A Bird Of A Very Different Feather

Most days I try to ‘map’ some expectations and include something so incredible and unusual that I will know when it occurs that it is confirmation of my ability to manifest via my connection to ‘The Universe’. This frequently involves being attuned with Nature and working with my guides who serve as omens. Yesterday, however, I decided to simply allow things to unfold and see what would happen. This seemed like the obvious choice to make since circumstances warranted that the plans I had made the previous night needed to be altered. I didn’t get out to my garden at all as I had expected. I had planned to spend most of the day out there cleaning things up in preparation for Spring, when I plant like a mad woman so that when it’s all done, all that is left to do is a bit of maintenance and relaxing in it’s beauty.

After doing some running to look at a new combination smoker and grill that my husband would like and another trip to the grocery store for steaks, it was well after 2PM and my energy was lagging. I figured that after dinner I’d just get my bird feeders filled and sit in the yard allowing the Earth to envelope me in Her nurturing embrace as I listened to the fountain splash. Wild Violets, my favorite flower, are scattered throughout the lawn wherever the Great Mother had tossed them and never fail to make me smile.

I came around to the front yard and headed toward my griffon bench for a front row seat, as the chorus of bird song was just warming up. There, on the ground beneath my feeder pole, laid a male Red Winged Blackbird. Whatever occurred had just happened prior to my arrival because he had not been there on my first pass through. I bent down and scooped him up in my hands and he began to show signs of fear, but was too disoriented to do anything but accept my interference.

Gently probing his feathers, I didn’t detect any obvious wound from a bird of prey, but he was too far away from my window for me to assume that he had hit the glass. I held him, speaking softly to him while stroking his soft little head and he began to relax. His eyes became less glazed and he started to make a move to escape. At one point he took advantage of my loosened grip and jumped to the ground. He seemed unable to take flight and hopped the length of the side of the house until he entered the back yard. Anyone who doubts a bird’s ability to outrun them should try chasing one.

He reached the rock wall where he came to a stand still. There was no way that I was just going to leave him to his own devices since in this state, he was a ‘sitting duck’. I picked him up again and returned to the bench with him. My husband came outside so the two of us began to play doctor, offering him water, which he drank one drop at a time off the tip of my finger, and simply letting him rest in my cupped hands. He’d open his eyes and make a break for it again, but still was not able to take flight.

Finally, it was time to go inside, so we exchanged ideas as to what to do with him overnight. With three very inquisitive Cats in residency, it was obvious that creating a make shift hospital indoors was not a wise option. I put a cushion at the bottom of a garden carry-all and found a ‘cage’ fashioned from hardware cloth. It was carefully placed over him so he was confined to a smaller, but airy space. A small dish of seeds was placed inside with him and another garden pillow served as a lid for the cage and the device was carried through the house and placed on the deck off the upper level so he would be high enough to protect him from predators.

I proceeded to do some things around the house while my husband gave me updates. “He’s ok. Just sitting there peering into the patio door wondering how he can get the hell out of there”. With darkness falling, there was not much else to be done until morning.

So, it’s a bit past 5AM and still dark so I am anxiously awaiting some daylight so that I can see if he’s ready to be launched back into life as he knew it before whatever it was had altered it. Come to think of it, my life was altered too. As I sat there attempting to provide what he needed, an overwhelming sense of having to nurture flooded my senses. How appropriate for Mother’s Day weekend. My daughter and her husband have to attend a birthday party for a ‘godchild’, so I will be spending Mother’s Day sans child. My own 93 year old mother is going out to dinner with one of my brothers and since we were not asked to join them, I really would feel like an intrusion if we made the hour and a half trip to ‘visit’. Having my husband take me out for dinner seems a bit odd because, as he has pointed out in the past, I am not his mother.

Getting out in the yard to do yesterday’s gardening will be a fine way to celebrate. After all, what a better way to spend the day than to be in the presence of the greatest Mother of all, in service to Her by having a ‘day of beauty’ in the spa… plucking weeds, and adding some color and polish.

