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

Painting- Sacred Heart by Odilon Redon

The Sun and blustery wind called me outside today to practice Tai Qi. Going out felt like an act of faith, pulling me to settle within. Out I went, even if the going took a bit of a push and pull to coral the various threads of me into a form of meditation-in-motion. I went, intending to coral all of me to root, to breathe, stretch through my crown to connect to heaven, and to offer my attention to the Dan tien*; and it was so worth the gentling it requires and then offers: The rooting, the standing tall, the sinking, the rising. Just like a tree. Just like life.

And it is always worth it. Rising, sinking, standing tall, listening within, just like a tree. The longer the time since the practice, the greater the experience of the beautiful but unsettling moment and mix of grace and surrender within.

I think the trees recognize my practice and often respond. Today, they seemed to offer me compassion during this act of surrender to the unknown, with a release of their very own leaves from their already mostly bared limbs. The leaves floated and fluttered gracefully through the air. So free, so light, so abundant. A reminder and contrast to the combustion within, as I released too.

Me: root, transfer weight, move left, right, rotate, then left again. Tears rise to my eyes as I rediscover nuances in the patterns of movement that have no words, these places where one can release into and through these tensions that have unknown source, these sublime bindings that I offer up to release. Throughout the practice My focus is loosely translated as "sinking." Sinking deep into the roots sent through the "bubbling spring" on the bottom of my foot, and down into this precious and abundant earth.

So, I sink, and then sink some more.
I sink and then, I notice.

I notice the strangeness. The feelings, the freedom, the grace.

If I were to condense all my work into one sentence, (probably folly to try, so please forgive the simplification, here goes the train....) it would be this:

All discomfort stems from the inability to stand, AND to relax, (think sink,) into the very side in which resides one's heart. The left side. (no politics intended)
Well, usually it is the left. There are, in actuality, a few individuals who have the heart on the right side.
No matter, same principle.

For all of us, most, if not all discomfort, translates from this internal tension.

The implications of this generalization astound me at work and play ~ I am in awe at the courage anyone shows to admit that something hurts. And then to admit the possibility there may be a solution which inherently implies an imperfection in the current path. It takes courage to release this path, and then faith and courage to try a new one, and in the process, to surrender to change.

To allow for the possibility of a solution is grace itself. At least, it seems to me that it is pure Grace that brings us to the brink of whatever cliff we fear and then helps us jump. Jump, Cry, and laugh at the folly of life. It takes courage to accept the possibility of imperfection, then grace to see the new path.

And here is one more miracle I shall share~ it feels like miraculous grace to discover the sublime mix of folly is also the beauty that makes us whole. Within you lies the key, there the spark of the possible can create anew.

"Twas Grace that made me first to fear, and Grace that made my fears relieved."

I am in awe how this experience occurs within, like an Explosion. The explosion of grace moving through all obstacles and like a waterfall of love moving one to one's heart. But before any of this change, there is grace and surrender.

I almost titled this blog ‘on being,’ to describe the human condition of imperfection and the grace in finding it perfect. Of bringing the extraordinary to the ordinary.

So, how to relax into my left? How do I lean into my heart? How to find the path anew, and release the baggage found within?
Today, leaning left, I listen. Wait and wonder at the texture of a new path.

After listening, Quiet, quiet come the words of my heart, of trust:

“It is okay, Welcome home."

Lean into your heart. Stay. Breathe. Ask.
Ask what your one tender heart would say to you, today. Ask to be let in to the deep chambers of secrets

I lean left some more. and listen again

For you and all, and the gift of Grace, I am grateful, 🙏🏼 So much love to you

*The Dan tien is a point below your belly button that is translated as "elixir field", "sea of qi."

Happy 11/11 day. A double digit day, and a palindrome, a moment that mirrors itself. I like to think of it as an opportunity to align with the truth of our true nature, of who we are. And then, to walk into that truth, no matter what has happened in our day, week or year. No matter what has been surrendered, like the baring of the tree in the above picture after leaf fall, a baring in your life from life, combed down to the beautiful essential you.

We tend to lean on structures and definitions in life, hoping they will support our sense of self, our sense of security, our sense of self-definition and comfort, and they even seem to be stable to us,
until they aren't.

And the word "Structure" is an interesting contradiction in itself, a contradiction in a single term. On one hand, structures are built to Last, when, in fact, all structures by nature, are in constant flux, neither stable nor unmoving. In constant change. That is the healthy function of matter, to grow and fruit and then decay.

Take the example of our bones. We imagine the bones of our body to be solid. We think of them as defined and immutable structures to lean on. We imagine them as the structure, support and staying power for the motion, creation, and connection we crave.

Yet in actuality, bones are in a constant state of flow and flux. Moving between decay and creation at every moment; between destruction and construction (using the finely tuned balance of osteoblasts and osteoclasts.) They make themselves anew everyday. They are fluid-filled bendable vessels of creation. The bones of the skeleton, are truly a gift in a nebulous state of firmness, a vascular whirlpool of motion in motion. A fluid gyroscope in change. This ability to balance between death and rebirth is the very element that gives them their strength.

If they lose this balance, they become either too brittle, or too immovable.

