A Brief Note on Supporting Ourselves and Supporting Each Other

The world has changed. For now. And likely, in some ways, for always. There is no right thing to say at this moment. No perfect phrasing, no prose that will settle on everyone's shoulders like a warm embrace. We are going to mess this up - this distanced communing and communicating with each other - because we aren't flawless, graceful creatures at all times, and everyone needs/wants different kinds of connection. We are likely going to say something that doesn't jive with what someone else thinks or believes. We may get testy after being corralled together (or alone) for an indefinite length of time. Mostly, though, I think we are going to help each other, and love each other, and do the best we can. I believe in us.

In a perfect world everyone would be provided for. No one would worry about feeding or clothing themselves and no one would wonder if they could pay their rent, utilities, healthcare, or monthly expenses. But we don't live in a perfect world, and people are concerned about how they will survive. (We've always been concerned, but now things seem much more dire.) People are going to be asking for help. They are going to be offering up what they have or what they do, as a way to provide for themselves. They will be trying to save their business, their livelihood, or attempting to bring in some money to help at this stressful time.

When someone asks for help, or promotes their business online, or shines a light on their accomplishments, or posts their fundraising links on social media, please don't shame them. Don't say "too soon," or assume they have the worst motives. Most folks are going into a time of massive uncertainty surrounding their lives and incomes, and sharing ways that you can support them isn't the same as trying to profit off a pandemic. Some folks won't be as eloquent as you would like. They may make mistakes, or misspeak in their attempt to communicate. Allow people some extra wiggle room. Be patient.

There are those who will try to take advantage, be dishonest, hoard and then price gouge, or outright steal. These people have always been out there (and there is a huge discussion here that is so necessary, about privilege, access to physical/mental health care, housing, and community care, that I don't have the space to even scratch the surface of) and we do our best to be aware of those situations. If someone seems to be taking unfair advantage, or preying on other's fears, then you can report their posts, or perhaps reach out to them if you are able to kindly offer them some help on how to steer their efforts to maintain their income in a more appropriate manner.

Please don't demonize those who are attempting to keep their existing online businesses afloat, or who are now moving their storefront to an online or a more easy, safe, accessible model. I've been seeing this happen on social media in the last few days and it's very disheartening (the wondrous Britton posted a story about this topic on Instagram as well). Please don't shame the people who will begin to post fundraising links, or who start up sites to sell what they make or offer a service they provide, so they can meet their needs. Support who you can, if you wish, or share their links if you feel moved to.

If you feel overwhelmed (and so many of us do) then pace yourself, take time off-line, feed yourself and your family, move your body, breathe. Help yourself stay safe, strong, and at peace, and then you will be able to more greatly help others.

There are so many people sharing helpful information that it can make you feel dizzy trying to keep up. I'll start attaching some of the articles I've had the chance to read in the past few days, that made me feel hopeful, and some of the ways I've been keeping well. Pop in and read them if you choose, when you have time. My brilliant friend Briana Saussy likes to quote Fred Rogers, and I could not agree more at this time:

Look for the helpers

And I would like to add, be one of the helpers. When, and if you can.

I'll say it again...I believe in us. Hang in. Hang on. Reach out. We've got each other. We can do this.

Briana has a free, ongoing, healing and protection ceremony that you can join.

Rebecca Altman of Wonder Botanica has a free class that just started called "Surrender + Magic."

Joanna Powell Colbert, of the Gaian Tarot and the Herbcrafter's Tarot, posted a beautiful love letter about how she is caring for herself and others.

My favourite local studio is offering free, online fitness and yoga classes three times a day via Facebook.

I'll add more links in time here, but I wanted to start you off in few good places...

(All photos on this post are from my recent walk to gather poplar buds - you can read about poplar and its magic here.)

On Lines and Expectations and Perfection

"She loved the lines around his mouth."

~ 5 Days in May, Blue Rodeo

Another birthday has come and gone and this morning I looked for a while at the lines that are appearing around my eyes and starting to reach out, toward my temples. It's an odd thing, to wake each morning believing that you are still just moments past your teen years and then discover that two decades have passed. I routinely get mistaken for someone much younger, but I'm quite happy to be settling in to this early autumn of my life. Just as the tree outside my window is turning a remarkable golden colour, I see my edges mellow, and enjoy the sense of calm I have found while life flies madly around me. A whirlwind of leaves rip free in the blustery north winds and yet the tree bends and releases without a fight, knowing there is always more to come.

There is so much more to come.

I sat for a while this week with my friend's 93 year old mother. She is tiny and frail and yet still so strong. She has outlived a husband and a son, and so many friends. She tells me the same tales (often several times during a visit) of what her life was like in Bangladesh, how she spent her time sewing at the convent for the nuns, and the jubilant gatherings that happened almost every evening at her home as family and neighbours came by to visit.