Ah, I see the light of day has made things out the window visible and recognizable. A Grackle is already having breakfast, probing the peanut feeder for a nut to fly off with. A funny spin on the end bit of that line takes over my brain in the form of mounting the broom with a fellow crazy Sister Witch. The goofy shit my mind takes and twists just enough to leave puzzled faces in the wake of my sudden impulse to share them scares me. The closer I get to being 60, the more bazaar those things become. Oh well, I’ve been politely described as “eccentric” all of my life so the stiletto granny boot fits. And yes, I wear them, adhering to my sentiment, “if the shoe fits”, as in comfortable, “it’s ugly”.

Well, time to check on the patient. I guess I’ve been stalling because as eager as I am, there is that twinge of fear that I will find that he has joined the friendly skies on the other side. In the words of Wayne Dyer, “Excuses Be Gone”.

Rock Your World

Things can get a bit intense around the office, so I have an assortment of crystals on my desk to help alleviate much of the stress. When I feel the pressure mounting, I take the appropriate stone and hold it for a moment. I focus on the energy of the properties it possesses and allow it to work its Magick. Visualize the energy as light associated with the color of the crystal spreading throughout your body. Once I feel grounded and back in control, I express gratitude and put the crystal back on my desk. When I feel the need to cleanse it, I simply hold it under running water and focus on having all past influences drain away and it will be ready to assist me again.

Search for stones that will have the correspondences that you are most likely to need. Make sure that you have a clear quartz crystal in your collection. Not only will it serve with properties of its own, but it will also enhance the power of any other stone that you work with. A search on line for the metaphysical properties of crystals and stones will allow you to choose the ones whose uses will best suit your individual needs. Mine range from the calming effects of blue lace agate to the energizing energy of orange calcite. http://www.healingcrystals.com is a great site. It includes pictures so you’ll have some idea of what to look for before you begin shopping.

You may choose to keep your crystals out of sight instead of out in the open. Keeping them in a little cloth bag or tucked away in a drawer will protect them from curiosity seekers as well as avoiding having them handled by those whose energy may not be conducive to your work with them. If you feel the need, you may also decide to carry it with you in a pocket to keep it close at hand.

Gem and mineral shows sponsored by geological clubs are a great place to shop and learn. You will have the opportunity to handle a variety of stones so that you can choose those that ‘feel right’. Many stones are set into jewelry that can be worn to utilize the properties on a regular basis. Those with protective qualities are particularly desirable.

Engage in the entire process of procuring and using crystals to enhance your life in many ways. A display of larger pieces is a beautiful way to incorporate Nature into your living space. Enjoy and rock on.

Sprig Has Cub

And none too soon. This has been a wicked Winter indeed. I don’t recall any in the past that have been so incredibly cold. My desire to get out with my cross country skis was not realized, but we may get another round of snow before it’s all over.

This past Friday, I remarked to my husband that the Red Winged Blackbird would make an appearance soon. I can always ‘feel’ when Nature’s omens are on hand to send their messages. Saturday morning found me near the window overlooking the front yard sipping a vat of orange vanilla coffee when I sensed his presence. Pulling the curtain aside, I saw him. He clung to the peanut feeder and seemed to have a sense of familiarity as though he knew that he was home. Every year, the one I named Bartholomew, accompanies me as I garden. Never showing any fear, he follows me around the yard and sits in the tree nearest to me and holds his own in our running conversation. The sight of him had me laughing out loud, “damn, I’m good”, I declared. The Craft has a way of deepening one’s connection with Nature so that even in an urban setting, every nuance is sensed and always inspires a knowing smile.

