Welcoming Autumn

As I sit here, writing this, the rain taps at the window, the wind howling down the street, carrying with it the scent of winter and the first of the autumn leaves. The sky is fast moving and furious – low dark grey clouds set amidst a backdrop of pure white/grey. The central heating has been turned on. The apples are juicy on the trees. The starlings and swallows are flocking together. Welcome, Autumn.

My favourite season – as you may have guessed. From bright, sunny days where the sun shows the last of its strength, to watery, wind-filled days like these, it is a season of change like no other. Quick, altogether too quickly, it is over, at least the Fall is, when the leaves change and drop to the ground. After that, it seems Winter is here – only allowing Autumn a brief time of grace to shine in her beauty before all is blanketed under the dreamy cold slumber of Winter.

It is the beginning of October – and the hectic days of summer leading to the Equinox have passed. I feel I can almost catch my breath – almost. The main bulk of the harvest is done – both agriculturally and in a personal sense. I have worked hard this year, and the rewards have been great. There are always disappointments – from the carrots that didn’t do well to the vagaries of life. But Autumn, with her beauty, captures our hearts and our minds, our attention, and causes us to stop, to listen and watch Her before She is gone.

Samhain is just around the corner. Time to let go of that which did not come to fruition. It is also a time to carry forth and collect the seeds of our new intentions – for we cannot throw these to the winds just yet. We release the dross of our lives into the flames of Samhain fires, and protect the seeds of new ideas and next year’s harvest within the larder of our souls. We cannot release everything – we must hold onto something to take us into the new year, something to sow our intentions with. It could be lessons learned, ideas that did have the time to grow, or ideas that came too late in the season to be utilised to their full potential. And so carry them over we must.

I hope your harvest has been bountiful, and that what you carry over be blessed as well. May the release of Samhain and the dreamy slumber of winter nurture you. May you find beauty and strength in this, the most inspiring and beautiful of all seasons. May the Goddess of Autumn bring you joy as she does me. x

Music

Inspired by the rain, I've created two new works, "Water" and "Elphame", both of which are on my website. Enjoy! http://www.autumnsong.org/music.php

Nemetona - Goddess of Sanctuary

She waits for me as I come home after a long day at work. Pulling into the drive, turning off the headlights, I feel her call, see her at the door with welcoming arms. As I put my keys in the lock I breathe a deep breath, and feel the weight of the day slipping from my shoulders as I step across the threshold and into Her space.

Nemetona, for me, is a goddess of sanctuary. She is present within the home, within our sacred groves and rites, in all the spaces that we hold dear to our hearts. She also lies within, allowing us to feel at ease wherever we are in the world, though it’s not an easy task. She holds the stillness and quiet of a perfect day, she is the stillness at the end of it, when the blackbird sings to the dusk. She is the spirit of a home, a place, an idea. Without her I would go mad.

A soft prayer upon entering the home honours all that she is. A few words to her upon going to bed, or rising in the morning, deepen our connection with her. She holds us while we sleep, she greets us when we wake. Within the walls of our home, she offers us shelter from the elements, comfort with the aid of fireplaces and central heating, nourishment from food and simply her presence. She is the sound of the breeze through an open window, the creak of shifting floorboards and the electric hum of the refridgerator.

We all need a safe space to retreat, to retire to. For most of us, our homes are that space. A house is not a home unless we feel this connection to both it and the land. A house that is filled with the spirit of sanctuary greets guests and residents alike with a warm, soft feeling of comfort. This feeling, this sanctuary, extends to our outside spaces too. For me, my garden is also my sanctuary. I miss her desperately at times when I cannot go and find that sanctuary in the back garden anymore. For brief moments outside, when all is quiet and still, I honour her in the garden. The trees that offer shade in the hot summer sun, the shadow of the house slowly moving about the lawn, the quiet of an autumn morning in the mist – these are all Her.

When we feel safe, our souls can expand to almost nothingness, as we become entwined with the world around us. I feel myself melting into my home when I am most happy, or sinking slowly into the moss by the pond in my backyard, becoming one with Her. I can physically feel my soul shrinking back into my own nemeton everytime I step outside my front door, for here sanctuary is not guaranteed.

Little shrines to Nemetona help me to connect to her – I have an altar in my back room, and also one outside in the back garden (right by the damned neighbour’s trampoline now). I also have one on my desk at work, to remind me of the relaxing feeling that she brings when I walk outside during lunchtimes in the forest. She is a very important goddess to me, and I honour her with all that I am. I encourage you to find her as well, both within and without.

