Deep in the heart of a northern forest, there lived a woman known as Grandmother Wintermoon. She was a fierce protector of the land and a beloved friend to the woodland creatures.
As the cold of winter set in, Grandmother Wintermoon would travel to the woodland villages, sharing her warmth with all who welcomed her. Every year, as late autumn approached, the villagers would gather to receive the warmth that would carry them through the winter season.
The villagers lived in harmony with one another, tending community gardens vibrant with rows of seasonal produce and botanicals. Villagers of every skill set contributed to the overall wellbeing of the whole, mostly bartering for goods and services.
The villagers called their village life “the house of goodness” as a reminder of all they had built together and wished to pass forth from generation to generation.
One fateful day, voices wormed their way into a small and indiscernible crack, implying that something ominous may be happening in their midst. The voices murmured that Grandmother Wintermoon had been spotted in the thick of the inky forest, gathering with a group of strange and mysterious creatures.
Most dismissed the whispers, but a group of villagers grew curious and decided to investigate. On the agreed upon day, the group followed Grandmother Wintermoon deep into the heartbeat of the forest to find out what she was up to while the villagers slept.
The group entered the forest at the break of dawn, hoping to find the answers they sought, before the forest was blanketed by the veil of night. Once they entered the forest depths, the towering spruce trees, who were guardians of the earth, watched them warily, unsure of their intent. Eventually the group of villagers came upon a hidden valley where Grandmother Wintermoon was living with her family of strange and mysterious creatures.
To their shock, they found out the creatures were using their magical abilities to maintain peace and harmony in the woodland villages. Without their protective powers, wicked forces would turn the villagers against each other, using all the trickery they possessed.
Grandmother Wintermoon greeted the group warmly and invited them to join the magical army. Once they joined, she assured them, each had a magical power that would be revealed. They readily agreed, for each man was intrigued and eager to discover what unknown magic he possessed.
The thrill of this promise soon attracted all the villagers, women and men, keen to uncover their own magical abilities.
In line to uncover his magical power, was the oldest man among the villagers, known simply as The Elder. Although The Elder was beloved by all, a secret sadness had befallen him, for he felt his usefulness to the village was greatly diminished by the limitations of advanced age.
After he joined the magical army, The Elder was honored as the first to receive his magical power. On that very same day, he called all the villagers to an important meeting in the village square, something he had not done in many moons, since retiring as the village father and alderman.
Slowly, starting from oldest to youngest, all the villagers at the meeting spoke from their hearts, while the others listened. Time stood still and flew by simultaneously, as they talked wholeheartedly, laughed and ate together, simply enjoying each other’s company.
For you see, each villager discovered a power within that was not magical in the supernatural sense, but simply their own inner-magic in the form of a sacred soul-need brought to the surface and given space to manifest.
From that day forward, the tiny crack in “the house of goodness” was sealed and the tricksters never again found room to return.
The Sky shimmers — a shiny blue canopy of hopes and dreams, The moon beckons Alluring and luminous Enticing lovers and thieves Write a love letter Put it in your pocket Bury it under the stars Let your prayers go free Unravel completely Let the clouds Seep into Your Bones
The gifts that I carry That I settle for That I pass up The gifts That I save That I show That I hide That I deny The gifts That I give That I bury That I possess That I reject
I am a child of Godde He is my guide She is my intuition He is my teacher She is my voice He is my knowledge She is my wisdom He is my willpower She is my heart He is my strength She is my protection He was She is They will always be
Drink water from the spring where horses drink — the horse will never drink bad water. Lay your bed where the cat sleeps. Eat the fruit that has been touched by a worm. Boldly pick the mushroom on which the insects sit. Plant the tree where the mole digs. Dig your fountain where the birds hide from heat. Go to sleep and wake up at the same time with the birds – you will reap all of the days golden grains. Eat more green – you will have strong legs and a resistant heart, like the beings of the forest. Swim often and you will feel on earth like the fish in the water. Look at the sky as often as possible and your thoughts will become light and clear. Be quiet a lot, speak little – and silence will come in your heart, and your spirit will be calm and full of peace.
