Author Archives: Catherine Audette

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I love collecting-days; I greet them with anticipation. I love the days when I can sniff the energy of green combined with welcoming weather. At these moments, I sense something like a call. I feel like a Knight of The Round Table, sensing the call in the wind, and immediately arise to greet the harvest day ahead.

I enjoy the discovering, the greeting, the sorting, the choosing. I enjoy the meeting of new friends on the journey. I enjoy seeing and feeling who the wind and earth will bring. Who, on the journey of life, will I meet today? What adventure might the quest offer today?

Not every day is a seeking day. There are quiet days too.

Like the Knights of The Round Table, a devotee of the quest, I sometimes must learn to listen and wait. Not jump too fast, nor gather too much.

The notion of comparing my excitement to a Knight of The Round Table popped into my mind this morning, when I realized that I felt excitement about finding today's elixir; when I felt charged with a sense of adventure and romance, imbued with a mandate to seek and to drink from the elixir of today. When this charge arrives, it feels like magic, like a romance awaiting in the rows of nettles and violets.

I have always loved the contrast between the words Round and Quest. The first conjures softness, and the latter, well, the opposite. The Round Table might have challenged the knights to temper these polarities, asking them to approach the journey with softness. Circling like a round of music, in spirals and harmonies. Suggesting that the true elixir is found in spiraling, in allowing, in gentleness and softness. One goes into the quest with a question, not an answer. One seeks and approaches beauty slowly, not with a plan, with humility, confidence and self-forgiveness, not expectation of result or direction.

Following the trail left by these sages, and learning to not expect what I might receive, is part of my journey. Perceiving the guiding light pointing me forward without assumption of a prize. Sometimes, I come home from the quest with treasure that isn’t necessarily visible in the basket.

Today, though, is a seeking day.
The leaves awoke me. Luring me up and out early to harvest before the sun's light reached it's zenith.

The plants seem to collaborate on seeking days, helping me to find the medicine who wants to go into the teas I make, helping me find the herbs even if and when I am out doing other errands. During these times, I have learned to stop and acknowledge the medicine right then and there.

Sometimes, these surprise appearances are for collecting; Other times, they are for admiring and honoring. I've noticed the most potent areas of medicine, the ones that draw my eyes to them over and over, year after year, are ones to revere and then tiptoe past. One feels and benefits simply by observing, smiling and nodding to these fonts of life, as one travels onward.

I start this day with leaves waving in my mind's eye, asking me to drink from their elixir of life, and I will end this day mixing the ingredients found into a tea that will fill me like the visions of green.
On these days, I seek a full circle of life. From an image of leaves that will lead me to the unknown at my doorstep and then circle me back to the end of the day with new gifts. At day's end, I will feel I drank deeply from the chalice of this elixir, from the chalice of the tide of life.

Namaste 🙏🏼

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I walk on Spring rainy days, when the colors vibrate clearest

days, like the ones we have today,

presenting in celebration and honor of life

offer more than words can describe.

in light of the gift of the ephermeral, I offer to you, my photos of the last few days here, on planet earth in rainy season,

inviting you to celebrate with me, the fairies, the rain and the trees of the wild hiding in plain view.

I celebrate the return of green, of buds, of moist, of dank, of fecundity, of possibility,

all present in exquisite beauty in Spring

who dances in her own rhythm, and tune ~

<3

(See seasonal Photo page for more images)

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Robins sing under a pink sky

Singing Praises for their days.
Singing of Robin thoughts and feelings. Singing of their Robin lives.
Leaving traces of melodic lace lingering in the air as the day changes.
Singing as poets of possibility, with light language streaming from their beaks with gentleness and peace.
Singing, as the Sun sings, about the solar tides, and vibrations,
singing as the trees sing about the tree creations and considerations.

In all this Here, in all this song, rides a swirling tide of thoughts and feelings from sentient beings about sentient experience, lapping on the shores of now, and through the atmosphere itself.
This swirl offers experiential installations of many-splendoured things.

Encouraging us to feel too.

All of creative force pouring beneath the pink sky.
To crack open and Feel.

