Three Days of Small Beauties

Clear blue skies, sunshine, and wildly optimistic birdsong melting into a pink misty haze as sunset approached.

An afternoon spent mainly playing football with small boys and moving across the pitch with the sun so that I could turn my face and feel the warmth. Beautiful to follow the light.

The smallest boy playing football with another one twice his size and reminding me of a feisty little robin. He wasn't giving up!

A profusion of tiny rosehips tumbling over a garden fence.

A kind man working at the station who let me through the barriers even though they were closed and saved me from missing my train.

Loving arms and a soft and tickly beard.

Orion, the Winter King, shining in the sky directly below the beautiful almost~full moon.

Watching every episode of 'Spaced' with Himself and loving every moment. Generally having a Simon Pegg and Nick Frost lovefest.

All the new baby fish settling down for the night. I didn't realise that fish slept until recently but they all cuddle up together in the corner of the tank and become deeply zen.

Our Yule wreath of pine and rosehips hanging from the garden cherry tree; a reminder of the sweetest of times every time I look outside.

Seeing the silhouettes of people walking their dog in the sunshine right on top of the chalk hills and imagining how it must feel to be up there so close to the sky.

Stefi, Queen of Cats, purring on my lap.

Looking out of the window to see that the sea mist had rolled in casting an otherworldly light over the hilltop; we watched it change from turtle dove~ silver, to pale saffron, to violet.

That wonderful artist, Jaine Rose has created a 'small beauties journal' inspired by these posts. Lovely to see the small beauties magic spreading. You can see it here.

Night walking ~ the sweet feeling of the cold night air, Himself teaching me how to protect my night vision from the glare of car headlights, and he always walks on the outside of the pavement like a proper old-fashioned gentleman.

The taste of Lapsang Souchong tea; like winter firesmoke.

And opening the front door to see the even~more~almost~full moon shining directly along the garden path turning it silver.

Today's Small Beauties

Cosy Old Ladies' Card Shop time; lovely customers, a journalist who is writing an article about Merriel coming in to take photos, gazing out at the beautiful winter's day, daffodils dancing on the Green, and much time for contemplation.

Being told the tale of when Merriel was threatened by a man with a knife in the shop and saw him off by throwing soft toys at him. And THAT is South London feistiness!

A woman in the shop, whose birthday it was, singing "happy birthday to your mummy!!!" to her baby, who was singing back in baby language.

The sweet small of Narcissus drifting through the shop from some flowers that were left on the door for Merriel's funeral last week. There were some beautiful white and red roses for her too.

Lichen on the trees made bright by the sun.

The shock of bright red poppies growing on the roadside ~ so tiny and delicate but such a punch from the colour on a winter's day of pale light.

A man in the bank's lovely coat; like a big, soft corduroy dressing gown. I could imagine Oscar Wilde wearing it.

The promise of a winter wedding. A HUGE and exciting small beauty!

Hot water on cold, cold skin.

And my fake fur bed cover; beyond joyously cosy and something to sink into gratefully on long, cold nights.

Days of Small Beauties

Jackdaws flying circles around a half-moon high in a pale blue sky.

A sunbeam lighting a patch of hedgerow like dripping honey.

A long winter walk with Himself along roads that we have only ever travelled together in his van before. I love the different sense of distance that comes with walking and loved the new perspective that came from seeing familiar sights for the first time on foot. And it was lovely to walk with him.

The least badgery-looking badger squeaky dog toy that I could ever imagine in the local pet shop...and it made a noise like a duck!

The warmth and snuggliness of brushed cotton sheets.

Finally getting my hands on Dominick Tyler's wondrously word-weaving book 'Uncommon Ground', which is filled with colloquial words describing our beautiful land. So far my favourite is cow-belly, which describes the fine silt that gathers on a riverbed. Sigh.

Days of love, laughter, tea drinking, and wild and tender hopes for the future.

A gathering of tiny golden fungi in the grass.

An invitation to take part in a study of 'women who have journeyed with the Goddess'. Affirming.