This is a time of rebirth for all of us, and my journal pages abound with goals, aspirations and sacred oaths to fulfill as the Wheel of the Year takes another turn. Fertility symbols adorn my alter and chocolate truffle eggs fill crystal bowls in every room. Seeds will be ritually planted in new Earth and tiny sprouts coddled until they can be transplanted in the garden. Misty mornings will call to me and I have no choice but to go where they hold court. It’s in the mist that the portals can be found.

My heartfelt blessings go out to all of you as candles are lit and incense smolders. Sharing my thoughts as they transform into words is a privilege that becomes even more beautiful when given the honor of having you read them. For this I am grateful.

Welcome Spring.

I Say Ostara…

My mother’s stares of amazement were punctuated by heavy lidded blinks of reality. It began when she wondered out loud as to what Rabbits and Chickens had to do with Easter. “Well, mother”, I began, “it’s an ancient Pagan fertility thing.” I explained the reasons for the season and when I finished, she responded with a very surprised, yet respectful exclamation of, “really”.

She’s well aware that her only daughter is a Witch, but she never talks about it, at least to me. The times that she does bring it up are rare, but this often leaves me with a feeling that not only has she accepted it, but there seems to be an underlying knowing that this has been my calling all along. Like the time when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and she inserted the words, “You wanna do something about it?” into our conversation. This threw me for a triple loop because it was as if she was acknowledging that she believed that I could. Never doing anything Magickal for anyone without their permission, I accepted this as her request. The spell was cast and she just celebrated her 93rd birthday cancer free.

Just last week another comment was made, this time by my sister-in-law. We were in the church where my mother’s youngest brother’s funeral was taking place and I was using the time before the service to talk with my oldest brother and his wife. I was remembering when I was about 4 years old, visiting my grandparents on my mother’s side, who lived in an ancient monument of a farm house. As soon as the car came to a halt I’d run through the house and out the door that lead to the back porch. There I’d call Emily, a calico outside Cat that I had managed to tame and name. Off in the distance, I’d see the grass in the fields move as she soft pawed her way toward me to eat the combination of milk and day old home made bread that I offered her in the bent tin dish.

Apparently, Emily got around because every year she’d produce several batches of kittens, extremely feral and hidden. Every year I’d find them, usually in the barn or the woodshed. Eyes glowing in the darkness of their make shift den, they’d growl and hiss, but I would tame most of them to the point that I could hold them and they followed me around like the piped piper. My grandmother called me ‘katze mutter’, which was German for ‘Cat mother’ and I’ve lived up to that reputation ever since.

I was reminiscing about how I’d take the small wooden blocks of scrap lumber that got burned in the wood stove and set up ‘alters’ and ‘pulpits’ on the back stoop and there I’d play ‘church’ and preach to my congregation of assorted sizes of felines. My sister-in-law laughed and said, “you were doing it even then…you must have known”. I settled back in the pew and her words struck me as they rattled around in my head. Again, some means of acceptance interwoven with the knowledge that I was a Witch who teaches and preaches and was somehow meant to.

I’m not sure if it’s because I was an odd child who became an even odder adult that it is readily taken in stride that I should have come to this. Perhaps it was my vivid memory of being an infant in a crib or the time when I was 5 and was suddenly overtaken by dread that manifested in the form of loud wailing and screaming. The great-aunt that lived with us and served as a ‘nanny’ to my brothers and me was visiting friends. It was after dark, she was on the other side of Milwaukee and traveled by city bus which was not the safest thing to do. My parents tried to comfort me by saying that she planned on staying over night should it get late and that’s why she wasn’t coming home. The crying and screaming persisted because I knew something was terribly wrong. Soon the phone rang with the news that Aunt Alma had been hit by a car and was in the emergency room. As my parents got ready to go there, the phone rang again with the news that she had died.

This was the first of many psychic experiences that I came to dread as I was growing up. Not only were they always linked to tragedy, but in the classrooms of my Lutheran school I was told that the ability to do this was linked to the devil. I can’t help but wonder why the threat of Satan is acceptable, but exposing children to the realities of life is considered traumatic. It’s this kind of questioning that got me in trouble all the time…even then.