What if,

What if Anything we call God or Goddess is actually the song that I hear at this moment? The song singing, now?
The pink, the praise, the trees,
the sun, the tides, the breeze,
the field, and mountain, all together?
The ebbing and flowing of life and song, the rising and the falling to compost? The light, the dark, and the moments in between, the cracking open?
Like now?
What if the creative force of life is that cracking open to life, from life when all of life allows God/goddess to feel and think themselves about themselves?
The many-hued song that plays all together - that that is the divine thinking the divine

A little of everything and everywhere right now, and right here.
a little of all that is, right now, right here.

the divine spark experiencing themselves in you, and showing you, you.

And you are

Right here, right now.
now.

"Share these teaching when you meet someone
whose heart is vibrating
with the flow of love,
let your words and energies be as free
as your breath"

Insight Verse 157-9 from Radiant sutras

Thank you Jonas Emmanuel Fricke for many of these thoughts, impressions, expressions and more. A "poet of possibility" yourself
We shall remember your song

So much love

by Jonas Emanuel Fricke

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I awoke before dawn, and felt a palpable difference in the air.
A difference that had nothing to do with the day of the Month.
I felt Spring. I can not say exactly how it felt, I do not what words to use to describe the sense.
I Can say the day felt Softer. I thought, "maybe this is the arrival of Spring."

For those who live in other parts of this earth, you might not know that snow still covers my gardens, several feet thick in some areas, ice graces the tops of puddles in the morning, and no frogs have emerged to sing through the evening. Even the trees are slow to bud, as seen in the fallen red maple twig in the photo above.

Yet, in this pre-dawn moment, the atmosphere, the scent, the sense all changed. A new sense presented itself through my yurt walls, as though the sentient trees could feel the earth's rising energies, and sang a new song, as though the summer birds fluttered in a new warmth giving the forest and me extra company, as though a wave of new elementals had arrived last night, ready to cozy up for the Spring revelries and musical entertainment, as if their presence warmed the the very air's vibrations.

And the change seemed to occur overnight

Usually, Spring arrives slowly here. I cherish that pace; the pace allows me to notice and savor each shift. Mud season bringing sweetest sap, Goldfinches singing their ways into our hearts. All while winter continues to blow occasional gusts and storms. And Usually, we hold court with winter beyond any imaginings of time ~ this allows me me sink into the gifts that the north winds brings ~ gifts of contemplation, deep healing, deep mysteries, perseverance, humor and patience.

It was only 4 days ago, after all, that a gentle snow fell overnight
covering the land tenderly and lightly.
Arriving like an easy breath
In and out, a gentle reminder of life continuing,
reminding me ~ we are here, still, breathing, even after great change.

And now, Spring. Overnight. The waters run stronger, the birds fly in mystical geometries ~ duets, lines, figure eights, and more. Hawks circle, geese in V's by the 1000s. And the singing has returned: songbirds fluttering and warbling, woodpeckers pecking and announcing their territories.

It is said that a forest is healthy with the presence of birds. The same must be true for me. With their presence and song I feel a weight lifted ~ from the air, the forest and from my heart.

Today, the wide spectrum of Spring arrives, dancing in many hues of lightness and on a wider and wider path. Spring arrives today bringing warmth and music.

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Branches of tea from my home to yours. Roots reaching out and through the ethers, from my heart, to yours, connecting us where ever you are.

I offer another edition of the etheric tea party, hoping you can join me in celebration of our lives, of the our connections and of tea! Today, I offer a humble cup of ambrosia, knowing that with this post, the lines of connection spread like mycelium through the ethers, through the clouds of unknowing, and through the earth, connecting each and every one of us together via a ceremony of tea.

February, the month, I have offered the whimsical party in the past, is nearly over. This year, to create the gifts for this party, I gathered with friends to drink tea and share snacks, for laughter, creation, and art. To celebrate all that we have danced through, both together and apart. These brave travelers helped to make the cards in the photos below; they represent the vessels of our whimsy.