Stefi, Queen of Cats, purring on my lap, sitting on my head in bed, forcing her way under the covers and demanding fuss, dribbling on my face, and generally wrapping me round her paw. I loved every minute of it!

Two foxes screeching in the garden, one with the most beautiful bright-white tail tip.

Getting up before sunrise and seeing the almost translucent pale winter sun rising above wide green fields from the train I was travelling on.

My first sight of frost this year, and then ice! I love the dance of winter across the land, making everything sparkle like stars fallen to earth. Such beauty!

A man on the DLR; the gentlest of angel-souls, wearing a pink and green knitted hat, sniffing a tiny purple flower that he held in his hand with such bliss on his face, sipping sage tea from a jam jar, and looking at the world with benign fascination. Beautiful.

A hot bath with rose-scented salts after a cold day.

A deepening connection to the Spirit Mothers of this land and to She~Who~Is; shedding layers to come to deeper and wilder understandings beneath. Loving the journey.

School today; several hugs, much welcoming back after New Year, and arriving just as the smallest children were enjoying a rousing singalong to 'Let It Go' from 'Frozen'. Truly it was the most joyous thing ever! They knew all the words and sang in that half shouting/half singing way that only small children really can. Naturally I had to join in, and everyone else who came near them did too. Beautifully, wildly, marvellously, infectious.

The wonderful sight of moorhens running on grass. Thinking about it, they remind me a bit of Groucho Marx. Happy-making.

Reading about 'wassailing the bees'.

And a stunning winter sky of bright silver, steel grey, and pale gold melting into a sunset of violet and deep salmon pink. I am still blissed out by, and in awe of, the winter light.

Today's Small Beauties

Today's small beauties:

Blue sky, sunshine, and the cold of winter ~ at last!

Enjoying a new way of working in the Old Ladies' Card Shop; we only have one person in each day now and I like the feeling of beginning and ending earlier and of being the one to weave the magic of the day.

Some lovely chats with card shop customers and several edifying conversations with toddlers. They are always my favourites.

Investigating weddingy matters and feeling excited and jittery. Lovely!

When the sun came out and lit up the lichen on the grey trees on the Green.

Having a two tiny Twitter conversations with Nick Helm! Be still my heart!

My friend Jo writing something beautiful about moss which reminded me of a beauty from yesterday; delicately beautiful cushions of moss on an old and crumbling red brick wall, their tiny stems bejewelled with diamond-bright raindrops.

Honey-coloured light on the trees and buildings as the sun went down.

The vibrant red of cranberry and raspberry tea in a pure white tea cup.

Lovely emails from far-away friend Cindy who had read my recent blog post inspired by her.

Himself's amusing fern-based joke, which made me laugh muchly, and then being delighted to discover that he was quoting 'Finding Nemo'. He has done one about sponges now! I love botanically based humour. Hoorah! How happy he makes me.

A darkening deep violet sky.

Continued basking in Christmas cookery programmes on BBC iPlayer. I am still feeling festive!

And a peaceful evening of tarot reading at home. I am grateful to return to that connection and look forward to deepening it as the year weaves on.

Today's Small Beauties

Today's small beauties:

A long and peaceful bath with rose bath salts.

An extra helpful and lovely rail worker at the station.

Saying goodbye to my friend Merriel at her funeral. I thought that there would be more people there for her so I was extra glad that I went. And I discovered that she was once a semi-professional dancer and was offered a place in Peggy Spencer's dance troupe, who used to be on the telly in the 70s. She turned the offer down. It was lovely to find that out about her but I also appreciated the reminder to grab every opportunity life sends. The loveliest thing at the funeral was her grandson and his friends, who are in their late teens and so becoming young men. They were so sweetly supportive of one another and lovely to him when he cried about his gran. Bless our boys becoming men. They have good hearts and sweet souls.

The gnarled shapes of bare-branched winter oak trees against a suddenly blue sky. I stood for a while and traced their winding silhouettes for a while wondering what had led them to grow into such twisted beauty.

