December

It is almost December... And like every other December, for so many years, my soul calls for what there is no more, for the paths that are lost in time, for the memories of long ago, for the ones that only my heart still knows.

December should kick in with my grandmother's birthday on the national day of my far away country.

My country is old, lost in the mists of time. Millennium after millennium, it lived in the hearts of my people, through wars and celebrations, through plagues and rejoicing, the same mountains holding us close. The Geto-Dacians  and the Celts were neighbors once and stories are similar from one world to another. Even before the Celts, before Sumer, my people invented writing. Not that anyone talks about it. In rare history books, there is only a tiny notation about the writing found at Tartaraia that is at least one millennium older then Sumer. And yet, in the hearts of my people, hidden in the middle of tiny villages, the Dacians live still, in practices as old as time.

And in the same way, every time my gifts call to open yet another deck of cards, I see my grandmother's eyes, black as night, teaching me to read them. And other times, I look into my daughter's eyes, black as the Mother and shining like the sun, and I see her, the one that should still be around to rejoice into the children of the child of her child. But she is gone, leaving behind a pair of eyes black as jet, pouting lips and memories of readings. And now, as December approaches, her memory still lives in my soul, sometimes like a dream or illusion, other times as a teacher. Most times, however, I remember the faults of the woman and the total love of the grandmother that would have stole the sun from the skies to give it to me, had I wished it.

In my so new country, new in history and new in my soul, December is always wrong. Because December should start with military parades and birthday cakes for my grandmother. It should start with snow falling in a dance to cover all in a blanket of white. It should start with orange skies in the night, tiny ballerinas in the air and fir-trees forever green braking up the world of white. Out of old chimneys, smoke should dance up and up towards the sky until is lost in the blanket of clouds.

In the evenings, with families close, whine should be boiled with sugar and spices, wine that heats the blood and mellows the heart.  And, as after the harvest the veggies were pickled for winter, sausages and bacon would sit in smoke to last over the long months of cold.

The nights would fall early, bringing wit them storms of snow and music playing. And children would rehearse carols to sing from gate to gate for cookies and money, for apples and nuts.

But here, in my so new country, December is summer with lazy days at the beach, with days without end and plastic fir trees that tell no story. And my soul cries for the smell of the ever green trees, lost in the fresh smell of snow, lost in the perfume of spiced wine, wood fires in the stoves, food being prepared for days without end, all lost in the pure voices of the children singing carols, all lost in the heated and happy voices of my family. 

Perfect Love and Perfect Trust

What does "Perfect love and perfect trust" mean?  Perfect loving our "loved ones", our enemies? Perfectly trusting everyone? It would be such a beautiful world! Such a world of peace and fairness and understanding!

I've mediated on this saying for long hours, and as utopian as it would be to live in a perfect world, i think that it would change our humanity, our need to learn the lessons of life. Maybe it would make us all in the Enlightened beings. But that would be being somewhere above humanity in it's most singular sense.  It would mean becoming "gods", and as appealing as that idea is, i, personally, like to be human.

Not that i am masochistic, at least not most times. But i do love the trials of life, because only those trails change my perception. Exactly how i love the ecstasy of life, because those moments change my reality. I love the downs that show me how brilliant the ups are. I love the night and the dark, because without it, the magic of light would pass unnoticed. Joy can be born out of pain, day and light out of night and dark, hope out of despair. These extremes are the core of my humanity. Without them, i would be something else, maybe better, maybe purer, but not a human.

And in that case, what does "perfect love and perfect trust" mean?  For me, it goes beyond loving all my fellow humans, or trusting them. Which as long as i am human, is impossible in a literary sense.

Therefore, for me a perfect love of Life, makes more sense. It leaves me the liberty of totally disliking whatever i dislike- for example my enemies- but it allows me to love the life force that sustain them. It also, reminds me to love LIFE every moment, even in the moments of total despair. Because those moments have a beauty of their own.  It might be a dark, wild beauty, but is still majestic. And loving life, with it's ups and downs, with its beauty and terror, allows me to appreciate and respect every moment of it, to trust it.

Perfect trust... For me, this perfect trust means that i can trust Life... Trust it that it will take me where it needs to take me and teaching me the lessons my spirit requires... Trust that after a moment of sublime pain, with follow a moment of agonizing happiness... Trust that every end is a beginning and every beginning is an end...  Trust the cycle of life, the wheel of life as i trust the wheel of the year...

If perfect love for me means loving every single moment of this existence, perfect trust means trusting that the downs will be followed by ups, by downs, by ups... and Accepting it.

And once i am there, at this terrifying moment of truth, when i realize that the only road to the peacefulness of my soul is trough acceptance of the cycle of life, i can start loving every leaf in a tree, every whole in the road, every other human or non human. But in order to get there, at the end of the road, i first need to love and trust Life.

Water

I listen to the rain hitting the roof with welcomed fury. As the water that pours, my soul seems to be bubbling in heat. Not sure what sort of heat is pulling me like the string on an arch, but it is there, regardless if I see it or not. Like water left on fire for too long, my edges are spilling, looking for new boundaries and new experiences.