As Ostara approaches I am made aware that another holiday is shared by those who ‘borrowed’ much of their traditions from mine. The Bunnies, eggs and baskets of cellophane grass line store shelves along with the ridiculous chocolate crosses and ‘Jesus fish’. Another holiday that I will celebrate alone in spite of the tandem practice of the other. Ostara is also the birthday of MoonShadow, the Coven I created over 20 years ago. Members came and went over time, but the ‘family’ that remains is truly that which was formed of perfect love and perfect trust. You know who you are and you know that I love you.

I’ll explain what the Spring Equinox is to many ‘grown ups’ who only know that it’s the first day of Spring because the weather man said so. There I go again…teaching and preaching. Maybe I’m not the only one in the family who had psychic tendencies when it came to knowing that following the beat of a different drum was something that I was meant to do… in devoutly constructed circles of light.

Just Sharing a Poem

I’m not sure when I wrote this, it’s not dated and it apparently has no title. Perhaps you can think of one.  It was on a warm evening when I sat in my yard near the pond, waiting for the Firefly ballet to begin. I often take a pen and note book with me…just in case I experience something noteworthy. Recently discovered by ‘accident,’ tucked between some books I was going through, I thought I’d share it.  I look out my window at the snow and dream of evenings such as this. Not my best work, but it was what occurred when the pen in my hand began to move…and I let it.

At dusk while sitting in the yard

A breeze caressed a willing cheek.

Some mirthful tune, a gift of bard

A voice and playful lips did seek.

The melody echoed in my head

Until no more my silence kept.

Softly wafting loft instead,

The song from parted lips then crept.

“She changes everything” I sang,

“And all She touches changes”.

This chant amid the breeze then rang

To She who rearranges.

A Dragonfly then came my way

To perch upon my tree.

A smile crossed my lips to say,

“I bid good eve’ to thee.”

It rested there to spend the night.

I thought myself so blessed

To marvel at this wondrous site.

“Please stay”, was my request.

Draped, a softly layered night

Of cobalt, dipping near.

The fragile beauty’s rest from flight

Reflected in a single tear.

The ‘Show Me State’

If only we ask, we will receive. On the way home from work last night something weighed heavily on my mind. The Crow is one of my Nature Guides, therefore, the sighting of one when requested is a sign that I ask for when I need direction. Putting myself in the state of mind that was needed to allow the message to transcend any preconceived idea that I may have had, I became open to what I had requested.

There she was. One Crow on a wire.
This is a solitary quest. I know, I see.

I Heard, I Answered

If you are reading this, you know that I am a Witch. There never was a time, since I ‘took up the broom’, that I chose to keep it in the closet. I just felt that I couldn’t educate people from in there. Over the years, I have had to defend my path, explain it and endure the results when someone had preconceived notions as to what the Craft is and what kind of person I am for following it.

The most difficult part is the quest for validity. I dress primarily in black, and some would say, ‘look the part’ in the same way that a nun or priest does.  This is not to make a statement or stand out in a crowd, but rather to enhance what I do 24/7 and that is to immerse myself in the fathomless well that is my spiritual calling. Ah ha, here’s where it gets sticky. Trying to convince those of mainstream, conventional paths that the calling that I received is just as valid and righteous as the one that called them to theirs.

It doesn’t help that the fun part of being a Witch has a tendency to overshadow the deep spiritual aspect. Creepy and kooky, mysterious and spooky and altogether…uky? I might be mysterious and quite eccentric,  but I’ve never been ‘uky’ a day in my life. Sure, I reach into my ‘wicked sense of humor bag’ a lot when it comes to being a Witch because it helps others get comfortable with who I am, but certainly not to mock or make fun of what I feel is a sacred path. Once people find me approachable, they will discover that I am a person they might want to get to know better and may even begin to defend me to anyone who might say something negative. I consider this, progress. So, if I have to cackle at one more joke at my expense or threaten to unleash my flying Monkeys, I’m okay with it.  I know that no malice is intended when a co-worker gives me a gift of a green faced, hooked nose, Witch Beanie Baby. Compared to being snubbed, harassed, and the target of mean spirited nastiness…I can take a joke and make them too.