The joy of seeing my first catkins of the year ~ always so happymaking.

A train home coming just at the right moment.

Passing by Merriel's card shop, which was closed for her funeral today, and seeing that several people had left bunches of beautiful flowers and heartfelt notes for her, including a lovely bunch of white and red roses and another of tiny sweetly smelling narcissus. She would have been very touched.

Beautiful pale silver sunlight through the trees. I am constantly stunned by the light in the winter; so brief each day, and therefore so precious, but also so delicately exquisite.

Collecting an exciting parcel from the Post Office containing wonders from the US ~ a gift of winter pages; a diary and a book of days to weave my winter dreams in. Such gentle, lovingly created, peaceful beauty. Thank you to Lesley Austin at Wild Simplicity.

Feeling that today is the first day of the rest of my life ~ as every day, and every moment is, but today felt full of potential; my first day of re-engaging with the world after such a deep and magical midwinter, blank pages to write in, both in reality and metaphorically, plans to unhurriedly and naturally weave my life more deeply with Himself's in ways that grow with our hearts and the seasons, the poetry of being gently beginning to sing through the first days of the new year.

Lemon and ginger tea in a simple white tea cup.

My friend who never ever phones me first phoning me. People can be most surprising.

A happening in my local coffee shop which means that I will choose not to spend time there in future, which may not seem to be a beauty but it feels to be part of a movement of life to disengage me from this place where I am so rooted in and allow me to see further, and wilder, shores.

How funny Himself is; his humour, his intelligence, his deep love. He makes me smile every day.

Suddenly, after several years of inertia, finding the energy to have a proper sort out at home ~ many seemingly immoveable objects disposed of, leaving me feeling the shift inside and out.

Weaving the Web of a New Year

Blessing the Apple Trees, Wassail 2014.

Last November I received an email from one of my blog readers in the US which moved me deeply. She explained that she lives somewhere where she is surrounded by people whose politics and ways of being are very different from her own, that she feels that she is "starving for connection with like minded people", and that my blog and other writings, which she found by some magical and circuitous route, have become a lifeline. Her email made me cry and touched me more than I can say. We all understand how it feels to be alone, whether we are surrounded with people or not. Blogging can be a lonely business and, unlike much social media which has a more immediate response, can feel like communicating into a void, and so I thank the person who wrote to me, who shall henceforth be known as 'Inspiring Cindy', for making me aware of how important it can be to share ourselves and how we might be making connections with, and touching the lives and hearts of, people all over the world without even knowing it. I will be ever grateful for this reminder of the webs that we weave.

Which brings me to the New Year and recent thoughts that I have about how to use my blog differently. I haven't been posting a great deal here for some months due to the frenetic nature of everyday life and, having been reminded that posting matters, I am now inspired to use my blog in a new way. When I began the Radical Honey blog in 2014 I wrote a piece about 'small beauties' (click on the link here to read it), which, briefly, are a practice in noticing and mindfulness that I try to do every day. I have been sharing these reflections on Facebook for several years and many people have commented that they have become an important part of their day, reminding them that, even in the midst of the darkest of times, there are moments of magic...writing them reminds me of that too! Some people have even started to write their own 'small beauties' and it is always wonderful and heart-opening to read them. And so, I have decided to begin sharing mine here too, beginning today. Today has been a special day as I have been involved in the wassail, or blessing of the fruit trees, in our local community orchard so there are many small beauties to share. That feels like a good place to start, with this act of hope and belief in future abundance performed in the depths of midwinter. I am still intending to write longer pieces, and hope to write more about the wassail in coming days, but perhaps these daily small beauties can become a part of sharing more of myself, honouring the inspiration that Cindy's words gave me, and weaving stronger webs of connection amongst us all. And so, here are my 'small beauties' for today. Blessings on all our days and the sweet moments that they contain.

Today's small beauties:

Waking to sun and blue sky when I had expected rain.

Dressing in green and sequins with flowers on my bed. I am definitely going to wear flowers on my head more often!