Being Earth, for me Water is a need that goes back to the peace of the primordial dream. Because my roots run too deep and I only feel the tremors of Earth when the volcano starts erupting, I need the free fall of water in order to feel and connect my emotions. In different ways, I respond to water as much as to mountains, two of the loves of my spirit.

Between mountains, looking at their rocky crowns that lived there for day after day from the beginning of time, I feel the peace of that which does not change. I listen to their story and, less human, I can just belong and be one. It tells me of storms that beat, of fires that ravage, of life, and yet all pass, almost without a mark. Mountains remind me that once  the inferno is gone, I can still stand straight asking for more. They teach me that peace runs deep, away from my tiny human struggles. That like the mountains that should be cherished, so my soul lives from age to age and life to life. Mountains sing of my roots that run deep, in generations gone and yet to come. Like water, they calm me.

Out of the water, the most I love the ocean and the storms. They sing to me of all that changes, and yet it stays the same. With every white crest of wave, my soul can dance and jump and remembers to live in the magic of the moments. Because like the waves of the ocean that are lost if one doesn't look, so it life that flows by second after second. Storms sing of the wilderness I dream of, of being without censure, of forgetting thought and allowing feeling to exist.

The rivers, the lakes are so much calmer, like a meditation for awareness. One needs to be still and silent to see the river flowing in the ocean ad the lakes gently expanding on the shores. And yet, even with almost still water, my heart longs for the tumult of the tide, when all is changed or transformed into another illusion.

Because I'm too much Earth, too deep, almost but not really stuck, I need the tumult of water, the force of emotion to discover change.

Domestic Violence

There are some things that piss me of big time. The sort of things that throw me into a complete rage. One of such things is domestic violence.

I don't know about other people, but domestic violence is something I keep bumping into, one way or another. Once upon a time, the path of fear belonged to me as much as to others. There are so many way to abuse and be abused! Some of them, people don't even recognize as violence. Jealousy, possessiveness,  put downs, punishing silences, extreme manipulation, financial, emotional... Of course, there are the black eyes and the bumping into things, the rapes and the anger that becomes destructive, that people easily see for what they are. But most times, those are the last resort to control. Most times, there is a combination of abuse that destroy lives.

I'm going to start with the emotional, simply because people recognize it the last.  Sometimes, in the middle of what should be a conversation, one partner stops talking. You talk, and there is only silence. You don't need much intelligence to figure out that you angered your partner. But instead of a normal discussion about it, there is just silence. Punishing and hurtful. You have no idea what you have done or said, if anything. Drives one to second guess every action, every word. It is a nightmare.

And then you have the jealousy. You don't need to do anything in order to make your partner jealous. It does not even imply a person of the opposite sex. Or an adult. Everything can birth a jealous rage. Family, children, friends... One second too long spent with other people can create at the bare minimum sulking and reproaches. "You don't care about me! You are never there when I need you! Everyone ele matters more then me!" On the higher end, same actions can get as far as shouting, screaming, yelling, physical violence. The jealousy goes hand in hand with possessiveness.

On top of that, in the same time, put downs are as common as water. You are too fat, too skinny (sometimes in the same day), too smart or too dumb, too outgoing or not enough, not a good cook/wife/lover... Most likely it goes hand in hand with being negatively compared to other people. Very often, the put downs are made in front of other people. "It's ok, my... is too... to know". Sometimes in front of your children or family. If you dare to say anything to defend yourself, silences or violence (verbal or physical) are called for to teach you a lesson.

Social abuse goes hand in hand with possessiveness and jealousy. You are not allowed any friends whatsoever, god forbid someone would open your eyes. Not that your abusive partner would ever say so, but tat is the gist of it.

Economical abuse, where you are allowed to have no money to yourself if any at all, starts kindly, most likely with put downs of the sort of you not being able to budget and gets worse as time goes by. Because of course, if you have no money, you are totally dependent on your partner.

And so one. Slowly, before you even notice it, another form of abuse creeps in, until you manage to tick all the boxes: emotional, social, economical, physical and sexual. Not necessary in that order.

And this things tick me of the wrong way. Badly. Because no one, ever, has any right to abuse and control another. Because no one, ever, has the right to put fear in another. Because no one has the right to destroy someone else's life. Ever!

And I, personally, will never again stand by an watch anyone being abused. 

Dance upon the Stars

I feel the night flowing into my veins. Before the sun sets to raise again as a new journey begins, I feel its descent into my blood. The slowing of the rhythm, the dreams that are appearing out of nowhere. As the light changes to golden, my mind gets stuck into a rhythm of its own. Out of nothing, memories flood my soul.

Days from long ago are alive again for a split second. Sometime, long, long ago, it was summer in the mountains. With a book in my hands, I was lying on the grass, my eyes lost in the movement of clouds. But there were no clouds I was seeing. In front of my eyes tiny atoms were dancing in the air until I was lost in their movement and color. I could feel life pulsing in my veins, summer playing in my soul while my eyes were lost in a world no one else could see. And as the sun dissolves into the night, a long forgotten memory comes without a calling. It was another summer, even longer ago, when lost in the freedom of being a child, I would sit in the grass. I could see then the particles of light, the energy flowing. But no one else could and all thought I had imagined.