When I am alone in my beautiful room that I have that serves as my ‘Temple Between The Worlds”, I don’t have to explain a thing. My Patrons know me and I know Them. I didn’t summon Them or demand that They ‘work with me’, but rather, each one made Themselves known when I was ready to hear Them and accept the honor of Their presence in my life. No one will ever make me doubt the validity of the connection that I have with Them. I’ve witnessed and experienced the result every moment, and for this, I am eternally grateful. Yes, the Magick is a glorious gift and the power can be intoxicating, but my relationship with Them is truly the highest blessing that I have been given.

At times, due to the depth of the spiritual aspect of my calling, I might be accused of attempting to lure people away from their own religious beliefs and practice, especially when it comes to young people and their curiosity. Nothing could be farther from the truth because I know the difficulty of traversing this terrain with all its jagged edges. The desperate loneliness of being a ‘minority’, steeped in a brew of solitary secrecy, is no church pot luck or community picnic in the park. Being true to my path, I don’t celebrate holidays that are not congruent with my beliefs so unless I celebrate with my own Coven or attend the limited events available, I’m on my own.

As for the young who might be enticed by the Craft, I am quick to point out, they could do worse. A path that requires them to accept the responsibility for their actions, live in harmony with Nature and lead contentious lives might be an improvement over blaming parents, ‘the devil’ or both, for being inconsiderate, self-absorbed and entitled. However, they will not be coerced by me.

Can a person take their spiritual path too seriously? If so, I am justly accused. Would I accept being martyred to defend it? I certainly hope that it never comes to that. But, I am someone who cannot separate my spirituality from ‘real life’ because for me, they are one in the same and not side by side. The days of living my path one hour a week in a building designated for that purpose are long gone and far behind me. It was for that very reason that I found myself waging a constant internal battle to be good enough in the eyes of my ‘god’ and failed miserably because I was trying to empty the world’s oceans with a teaspoon. Where would I put the water without creating another ocean that needed to be emptied?

I made one last desperate cry for help that fell on deaf ears. When the echo of my own scream subsided, I heard the call that I was meant to hear…and I answered.

Yule Be Behind

Yule is past, but the fires still burn, nursed by glowing embers. Imbolc is coming and the light is waxing as the Wheel turns. I always thought it glorious to be a Pagan, but the beauty of this Earth based path is so evident when we celebrate seasons and not just ‘holidays’. Most of them are the creation of Christians in an attempt to lure the heathens from their heaths and pagans from their rural ways. Persecuted, tortured and martyred, the practitioners survived as well as their practice. I am grateful to publicly express my love of this path. I may be misunderstood and maligned, but when it comes to pointing a finger…don’t tempt me. I cast in perfect love and perfect trust…most of the time. The rest of the holiday celebrations, decreed so by the greeting card industry, are as flimsy and fleeting as the paper they’re created from.

The Red Winged Black Birds will return early again this year. They have been for some time as the warming trend continues. For all the naysayers who shivered in disbelief when temperatures here in Madison, Wisconsin dipped to arctic levels scoffed over the concept of global warming, there are those of us who know that it is the erratic patterns that mean more than the notion that we should all be sporting shorts in January.

Hunting Hawks filled the skies yesterday as my husband and I traveled to visit family two hours north. Their pray ventures forth to find food when underground pantry stores run low. For those of us who live this path, we feel seasons in ways that escape those who need a meteorologist for confirmation. New life energy is coursing throughout root systems and buds that formed by last Mabon send silent signals within their structure, lying in wait until it’s time to burst.

