally on us all, and then just marvelously beam it to the rest of us, like golden warmth. You know who you are. And I love you for all of that. I used to think I could do that too, and could melt all the ice between friends; imagining to replace it with laughing flowing joy. Not true. It is not my nature to be unchanging in this steadiness. Nor it is my role. I flow, I interface, I mingle with the environment and with its changing energies. And in that role, I reflect the magnitude and potential for transformation. Through change, one can experience so much beauty.

I suppose, the easiest time to know me, is in the lazy hot days of summer, when the sun and light glisten off my shiny bright surface, making magic and mystery in this miraculous now. I too feel enraptured in this effervescent alchemy; when the interaction of light, motion and particle all dance together in an endless thread of transformation; where I begin and where I end, is an endless curiosity. I am speechless. That is when I engage with the world around me like starlight in motion. Surely, that is an easier time to know my being.

And yet, that is only to know me in one season. And the darker deeper waters of the cold hold a mystery also worthy of investigation.

I have friends who can sit in their cauldron of fire and transform on a regular basis, non-seasonally, in ways that suggest acceptance of one's natural dissolution, without loud display, or outer disruption. Admirable. My combustion comes loud and clear. You can hear me groan, creak and moan for miles, for hours. Close friends, inform me, that they can also feel me, as I shift and change. Like a frozen river who sings, cracks and shudders in the deepening cold night, you can hear my transformations Clearly. I am not a silent mover.

I can also imagine being a cloud, rising from the valleys and joining all their cousins, in all forms, in endless flow. Mingling, shifting, mutating. Such a beauty to behold! The closest I have felt to that is when the mist rises from the streams in early spring. There is an giddiness in the air, a playful joy. I also imagine how would it feel if I were a tree, securely rooted and rising to the heavens to meet all of the comos in song, wind, dance, laughter, and wisdom.

Oh, and of course there are the endless delicious breezes. How I fall in love with them. They wisp over me like a story of enchantment, moving across the surface of the water, tantalizing me with stories of other places and other motions. Interacting with my surfaces, moving me into waves of delight. And when they pass on; I smile and continue onward toward the ocean.

Each moment is different, and each moment is Now. And Here.

I feel the edges of my approaching combustion into creation; waiting, waiting, and waiting as the freeze deepens. Creaking, groaning, knowing that soon, at last, I will burst through ice, or what may try to contain. To restore deep flow and expression of motion and light.

It is said that the sound of the cello is the closest to the human voice. I imagine this voice would be deep, low, and under the water like the creaks and groans of the deeper rivers flowing beneath the winter storms, and ice. A voice that knows her transformations, and sings with them. A being like a whale moving and calling, for all the ocean to hear, singing slow and sure. If my voice could be like a cello, I would be like that, singing for all the ocean to hear.

And you, what form do you embrace as you play in this game of both spirit and body, wave and particle, all in endless dance and motion?

A new elemental revealing herself from the depths below?

Postscript ~

My dear companion cat, he is not a river; indeed, he chooses to dress himself as a Jaguar. He plays along and winks at my flowing nature. And when it is time, he curls his paws around me, as he does now. Holds my hand tight, and shifts me to quiet. Helping me to rest.

I imagine the stillness he is; I close my eyes. I still see the deep dark flowing waters beneath the ice formed by the motion of stream and air, and I know that those deep dark waters flow true. I smile; I rest.


A Precious December gift who loves this damp grayness

A damp heaviness hovers over the forest and around the yurt. It has been a companion for 10 days or more. That amounts to A Long Time in the Fog. Day after day, my smoke streams sideways, both from me and the yurt chimney, lingering longways, chewing its cud so to speak, before deciding where to drift next, mingling with more damp midwinter air.

As I watch from the forest, on my return home, I have an irrational desire to climb the roof of the yurt and start scrubbing. This is irrational, not only because it is, as it sounds, dangerous, but also because my own biorhythms are at their Very lowest ebb as well.

"Scrub! Make a dent in this relentless darkness."

Then I remember there is a season for rest.

Effort sounds impossible anyway, during the midwinter season of quiet. So, instead, I stare an ponder, "what could weeks of misty rain and damp possibly serve during this balance of dark and light?" Sometimes January comes with a bright bigness, and days of sunshine snow, and fast crispness in the wind. This one has arrived as December ended, with determined pervasive fog.

So I ask again, what could this weather mean? What could days and days of misty dampness inspire? What can be born in this darkness? Here is a good question: What dreams can better mend with the ally of darkness and moisture? What dreams are shifting, allowing room for a new arrival? My imagination begins to understand this language and seeks out fruit bearing bowls to hold the visions hidden here in the dark.

It is said by indigenous member speaking on First Voices Indigenous Radio that to be able to speak in Lakota, one must be able to use one's intuition. The language of the heart, the language of listening and responding. Days and days of dark brings me to the edge of no words and only the language of intuition. Not much remains in the fog.

Here, I remember that Anything in the deepening loaming is fecund with possibility. A Dreamtime. We can imagine a world reborn. A Spring resplendent with hope, passion and health.

