Weather Report.

Time: Very early or very late. Otherwise known as 6:30am.

Conditions: Cool, humid. Expect passing bugs and occasional Samahin preparation-frenzy.

Music: The daytime birds woke and sang just as Orion faded away in the creeping daylight, while a barred owl hooted its goodnight/goodmorning.

Forecast: Riding lesson, cleaning, horse tending, Samhain preparations, employer-enspelling*, vegan chili-making.

In other news, the wren seems to have gone elsewhere. I've checked its roost on the front porch, and it hasn't been there for several days. I do miss seeing that little ball of feathers. I wish it well, and am pondering whether it gave me something or came to take away something I didn't need. Maybe it did both. Maybe it was just a bird.

Yeah, right.


*One of my employers isn't really treating one of its horses terribly well. While I can't afford to lose my job over it by saying too much directly, I sure as hell can bring it to the attention of those who are In Charge Of Such Things and toss some heavy witchery at the situation.

The Land.

"...'Traditional Pagans' will often feel connected to a place on the land through which they experience the sacred, become attached to that place and assume the roles of guardians of it. They try to stay warm and close to it. This is a common tendency, and an ancient one." - Robin Artisson, Becoming A Traditional Witch

I miss The Land.

The Land here at the new place is very welcoming. The Front Meadow, the backyard, the star jasmine and the gardenia hedge up the walk, the azalea and the heirloom ivy all welcome me. I don't think I've felt such oneness with a piece of land in years. When I introduced myself to it more formally a weekend or so ago, a feeling of familial love came from it.  I/we know you, and you know me/us. We will care for one another. And thanks for leaving those salmon skins out for the raccoons, it said. 

I still miss the land I was forced to leave. I miss my willow tree (I rescued & replanted it from an inappropriately dry patch of the front yard, and it rewarded me by turning from a foot-high sapling to a 20-foot giant in four years), my turk's-cap, my lemon bush (which was actually bearing fruit this year), my tiny rosemary (who will water you now?), and my clematis. I miss the spirits of the Land that I didn't even have time to say goodbye to.

I know this Land and I will be together for at least a year, and that I will be back here to visit and cat-sit after the Husband and I move out. I will grow new plants and give offerings to the animals and spirits. I love it, and it loves me. The more I spend time with it, the sooner I'll heal from the loss of the other Land.

Happy Equinox.

I spent the equinox at home, having a memorial dinner for Housemate #2's mom, who passed away in August. There was lasagna, garlic bread, salad, queso and chips, wine, root beer, fudge, and companionship.

Family was, as might be expected, a big theme. Friends #1 & #2 have been spending a lot of time on Ancestry.com, and told us all the stuff they've found about their families so far. Family legends that proved to be just that, famous folk they're related to, and all of it terribly interesting.

Friend #1 also brought us a wonderful gift - a squat, corpse-green pumpkin. It's creepy and otherworldly and beautiful, and when viewed from above, the sections make heart shapes. It's the blue-green of decay; it's a healthy fruit waiting to nourish us. A perfect gift for the balance of light and dark before the days grow longer.

Wren and Toad

Last night, after dinner was made and the kitchen cleaned, I started gathering up my things to go cleanse my and the Husband's room. Well, cleanse and make mine/ours, since Big Brother Housemate has this place so spiritually sparkly that it's like a magical fallout shelter.

I couldn't find my cauldron. I realized I had no charcoal. I was rooting through boxes like a crazed squirrel and getting more frustrated by the moment. Husband suggested that I put it off until the next day. But I was driven to do what I'd set out to, and nothing short of having all the damn boxes fall out of the closet on top of me was going to stop me. So I found Big Brother and got the necessary supplies, then stepped out on the front porch to smoke, listen to the rain, and get in the right headspace.

The wren was there again.

See, the front porch has these square, slender columns, and this wren has been sleeping up at the top of one of them, on a ledge just big enough for it, for a few weeks now. When we go out to smoke, it doesn't wake and fly away. I was worried at first that it was a stranded fledgling, but it leaves during the day and then comes back. It is clearly able to fly. And it keeps coming back, making a little puffball of feathers up there until morning.

That little bird makes me happy, roosting up there, obviously feeling safe enough to sleep through us coming in and out. I sat down in the chair I've dragged outside, and leaned over to sit my drink down next to me. I startled hell out of a Gulf Coast Toad, but he didn't hop off. So I moved my drink a little, and shared space peacefully with bird and toad.

