I feel like the season is racing ahead of me, and that I can’t quite catch up. I know that spending a few days in NYC, right on the heels of a whirlwind trip to Maine and a snowy Thanksgiving without power, has disrupted my sense of season. Although the pounding rain kept the NYC crowds light, I was unsettled by the noise, the bustle, and the unnatural glare of so much electric light. I can remember a time when I found the press of the crowd on a subway train more comforting than terrifying. I still found plenty of joy. Good friends and cuddly cats make it all worthwhile.
So, now I’m home and have been trying to slow down and enjoy the rich black night sky, liberally salted with stars. I am ready to bring home evergreen garlands for Yule and to make mental note of where I should plant evergreens on my own land.
What does Yule mean in this space? Warm blankets indoors and blankets of snow outdoors. A tumble of cats close beside me when I sit down to read. Simple candles in the windows. Wooly fabric on the looms. A sacred flame burning in the hearth. This year, a pretty red Julia loom followed me home from Maine, and is making a temporary home in my great room.
The Lady’s hand is seen in everything. Her snowflakes, Her birds, and especially Her trees. This is the reason to slow down and be fully mindful in the season: She draws Her dark cloak closely around us all, and whispers truth to those who will pause and listen.
As for me, I am trying to calm my breath and to sink into the stillness, wherever it may find me. I must let go of striving for a little while. I must weave mindfully, thread by thread rather than yard by yard.
I have started winding the pendulum clock again. It doesn’t say “tick TOCK” like many clocks do. It’s voice is softer, a gentle “tick uhh” that is the heartbeat of my home. When it strikes the hour or the half, routinely some seven minutes late, it is my mindfulness bell, reminding me to gather up my wandering thoughts and come home to the present moment.
The one that’s here. Right now. In the stillness.