I watch her face as she speaks. It is the closest thing I have seen to perfection. Her lines, in the winter of her life, fly from her eyes upwards toward her temples, and then downward over the apples of her cheeks - the feathers of a phoenix waiting to be reborn. They are as exquisite in her laughter as they are when her eyes well up with tears as she speaks about her lost son. A face so full of life that it is etched into her divine coffee skin in fractals prettier than any computer could conjure.

One day, I wish to have phoenix feathers that tell tales of my life and loves and losses. For now, my little lines are just starting to deepen, showing more when I smile than when I cry. They will be seared into my skin a little more each year over the remaining summers of my life spent in gardens and wandering hillsides. They are often hidden behind my hair that I wear long and wild, bucking every comment of "you know, at your age..." Yes, yes. At my age...

At my age, the "grey" strands that are appearing are coming in pure white, and are camouflaged by the blond that they snake through. At my age I wander alone in the woods, go to theme parks even though they scare me, and would absolutely jump out of an airplane again. And again.

At my age, my oldest niece has moved out after living with me for two years, and now I find myself with no excuse to refuse the offers to set me up on a blind date with a friend of a friend of a friend. I find it odd - this idea that unless there is someone in your life, your home, your heart, to fuss over, that you should be lonely - at any age. I have told my friends that I have never been lonely. Not once. Not when I was engaged to a man that was never around, or throughout my single years, or while taking road trips by myself. Not even in my twenties when I thought that I loathed myself - I've never been afraid of my own company, and the host of unseen others that wander with me.

At my age, my caregiving is slowly transferring from my nieces to my parents. But mostly, this year at least, I've been taking care of myself. I've been delighting in movement (from ass-shaking dancing to long yogic stretches) and creating oil blends to bless my sun-weary skin. I've been gathering my friends more, around fires and wine glasses and dinner tables. We speak of all the things that happen to us "at our age" which is intriguing and eye-opening because I have friends ten years younger than me and friends a dozen years older, and how wonderful and strange to hear all their "at my age" stories.

Should I have the blessing of time, I suspect that over the years I will disrupt all sorts of people's expectations of what might be acceptable of a woman of my age. I haven't yet had turquoise hair. There are still a few settings I have in mind where I'd like to tumble all naked and unruly with someone. I intend to keep giggling at inappropriate moments. I have no plans on ever letting a season go by when I don't find some childish wonder in the world around me.

I will earn my phoenix feathers. I will tear apart the world's ideas of what might be appropriate at my age - whatever that age becomes. And perhaps one day, when I am 93 and my nieces sit and talk with me, and I tell all kinds of stories of the wildness of the early autumn of my life, they might look upon my face all tattooed with lines and find it perfection, and wonder what they might do to earn phoenix feathers of their own.

Impermanence and Returning to The Land

I'm feeling a little broken-open of late. I know I'm not alone. October has been beautiful, warm, magical, unsettling, and heart wrenching. It sounds like a country song, and feels like a warm blanket, and a good cry.

There has been tragedy, both here in Canada, and in the US this week, and there has been a profound loss in our community again - too many this year.  At the begining of the month, a dear friend's daughter succumbed to breast cancer. She was only 35 years old.

The ancestor altar is full.

This isn't a new experience for us. And it won't be the last of it. This is the cost of being human. Loving people that may move out of this realm before we are ready to see them leave.  Building community and "safe" places, and structures, that can crumble right in front of us.  We forget sometimes that impermanence isn't something to fight.  It is what we are.

I've just come in from turning over the vegetable gardens, and readying them for their long Winter's rest.  They were fruitful.  But there were also greens that didn't survive the summer. A few plants bloomed too late to grow anything worth harvesting.  Some rushed out of the earth too early this past Spring and were frost-bitten. For every abundant crop, there was a flower or an herb that didn't quite become the lush plant I had hoped for. The pruning shears were merciless.

Having a garden is one of the best lessons of (almost daily) impermanence I know of. As much as I thanked the earth today, and raked in compost and offerings, and as grateful as I was to have had a good harvest, there was still a feeling of loss.  I will never get this growing season back. I can't jump back to June, and tie up the tomatoes in a better fashion so they might have more sun, or fertilize the squash to ensure a more robust harvest. The growing season is over.

I am processing the impermanence all around me in the best way I know how.  With my hands in the dirt a few last times, holding my loved ones a little closer, ever crawling back to my ancestors, the land, my magic.

Byron Ballard says it better, in her post on "Tower Time" and "Going to Ground":

"We work ourselves into a frenzy of grief and guilt and spiritual activity. We open ourselves to the sorrow and anger, and filter it as best we can. We meet for coffee, and walks, and we talk for hours on the phone. Gentling the community in its outrage, cushioning it from outright despair. We are blown about by the winds and waves of all that assails us and sometimes the only place to go for succor, for comfort is away from the computer and the phone and the endless cups of coffee. To the garden, to the woods, to the earth."

