On the longest night, we are submerged in darkness, cocooned in a primal energy. It is then, in the stillness that the white horse begins her gallop. Slowly raising her ancient head and with a whinny she awakes, for it is her who brings us into these holy days, brings us from one reality into the other, into these days between the worlds, the days out of time.
In the days between the solstice we gathered in the small temple, lifting our drums creating a rhythm that took us between the worlds. As we got lost in the rhythm, our movements becoming automatic, above the sounds of the drums we heard singing, magical voices of the ancestors. We danced, and tranced following the great spiral dance, turning and spinning and on a far away land to the east the sun god arose, streaking rays of light down into the womb tomb of Newgrange announcing that the infant son would be born again, and we celebrated knowing that this sun child was conceived although we wouldn’t see much growth for months to come as he was still small, still growing.
The magic of the solstice lies far from the maddening frenzy we humans create, as it can only be found in the silence. It is as if the insatiable monster of consumerism created so many distractions that we would become lost, and forget our true source, forget the source of ourself. For me this silence found by putting one foot in front of the other and wandering. Turning off our brain and letting the divine in all her myriad of forms talk to us. Some people follow the deer trods, those ancient paths that criss cross the land marking centuries if not thousands of years of migration and feeding, the ley lines of earth energy. Even here living in a large town I found the bear trails, the ancient paths that the coyotes take to get back up to the Blue Ridge parkway and into the mountain ranges. When I walk those trails, the frost glistens, the red holly berries sing, everything is alive again and singing it’s own song of life.
Yet after our wanders in the wild, or inspiring and empowering workshops our experiences can dwindle. That feeling of having your life rejuvenated is eaten away by that big ugly monster, who at every turn offers you a unimaginable host of shiny options, things to drink, to eat, to wear, to own. But really it offerings are illusions, slight of hand magic, for the minute you think you have it it is gone, your left lusting after the new bright and shiny thing, it exists only in its illusionary promise. So my quest in this world always seems to be how do we hold onto this magic, this insight and keep in touch with our inner wildness.
Lady of the Ways by Chesca Potter
There are many ways, but one, especially relevant for me at this time of year, is feeding our wild self, our wild soul. Here in the northern hemisphere the weather is cold, often bone cold which helps stir our primal memory written in our being of how it was to be cold, to fight to survive, to keep the flames burning at all costs. Our ancestors experience and voices are written in our bones, and if we take time in the silence to listen we have a whole host of allies to work with. As the new born light grows I tend to my wild self, giving myself time to dream, to make sacred art, for it is what is born down in these depths that will feed me throughout the coming year. To journey with the drum to ask direction, to give thanks. To tend your altar.
Mid winter giveaway
And however you feed yourselves this mid winter I want to say a big thanks for helping inspire me in what I do, and supporting me wither attending workshops, or buying art or having enriching conversations. My midwinter giveaway is a mat frame needle felted White Horse of Uffington, as seen below. Yours will be made specially for you. It’s a celebration of the gifts we receive at these times of year when she takes on a journey between the worlds.
How to enter the giveaway:
If entering via website: sign up to receive blog updates and then leave me a message to confirm this and that I know you are in the draw.
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