I dedicate this post to you, happy to drink deeply from this cup of life with you, and happy to have the chance to share this voyage of life on this Earth. Grateful that we have danced, laughed, cried and drunk tea together. And, if this post inspires more drawings of vessels of whimsy from you, please do share in the comments.

To life, to solace for all beings in this cosmos, and to togetherness, knowing that we are connected to all beings that we love, no matter how or what is the distance.

To you ~ to your health, to your laughter, your joy, and your heart magic.

Namaste, so much love ~

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Glorious Slippery Mud

where ice, form and flow converge,
shifting us to new horizons.
where land, water and slip mingle,
creating primordial potions of possibility.

T'is the season.

The season appears quietly at first, in the small warm hallows, where the sunlight lingers longest, where dirt swells into a sublime oasis for shifting tides, and the road transforms into an oozing slide of mud. This venue resembles a cosmic sea of potential goo from which life will emerge once more like in a time forgotten a millennia ago. The shifting tides move the seasons forward, from what was, to what we will become.

The shifting tides move us forward too.

And like in any tide, we who float in it, will land elsewhere, slipping and sliding, whether we resist or flow. With the tides, we begin to change. Sometimes, through unexpected escapades, which help us to arrive at new unplanned places. Sometimes, arriving upended, and without solid footing. Sometimes, teaching us how to find stability in the midst of change. Always carrying us onward.

The tides arrive here, rising, shifting, recreating the land as we know it.

Also, quietly, the change arrives in the wind as well. I noticed this new sense while gathering firewood one day; I felt it in and as the mist of coolness rose off the snow, as the water seeped into the frozen crystals. I noticed a lifting in the breeze that moved me to a felt sense, like a perfume of memories, like a fragrance that lifted from a flower to color me, like an unforeseen freshness filling my lungs, like an aphrodisiac of scent, like a song from an ancient land.

A song that has been beckoning to us all, since before we were born. A song that we know in the core of our souls, to which we wish to sing; one that we hear lingering in a beautiful melody, or that we almost see out of the corner of our eyes, or try to glimpse between the twinklings of star-light, or see in the glittering sparkles of snowflakes on a crisp morning, or indeed sense rising out and from the misty morning vapors in the early Spring mornings, vapors that, like today, rise and float away on a breeze.

This realm is a mythical mystical place. Where there is always a quiet glade with a warm fire, where ancient trees wait for our arrival. It is a place that carries the promise of Spring flowers. A place of no-time when all is possible, and All is mingling and dancing together.

I lift my head as this breeze lazily wafts by, carrying the promise.

With the arrival of this felt sense, layers of cares fall from my shoulders, fall from the shoulders of the day, fall from time itself. This unlayering arrives with the tides rising from the Earth's belly, rising like sap in her veins, lifting the veils between the worlds. Between this world and the ancient one.

There is also, on this rising, a deep and profound silence. Even in the crinklings of snow melt, in the gurgling of cautious springs, there is a deep quiet. A silence that runs deeper than the gentle sounds, and puddles outward in ever-widening circles of creation.

Listen, take a pause, notice how the sound of quiet feels this week.
Does it sound deeper to you too?
Listen to the No time in this in-between moment, in this day.
Lift your eyes and hands. Welcome in the the silence.
This no-time is precious liminal space, like the season itself, a pause between Winter and Spring.

As the day progresses, the roads will shape-shift, into greater viscosity, only to return later in the day to some version of respectable solidity,
maybe, and appear not as they were, but as a project in process.

The toils of the day leave their traces in ruts, scars and wrinkles, like tea leaves left in the passage of time, telling tales of what was and what is yet to become..

As the season progresses, this road's solidity will in actuality, become quite dubious. Until there is one day, when all waters will break forth, leaving our paths awash with change.

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I hear the water sprites laughing in the growing streams, I hear whispers in the mist that rises off the snow. I feel life rising in the limbs of the trees and I know soon, I will hear the conversations again between wind and forest in the evening's breath. I welcome this change keeping my sails oriented generally toward the visions granted in this no-time.

