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Dance It Out.

At ten thirty last night, I sat in meditation with forty Santa Cruzian's, exhausted. I had just spent the last two hours dancing my heart out.

Soft jazzy Latin electro spun our hips outward and stretched our backs upward. Every part of me felt pulled as I trusted my instincts and let go of the ever buzzing ego. Then, as the African beats reached deep inside my rooted legs to produce pounding earth-laden stumps, the deep releasing began. But, heavy would be halted ever so gentle and just in time with moments of silly folkieness and spirited turns to electronic waltzes. Even in the midst of the roller coaster waves, of release and bliss, there was a sense of being held by the collective. Flush with an old remembrance, we held each other in step and rhythm, trusting in the ancient tribal oneness and surrender. So, this is Ecstatic dance? Why did it take me so long to discover it?

Knee to knee with a room full of strangers that somehow felt like friends. My heart buzzed and my soul continued to dance. I had finally found my home and my community. It was here all along, in the back room of a downtown restaurant. The Shamanic essence of ritual, release, and community through dance. It felt so tailored made for little me, so right. I am undone. 

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what was your favorite part about your christmas vacation

Being with you and Lion!

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A Pagan Christmas

As a new wheel of Fall and Winter celebrations turns closer and closer and the beginnings of family invitations start trickling in; I find myself thoughtful again. It's another year and I hope to be closer towards my own truths and personal revelations. How do I share these precious rituals with family? How do I celebrate with them in their traditions but also hold my own court of genuine celebration directed to that in which I honor?

Holidays have held so many identities for me. My Jehovah Witness childhood meant that the Holidays held what I wasn't and clearly defined me from the window display I stood on the outside looking in at. Then later in my early twenties Holidays were a buffet set before someone who had only ever eaten rice. A plethora of the unexplored set at my feet and an endless gift card for future traditions. Then, when Christianity didn't answer my hearts call and Sunday church became a foreboding sentence, confusion ensued. How could I honor this celebration, how could I be authentic and thoughtful?

This transition has been slow but my Christian family members have been very patient with me. I am thankful for a family that remains open and yet true to themselves. They have helped make this process a natural evolution.

This year my Mom has spared the beautiful Fir, that lives in her back nature trail, from a one time use and has instead decided to decorate it where it stands among the lovely Evergreens and tiny field mice. My Step Mom has enlisted my help this Holiday season and asked me to come visit. My brother and sister have both become very curious about earth and spirit practices and she seeks help to support them and keep them safe in their explorations. Already, I have made clearing sprays (see recipe) from their rooms and hand dyed prayer flags are in the works.

What a world we live in when we are honest and free. How beautiful our human experience is when we don't have to control each other and force one another down paths that are not our own. I take a deep breath of relief knowing that my precious siblings will not be forced to be anything that they are not. This is such a special gift of the Universe.

Oh and lastly, what shall I do this season? I am so excited to celebrate in my own ways! To start my own traditions and rituals. To gift things that are from the earth and precious to me, To dance to my own drum and the drum that has resided in my heart always. I will not be quite but I will not be rude. I will celebrate with those who celebrate and morn with those who morn even if our rituals are different our humanity is the same.

Clearing Spray:

Spray bottle

Moon water (water left outside on a full moon)

Rose water (water infused with rose petals)

Essential oils of: Paulo Santo (amazing clearing oil made from tree found in Ecuador and Peru) & sage. 

Dried white sage

Dried lavender

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Soul Traveler

The first time it happened was in Mancora,Peru...

  One moment I was lounging beneath a crudely constructed thatch hut on the northernmost point of Peru and in the next I found myself strung by wrists from a very old tree. The pressure of my arms above my head, the smell of smoke, and the weight of my body as it dripped down, like over ripened fruit from a vine, all seemed natural. Each snapshot a memory, each memory a clear and familiar friend. And stronger even still was the understanding. The knowing that followed the vision.

I know who I am.

I am a female warrior from a tribe of women. We will someday be considered Celtics but for now I know only my tribe and our land. I paint my friend’s faces to release their spirit animals. I am a crone. I have been maiden and mother. I have attended a lifetime worth of births, deaths, full moons, and new moons and now I am dying. Did I mention the gash? It’s a deep ribbon of oxblood red slashed across my throat. A little messy if you ask me and not what an old warrior like myself deserves. But, it is my death nonetheless and in death I feel only joy. I am not afraid. I am only brave. I am rooted and I am released. I fear nothing. In this freedom my whole being melts. I am a puddle, a mist, a tear. There are so many tears, they wash down my cheeks and feel like tiny points of light that shine on me. I am renewed. I know only that I am this same woman and her strength is my strength.