Before the first stars come to life, I feel them rising. And yet, the stories of this stars are unknown to me. In another world, a long ago, I would learn the stories of other stars, stories lost in legend and times without time. As this stars are foreign to me, I can make up my own stories as I get lost in their beauty.

And memories come again, of nights long lost, when I learned to recognize the first constellations. I would watch the sky, long and deep without a thought and my grandmother would come, showing me the way the stars were connected and telling me stories I could find in no books. Stories that lived with my people from age to age and millennium to millennium. Stories that no one else knows, from the mother that lost her children and was reunited with them by becoming a hen, to the carriage that carries the souls of my ancestors.

And now, like then, in the quiet of the night, when no one is awake, I can run to the stars ad get lost between them. With falling ones I dream and weave my wishes, now and then, dreaming of a better day, a better world.

And other memories come, of a rainy day long ago, when young enough and full of dreams I told my friend I wish to change the world in a better place for all. And, without my dreams, without my innocence, my friend replied that as I will wish to change the world, the world will be changing me. I argued then that if we would all be dreaming, nothing would be impossible.

And today, as I dance on the stars of long forgotten dreams, I can still catch a glimpse of the girl I was. And I know that magic is still alive in my heart, that my dreams of a better, healthier world in which we would know love, not hate, are still very much awake, very much present. And other times, between the stars, I find tiny pieces of the choices I did not make, of the roads I did not fallow. As my soul belongs to the starts it is lost in, I can see those roads and their own magic, but the calling is not there anymore, and I can touch them with no regret, just with the gentle memory of those dreams that could be brought back to life again. Other times, I can meet the dreams I gave up not, just hid out of sight. And those dreams are waiting, waiting for my courage, for my faith, but it is not their time yet.

And yet, other times, between the stars I see not the what was, but the what will be, the shining mirrors of possibilities and dreams non existing yet. I can feel their touch, even though I can not hold them.

Willingly over and over again, I get lost between the stars, with trust and love, knowing my road back.

Beltane Eve

Beltane is gone now... A year has passed since I danced last around a May Pole after jumping over the Fires of blessing and fertility. A year of blessings, of wishes, of hard work. A year of wishes come true. A year of refining my craft and learning to trust myself. A year of rebirth.

Out of the year, there are two holidays I love the most. Beltane and Samhain. Two halves, mirror images. Life and death, both part of the same journey, so different and yet so alike. For me, the year ends and starts with Samhain. As the God-Sun is dying, so is the year. For me, it is a time to reflect on my loved ones that passed into the Otherworld, to spend time with my memories of them that hopefully will bring their presence. As the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest, I can look over to mine. It is the night spent in the understanding that life is fallowed by death, fallowed by rebirth. The end is nothing but a beginning and every beginning is an end.

At the other end of the spectrum, after the Goddess births the God-Sun at Yule after the longest night, is Beltane. Seasons passed and the God is now a man, forever growing. The Goddess as Virgin, after going on it's own journey of growth as the Earth, after meeting the God, falls in love. Beltane is the night when the Earth as Virgin Goddess marries the Sun as nearly adult man. The marriage between them creates the Baby Corn, conceived in this first union between the gods.  It is a day of joy, of promises made to one self and others. As the spring says good bye to welcome the summer, passion and dreams are ripe in the moment of saying good bye to childhood and welcoming the maturity. The Earth becomes ripe, the Goddess, no longer Virgin becomes Mother, the God  grows stronger with the Sun.

Last year on Beltane, I wished for freedom and love. I got both. The freedom to be my own master and love to myself. As Beltane came again, happy with the result of my last year wishes, I asked for blessings for all my loved ones. I forgot to ask for success, but maybe it was intentional as I measure success in the number of good deeds, rather then financial gain. I remembered to bless the Goddess and be blessed in turn by Her.

This year Beltane has passed without the elaborate ritual I had so carefully planed.  It passed without the one person I wanted there. In some ways, that made it sad and just a touch lonely. It certainly raised questions of ifs and whys. But, somehow, as the energies grew to a swirl, I forgot about what was missing and focused on what I had. My very talented children that are growing into soon to be young women. The man that at least for that night was to be my companion and soul mate. My far away family, so close in my heart. I focused on the magic that grows in me as I discover the woman I am. On the blessings and surprises that danced through my life in this half of the year.

As I closed my ritual of blessing, I could feel the power in me more strong then ever, the Goddess closer then I could have imagined. Now Beltane passed like a dream, and yet the joy, the passion, the gratefulness and blessing of it warms my heart. And it will wait for me at the other end, as the Sun is dying and the Goddess becomes Crone, when the memories of spring will birth dreams in my heart. But for now, I will welcome the ripe promise of summer, enjoying my days as a Mother.