Awakening to the Way

Gaia, deepest Mother of all life calls to you in your bodies, in your dreams and labours. Listen now…

“Reunion with the culture that acknowledges your ancestors and respects the ancient traditions of your past lifts you up into creation mind. You may feel the soulful love and savage loss of your tribal ones. You dream the earth songs of the Ancients.

I hear you calling “Where are my warriors, my grandmothers, my healing, my rites of passage, my dying? Who knows my clan stories?

What am I?

You are a web of interconnectedness.

Mother Earth speaks, “Whatever I feel, you feel, whoever you are, you are my children.

Open your eyes, for sacred meaning is being slaughtered as you sleep.  Awaken now, I say. To know yourselves is to acknowledge your collective wounding, and to do so is maybe more than can be borne, and yet, you must do so now.

Why? For your survival”.

I am a dreamspindle, spinning onwards and ever onwards, a spirit watcher. I am here to witness your last true birth. I represent your shadows. I travel within your pain. I see your potential and I ask you to follow me into the sacred realm of your deepest mysteries. This is your power story unfolding.

“To acknowledge the web of life is to assume responsibility. This is a joyful burden. A joyful burden is the gift received in giving without expectation. It is the silent touch from spirit to need, and it acknowledges the master within. It seeks no reward. Being in the shamanic moment is the reward. Calling evil into the light is about owning the collective darkness. To take full account with the fury and recognise the unknowable by personal confrontation is the shaman’s path.

Receive this initiation from the infinite spirit that you are. Walk with the Grace that blows through your hearts. You have already come so far. Stand tall in this blessing, open to ancient knowing, free to envision your own truth.

Now is your moment of choice. Step into the wilderness and fly. Lift up in ecstasy. Today you make your way. The rocks part for you, and the trees guide, water calls and wind touches. Allow nature’s teachers to come for you. Be here. Take sacred breath and be spirit, conjoined in the shaman’s way.

Carry out the steps with great care and loving, always loving.

Take every breath deeply into the darkest shadows of your being and laugh out loud.

Decorate your self with natural power. Choose your symbols. Carve your dreaming and dance your bodies. There are no boundaries within your own shamanic traditions, other than those set by you. Create your own tradition. Own your dreaming and share it with the forest of whispers.

Be heard here. Look and see. Listen and hear. Feel and know. Trust your self every step of the way. Resonate with the gifts of being awakened in the way”.

Lemuria… Pacifica… Muu…

oh, the wonder of such rounded, gustatory words.

Threading the spindle, I watched my own hands as they smeared bold and beautiful colours upon the backdrop of all my cloudy thoughts, and I bleated, a nervous sheep’s song that trembled and suffered the brightest shafts of pure and brilliant light, piercing into my mind as my heart burned and quivered to be reaching, climbing up the wall and out of the window of these ordinary and grasping perspectives.

How had I tasted and tasted the drugging of Great Spirit, how could I have fallen so dead at my birth, landed here at the hem of such sedated spiritual inertia?  I paced crazily for an opening, an escape plan, a magic carpet upon which I could slip and drift so gently from these shores, that my living being, generously and benevolently delivered a perfect mystery, a purely enigmatic story that unfolded all around me, with a rolling, marching, travelling tune that tenderly caressed my deepest urgent frailties, calling to me, seducing, arousing my slumbering soul to attend to the tasks at hand.

Shocking me, a horde of flickering blue radiants dazzled me and embraced my whole swollen heart, touching my face and eyes with a sprinkling of their shimmering light, such luminous makers, they whispered to me of world-deep waters, and wide coastal lanes and great oceans of power so that I curled up tightly within their legendary laps and sailed into the full gust of their words and wonders, until my wishing made it so. Up I stepped, a princess in mirrored light, and I touched every feather, every glistening jewel of that silvery-blue folk, and I caged my grief and turned my face away from the dwindling lights of my beloved wise-ones of the West, my lords and ladies of the past, Elven, Faery, truest loves of all my rising selves, my blissful dream-guardians as they passed away into the night, calling back to me…..

“You are a daughter of Paneshwak”

Lemuria. Home. Brightest star of all our earthly costume parties, Grandmother of every fireside fable and lost legend, Mu, the bible of all tribes, the rock of Abraham, the satyr sister of Babylon, the fire in the eyes of every giant, the mists of time, our ancient ones.

Here I ask, “who weaves these bindings closed upon our sacred truths, what hand shutters the view and draws the curtains to a blackness, casting such a solemn dimming upon the exquisite fabric of our diversity and natural magnificence, why destroy a banquet of joy and for what purpose? What unlovedness retches and vomits such pious greed and stifling emptiness upon the heroic adventures of all such bright and mellifluous souls?

DREAMSPINDLE

The trial of recent changes from Spring and Summer into Autumn left me anxious, withdrawn and mentally dulled, so much so, that I suffered a physical ache of confusion, until I surrendered, diving headlong into the quiet isolation that the mountain had offered right back at the beginning of my initiation.

