Tuesday, September 20, 2016

A Year Ago...

A year ago I was climbing a small mountain in Ireland, looking at the mist and dew with tears in my eyes and a pain in my heart that has lessened but not gone.

A year ago I stood in a place that spoke to the oldest parts of my soul and listened to the songs there.

A year ago I touched stones that tell stories to those who will listen, and I listened.

It's very fitting that it's so rainy this morning. The rain falls here and on Loughcrew. It obscures the rising sun here the way it does there. The similarities are beautiful and a lovely reminder of our connectedness.

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You remember what it's like when you're new, right? The high holy days and the drive to have everything *just so* and the wrench in your gut when you don't quite hit the mark? Maybe you flubbed a line, maybe the bread didn't rise correctly, maybe the bonfire wasn't quite big enough... the complete and total devotion you give over to celebrating, to reminding those you can remind that your holy days are not their holy days, and all the to do that comes along with it. It's fun when you're new. It's your new path and like anything shiny and new you show it to everyone, give it the very best spot on your nightstand, carry it with you everywhere, and never let anyone forget it. 

When you've been at this for almost two decades though, the newness wears thin and you're left with the blunt reality of the path. It's never going to go just so all the time. There will always be a fly in the wine. There will always be a part of the bonfire that doesn't want to light. 

The Autumn Equinox has become a very important holy day for me. It didn't used to be, and honestly wasn't something I celebrated heavily when I was shiny and new. Lugnasad? You betcha! Samhain? OF COURSE!!! But the Equinox? I observed the day, but didn't celebrate it. I wouldn't bake for it, and I certainly didn't hold a Rite for it. I sought my transition days on the BIG ONES, not the little days. 

Wanna know a secret? The little ones are the best ones. Go outside and look around. Now remember that quote from the movie Troy: "Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again." It's true. I've spent a good deal of the last year learning to understand how I go through the grieving process and this quote has come to my mind a few times.

Why wasn't I celebrating the little ones? Why wasn't I honoring the moon each month in my own way? Why wasn't I celebrating EVERY DAY as the gift that it is? Each day is blessed. Each day can show us the turn of the Wheel. I bake because it's Friday, or because a loved one is coming over, or because I can. 

Be lovely. Celebrate the little days. 



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