h i b e r n a l
intimate tender epochal beauty
The spiraling dance of our living wheel arrives now at the longest of nights. Pausing here, we witness the time of the light reborn. One small spark of light held within the great caverns of darkness, one of light’s eternal seeds planted once more in the womb of the great galactic mother. The stilling. The solstice of winter. The peak of the season of Samhain. Alban Arthan. Yule. For some, a time of celebration, of trust in the unceasing turning of the wheel and the seasons it sings forth. A time to remember that the light always returns, even when all might seem darkest, when all hope might be lost.
May the blessings of this season of restoration be yours, dear human kin, and in whichever ways you celebrate, may they be celebrations of peace and an offering of kindness and kinship into whatever world and whatever time you find yourself in (this is being written during the hibernal solstice in the Gregorian year of 2025). If you’re looking to embrace rest and contemplation, you’re also ever welcome to spend a few minutes with this wee podcast or a story…
r e f l e c t i o n s
Somewhere in the recent steps of this life’s walk, the desire to teach/guide from a human lens began to quickly dissolve. The fizzing sting of release has been pricking itself all around. Risen hairs calling in response to fierce winds, cold mornings, and unseasonably warm days, they are speaking more than the words of man ever could. Slowing to listen, the sensations are unescapable… The bubbling and popping of my worn hubris and the sloughing off of my ‘knowing’ are revealing the raw pink skin of a wild, untouched, storied being. The intimate, tender, epochal beauty of animal. Uncorrupted by the thinking mind. Washed over with lore and mystery, unable to enter the human prison of facts, she is teeming with primal verity.
Ever present. Ever free.
Stopped by a sliver of moon at dawn. Willingly caught in its net of invitation to enjoy a few moments of delicate and exquisite connection. One being staring towards another, each captured in a thrall of grateful beauty and cosmic togetherness.
Called by an ending day. The fading chorus of light pulling the animal towards itself. Shelter or flight. Rest or play. Either way, the call is honored. The call is honored.
Kin to all. Never grasping, never hoarding. Simply living and trusting and moving through the great consonancy of Earth life. Always stopping to smell the rose. To witness the fallen tree. To honor the animal lying on the roadside. To listen to the wind. To wonder with the cloud. To remember all the lives lost be they whale, flower, human, or mountain. Always stopping to honor the needs of the vessel, free of the veiled promises and fickle weaknesses of human language. And laughter, much, laughter.
Her walk is an analog wonder, calling me deeply home to a place where art is governance, humility reigns, and the hollow assurances of modern saviors are barely noticed as she busies herself with actual living.
Given this, it is becoming harder and harder to find words that hold meaning, outside of the ancient teaching structures of poetry, song, and story. Human-made pictures and paintings make sense. Nature’s sounds and rhythms align. The Frankenstein spell craft and dull mirrored pageantry of AI do not resonate with my particular harmonic. Spending less and less time in counsel with humans and more and more time in counsel with trees, horses, miniature donkeys, herbs, rivers, and stones. Spirit, too, of course, however, in a more raw and unencumbered way. My animal self requires this of me, and lovingly, willingly, I honor her.
This contemplative animistic exploration now shifts into its next permutation. An invitation to join me behind the word wisdom of humanity and to shift into that gorgeous bone song we all have, via the wonders of story, poem, picture, and presence, always and ever dancing, sleeping, and scrying around our beloved seasonal wheel. I do so hope you’ll continue to join me here, and that this creative undertaking might be both a spark and a balm for you.
All this being said… my first book finally breathes, a sweet darling held in the arms of my voice whose tendrilled word limbs are starting to spill and crawl onto the page… she tells me she seeks to be shared widely as she comes into being… she is much more courageous and open than me! I am so private, so quiet, and she is so available, so universal, so willing to be seen.
Soon, very soon, her contemplations will be offered in this space as we follow along with the writing, and we, she and I, dearly hope you’ll continue to join us as we come together into this new world. Our offering is one of unity, connection, beauty, and remembrance. I feel her excitement, and I follow her lead with great and unyielding devotion. Is this how human mothers feel about their children? I suppose it must be. For I adore her and hold her so closely, and am regularly reminded of Rumi’s words that though she comes through me, she is not of me. My spirited daughter of story and page.
My love.
b l e s s i n g s
On this longest night, may you and all you hold dear be blessed by the spark of life, a spark that has returned since the dawn of creation, a spark that will return all the days this beautiful, sacred blue planetary pearl spirals through the vast reaches of our cosmos.
May the peak of Samhain and the time of the Cailleach’s reign hold you and nourish you into restoration and sweet, glorious surrender.
May your love for the Earth and all her children remain steadfast and true, and may all your choices be those in service of intimate, tender, epochal beauty.
Seeing you quietly lit by the light of a trillion stars, your heart shining with grounded presence, your mind softened by the primordial wisdom of your animal within.
Your kin of shadow and shell, winter and wonder,
h x
Bright One, many blessings of the planted seed and the turn of the season to you! I look forward to following along where your latest calling may take you. x