The flow of death and rebirth, the maintenance of the balance destruction and creation, of yin and yang, is also the very element that gives us our strength too, our true resiliency. We, everyone of us has this flow within.

What may appear solid, may actually be a fluid vehicle of light. A reflection of the source of light. Vibration and light meeting in the ground substance of you. A gift in motion and flow.

As we define our corner of the world, to gain more sense of control, order, stability, we may miss the true gift of ourselves ~ that we are a moment in flow, in change and in surrender. We are falling forward, with each step. We are harmony of sound in motion. Release and allow for the unstructured puddling into this formlessness of this gift, a creative black hole of possibility, as well as the generation of form.

All that we see, lean on, is but an egg or seed for the next creation. Bones of possibilities Are our seeds, what will you plant with these resources?

What will you create from the bones before you? How will you puddle into the arms of the All that embraces your every step ?

Namaste, Thank you, So much Love


The shift of seasons hallows me as a river might clear a stone, washing away excess and pretense, preparing me for seasons yet to come. It is an in-between and unknown place, this Washing. Laying me as bare as the the trees of November, helping me to see what lies below the surface of my many distractions. To hear beyond the current noise, to the core of me.

The mist moves in tonight, foretelling a shift to warmer weather, for a time, before the winter winds return.
The birches and maples have surrendered their leaves, standing bare; the oaks and beeches have just begun the same process, with the leaves floating through the air from the overstory, drifting and landing gracefully on my garden. I can not pretend, I won't miss your company, dear leaves that make me laugh, that greet me on a warm evening as I return home. It reminds me of how I miss you. I know we will have other gatherings, the trees and I.
Still, it is a bitter sweetness, this shift in which I participate.

The wind helps the trees to surrender. It helps me too: the stripping down, the baring, the uncovering. It helps me sit with all that lies below, all this resides beneath the surface of my narratives, below the busy-ness of my life.

This is a powerful place to which I surrender. The process of peeling back is indeed uncomfortable, and necessary. It helps me to root in deeper truths of my being, before I may bloom again, in a different season. There is grief here, as I release this debris to the stream of the wind. Yet, as Leah whitehorse wrote so beautifully, "Grief is love, dipped in tears."

Yes, here, in this laying bare, my love and my missing of you mingle equally.

So in honor of you, I will make a bouquet from the seasoned blossoms, and bring it into my home, leaving it here on my hearth, through this season and the next, reminding me of you and your loveliness, infusing my heart with your wisdom, allowing my soul to move with the beauty of the eternal you.

Sending love on the winds of time, these winds that can move beyond all time to you.

For all of this, I offer a photo montage of places where the eternal resides. And I offer my love.

Recently, on my way to work, I looked up the hill and saw the flower in the above image. The word that instantly popped into my mind, as I passed this goddess on the hill was ~ "Regeneration."

I love that word, as some of you may have heard me say before. And I understood why that word emerged. It suggests so much possibility; the notion of regeneration challenges our preconceptions of limitation. And here, in the midst of an aging plant, emerging from a bush in the process of surrendering to the changes of the season, is a symbol of new growth and new life. I saw there, standing strong, tall, and reaching for the sun, above all the rest of the aging blossoms, a resurgence of hope.

A clarion call to us all.

Interesting timing. When many systems are seemingly failing. And for some, hope feels thin. How amazing that nature can show us so clearly, that one never knows what beauty, what wonder, what new life is around the corner, or up the hill. One can never fully grasp all the possibilities present in any situation, circumstance or experience. One can only begin to dream of the possibilities that will emerge from now into new life.

Now, to be honest, I saw this bloom a little more than a week ago, when the planet of my muse was slowing Waay down. Nonetheless, I felt that the plant itself still wanted to give you her message of hope today, regardless of the delay.

And, for sure, I want to be clear, that I love hydrangea flowers in all of her stages. I call this bush the Trifold goddess, in honor of the transformation of her blooms. What starts out as a white blossom transforms into pink blush, and then at last stage, as seen above, into a majestic burnished redwood color.

So, as best as I can translate, what I feel from the message of regeneration is as follows here ~

Life persists in all storms, in all climates, in all biomes.
Life Springs forth eternally.
Life endures beyond our failed plans, and our dashed visions.
And Life reaches for the Light.

Earth has created endless variations to celebrate the creative possibilities and to celebrate life.
Life endures, even beyond belief.

Transformation is an unseen project, felt, yes. The changes happen in the dark. The fruit emerges into the light.

Here, on this hill is a new bloom that emerges to greet the sun, long after all the other blooms had long evolved into the crone version of life. Long after the other blooms had lost the shininess of newness.

Life revisits the canvas, bringing in something never seen before.
The never seen before flower that emerges from a bush top, may emerge from under the ashes, or even the broken heart.

What we know to be life may and most likely will transform,
like a phoenix from the ashes, still from the ashes, life emerges new, and even glorious.
Even if it doesn't, and won't, feel all that wonderful during the burning times.

The answer to how this transformation is to occur, is most likely in waiting, watching, wondering, flowing, and yes, burning.

So for me, for the children, for life~ I will hold faith in these transformative times, in life, and in regeneration.