Later, after returning to the States and finding my new home in Santa Cruz there were traces of remember-ings. Moments in meditation when visions of a life as a young Indian brave would surface. Clear sun drenched visions that left me gentle impressions of perhaps a second life. But, nothing truly comparable to Mancora until yesterday.

It was just a simple Sunday. Fleeing our chores and in need of vitamin D Kelley and I climbed into our empty reservoir armed with leftovers, music, our magic gypsy blanket, and pillows. All afternoon we worshiped Ra basking in his golden light with time taken to alternate between stretching and napping like cats. Then a simple beat, a drum, a rhythm that feels familiar and in this state of being I am met with a crisp vision...

I am standing on the top of a mountain. The sun is warm and the wind powerful as it knocks my hair across my back like the black sails of a ship. From this vantage point I see only a heavy fog that clings to the air but suddenly it clears revealing a lush valley.

The valley is full of buffalo.

This knowledge is like water to a man in the desert. I feel a weight the size of my tribe, my family, my being lift up and blow away. We will eat, we will be warm, and we will be part of this land. Tears rush out, my heart reaches out, I am inside out.

I am undone.

  Now, I struggle to explain what these moments of time travel feel like. What the remembering is. Because, it’s not just a vision but a transportation. I am simply placed in that moment and the clear reality of each thing sighted, each sound heard, each emotion felt is sharp. Me, the girl who could never fully embrace the idea of past lives, is struck down with the emotions of another person in another time. I know only that it is a gift from Source. A gift that shatters me and leaves me in awe. What does it mean? How does this change my interactions, our human connections? What if we are all threaded together, forever linked, continuously connecting and correcting? These lives are an undeniable piece of myself. Their struggles are mine and their victories are mine as well. I am no longer just a 32 year old female but a soul.

A wandering one.

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We Wander to be Found

Mama Universe is a fun gal. She seems to take us on crazy adventures when we least expect them. One moment I was exchanging vows with the man I loved and in what seemed like the blink of an eye everything changed and I propelled to South America for self discovery and deep personal healing.With my cashed in honeymoon ticket and the cash value of my old life reclaimed through Craigslist sales, I was on my way. On my back a borrowed pack blessed by dearest friends, around my neck a talisman crafted by another sweet friend, and a freshly started blog called The Wandering Siren to track my process. The destination unknown but the continent calling. Oh how she called. I wandered and explored Argentina, Chile, and Peru for several months and then one day arrived in Mancora, Peru where I was marooned by a border strike to my North and a washed out border to my South. Unable to push forward into Ecuador and beyond broke things were beginning to look desperate. But, Mama Universe stepped up and my first day, in a strange little beach town on the Northern coast of Peru, I was given a bar tending job and was introduced the people who would soon be a permanent part of my wandering community. Everything formed so quickly. I met Josie at the bar one day and the next day was joining her for sunset meditation. A bond was formed and when Josie asked me to facilitate art therapy for her yoga retreat it was an automatic YES! I called up Kelley and asked her to join us with her incredible energy work and massage. Suddenly the dates were set, plane tickets bought and the wheels turning. But, something didn’t seem to click all the way. The financial aspect was keeping those who really needed the retreat from being able to be part of it. The days came nearer and our plans seemed to be crumbling. It was time to rethink everything and really listen to our hearts. Sitting under a newly discover thatch dwelling listening to the waves lap against the sand, Josie and I suddenly understood how silly we had been. This wasn’t something you could charge for. This needed to be an exchange, a gift, a shared ritual. We would call it the Gathering of the Wandering Sirens and we would trust the mighty winds to bring us all those in need of release and we would ALL teach or give in our own ways. The winds were faithful, just days before the start date seven incredible women tumbled into our tiny party hostel at the edge of town. The Sirens had arrived! For me this experience is made up of small moments, little snippets in time that I will never forget. The feeling of wanting to give up in the midst of a hip releasing yoga pose and just at that moment of hitting the wall hearing Angelica’s beautiful voice sing out and break through all of our pain. Causing us all to realize our connection to each other. Our connection in breath and spirit and our ability to rise above pain. I see us all gathered together sharing our hearts in spoken word facilitated by Angelica and hear the powerful voices of such incredible women break out and conquer fear. I can still hear the soft rumble of the waves timed perfectly with the gentle pressure of our lymph drainage class that Kelley taught. And for me sitting and painting to express our Heart Chakras on the beach was such a lighthearted therapy and one that I will always treasure. All of these powerful days of sharing and stretching ended with tremendous celebration with face painting, fire, dance, and song. There was this moment when we all stood, leaving the fire and old fears behind, and joined our full community back at the hostel. In this moment I felt we were all so very strong and powerful, we walked back like women on fire. Layers peeled off to reveal our true beauty and power. I would swear to you that we glowed. Shining bright and unhindered full of love and unafraid of the dark. We arose from our gathering ready to go towards the future ahead of us with a new sense of purpose and power. And I couldn’t help but wish that every woman could have this experience. Instead of biting at each other, hating, and judging. What if instead we embracing and held up each other? What would our world look like if we celebrating each other strengths instead of fearing them and finding ways to push each other down? Since returning to the United States Kelley and I moved to Santa Cruz, a town where if you throw a rock you will probably hit a hippie, and have been working on creating a sacred space. Our goal is to teach what we know on a donation or trading basis in order to strength the community. We attend local full moon circles and hope to start our own circle soon. The lessons I learned in Mancora are still growing and maturing. I struggle to put these deeper truths to work in my daily life. I am forever connected to these fierce Sirens and love them dearly. Our global community of goddesses grows each day! 