Mid-Summer Madness

Summer

With summer fully (and finally!) here, we are reminded of the sun’s strength and power. The crops are ripening under golden rays, the wheat growing tall and the barley yellowing in the long summer days. What we have sown, what we have tended so dearly to in the early spring, and nurtured throughout a tumultuous season of returning frosts and cold north winds is finally coming towards a harvest. All very nearly ruined by late frosts, many crops – both those of the backyard self-sufficient gardener and that of larger farming industry is showing signs of fruition. Apples are greening on the trees, and flowers have come out in full force, along with the bees and butterflies, moths and beetles.

As we observe what nature shows us in the seasons, flora and fauna, so too do we see a reflection of that in our own lives. At Yule, we dreamt of what we would achieve in the coming year, blessing and dreaming over the seeds at Imbolc, sowing them at the Equinox and, for many of us, planting the seedlings at Beltane (and running them back inside every night with frost warnings!) to grow to fullness in the coming summer months. With the sun at its full height, the days so long and the nights so short, we ride the tide of this high energy, where nothing can stop us as we carry our dreams and aspirations to fruition. But now the tide has turned, and if we have spent ourselves at the time of high summer, we will have nothing left to give when the real work, the harvest-time, begins. So we must learn to pace ourselves, to not over-commit, to nurture ourselves as much as we are nurturing everyone and everything around us in this season of sun-inspired madness.

Here in East Anglia, ever since the North Wind has stopped, the sun has been out in full force, scorching the grass and wilting my tomato plants. The waterbutt has run dry, and everything that I hope to harvest needs special attention, much as I do now. Having just finished a crazy three weeks of working for an international festival, I feel much like my tomato plants, wilting in the heat of the sun, and not as yet bearing fruit (or even flowers). And so I withdraw, into the shade, into my spirituality, soaking up the quiet times of evening’s enchantment, in the cool night air where my soul can expand without withering away in the noon-day sun. Like the deer in the forest, I retreat to cooler climes, seeking shelter and shade. I must prepare myself for the work ahead.

And so I urge you, to take a moment and to rest a while. Do not let all your dreams and work earlier in the year be in vain. Let nature inspire you to follow in its cycle. The real work is yet to come!

Self &the Forest (a clumsy pun on Sex & the City)

Forests are special places. Every time I come across a certain birch wood, deep within Tunstall Forest, my heart just expands, my soul dissolving. I become a part of the forest, losing my sense of self and recognising that I am a part of things, and not separate from it.

I cannot find this deep sense of connectedness in other places so easily. I think that this is because we can be in a forest. We can be upon a windswept plain, a mountaintop. We can float upon the sea, or swim near the surface. But the forest – ah, the forest. We can be in the forest. It surrounds us, letting us go inside, losing that personal identity, gaining a new one which is part of the world that surrounds you. You become a part of the forest, and the forest becomes a part of you.

Stepping out into the sun dappled birchwood, my soul expanded, and I could feel the wind shimmering on the high leaves of the trees, hear the crow cawing and know that it too was a part of me (me being the forest). I was the earth warmed by the sun, the cool shade. I was the spider, the ant, the deer sleeping in the depths. It’s an incredible sensation.

Sitting upon a hilltop, gazing at the mountains around me, I have felt something similar. Yet, that sense of self still remained – I flew upon the wind, but was still in my self. The edges had not blurred around my own nemeton – they simply took on the colour of that which was around me. Deep within the heart of the forest, the edges melt away.

Walking through Tunstall Forest today, I saw some deer trotting through the dry undergrowth as I came to a very special spot - a young birchwood. A small adder crossed the path in front of me, and the words that you see posted by railway crosssings came to mind - stop, look & listen. The words rang through my head, followed by the word, FEEL.

I sat down, put my hands onto the warming earth, and, with eyes closed, felt the forest. The warm energy beneath my hands seeped into my body, and something told me to open my eyes - be one with the forest, don't shut out any part. As I opened my eyes, another young adder came towards me. Close to the Mother, I thought. So close to Her body, Her bones, enjoying the warmth of Her Spring embrace. How close to the Mother is the snake, every inch in constant contact with Her. Reminding me to be like the snake. But just as the adder had reached my foot, I moved my head, slowly, unsure. The beauty of the young adder, the danger. So like Mother Earth. Turning away, the snake slid off into the dried birch leaves and twigs.

So close, I had been so close.

Suffolk in Spring

Felt the inspiration this weekend - it's been too long since I made a movie. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1FeZFgqnbo

Bloody hell.

Some days it really is just that much harder to get out of bed. And when you’re a women who’s bleeding, it’s even harder.

Now, I’m not here to bemoan the woes of women around the globe, and state how much easier men’s lives are, because they most likely aren’t. However, I would like to put forward the idea of bleeding days and the workplace.