Some part of every day should be spent in Nature. Love Her, revere Her and thank Her for all that She is and provides. Commune with Her and bind and bond, and what She reveals will enrich your life in ways that mundane minds struggle to imagine, much less grasp. Her consort, the Stag will empower you with His boldness and courage. Paw the Earth to honor Him.

When Imbolc arrives with fresh Ewe’s milk and fires prodded to full glory, pull your capes around you tightly. Warmed and quenched by mulled ale, dance the dance your primal essence has never forgotten, allowing your capes to billow in the wind, lifting you skyward to a higher trance. Drum through the night enticing the light to return.

By crackling pine and Yule log char
Divine in embers, near and far
In fire bright, receive the sight
Knowing comes by morning light.

Keep the secret, keep it well
This is not for you to tell
For your truth is only yours
It’s the key to open doors.

Wisdom here will be revealed
If not for you, will then stay sealed
But, if it is, you cannot hide
From the secrets locked inside.

Fear will never serve you well
Grasp your crystal and your bell
Drive it forth and you will see
Destiny that’s meant for thee.

Blessings everyone.

Nose To The Ground

How much do you miss as you run for the bus or race across busy streets? Even if you take a stroll through the park, do you ever avert your eyes from what’s ahead to what’s below? If there was money on the sidewalk would you pass it by? Stomp foot first into something that you’d rather not? Trip on an uneven strip of concrete? There are many reasons and occasions to pay attention to your feet and where they are taking you.

When you allow yourself to really pay attention you will find treasure at your feet and not just in the form of spare change or a lost piece of jewelry. Is there a beautiful feather in your path? An acorn or pine cone that will dispense tree energy when carried in your pocket? Will it make you smile when you reach in and touch it, a well kept secret from the person who might be talking with you or the boss you’re getting a reprimand from? Does its energy and the joy you get from the tactile connection with Nature calm you or make you feel empowered?

Did the perfect leaf fall at your feet? Does it bring to mind childhood memories of pressing it flat and coating it with paraffin to preserve it and use it as a marker in your favorite book about Nature? If you display it on your desk, will that inspire your mind to travel to a forest path amid your hectic day?

There is treasure where you stand. Gifts from Nature to remind you that you are only a step away from the beauty and wonder once kept and now freely given. Watch where you’re going and you may discover that ‘eye level’ will allow your vision to expand.

Eye To The Sky

No matter where you live you cannot escape Nature. From the soaring Eagle to the city Pigeon, there is a lesson to be learned from their presence in the skies. Today, watch for the Bird who makes itself known, for this is no mere happening void of meaning. If you notice it, it has significance.

Is the Bird on a wire, balancing between the Earth and sky? Do you feel that you are on that high wire, precariously perched over a dangerous situation demonstrated by the rushing traffic below or is there a meadow beneath the Bird? Is the wind blowing, causing the wire to sway or is it a calm day and the wire serves only as a means for you to see far and wide?

Do you see a Hawk soaring high seemingly surveying its domain? Is your keen sight and ability to rise above it all allowing you to excel in business or your personal life? Can you feel yourself riding the current with the Hawk, confident and sure of your vision for your future?

Does the gentle coo of Doves reach your ears? Amid the rushing cars, bobbing and weaving as it picks its way along the curbside for bits of food, it seems oblivious to the traffic. The Dove has a mission and its calm demeanor keeps it focused. A sudden rush of danger has it taking to the skies in seconds, gracefully gliding out of harms way and as soon as the threat has passed, it resumes its intention.

Is it a tree that holds your bird in its sheltering arms? It has all that it needs right there. Insects for food, a place to nest and raise a family, and leaves to hide behind and shield it from predators. Do you need to keep looking outside of yourself for your desires or is all you really need within and already yours?

From the elusive Owl to the watchful and cunning Crow, if you observe the behavior of the beautiful winged Nature guide that will present itself to you today, you will come away richer and wiser. Open yourself to the boundless expanse of sky and allow it to touch you.