When breath is enough to fill the soul
when your smiles arrive, warming my heart.
When all is possible

Spring, by Leon Wyczółkowski

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The sky holds the promise of snow today ~
A pink light at dawn, leading to a thickening of cloud-covers overhead. The growing sunshine, which graces us in January, and began this day, ebbs into a deepening. A rising wind will soon call forth the water gathered in these clouds. The very ones that suggest a great snow fall is a-coming.

This possibility, this promise excites me. When the snow falls, I sense a presence, one I can glimpse with the contrast in light and dark, like when the trees hold a background tableau, or the frosty tree tips glow, or the snow lands, covering large swaths of land, transforming what was yesterday, into something new.

Like emissaries, the snow arrives with import, individual expression, and in various languages. Some snows blow sideways, on a wind blown free from the ocean, miles away. Others spiral in intricate patterns in response to eclectic celestial music. And Always the lightness of the snow contrasts the darkness of the treetrunks and branches. All these snowfalls contain a palpable conversation, offered in their unique language. Saying, convening meanings and feelings on their path to landing. Ones that I hope to receive.

I love to watch how the water, air, trees and sun will interact in this felt presence. How they create a conversation like no other, like one between friends. I feel riveted to listening to and witnessing this music and dance, as if all this might teach me something about this thing called being alive, this moment of life,
about me, about you.

I seek to touch this consciousness.

As spirals of white descend in deepening spirals, tree roots, trunks and limbs reach upward in an ascending patterns unique to themselves ~
A continuous flowing stream of conversation and movement.
Myriad threads of moonlight and earthlight interweave in descending and ascending patterns
building a deepening sense of wonder and miracles,
Building a dance of opposites,
creating something new, something ne'er seen before.

The unnameable mixing with and into solid form

I started this post with the desire to find words to "capture" the essences of snow. I hoped I would find a name to give to the snow, that I could be as literate as the Inuit who knew the names of their relations that came in the winter falls.

By the end of this post,
I have surrendered to, come to acceptance of not knowing.
I have found my emptying out of my names and categories, of words and structure, of definable. I understand, in doing so, I have come closer to conveying the sense of the unknowable. I find in this surrender a greater felt sense of the beauty and vastness within the ephemeral, and eternal.

Indeed, within me exists a desire to Understand. To Define, to Describe.
And within me there is also the wise knowing to release all those efforts and witness with compassion to the unfolding. The wise knowing mixes with the mind, just as the earthlights and moonlights mix on the breath of snow, a knowing and unknowing, a spiraling dance

Lovely and ever-changing.

Sun will break through the clouds after this snow,
illuminating with impossible brightness.

"We lose when we try to control;
we gain divinity when we surrender." Laurie Herron

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"Keep the Force, especially through the ionic vibrancy of the ocean's atmosphere
and the green full energy of the forest" Advice Anonymously given

I wake today, on the first of the year
and ask, "what can I do for you today, dear Earth?"
Both today, and this whole year?

I notice, the sun, shining with new found brightness, white light reflecting brilliantly off the ice and other precious areas that preserve water. These spots are hollows and depressions, indentations and contours, places that hold water like prayers, places waiting to express their dreams.

The Elementals permeate the day as well, showing up in their flowy ways, bringing fog, mist, showers and rain; they arrive dancing on the edges of the water and melts; they slide over the frost heaves, and crevasses; they cover the underness. Water reigns and soothes in this in-between place. I feel in between myself today.
I've heard the term "undines" as a way to describe these watery elementals. I like that name.

The crunchy earth thaws and heaves in the changing temperatures of January's weather, resulting in ice mounds and meltings, crevasses and maws. The shifting terrain encourages one to remember to slow down the step.

As I step, the soil feels raw in this fragile transition. The Earth feels not ready for Spring, yet.

And Nor are we, nor are we.
Breathe, dear body; breathe, pause, wait, watch, wonder, suppose, play, dream and believe. And then wait some more.

Soon kind winter will bring days of snow and cold again, enfolding the earth in a gentle embrace, allowing the pregnancy of transformation to continue quietly, and unseen. This embrace allows us all to ready for the Spring within to emerge.

Today, for the Earth, I will listen. I will notice. I will walk.
I will pick up discarded pieces of the puzzle and set them right. I will stay present to what I witness. I will hold hands with myself and other; I will hold hands with the in-between places and feelings.