Unless you work in an all female environment, you most likely don’t talk about what you feel like, much less that you are, in fact, bleeding. The stomach and leg cramps, the light-headedness, the rise in temperature – all these things you are dealing with on your own. You’re simply expected to get up and get on with in.

And yet in some other cultures this is seen as a sacred time, if not just a quiet time for women.

“Consider the practise of the Moonhut in some native cultures. At bleeding, women would gather together away from other members of the tribe to meditate, pray and receive guidance. Women doing this work together would have made this time more powerful due to thier combined collective energy. When their bleeding was over, these women would return to the tribe and offer guidance and advice based on their experiences.” www.menstruation.com.au

“In many other cultures, menstruating women went to a menstrual hut or a moon hut, (a small building away from the rest of the village). The people believed that women have incredible powers of healing and creativity, during menstruation, and that these powers should not be wasted on everyday work. Instead of working, a menstruating woman spent her time meditating on her life.” www.girlzone.com/bodyinsideoutwomanhood

This idea is really appealing to me. Having dragged myself into work today, where I feel I’ve been most unproductive, the concept of a moonhut is a dream come true. My mind is off somewhere else on the first day of bleeding, probably trying to escape the stomach and back ache that accompanies it. Concentration is difficult, unless it’s in a very quiet, and preferably dark place. Being surrounded by chirpy people and bright sunshine during this time is not my idea of a good time. Having to talk to people when you’d really rather claw their eyes out for no apparent reason is, quite frankly, a chore. And physical labour – gah. Sometimes just standing up is an effort, and all the muscles feel like they’re falling to the floor in a massive gooey heap. I could really use a day or two in a moonhut.

Instead, I have popped two 400g ibuprofen and just gotten on with it. With the anti-inflammatories pumping through my system, I’ve driven the 40 minute drive to work (and back) and fulfilled my obligations. And not very well, I have to admit.

Would things be different if men experienced the same thing every month? Would we get one or two day’s grace every month from work or other people demanding things of us at this delicate time? I wonder.

Barnett & Baileys

Hair is such a big thing in our Western Culture. Especially if you're Dolly Parton.

But seriously, I'm thinking about having the chop. I got to thinking today about how important hair is in our society in establishing what a person is like - much like clothing or the music one listens to. But hair is an even bigger issue for a woman. Yes, there are plenty of men out there who spend hours and insane amounts of money on their hair. But still that's the exception, and not the norm. Looking at hair from a western male perspective, long hair would symbolise LARGELY BUT NOT EXCLUSIVELY one of two things - either femininity or a penchant for Bon Jovi or Van Halen (or Poison, just to kill two birds with one stone). I have known (and dated) many men with long hair, as I love men with long hair. These men have been all man but still suffered under the indignation and jeers of their fellow Y chromosones, or stupid twats who come up to them and comment on how they thought he was a woman from behind. Long hair befuddles some men.

Short hair for a man symbolises masculinity - no fuss, no muss.

Is this the same for women? Have we gotten past the fact that short do's are "butch" or does it simply apply to who is sporting the cut? I think of women with short hair such as Audrey Hepburn, Janine Turner and yes, even Sinead O'Connor. I don't think any of them looked less feminine for having had the chop. Have we finally stopped equating one's hair length with one's femininity (if you're a woman)?

Tired of dyeing my hair, I think I'm going to go for it. I have been dyeing my blond hair red for a while now, thinking (and still agreeing) that blond is just plain old boring - everyone and their peroxide twin is blond. Growing up in Canada, the stigma of having red hair never arose - those with red hair were simply assumed to have fiery temperments to match.. not a bad thing, really. And whilst I wish I was naturally red, sadly I have plain old blond hair. I'd stick with red, as henna is a wonderful, natural thing. Only problem is, it is a complete pig to do every six weeks. And it doesn't come out with the usual colour removers you can have done at the salon.

So, looks like it's the chop for me. It'll be good for summer - with thick hair, and a hot summer (so they say) coming, it'll be a treat. I still have quite a bit of trepidation, as I haven't had my hair very short for about 15 years. I worry that only the very slim can get away with it. I worry that if I don't wear any make-up I'll be mistaken for a boy. I worry that I won't like it but will have to live with it.

But hey, it'll grow back. Like all of life's decisions, it seems big at the time, but in the long run, when you have time to reflect, it wasn't such a big deal after all. With a little Baileys, everything will be alright.

Blogging with trepidation...

A year ago I said I would never blog. Yet I miss writing, and have so little time to write these days. This might just be what I need in the interim.

And so the virgin blogger pops her cherry and hopes to have no regrets about it in future.

Yeah. Right.