I don't know what you are dreaming in your midwinter nights, I shall start by dreaming a planet singing a multitude of songs, of music for the earth's blessings and return. I shall dream of return, knowing in this dark The Earth is Dreaming a new beginning too, she is dreaming a feast with us all, a dream that encompasses and embraces us all.

For now, I am still in the dark, dreaming my next quest, being gentle with myself and drinking warm steaming bowls of hope.

Peccaries, sharing their bounty : )!

The Season of lights ~

I read that one can determine the Winter Solstice date by discovering which day has earliest solar noon. I also read that "sol," meaning sun, and "sistere," meaning to stand still, combined makes the word "solstice" ~ So on this day, when the Sun Appears to stand still, when there is a pause in the motion of the arc of time created by the Earth moving around the Sun, we too can stand still, pause, and listen.

The Season brings so much concentrated energy shimmering in the long nights and brief days, that pausing can be a hard task and long forgotten.

Pause, Breathe. Two often forgotten treasures, ones that offer us an opportunity to stay still long enough to gather our bearings, consider our blessings, and muse on where might we like to head now, wonder at the possibilities of the entire cosmos....

The other night, I was resting when I heard that there may be shooting stars. I rushed outside, only to find a layer of mist was moving in to gently cover the night sky, making the meteors invisible to me; Still, My wonder found another magical blessing. Looking up, outside of my normal view, I found the following gift. Here is a photo of that blessing.

After that, magical rainbows followed me for several days, and nights. They reminded me to look up and pause long enough to see wonder around me. Every where. When seeking for gold, it seems to me, one is more likely to find beautiful things, hidden in plain view. Stepping outside seems to ignite that possibility faster for me than staying hidden in the confines of my known space. So grateful for the reminder to pause, breathe, wonder, explore.

I hope that in your days and nights you find ways and time to pause, and breathe in the Deep Magic of Solstice, when the world seems to stand still too. And life breathes into your heart.

Wishing you luminous moments of this light filling your being with wonder, your eyes with beauty and your heart with breath. And May you find moments to bask in the grotto of your heart.

Thank you dear world and friends.

Happy Sweet Solstice, Merry return of Lights, and if you celebrate it, Happy anniversary of Christ light

For your perusal, I offer some more thoughts here on Venus Muse

*A doorway*

I love the way that the wind will talk with yurt, as she did just now.

I may hear the wind rustling and stirring, (and in winter, Roaring) in the forest behind me. Yet that manner of wind is different than the one that just arrived, and will rarely, if ever, move the yurt or make kiself known here.

The wind that arrived just now, comes seemingly out of nowhere, and whispers with gentleness. I only know that the presence has arrived, by a creak in the rafters, a movement in the canvas, and then a lift of a flap as the wind moves on, taking leave as if to say goodbye. All in whispers.

A gentle hush arrives with the wind too. I look up from reading and listen.

And indeed the ravens pause in their call.

I wonder ... what message does this wind bring? What message of wonder travels with the wind today?
And, I wonder, what do the Ravens hear?

Whatever may be the news, It feels hopeful, warm and wise.

A message of hope.


This morning, I awoke, with an excitement tingling in my being. A mixture of anticipation and hope.

I found myself trembling with a feeling, as if surely good news had arrived in the early hours? But what could it be?

Did I hear something while I slept?
Did news arrive in my sleep that my spirit understood and remembered, if not my mind?
Is it due to the beloved season of lights that surrounds us, now that December is here and a new moon approaches? Does it truly bring an offering of hope, balance, Peace, as indeed promised?
Is this feeling from the coming Return of Light, and all that that dear Light symbolizes? Even if the encroaching darkness might have us believe otherwise. I do not yet know the answer.

Light, peace and Balance... Welcome gifts indeed.
Gifts that come down in a moment of grace like a beam of light on a grey winter day, or a passing wind with a quiet song.

In that moment, one feels awakened to the numinous presence in life.

Whatever the trembling news may be, I hope that you can hear it too.

And that with the whispers of this trembling, feel the awareness of Spirit's answer to your own calling, answered by the yearning and moving of your own hearts. And like the Magi in the Adoration, may we fall on our knees in awe and devotion. Moved by instant clarity of the blessing of each step that brought us here, and the love and grace that is held within them.

And still more, that we may Be moved in awe of our very own cup.
I hope we get a glimpse, or better yet, a vision of how we ourselves are the holy grail that we seek. We have yearned for Spirit and Spirit yearns for us, and unites in this vessel that we hold.

And it is this cup that we can offer to life itself.
In the presence of the trembling, we may realize that we have only ourselves to give.
Nothing less. What an honor.

"When life comes into being, it is neither afraid nor desiring, it is just becoming.
Then it gets into being, and it begins to be afraid and desiring.
When you can get rid of fear and desire and just get back to where you’re becoming,
you’ve hit the spot. …
The goal of your quest for knowledge of yourself is to be found
at that burning point in yourself,

"That’s the meaning of the image of the Grail,
of the inexhaustible fountain, of the source.
The source doesn’t care what happens once it gives into being.
It’s the giving and coming into being that counts,
and that’s the becoming life point in you." Joseph Campbell