The rain tumbled through the trees until more and even more clouds rolled in, covering everything with a soothing spectre of clammy obscurity that gathered and drifted for days, and then weeks, on and on into an endless fog of moist and dripping hollows and running rivulets and rushing cascades as I hunkered into the fireside and seldom moved far from home.

Drowsing, I let go of all outer disturbances and summoned the dreamspindle to guide me inside the storm. I closed my eyes and she appeared, almost immediately, as if she’d been waiting impatiently for me to make time, to clear the way and be still. I entered her world and bared my soul for the winds of her words to sweep over me, showing and exciting me with the viscera of  her true living.

After the sweet watering, she welcomed the winds of change. Nurturing their deepest heartseeds, gently planting dreams within the seasonal wheel of change, she bound the ribbons to her dreamscape as the nestlings wintered on. Smoke spiraled from her cottage, and warmth was her treasured companion. A Creatrix lived there in the void, gestating, forming the sacred bones of her deepest choices.

Stirring the soup in partnership with nature, she abided in the close darkness, making with hands and glowing fire and face, her herbs hugging heartbreak as she let go of old pain and sat within the silent centre of her circle. Passion stirred, seeking her will to emerge. Singing, she summoned proud bellies to bring forth tender new life, and for winter’s solitude to deliver her magnificent new wealth. Newlings filled their flowering time, bursting freedom again expressed in open-armed perfection.

Musically, colourfully, spiritually,  joyfully.

“Here”, she whispered, “here you come”, and fat, drunken white blooms of heavy wild roses fell open, in a resonance of joy as she passed.  Her soil burbled with organismic sugars and damp, deep sound pounded it’s way into the root structure of all living plants.

Awakening from some grim battle with stagnation and unrequited love, the buds stirred in their pale and gentle centres, yearning for her touch as she stalked the garden, loving each sweeting in it’s succulence of growth and urging.

Mother upon mother upon mother she stood, as light from her body spilled and dripped nectar into the swollen eyes of the gorgeously ugly green babies, mending, in a frenzied application of her lips and wrinkled fingers, dandling, caressing each fuzz coated, warm skull of promise.

Lifting stones, peeling away death, she muttered the old words of her maidensongs, and tended in stiff, stooping reverence to the delivery of this year’s fruit. Snipping precious messages, she gathered gently, and glowingly  danced each delicate pretty into her cool dark home.

“Come my loves, come along.”  and she hobbled inside to fill the vases and the kettle.

Aromas blended in the wake of her, synergistic and whole, as the prattling of her slip and slippers flooded her silvery path. Time obeyed her need, publicly unnoticed, tidy and old.

Perhaps I followed her into the cool, summoned by a hunger of need, to where she beckoned and I flowed like a pool of thoughtful truth into the  images that she cast for me.

I watched her standing stones from within my opalescent dreams, leading, guiding me to her and in my waking, I trembled to register the shock of being here and away from her. Her words trailed away in slippery cords that melted in my being.

I never knew exactly when the door opened within her story, it must have been a silent, gentle, small door that drew me into her telling, drew me in so deeply that I found myself losing all sense of identity, becoming her, being her…

“A luscious golden light drifted down through the dark, reaching  into my deepest fears and easing away all tension.  It was a  tension I didn’t know I’d been holding in my body.

I felt it unwinding in my stomach and belly and travelling gently out of my body. My deepest anxieties, my terrors and uncertainties, all melted down the muscles of my arms and legs and into the black mush of a rainforest floor. I  began to breathe into parts of my self that had never known breath before. My innermost being sighed,

“I’m home.”

I stepped into the sacred green of the forest.

“May I come in?” I asked.

Visions aroused by the healing, the safety, the sheer beauty of the rich wealth of raw nature, brought me into the shimmering life force of the mountain rainforest, so powerfully and yet so perfectly undefined. “shhh…the trees will change you”, I heard as I stood marvelling at the richness.

Moved by the exquisite beauty I claimed a wild and wondrous part of my human condition. In the uncut jewel I breathed in and out, giving thanks for the privilege of choice, for the gift of my circumstances. I slept and awoke in a new & mythical landscape of profoundly natural energy. I listened with full attention to her words.

I watched the dreamspindle drift into the dense forest and I knew that even as we parted, I would know her eternally, and she would come to me whenever I was willing to listen and to learn from her ancient wisdom.

Aching in the throat I saw her trace my being in a garland of thought. She wavered in a spectrum of energies that always spoke into my hungry heart. I listened to her honey, heavy in the spine of time and I scribbled as she delivered her stories.

Perhaps the words were fish that flowed through a river of light to me, sounding in their silvery magic, in old words and wonders of the deep. I stirred and opened to the logic of her teaching words.