Winter flowering Hellebore blooming in the little wood near my house; such a beautiful blush of pale pink and I thought of the ladies who I met planting them there in the summer. They will be pleased that they have created such beauty in a forgotten corner.

Lovely times at today's wassail in our community orchard; handmade red bunting shining in the sun, the smell of fresh bread being torn up for the blessing, hot mulled spiced cider warming my hands and my belly, two small people proudly telling me all about the choices of decoration that they had made for their wassail crowns, good friends and much girly excitement about my engagement to Himself, a little girl's wide open mouth when I explained that the wassailing tradition could be over a thousand years old, lovely Paul unexpectedly bringing along some New Forest scrumpy cider and filling our wassail cup, meeting Conrad, a friend from Twitter, wonderful singing group Morrigan asking me to stand with them as the Ivy Queen when they sang an ivy song, friends Clare and Scott's small son Alfie dancing with my bells and showing us his hip hop moves, the tiny voices of the children making their wassail blessing to the trees, doing our worm charming dance and the magic and wonder of finding worms on the grass afterwards, the children's enthusiasm in soaking the bread in cider and taking it to the trees, much magic shared and huge community good feeling created. Lovely!

Seeing my friends' dog, Cleo looking so well, happy, and engaged in life, having being ill for a very long time.

Visiting the little orchard on my own after the wassail was done and seeing bread in the branches of the trees. Such a heartwarming sight. The ancestors would have been pleased I hope.

Heavy clouds that felt as though they were filled with snow and the most strangely beautiful deep violet sky looking one way and the pale winter sunset looking the other.

A cosy evening at home planning the weeks ahead and paving the way for new life and new magic. Feeling blessed.

Thank you Cindy!

Woman Walking Wild: Bear Mother

                                                          

(Image: 'Bear Mother: You Are In Her Belly', Aoife Valley - used with permission)

I am not good or brave or strong. This week, I have felt lost, confused, ungrounded, seeking the strong Bear Mother curled in my belly and not finding her. Tonight, I followed a thread and I remembered fairytales. Now I see that I am on a quest; silence, love, transformation, swan feathers, and nettle stings. I can do this. I was born to do this. My heart is wild and I am in awe of her ability to push through the wildest tangles and brambles and thorns of feeling, but beside her I feel small and vulnerable. But I can do this. I am not good or brave or strong but the Bear Mother is all these things and has been my companion for many years. I rarely call her consciously but, sometimes, and often when life challenges the ability of my heart to keep on beating, I just find her there with her musty scent and sure paws. Sometimes she takes me to dive in the holy river of the sacred. Sometimes she helps me to hunt herbs for my healing or teaches me to dream in the shadow places of tears and deep magic. Sometimes she comes when I am feeling strong, walking boldly upright in my Woman self, looking the world in the eye, and I feel her weight leaning against me in support and solidarity. Sometimes she comes when I have a need to connect deeply with my earth. It's then that I find her curled sleeping in the dark cave of my belly and I sink into myself and into her with a grateful outbreath. And sometimes she comes when when I am raw, stripped to the bone by my determination to live a wild life surrounded by the not-wild, when I can find no place for what moves within and am wandering lost without a map to follow. Often I stumble and, knowing that my belly is hollow and empty and not the place for her, she splits herself open so that I can crawl inside her still warm body, become bear, rest. Often there is blood. 

                 

(From the film, 'Send Word, Bear Mother', http://www.bearmother.com/)

The Bear Mother is the oldest of the old. She was one of the first beings to be worshipped by our far off ancestors, possibly as far back as the middle Palaeolithic period, which lasted from 300,000 to 30,000 years ago. She is revered in the North American, Northern Eurasian, and circumpolar regions, particularly amongst the Sami people, the Ainu of Japan, and the tribes of Celtic Gaul and Britain. The Ainu call the bear 'kamui', which means God. In each area the bear is recognised as a supernatural messenger and walker between the worlds, traveller amongst the stars above, below, and within. Cave Bear skulls have been found in a cave at Saône-et-Loire, France arranged in a circle and marked with red ochre. They are believed to be between 45,000 and 75,000 years old and to date from the time of the Neanderthals. It is believed that even the more 'modern' beliefs of our own Northern ancestors date to a “common ancestral belief-system of Asiatic origin dating back to the time ofthe Magdalenian period of 20,000 years ago”. Bear tracks appear in the rock carvings of the Altai people of Northern Norway from as long as 6,200 years ago. When we walk with Bear we too become the oldest of the old. We become once again the people who carry the red ochre. We become real and our ancestors are beside us.