When the five minutes before ritual is full of soft rain and wild creatures, you know it's going to be good. Maybe not special-effects-like-in-"The Craft" good, definitely not can't-get-grounded-for-hours good, but a deep, soul-restoring kind of good that hums along in the background.

I slept like a baby. Or maybe like a wren.

A Change in Perspective.

I don't really believe that people change, or at least, not very often. Do we get more set in our ways as time goes on? Sure. But by and large, I believe that leopards don't change their spots.

On the other hand, when is it useful to make a concerted effort to change? After a wonderful meeting with Trothwy today, I started considering something she said today in conjunction with something the Husband had said before The Disaster (as I've come to think of it).

About two weeks before The Disaster, I was saying to the Husband that I'd love to be one of these people who gets up at the crack of dawn, goes for a run (OK, probably a walk in my case), and then gets stuff done all day. "So why don't you become that person?" he asked.

Then Trothwy said today that she tries not to entertain negative thoughts (I'm paraphrasing). I'd like to do that, too - to be able, finally, to just let go of things.

I have a million excuses. I'm tired at 5am. I get wicked shin splints. I need to get groceries. I'll need to go to work too early. I was going to take my dog, who isn't with me yet. Not being able to let go of things is just part of who I am. I'm justified in being righteously pissed off and in neither forgiving or forgetting. They're all lame, really. 

I don't have to forgive or forget, but I don't have to dwell on my resentments, either. I was talking to Trothwy today, and while a great deal of it was a Rant-A-Rama, there were some good things, too. Cooking is a lot less stressful. Pet management is a lot less stressful. Hell, the general atmosphere is a lot less stressful. Is the money a constant worry? Sure. But if I get a great opportunity to move out-of-state for a job I really want, that's possible now. While I love and care for my housemates and strive not to be a pain in their asses, they generally tend to their own emotional health. So why not start looking at things differently? Why not start trying to react to things differently? I don't have to be perfect. I shouldn't expect 100% consistency.

All I can do is try, and I think it may well be worth it.

One Month.

On this date last month, Former First Husband revealed that he was no longer in love with me and no longer wanted to be married to me.

A month already. A month and a day ago, I had two husbands, and, despite storms in the relationship, I was happy. Now I'm learning to be happy again - or I'm remembering.

Yesterday, the now Husband and I ran out to get some necessary things at Lowe's. We needed one of the big, flat carts, and when it was emptied into Husband's little hatchback, I rode it like a skateboard to one of the cart corrals just to see if I could. While Husband threatened to drive off (all in good fun), I ignored him and kept skateboarding along, while thinking two things: 1. this parking lot lacks a certain something for this new sport I've created and 2. hey, I'm me again.

I'm getting there. Some days are better than others. I'm looking forward to Full Moon with the wonderful Seekers' Circle. I'm thinking my altar needs to go back up, that I need an offering bowl for the kitchen, that I need to formally introduce myself to the Land here (even if it's been incredibly welcoming with not much effort from me).

While I get back to being me, I need to get back to Them. I can hear Them while I sit here, outside, looking up at the big pines - yes, you're in pain. Yes, the life you knew and loved is gone. But We are here, We always will be, and We are waiting for you.

I will heed Their call; tonight, I will go out into the front meadow and raise my chalice to Them with a heart that is both heavy and filled with light.

The Cure For What Ails You.

First, thanks to everyone for their sympathies about the divorce. It's one of the hardest things I've ever gone through, and that's saying something.

Now - the cure for what ails me.

I spoke to the owner at the Lesson Barn today (where I ride, but don't teach...yet). She asked a couple of really polite questions that added up to "Can you handle this and not blubber all over the clients?" I told her that I've been teaching while this has been going on, and that I don't talk about it to the kids or their parents, because I simply don't want to. Everything gets put on the back burner when I'm with the horses; for one thing, distraction is dangerous around horses, and for another, horses drive everything else out of my mind when I'm with them.

The saddle. The bit and reins. The horse under me or beside me, and nothing else matters, and I have only known the same peace in circle. Things may get intense or scary or funny or what-have-you, but there's a tranquility at the root of it that I don't seem to get except with horses and the Craft.

Gardening, hiking and camping come close. I'd love to combine Craft, riding, and camping, and take an overnight trail ride with a bunch of other witches and see what happens.

Besides my big grey loon tossing me ass-over-teakettle and everyone spending all day finding him, I mean.