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The River

Those of you who know me are probably just a little bit sick of hearing about the River. I don't blame you really, after all it's been my catch phrase this year. I can't help it! This lesson just keeps surfacing for me. The River is a hard presence to ignore. Let me tell you a short story. The night before I was to explore Machu Picchu, I stayed in a small town called Aquas Calientes. If its neighboring attraction hadn't turned it into a tourist trap this town would be considered charming. It's nestled between monstrous peaks and cut into two sections by a raging river. But, its magical neighbor had created a town with steep prices and tourist tastes. My cheap ass tour company booked me in the worse hostel there. With a view of the river. Which in reality meant my whole room was perched right above the flash flood of the river below, the noise was deafening. No amount of pillows or ear plugs could silence the roar of this river. The thinly paned windows did nothing to keep out the deep down bone chill of this furious water beast. I gave up. I throw a mini fit and then just cried. I felt a lot better after that and at some point actually fell asleep. I tell you about this because when I speak of letting go and letting the River take you, I am thinking of this river. No babbling brook, no floating in a tin canoe, and absolutely no Disneyland cruise! No the River is something you can't fight for long.

I fought it.

I decided to get married even though three days before the big day my knee popped out (while I was steaming my wedding dress) and leaving me to hobble down the aisle. I choose to ignore that sign though. I choose to ignore a lot of signs. I also fought it when the river flowed towards things, as well. Things to this day I know I should have opened my heart to. But, instead I ran away. My lessons lately have been about honesty. I have been learning to face the difficult conversations. To engage in the conflict I do despise. I can't ignore that everyone that enters my life is a lesson. My Ex husband has become one of my biggest teachers. The River brought him into my life and whether you call it fate, the universe, goddess, or god. Something was meant to be learned and I am grateful for that. So guys and gals. Grab your floaties and dive right in! She may not be a kind mistress but the River always makes sure your growing along the way.

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Selling Out

Lately, I feel like life is a constant interview.

I am in a everlasting cycle of selling who I am to other people. Whether it is for a job or to make a new friend or even on a date. All of this self selling has really made me realize who I am. Deep down, I am a bit of a whore. 

Yes, I know it's weird to say it and you might not like the word. But, it's the truth and I am coming to terms with it. I am admitting to this part of myself and hashing through the gory details. I realize that I will say what needs to be said in order to get the job, get the friend, and get the boyfriend. And that makes me more than a chronic pleaser, it makes me a girl who forgets who she is. This is an important revelation for me since I have been doing this for a very very long time.

I can go way back in my mind to being a kid in a new school and deciding who I was going to be. The smart kid, the trendy girl, the artist? It doesn't take much to intuit what people want from you and even less to deliver it. Then pow presto kazam... people like you.

This last month I have found myself saying all the right things and in the process landing jobs I didn't want and admirers I wasn't into. The best date I've had was the one where it wasn't a date and I broke every rule in the book. Granted he probably thinks I'm crazy but I was me at least. The best interview, you ask? Haven't had it. Still dreaming...

So, the 10 word summary: I am a whore but I am trying to change.

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Tribe of Wanderers

The week is slowly drifting by and my days here in South America are coming to a close. Last night for Winter Solstice this little gypsy clan gathered flowers, feathers, leaves, and colorful stones to create a little altar for Pachu Mama (Mother Earth). Then we let the bonfire roar and were not very surprised when along came roving musicians to serenade the night.