As a piece of the Earth, a fabric of her tapestry, I also will pay attention to this body ~

For my body - I offer gentleness and attention

For my mind ~ wonderment

For my heart ~ flowers

For my Spirit ~ Breath.

What will it be for you today?

The blue green color of the earth glows bright and then turns to deep turquoise in my mind's eye.
Turquoise deepens and brings in new solutions with new visions emerging in the coming Spring.

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Wishing you the beauty of simplicity,

Wishing you Days of being,
Wishing you Days of walking into the outdoors, into the unknown, and

into the sacred.


Wishing you the time to welcome the the gift of light and rebirth.
Wishing you the time to relish all of these blessings.

I send these cards out to you now, in this post, as envoys of love.

I feel the fibers of light that connect us all, to each other, and to this one blue planet ~ north, south, east and west.

Here are photos of places where friends celebrate both their light, and the sacred of this planet, Here they share the connections with all of us through the gift of photos. So much love to all of you in the season of renewal, of lights and of wonder.

Bufadero in Peru
The Bufadero blow hole
Mexico
California, Pacific Ocean
Sunrise on Atlantic Ocean
The lights the Solstice night

Blessings

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Eventide ~ the end of the day,

The prayer one whispers to the air as dusk arrives

Singing as vespers, also evening prayer

Lighting candles in welcome to the night.

An archaic meaning ~ Venus when traveling as an evening star

Venus, the prayer that travels in the night

Purple fingers linger above the horizon with the pink clouds as twilight falls. This light lingers long after the setting of the sun. The mystery of light waves on and on into the dark, lingering in all the shadows of day before night fully drapes us all. These purple fingers line the bottom of the pink clouds tonight. Promising a clear night.

To my constant wonder, twilight arrives around 4:00 this time of year where I live. I know for people north of me that is a luxury of light. Still, both it surprises and steadies me. The twilight helps me know where I want to be when the dusk lands. I, like the other creatures of the woods, want to quiet down and prepare for the long night with prayer and fires and silence, knowing that the coming light will help us all rise again, anew.

I started a new ritual of listening to music with my cat, at night. Once the fire warms us and we have cozied in, we listen to his music.

Of all the genres of music, that this dear cat who lives with me listens to, he decidedly prefers the devotional. Not indie nor rock, not house nor lofi, not future garage, downtempo, gospel, classical or choral. Nope, none of this sound gives him pleasure.

He will listen to contemplative piano with a small nod, suggesting possible pleasure.

Mostly, he enjoys a steady hum, a gentle tone, and clear precise harmony. He may give a wink to classic quiet jazz, and he seems to smile when he sees me dancing to certain music, especially if I have the said music playing through my earbuds. For him, though he wants the drone, the ahhs and the mmms.

He prefers the songs that bring meditative quiet; the ones that brings one to balance point of internal stillness, a stillness supported by external sound.

One can discern this appreciation, quite clearly,
because when these songs play,
his body stretches long,
as long as a yardstick.
And he groans with gentle pleasure,
and smiles.

It is good to help him relax in the season of winter when his sensitive body can feel the snows arriving days before anyone else, and his bones cause him to sleep more. When the night arrives early, and the fires are our light and warmth, during these times, I play his favorites.

One time, when he was so ill, that I feared for his life, I put together a playlist of all his favorites. At the time, I hoped the tone of devotion would soothe his ills. Indeed, and to my great joy, he did recover. Since then, my phone will always carry a playlist with his name on it, In honor of his taste. In honor of love. A playlist which also carries my gratitude~ Gratitude for life, for presence, for healing, for devotion, for love.

So when I switch over to this playlist in the evenings, often long after the twilight has melted, when the day has surrendered to night, we bask in the unwinding sounds of 3rds and 4ths, of ohms and namaha's, of kyriés and anandas. I listen, while he dreams his bliss.

Twilight, lingers tonight with an ineffable deep magenta purplish glow now. Gratitude for the quiet descends with the dark as we quietly stoke our inner fires.