But the one who is truly always beside us is the Bear Mother. She has touched my life many times. In 2007 my mother, who had been very ill, was not expected to live through the night. Her spirit chose to remain and she stayed for another few months before she left. I was relieved that she was still alive and, once the turbulence of that time had settled, I expected to carry on with my life as before but I found that I was agitated and couldn't settle back into my everyday life. I realised that I had been so convinced that my mother would die, and only a few months after my father’s death, that I had stepped partly into the Otherworld to hold her hand as she passed and had never quite returned. A few weeks later, I found myself in a little crystal shop in Glastonbury, Somerset, and there I found a bone pendant carved with the image of a bear mother holding her cub in her arms. I couldn't afford her but I felt her call and so I let the wild part of me in and she was mine. I wore her for several months and came back to myself but she wouldn't stay. Instead she has travelled to several friends, and friends of friends, who have had need of her. Some have received deep healing and become well again. Some have received deep healing and have died. Always she has come back to me and I trust that this time she will. I don't even have a photograph; for a creature so powerful and so big she knows how to slip unseen between the cracks of healing.

I have written before of the painful journey that I had with my partner, Will, and of the healing that Heron brought me, but there was also a whiff of Bear. When I was at my most ragged and raw I went to a drumming circle to celebrate Winter Solstice. It was all that I could do to get myself there at all and I was sure that I would feel cut off in my broken state. There were five drum journeys that night and in each one the Bear Mother came and curled up with me, wrapping around me a sanctuary of stillness and safety. In her warmth something in me was healed. It was enough.

She is not always, what we would think of as, kind and she can be a fierce mother. She is an ancestress, a mother life-giver, and even now we talk of 'bearing' children. In Eastern Lithuania, a woman immediately after childbirth is called 'Bear' (Meška). The saying ''licked into shape' comes from the belief that, during hibernation, bear mothers would literally create their young by licking formless flesh and fur into bear cubs before emerging with them in the spring. Sometimes, she has done this to me too; pushing me to be more, try harder, walk wilder, shaping me, when I would rather just lie down and give up. I am a wilful and defiant woman and sometimes she has to 'cuff' me. She is not to be trifled with, this Bear Mother.         

                     

'Bear Mother and Cubs', Anna Hyatt-Huntington (Wiki Commons)

And now, when I have undertaken a brave quest to find a new and wild life and I am all love, silence, and transformation, the Bear Mother has returned curling into the cave of my belly and has drawn me down into the deep dreaming of her holy story, and of my own. I lost her, remembered fairytales, and she came back through words and tears. I am not good or brave or strong but the Bear Mother is with me and I am blessed.

                                                   

(Wiki Commons)

And here, as a special treat for us all and for anyone who knows their bears to be, 'made of ice and river-wood and the bones of otters, full of pebbles and pine resin and the lost songs of bees', is a story of beauty and power from the wonderful Tom Hirons, first published in 'Earthlines' journal and shared here with his permission. Thank you, Tom.

 https://coyopa.wordpress.com/2012/07/21/the-bear-outside/

Bibliography:

'The Significance of the Bear Among the Sami and Other Northern Cultures', Brandon "Kál'lá" Bledsoe. http://www.utexas.edu/courses/sami/diehtu/siida/religion/bear.htm

'The Language of the Goddess', Marija Gimbutas, Thames & Hudson, 1989.

'The Great Bear Mother', Jude Lally https://ilikelichen.files.wordpress.com/2015/08/the-great-bear-mother-by-jude-lally.pdf