We are a tribe made up of three very different women and two very different little girls. The five of us create a rag tail swirl of color, sticky hands, and laughter (lots of laughter). Jess is our free spirit, she floats through life with her heart open for adventure and goodness. Keilynn is the dancing Mama, flowing from one of her little girls to the next delivering whatever is needed in an effortless sway. I am the rooted one, the one who gently nudges us along as we ramble around. Quilla is our moon child, she just turned four and is wise and lovely beyond her years. Our youngest tribe member is 2 years old, little Ayiana, melty sweetness is contained in this little earth mama and we all light up when she smiles.

Each day and night in our magic little beach majestic town seems like a life time of lessons. From the tiniest flower to the most  wave there is a presence with us in this place.  Barefooted in the sweet sand we skip along the tiny roads flanked by lush jungle plants and colorful tropical flora. We spend the afternoons collecting turquoise, mint, rust, and ocher rocks along the shore while loudly marveling at their existence. Some nights Keilynn teaches us belly dancing which produces copious amounts of laughter and hopefully tighter stomachs. Which is doubtful since most meals here seem to be followed by ice cream and crepes. And when the sun shines we lounge all day in it's powerful presence and when the moist fog curls around the cove we make fresh mint tree and curl up like cats in hammocks.

Here in Ayampe we are stuck in time. Each moment is felt, each movement is absorbed, each day is received with gratitude. Somewhere out there is another world very different from this one but I try not to think to much about it. For the moment all is frozen and still. We each heal in our own ways and let the magic run through our finger tips and up into our shoulders and deep into our hearts.

It is a time of new starts and new beginnings. The Solstice reminds us that nothing was ever meant to last for forever, everything must die in order to be reborn. All things end and begin again. We will all be leaving this place and one another in the next week. Each going home to sort out the closing chapters and pick up pen to begin the new ones. But, until that time comes we are held in the arms of our Pachu Mama for a time of rest and remembrance. It is as if the universe has pushed the pause button and allowed us to make sure our hair is in place before the fast forward pace of life speeds up and we are sucked back into it's motion.

There are so many lessons that have emerged from almost 7 months in South America. Too many to explain or even begin to fully absorb. I have to trust that they are with me, these little jewels of understanding, perhaps tucked away in hand sewn pockets of my consciousness ready for future use. I feel that they will never be lost for each one is now a part of me, sewn into the fabric of my being and absorbed into my story. The universe has introduced me to the most amazing human beings. Man, woman, child, and spirit. They are an international tribe of wanders and I will forever be changed by meeting them. Thank you fellow wanders, thank you for being mirrors, thank you for be authentic, thank you for opening up your hearts. Together we create a community of movement and a tribe of wanders. 

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Lesson's Learned

What does a girl do when she discovers 3 weeks after her wedding night that her husband has been trolling craigslist for lovers and has had a "SNM playmate" their entire 4 year relationship? In my case? This girl cashes in her honeymoon ticket and wanders South America for half a year. 

And what pray tell does this girl learn? Well if you listen I'll tell you...

South America and I have tumbled, spun around, danced, napped, and discussed. Our conclusions? I am terrible at learning languages but brilliant at loving people. I may emerge from this journey STILL terrible at Spanish but I have grown in deeper other ways.

I have rediscovered this jungle girl from top to bottom. I have learned how strong, beautiful, sexy, and spellbinding, I have always been. I have danced barefooted in the deep red soil of Argentina. I have heard the rumbles of the giant waterfalls. I have traveled to the land of the condor, the puma, and the snake. I floated naked under the light of the full moon and tasted the medicine of Pachu Mama with a lime chaser. I am no longer a wife, lover, and partner but instead I stand a goddess of light and my heart shines brilliant green. 

I will never forget these lessons. The lessons of simple strength, connection of mind, body, and heart. As my body wakes to find the world no longer a distant cold place but instead a presence in each breath. This woman is awake. I sit up and cough up endless lies, shake my life into contiguous awareness. Guess what? The begin has arrived and the starting gate is open wide. The future calls.

And I am ready. I prepare for home, for those I love and the hugs I crave. The problems that are there be claimed, reality waits at my doorstep ready to be brought in. Nothing left behind, only set on a shelf for a little while. The pause button must be released and the movie plays on. But, I come back ready to face the credits. I return home after a life changing adventure with the strength to root my feet and the faith to let my heart sore.  

All that has been lost was only misplaced in order to learn. I now stand on this mountain with lessons tucked into my pockets and the wind against my face. I am ready to jump, out into the vastness of my future prepared for the loveliness of the unknown. My heart floats in the bliss of a grateful balloon that clings to the curves of this rough road knowing that all is possible only when we surrender. I am yours. I am open and free. I am all that I need. 

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Coming Out as a Pagan

What if Little Red Riding-hood was a different story? What if Little Red was a wolf. What if as a little wolf pup, wrapped in a red bundle, she had been found and adopted by a human family? What if her whole life she felt different? But, was unable to explore the option of being a wolf because it was the one thing that terrified her more than anything else?