Thank you for reading and enjoying this blog, feel free to share your thoughts. Also, if new to here, I would love to hear how you found the blog. We are enriched by the beauty of all of us.

more photos in the seasonal photo section.

Namaste and Love


Finding one's voice ~

Autumn Landscape at Dusk ~ Van Gogh

The baby Owl sang his song this week

And phew.

After a longish period of silence, that felt so much like a void of sound, the baby owl finally called out the first "hoo- hoo-ho-hoo' on the last day of September.

Understandably, the first 'Hoo hoo's" were an awkward melody. Not too confident, nor too loud. A simple staccato of hoo, hoo, hooh'. No, ad-libbing on this first call. No going off script ~ Simple, and successful. Oh, what joy to hear it, like a moment of coming of age. I smiled, for sure!

Oh, and by the way, I was Not the only one celebrating the teenager's successful initiation into the coming of age ~ Right after this quietish call, a loud immediate outburst of sound emerged from the woods, with all sortings of hoots and howls, all comings and goings from a conclave of owls right near the first single one.

Like a firework of sound, the tribe hawed and rolled through their vocabulary of music as only a convocation of owls can, generating a fabulous celebratory concert of joyous noise in honor and welcome of the new one's song. You could just feel the glee, and what felt like a joyful laughter and a clinking of glasses. I could picture it too; the owls a-dancing and a-swaying, a-shaking and a-wiggling of their tails, as they celebrated the emergence of their new tribe member's song. All were in welcome to the young one's voice.

(When owls get together, they add jazzy extra notes to the feast of sound. A Haaawwwhawwww, and scrreeee-ooohhhh... )

The next quiet sound from the woods, after the convocation, was considerably quieter and understandably a little more awkward, a short "hoo-hoo." A little gentle fumble in the steps of growing up.

I laughed when I heard how the adults proceeded in response to the growing song. It felt like a celebration of one's success, as well as the celebration of the fumbling and the awkwardness, that comes in learning to sing one's song.

And honestly, I admit, I was relieved. I had worried for the baby's transition, like a mama who is unable to make the growth happen, and hopes nature will soon bless with abundance, I had waited in the awkward silence of the previous two weeks, wondering, "what happened to the baby owl?" He had been making the "Shreeee" sounds of the young for days and days...... and days. Then I heard Nothing. I waited, in the void of this silence, between the old and the new, Waiting, hoping, not sure what would happen....

Hoping the silence only meant preparation for a new song, a new path, a new life.

And! Then, to sing one's song, surely, never an easy thing to do, and in front of a whole group of one's kinfolks no less!

Well, it was a nice night of celebration.
....Wish that all were celebrating these sort of initiations into adulthood, celebrating transitions of life with equal measure, and Lots of Noise.
Wish that everyone could be surrounded by kin-folk who support the singing of one's very own voice, as well as support the discovering of it, and then show this welcome by singing their own songs of life in contribution to the melodies present.

Wish that all felt the wonder of welcome, and the welcome of wonder in our days of transitions, And with that wonder, then feel bolstered in heart and spirit, ready to meet the challenges on the trail of life, knowing that we have that support when the storms of life batter and bewilder, or when the unexpected occurs. Ready, for this present moment, for we know we have a council of the kinfolk at hand, saying, "yes, yes, yes.... yes, yes, yes, you can, do it, ~ SING!!!!"

And how wonderful for all of us to know we are welcome in that very fire of the scary moment of unknown ~ to know by a smile, a sway, a laugh to keep trying, to wobble, to fall down, to hiccup in our song, to be uncertain, sad, and yes, sometimes, very very afraid.

The melody may not be what we expect, from ourselves or another, Still, let's try. I welcome your song. SING SING SING!!! Sing your voice however it sounds.

It seems to me we need it now.
Sing in welcome to the new, sing in welcome of the leaving of the old.
Welcome the changes and the 'sameses'. Welcome it all, knowing eventually, our song will fade, and another's will blossom. Rejoice in the beauty of that cycle.
Our own initiation to these songs, and another's may bring the key to the peace we seek

Let's sing our songs of love, life and death, as we know we can.

And, if you are interested in more musings and questions, see Venus Muse, and more photos here~ Seasonal photos

So much love to you all ☺️

From Celticjourneywordpress

Happy Equinox

The wheel of the year turns, bringing us to a new season, one of balance between inner and outer, Daylight and night, harvest and rest. Dreaming and building. When opposites require dialogue, respect and notice. In this moving wheel, we explore and regain inner and outer balance.

So in honor of the season, I post a something different for your own musing, with questions and photos.

What does Balance mean to you?
How to balance between light and dark,
Play and gravity
Work and rest,
Dreaming and building,
Creation and surrender?

I wonder if there is a continuum of balance to seek between
Holding and releasing,
Vision and Illusion, fog, (I originally wrote unknown, both work...),
Lost and found
Growth and decay,
Faith and fear,
Trust and questions?

Earth and Sky, Water and Air, Heat and Coolness, Fire and Earth, Water and Fire?

These are the questions I pause on today.

Much love to you ~ Photos from full moon night of a couple days ago ~