The riverside I know and love is gone. The earth movers came, to make way for the big machines that will roll in to fix the crumbling bridges. The mullein is gone. The tansy, the goldenrod I let be this year, so it would come back more fully next season.  Milkweed, cinquefoil, wild mustards, horsetail, and burdock have vanished.  The wild roses and raspberries, and the high bush cranberries and Oregon grape that grew along the both sides of the walking path - all gone.

But nature has a way of taking back what we steal from it.  The few shrubs, trees and green life left at the edge of the destruction will spread this coming Spring.  The plants will seed and the wind will spread them far and wide again.  The land will outlive the earth movers.  The only impermanence is us.

I'm reminded of the stunning writings of earlier this summer from Peter Grey and Sarah Anne Lawless, linked and quoted succinctly in this post from HecateDemeter, where she also speaks for the city witches, saying:

"And we city Witches need to commune with the spirits of our places, with the “uncivilized world of nature” in our cities if we hope to know the names, powers, and dwelling spaces of our local spirits."

Do you know your land, your local spirits?  Do they show you the impermanence in the seasons, in the washing away of land in floods and storms, or the crumbling of old buildings under climbing vines and trees?

We can all of us, rural and urban dwellers, go back to the land in our own way, and commune with the spirits of our places.  Let's go there. I suspect our dead will come too.

When You Need to Tackle Your Frost Giants

The new year has come in like a...well, like a Polar Vortex, really. 

January is its own special kind of vortex for me - it always has been.  I get completely drawn in to the idea that we have an entirely fresh start, but then get looking at the list of things that did not get accomplished last year or how I'm not where I thought I might be, and I start to spin. Add to that, the perpetual, deep cloud cover here in the south end of the valley, the low fog, the long hours of low light, even with the growing sun, and things begin to slide sideways in my happy little existence.

This is when I'm glad that I have more than just small bottles of booze in my toolbox.

In the old days, before magic found me, I spent long hours hiding in my house, cursing the weather beyond my window.  I used to sniffle my way through really bad romantic comedies, all the while telling myself that if that girl could change her life (in two hours, with an amazing make-up crew, and the super-cute boy next door, who we're supposed to believe she never noticed before,) then so could I, dammit!  

The thing is, there is rarely a Mark Darcy standing around waiting to tell you that he likes you "just as you are." Instead, in January, there are multitudes of people telling you "here's how you can change everything about yourself so people will like you - for just $49.99 a month!"  In this first week of the year, I've stopped counting at 30 emails from people/companies wanting to sell me some way to make my life better.

For the record, I'm not opposed to self-improvement via courses, gym memberships, weight-loss programs, or salsa lessons.  If you are the type of person that wants/needs structure, accountability, group or partnered plans of attack to work toward your goals, then I'd say absolutely - check out some classes/memberships and see what fits. What I'm opposed to, is the timing and volume of the ads, and the general feeling running through many of them that you aren't okay unless you sign up for their version of improvement, and that 2014 might just be the 9th circle of hell for you if you don't sign up immediately.  

What I'm looking for this time of year is not another reminder of how I don't measure up, but a good scrubbing of everything that isn't making me feel good - including the "only we can help you like yourself more" emails.

The first thing I do is hit "delete" - repeatedly. 

After that, I turn to my own body and check in.  Your body can tell you everything you need to know.  Unless you've been ignoring it for years and then, you've got some catching up to do. Your body will tell you what it wants more of (chocolate seems like the right answer, but in this case it's probably not.)  Water, sleep, meditation, movement, protein, laughter, sex - the answers are there.  Personal trainers are great, but you have the capacity and the know-how to design your own destiny.  

I trace back any uneasy feelings to their source, by continuing to ask "where is this coming from?"  Then I pull out my toolkit. I take baths, annoint myself with oils, meditate, speak with my ancestors/gods/guides, do some sympathetic magic for what I'm after (even if it's simply to feel better or lessen my winter blues,) and then decide on a practical plan of attack.  It's not a quick fix.  The meditation, bath and some good digging into what is going on in my mad little brain, can be pretty instant relief.  But for a longer than an evening session of anxiety-easing or life-changing, you've got to follow up with some action.

Kick the winter blues to the curb.*  Burn the weight-loss program ads in the fireplace.  Ask your body what it wants, and listen.  Then do the work yourself, kindly and introspectively at first, then with a good handful of magic, then bust some actual ass - on your terms.

- Some info on  spiritual cleansing from the fabulous Bri Sassy: "So Fresh and So Clean.."

- An in-depth post on candle work from Candlesmoke Chapel: "Putting The Work In..."