I was raised Jehovah Witness. It was never my home. I heard voices from very early on but was horrified by them. I was told anything supernatural was from Satan and the voices were demons who sought to destroy me. Try putting that on for size at 3 years old. But, beyond even the fear of supernatural, all things pagan were deemed untouchable. To celebrate birthdays, holidays, anything that could be traced to pagan roots was forbidden. Imagine a small girl hiding from the moon all her life because it made her want to howl.

I don´t blame my parent´s for this upbringing, they too left it to find their own paths. But, somehow the fears were still planted and the denial rooted. I couldn't be pagan, I could be almost anything else but never pagan.

This full moon I joined for the 2nd time a group of incredible women to release, to join as sisters, and to worship. I have never felt so at home. This month alone I have dived deeper into the sea of self discovery then I have my entire life. I have come up for air only to float contentedly on my back grateful and desiring more. All the fear has been fuel for me, it burns away the hurt and refines my goals. I stand now a woman in love with the roots that connect her to her future, past, and present.

Yet, I still find it hard to explain these incredible discoveries, to be honest about the waves that are shaping me. How does one even begin to define a belief like Pagan? We must define it without walls perhaps, a wind that stirs and pushes in it´s own way and in it´s own time. To me to be pagan means to love the earth, not with a bumper sticker but with ritual. Ritual that cements these elements as a part of your life. Ritual that is flexible and intuitive. Ritual that sets you free. And in this ritual you bring together others that also desire to honor the earth and one another with respect and equal footing. Each of us being teachers and students. Each of us being mirrors to the other. This is what it means to me to be pagan.

I am the little girl who howls at the moon...

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The Family Table

In Vilcabamba, we wake each morning at a snails pace. Here the sun shines gently through the window panes as each guest climbs out from under their mountain of wool blankets that have provided a cocoon of warmth from the night's rain. Sleepy eyed and rested the slow zombie walk progresses up the cobbled pathways flanked by outrageously colorful flora and floating butterflies. We continue on, stumbling up the stone steps towards our house of worship. The place where we absorb the divine and the holy and take on the ritual of gazing. Here in this simple dining room we all turn to face the views of the valley below us and the mountains beyond it. Colors of green, indigo and purple heal our beings and give rest to our souls. 

Coffee is sipped slowly and breakfast arrives in layers. Fresh juice, fruit, eggs, and toast blanket the table on tiny plates. My friend Pam and I chose the largest table which we loving refer to as the "family table" so named because it creates family encouraging new friends to join each meal and community to form and reform. We grow as a family and then shrink and then grow some more. We are pregnant with transient community continually in cycle and flux. 

The hostels beloved dogs lounge at our feet always full and content. Butterflies fly with earnest wings towards the countless flowers in the hillside garden below. While strange rust colored birds continuously loop by as if they are paper airplanes tossed haphazardly by a bored child. 

And it is in this magnificently special place that we attend to ourselves. We attend to our souls, to the deep hurts that are too hard to fully discover but are instead sensed and smelled out slowly. People cling to this place to it's magic. It is lovingly referred to as Valcro- bamba. There is something here in this place that heals and roots you. A valley located between two fabulous mountains, one male and one female. Here the water contains a special life and you never seem to tire of it's taste. No, we do not wish to leave this comfort and fear the desert of our lives separate from such beauty and peace. 

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Sister Trees

Today I was drawn to my circle of trees. It was a goodbye of sorts, since I'll be traveling for the next five months and won't be seeing my sister trees for awhile. I started calling them that awhile ago when one day as I walked along beside them and underneath them I suddenly realized that we were family. There is for me a kinship with these beautiful trees that surround my Mom's home here in Twain Harte. They speak in hushed tones and quaking whispers of permanence and time. My sister trees remind me that time is not linear but instead a circle, a cycle of birth and death that never ends. Even after fire, wind storms, and floods the cycle is ever present. The circle is always in movement from one phase to the next.

The Celts believed that the tree was the most sacred of all living things because it reached into all three dimensions of existence. The branches reaching the upper world, the trunk present in the middle world, and the roots digging deeply into the underworld. They also spoke of a "thin place" a place where the walls between worlds are forever gossamer thin and it is possible to touch and experience things that we often miss when focused on that which we see easily. My time here in Twain Harte, among my sister trees, has been a glimpse of this thinness, for this place has brought me comfort that I never dreamed a place could possibly supply.