Many in the spiritual community, including myself, encourage others to trust their instincts, gut knowingness, or intuition. Even though these terms are often talked about, some people don’t know what each term means. First, let’s start with some definitions.
Instinct is a survival mechanism built into every human and animal being. It is an impulse that senses, often without reason, that something is wrong and propels you to fight, flight or freeze. This is associated with your first chakra.
Gut knowingness is a feeling in your gut. Did you know you have a second brain? There are brain cells in our digestive system, just like our brain. It makes sense when someone says the expression, go with your gut. Tune into your digestive system, what is it telling you about a person, place or thing? This is associated with your second and third chakra.
An ambiguous loss occurs when a relationship or connection that was significant to you ends, without a clear understanding or closure. “Ambiguous loss is a loss that remains unclear. The premise of the ambiguous loss theory is that uncertainty or a lack of information about the whereabouts or status of a loved one as absent or present, as dead or alive, is traumatizing for most individuals, couples, and families”(Boss, 2007).
Since, the details of the loss remain unknown, it is this uncertainty which prolongs the grieving process. You are left wondering, do I continue to hold on or let go? Many people hold out hope that the relationship or connection will return to normal, while others begin the letting go process.
A Disenfranchised Grief
Since this is not a clear cut type of loss, such as when a person dies from an illness, many in society do not consider these…
There were grapes in my past Fragrant vineyards Crates of purple velvet Pickers spinning yarns Beneath the white hot sun
There were grapes in my past A vigneron singing Ardent planting and harvesting A legacy of pleasure and pain Connecting my ancestors To the nectar of the God Bringing abundance Fertility Transformation Good luck
There were fields in my past Fertile soil Alive with potential Bountiful and hand-picked Dust and grain Olive skin Stones with memories among the rows Day after day Plowing the fields Sun-drunk and callused Scythes swinging Servitude by season Benevolent harvest God is in the dirt Destined from birth Closer to heaven Through the earth
Before there was one God, God was an ewe in labor… A rain cloud A life form The warm sun on the horizon An orchard in bloom
Before there was one God, God was a mantra… A deed An unplowed field A thought in progress A cluster of stars A gurgling stream Laughing, chanting Twirling, dancing Moonlight shimmering Whispering, whispering, whispering Love, love! Beloved, Beloved! You are my gardener I am your seed You are my bud I am your tree
I am the flower You are the bee
2021 MW 🙏 Imported from Silver Moon Cove. Original post.
She is the pining in your belly, She is the unease knocking at your door She is the questioning, She is the longing, She is the surge and the pulse, She is the rhythmic drum beat Of knowledge and ignorance, Way down in the recesses Of your soul.
I didn’t know the names of the souls standing before me, The flowers only knew the names of the bees, The rocks only knew the names of the leaves, The bluebird only knew the name of the breeze, All the names are clouded in mystery, I’m not sure who I am,
I am unfinished. I am unrecognizable. I am unseen.
The face that you see, That stranger in the mirror, Is not me.
Perhaps I am only a figment. Perhaps I am only a whisper. Perhaps I am only a passing fancy. Perhaps I am only wishful thinking. Perhaps I am a soul that took a wrong turn, On the way to eternity.
Perhaps I am a jagged stone, Thrown into the rushing waters, Where the river and the sand, Will pummel and polish me smooth, Eroding all my uneven edges, As it courses around me.
[Perhaps someone will make a stone sculpture, Out of the smoothed out version, It is more acceptable to be]
I am writing this letter to reaffirm my love for you, as a keepsake for you to cherish, and as a reminder of my commitment to your happiness.
In moments of extreme frustration, I have questioned my love for you, I have doubted your worth and I have hurt you countless times with my words and actions.
I deeply apologize for the pain I’ve inflicted upon you and ask for your forgiveness. I have buried you when trying to escape the pain. Please know I am holding space for your pilgrimage to wholeness, even when I feel broken.
Mother Wintermoon 