- A wonderful list of items you can use for magical aid, right in your cupboard, by Sarah Anne Lawless:  "Pantry Folk Magic..."

*I am, of course, speaking of low-level "blues" here and not suggesting that those with serious depression or anxiety can just wash it away with a bath.  Please see a health care professional for any severe issues.

Witch on the Farm

Last weekend I took a trip out to the country to see the property where The Witch on the Hill is building a home.  The long driveway into her property was edged by a river of lavender.  Only about two weeks ago, she showed up at my door with a huge tub of lavender from last summer's harvest, and the plants will be flowering again soon.

She took me for a walk down the long rows of her cherry orchard.  Here and there, little green pips were showing - cherries in the making!  Every so often there was a random tree - a plum, a pear and I think she said there was an apple or two as well.  A strange little orchard, the trees were not planted well (too close together) but they have been producing a fair crop.  This autumn, after the trees are long past their harvest, she will weed out some of the smaller ones that cannot reach the light.

The tiny trickle of a creek through their property became a torrent this spring, and now that the heat has come, the run off will be coming faster.  They had to add soil and sandbags, and they are hoping that they have done enough to contain the water.  This week will be the test.

The flowers here are amazing.  The previous owners let the land grow wild - they were older and could no longer care for it the way they once had.  But you can tell that there was love here, and an eye for color.  The lilacs are gorgeous.  The second shot is hard to see, but that bush is actually a blue-purple, periwinkle color.  I've never seen that particular shade in a lilac.

Her dear pooch kept us company as we wandered.

It is a bit hard to see, but these white tulips are edged in purple and have a blue center. Amazing!

The orange and yellow tulips are striated, and the purple is mad violet!  I'd love to get my greedy fingers on some of these bulbs.  She has a big job ahead of her, cleaning up these beds and encouraging these beauties to multiply.

Her home is almost finished - she will be in by the summer.  She has many loads of plants to bring from the hill.  Her garden space here will be enormous.

And her favourite part?  She has an in-ground pool!  They just took the cover off and there's a good cleaning job waiting - but the promise of cool water on a hot Valley day is all she needs to put a smile on her face.

I am truly happy to see her in such a peaceful and vibrant place.  There was a sadness in her departure from the hill, but seeing her here, grinning and showing all the wonders of her new land, was a confirmation that this is where she is meant to be.

Transitions are funny like that.  Sometimes you have to get where you are going in order to look back and realize that it was better for you to leave some things behind.

Of Wind and Violets

I went to visit the witch on the hill this week.  She will soon be the witch on the farm.  It is a dream come true for her, but also a bittersweet time as she leaves her home on the hill and the trees and land she has nurtured for so many years.

She walked me around her property, telling me stories about the trees she planted and where they came from.  How very little they were when she put them in on the edge of the hill over looking vast meadows.  The meadows are now a subdivision, and the trees grew tall enough to mostly shield her from the now cemented and landscaped land below.

She has more windchimes than I could count. Hung all over and each seeming to move of its own accord.  He little piece of land isn't just a haven for birds and flora - there are others here too. You can tell the moment you walk through the gate.  We chatted about how she may relate her re-location to these spirits.  I tossed out an idea of burying a paper bearing her new address on it, to quite literally leave a forwarding address for those that may want to follow.  She's hoping that some will want to join her elsewhere.

The spirit of the land there, will remain. And this is probably what leaves her looking a little blue, even while her dreams are being realized.  The people who own the land are not going to rent it out again.  Being retired and not up to keeping such a bustling property, she feels they will simply leave it to fade. Nature will reclaim it.  After the grass and some of the trees die in the fierce summer heat.  After the few plants that she can't take fade back into the earth for the last time. The hill will take it all back in.

 But she will take whatever she can.  She planted in containers mostly.  Partially because it hurts her to bend over too much.  Because of this, all the pots and vintage barrels and washtubs brimming with plants will come with her.  A row of potted sweetgrass is coming, as well as strawberries dug up last season, and grape vines trained into containers to root so she can take a bit of her beloved grape with her.

She'll dig up some violets too.  They grow all over her yard and are putting on a lovely show right now.  I took a jar-full home to infuse in oil, along with a large bouquet of garden sage that had grown happily in her raised bed all winter, and some honeysuckle cuttings that I hope to root.

She'll take her father's tractor, and her grandfather's cauldron.  The cauldron needs some care and not a small amount of elbow grease to remove the rust, but the 100 year old iron giant that was once used for canning pork, will find a special place for itself at the farm.

The wind will be there, at her new home, to dance with her chimes and perhaps to welcome any of her other 'friends' that come.  She'll build a new haven on the farm, and have the home she always wanted.  But I suspect that she'll never forget the house on the hill, with the trees that she grew from little seedlings and the violets that ran wild through the land.