As I softly tread towards my circle of trees I am hit with such gratitude that I can not hold back my tears. This gratitude is so deep and so true that it is very difficult for me to explain it to you with mere words. My best explanation is that I have now come to a place where I no longer feel separate from what surrounds me but instead I am enveloped by it. I am a tiny piece of play-dough rolled into a magnificently colorful ball. This change for me has created a deep sense of acceptance and love. I feel free from striving and free from judgement.

I am.

Just as my sister trees are.

Once, in my circle I let my tears fall freely because I am safe within these boughs and rooted in this ground. This circle has become my church, it gives me release, ritual, and a thin place to feel and sense. It is in this place that I stand and form the tree pose. I turn and face the direction of my past and acknowledge all that is was and is. I have come to understand that all of it has been the natural rhythm of life and my path for growth. I realize that I do not need my wounds to heal up completely but instead to leave just a little opening to remind me to love others and understand their pain. Then, I turn and face the direction of my present and future. I embrace what the road ahead holds and see a rushing river flowing swiftly forward because it would never dream of anything else. I will try to let go and be moved forward by it. Fighting it's currants just wears me and there is no reason to fear this circle we are all part of.

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Chasing the Wild Hare

We haven’t heard a word from our Siren for awhile now, that’s because not much has changed. She remains at the sacred spring for several weeks soaking in the cool water mingled with her tears. Until just this morning when she forced herself up and started walking yet again.

The forest creaks softly underneath each step and Ena sucks in the air deeply. The lullaby from her first night of mourning softly glides through her mind and she ponders its meaning. Some part of her realizes that the story she’s living in now is only a very small part of a very long tale. This gives her courage. There is also a stirring inside our Heroine’s being that she can’t explain, some part of her realizes that there are places to go and things she must see. The Fates grab hold of her hand and gentle pull Ena forward towards all that awaits her.

As night begins to fall Ena approaches a strange new grove of trees. These trees are so unlike the Evergreens, Furs, and Oaks that she has seen so far. They have tremendous roots that seem to settle above ground before plunging into the deep earth. Leaves begin only at the very tops of the trees creating a roof canopy that seems to block out almost all the light. Tiny wisps of light poursthrough little breaks of the canopy like golden spotlights. Ena feels goose bumps crawl along her arms and legs as she places her first step into the grove. Yes, the temperature has dropped, but it’s more than that, there is a presence here.

The presence is powerful like the Stag but since it seems to be alive in the air, sunlight, trees, and earth it is almost overwhelming. Our Siren is suddenly so very very sleepy. Ena ventures only a few steps forward to the nearest trees. She wants to be able to see the edge of the forest still and the meadow beyond. She snuggles into the roots of the monstrous tree and breathes deeply the scents of warm earth.

That night Ena had a dream, though she would swear that she was awake for everything felt so real. Ena could feel the dirt beneath her feet as she chased a wild hare through the forest. It had suddenly appeared without warning and now she found herself focused on the hunt. Leaping over the massively rooted trees was difficult but she kept the Hare in sight. Ena’s stomach growled at the thought of barbecued Hare. But, just as she came within lounging range of her fast food dinner it popped down a hole. At this very moment our hungry heroine woke up.

Grumpier about her empty stomach then she would usually be, Ena began to search for roots & berries. She climbed near a small waterfall and drank deeply of the cold water. As she returned to the bottom of the falls she glanced something red near a fallen tree. There hidden in the dark contours of the crumbling tree grew a clump of strange red topped mushrooms. Ena picked them gently and examined them closely, turning each mushroom over in her hand. She did not know this plant and the alarming color suggested danger but her stomach rumbled and she felt drawn to these perfect little red bulbs. Sitting beneath the trunk of a great tree she slowly chewed and swallowed the red topped mushrooms.

To Be Continued…

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An Ant's Dream

This morning, I awoke awash with grief from a strange dream.

Tear's fresh tracks on my pillow and emotions resonating clearly in mind. In the dream I was walking down a dirty unlit street with some children. We were talking quietly and I knew them all well. They had lost their Father and the grief was fresh. I also knew that they were not being loved and cared for by their Step Father, signs of neglect showed in their clothing and gaunt faces. But I also knew I could do nothing to change the situation. All of this pain was magnified only by how much intimate love I had for them all. I couldn't stop hugging them. To push this feeling of powerlessness even further we were walking along knowing that soon we would have to part permanently. As I gave my final hugs, with tears streaming down my face, I told the oldest boy to light a candle for his Father every night so that he could remind himself and the younger children that even though our loved one's may leave this physical realm their energy (their light) never leaves us. Even now I cry as I write this because the impression remains so strong.

It seems I can't escape the memories and emotions I experienced in Belize even in my sleep. I blame my mind's fixation on the upcoming journey through South America. All the lessons I learned in Belize will soon be called upon again. I haven't reaching into that pocket of my mind for sometime now. 

It's hard for me even to explain how powerless I felt there at times. Like an ant watching a tsunami. But, as the waves crashed down around us I discovered parts of myself that I never knew existed, strength that surprised me. The hardest lesson I learned in Belize was how to love. I learned that loving someone is hardest when we can't change the things that haunt them and hurt them. I learned that when you are powerless to change the pain, you have to let your love pour out in an endless way with no conditions attached. It was exhausting. I burned out and I learned that you can only do this for so long. But, I would do it again a million times over because it was also cleansing. As I ready myself for South America I feel my heart getting ready. The fire of sorrow refining my inner places, burning away the unnecessary.

[wanderingsiren-blog]

My Shower Temple

I’ve been thinking a lot about Religion lately. Not Theology or any vein of it, nor even the rituals of any belief system. No, instead I have been thinking about personal history, our human narrative. We all seem to desire some knowledge of where we come from and where we are going. I admire cultures with strong oral traditions, they define themselves easily through these narratives and because of this often have an unwavering grasp on their own story.

I wonder if this is why so many of us with little cultural reference seek Religion. Just think for a moment of Religion as a Culture. It truly is that. Religion tells us who we are and what we are to become. It defines our perspectives on how life is to be lived and how we feel about said life. The stories of our own mix of nationalities are no longer as important as the stories that define our Religious beliefs. Religion is stronger than our quarter Irish, quarter French, European mutt heritage. Why? Well, because Religion defines us completely.

I’m not saying that this definition is wrong, that is a personal choice. I am just coming to the realization that I have never truly explored my roots, because I didn’t feel the need to. I knew the answers to the basic questions of who/why and that was enough. But, now these answers no longer fit my story and I am forced yet again to wonder.

When, I found out I was being lied to by my brand new husband and that the life I had been so cozy in was tossed on its head, there was of course shock, lots of shock. Now, though as the numbing occupation of shock is wearing away, I find myself struggling to define the simplest parts of myself. Who am I now that I can be anything?  My world has been blown open and everything sits before me ready to be ordered in a new way and I don’t know yet how to order it.

My new way to face the day is through my “shower temple”. Enclosed in the safety of my tile tomb I cry and scream. Then when it seems to be exercised out of my system I sit on the floor of my temple and imagine myself rooted into the Earth and as the warm water falls down all around me, I define myself.  I say who I am and who I am becoming. I force myself to concentrate on this, it is the only thing I require of myself each day, is to finished this prayer.  And by some miracle it seems to work, I feel different afterwards not better maybe but stronger.

I tell you all this because I think deep down we know who we are already, we all own this powerful knowledge and have access to it. But, many of us didn’t grow up with stories that reminded us of this innate knowledge. We were never told it was something already inside of us and so we have searched for it. We have searched for it in our career, in our faith, in our mate, in our friends, even in our clothing. Who am I, has been our life long phantom hunt. But, maybe we already know and have known all along? What if who I am looking for has always been there just waiting for a chance to show herself? I’m not sure I know how to travel this road, where the story has not been written and the definitions are not necessary.But, I have no choice.

[wanderingsiren-blog]

Sacred Woods (Siren Continued)

"The Old God sleeps down in the dark, moist,  odorous underfoot,  waiting for us to put down our roots."

With each step Brenna takes she begins to change. Strength returns to her frame and purpose to her step. The woods breathe with her and the ground presses back against her forming feet. Our Siren has one name and many names, and as she ventures into this new land her name starts to reshape itself. Each night spent sleeping beneath the strong oaks of this sacred grove strengthens Brenna until she is no longer the dark raven we first glimpsed. Fire burns in her soul and she is slowly realizing the reality that has been tucked away in this journey so far. Anger begins to tease at her belly running along her slender arms leaving her breathless and uneasy.

These woods have a knowing that whispers in the stillness. Our heroine is perplexed by the aching that travels within her soul. She screams silently into the night but finds little release. What do these oaks know that they are not telling her? The air is pregnant with expectation and Brenna feels the change coming.

Then, one day a mighty Stag appears just as the light begins to grow low and weary. He tilts his head towards Brenna and stares straight into her eyes. He is powerful and sleek a mighty creature of the wild woods, but the eyes that stare into hers are nothing like that of an animal. Brenna senses the same knowing that she feels among the trees that tower over her. As he turns to run she springs forward as well, unable to shake the feeling that an invisible line has been crossed. Change is coming.

The Stag glides through the trees like a ballerina in flight. However Brenna’s progress is not so graceful. Instead violent branches slap her face and rocks crush under her feet. She begins to feel that all is lost and the Stag has slipped through her fingers. Brenna's heart is pounding powerfully against her chest and tears have begun to sting her. The world pitches forward and Brenna finds herself face down in the dirt. Anger rises from her crumbled form and blindly Brenna reaches out in front of her when suddenly a cool liquid teases her finger tips. A small cry of shock and wonder escape our Siren's lips as she dives forward to feel the full pull of the water. Submerged in the cool liquid Brenna is ecstatic but only for a moment. A swift kick of reality crushes through the liquid pleasure as the truth sinks in. She no longer has fins. They are gone and they are not coming back.

A scream more animal then human roars out of our Siren’s mouth.  It is a sound that echo’s forth like an earthquake among the oaks, vibrating and traveling from root to root. The trees receive the scream and pass it forward through their strong quivering branches and out into the night sky. Suddenly Brenna knows her name has changed. She is Ena now and something tells her that is okay. Ena stands in the soft sandy bank and opens her mouth wide as everything stirring in the depths of her soul is pushed forward in a war cry.

Ena screams until she feels her feet planted and rooted into the sand. Her heart begins to beat in unison with all that surrounds her. All of the fear and sorrow is transmuted into the molten heat of her screams and with this release she is calmed. Ena is suddenly exhausted and mellow. She collapses into a ball, sinking again into the shimmering pool. Relief floods her being and the wind whispers gently to sooth her:

"Hail to thee, Jewel of the night!

Beauty of the heavens, Jewel of the night!

Mother of the stars, Foster-ling of the sun, Majesty of the stars!

Glory to thee for ever

Thou bright moon,

This night

Thyself art ever

The glorious lamp of the poor".

  The meaning of this lullaby is lost on Ena but there is a knowing growing inside of her. “I am more then I appear”, she whispers to herself as sleep wraps it’s sweet arms around her.

[wanderingsiren-blog]

Winter SOULstice

Mom and I walked down to the lake today. It was one of those beautiful fall days that Mama Earth likes to hand out before the nights grow colder and the days shorter.  The quite up here is astonishing. It leaves my ears buzzing which I guess is a weird thing for quite to do, but nonetheless it does. The breeze had decided to gently pick up just enough to spirit leaves playfully around as we made our way to the lake.

Our meandering pace fits my mood and we stop every few minutes to notice the changing leaves in colors of amber and tangerine. Much to my amusement my Mom has made it her mission to see that the various animals are well feed. She accomplishes this by tossing wild apples at a lone goose with a broken wing that has decided to stay put for now and a unsuspecting deer. I think these poor critters are unsure of her intent as they dodge flying food and I don’t blame them.

The path takes us along the lake just as the sun has started its slow journey behind the hills. Through the thick trees only fractals of color shine through giving one the impression of a kaleidoscope.  My favorite thing; negative and positive space plays tricks on your eyes as the leaves form stencil like slices into the sunset sky.  This visual buffet is enhanced by the perfect bouquet of smells. Animals and humans alike seem to be a buzz preparing for winter and the air feels almost heavy with the sweet wooden notes of fresh sawdust.  The wood from neighborhood chimneys mixes with the outdoor scents of wild sage and thyme. The smell transports me to Guadeloupe Valley and I can almost taste the earth laden reds we drank there. I can’t help but smile at this sweet memory.

My memories of late have been bringing emotional hitchhikers with them, visitors who I can’t seem to remember inviting. I can ignore them only so long.  Strange aches and subtle melancholy latch on to the simplest thoughts and trailing not far behind are hindsight and reality. Party guests that I would rather stay away for now, Hindsight is always late and Reality is pretty harsh. But, they are there creeping around and reminding me that my marriage is over and that my future is bare.

The Fall here is enchanting. I am already dreaming of soups resting on the stove all day, reading by the fire, and cozy over-sized sweaters. But, Winter? Winter is coming; I can feel it in my bones. I feel dreadfully unprepared. I hope I can be brave and face it. There will be swirling snowbound weather that will sail through the trees and swoosh through my heart.

The trees speak to me now in the Fall with the soft clatter of woodpeckers and rustles from endless bushy tailed squirrels. There is something more as well, a gentle knowing these towering giants exude. They are wise and they ground me. The trees seem to say, “You are so small and your problems so little.” And they are right of course, trees are wise. I realize that in the big picture of the world and even beyond that the universe, that I am nothing and that this pain is nothing. I wonder if these wise giants will speak to me still in the winter, when they are laden down with snow? Or do they sleep like the bears deep within their caves? It all seems so inward everything turning inside of its self to rest and survive. Perhaps, nature continues to have the right idea.