I am a bard.\u00a0 I remind myself of this as I sit and wish for words to come.\u00a0 The topic is Imbolc, and the deadline is soon.\u00a0 I have been feeding the fires of my inspiration with symbolism and correspondences, lore and legends\u2026 waiting for the birth of my own synthesis.\u00a0 I have been waiting for quite awhile.<\/p>\n
I have named my challenge in this writing assignment; I know where the block is coming from. I am writing about Imbolc, but I am living in a personal Samhain.\u00a0 There is much ending and dying in my life right now, my marriage, my home, some friendships and some finances\u2026 there is much room for darkness and fear.\u00a0 Yet Imbolc is a time of new beginnings and of faith restored.\u00a0 A seeming polarity attends this block, how to write of faith when feeling fear.\u00a0 Yet I know both the Universe and myself rarely offer only two options.\u00a0 It has been my experience that when feeling trapped in polarity, it is helpful to combine the two poles into a third.\u00a0 Combine the endings and the beginnings into a place of both \u2013 which is where I sit today at my computer.<\/p>\n
On the wheel of the year Imbolc is a place to be visited not only on February 2nd<\/sup>, but anytime the vibration of hope is needed.\u00a0 Can I take my Samhain self to my Sacred Grove and there bathe in the waters of Imbolc?<\/p>\n I break from the computer and enter my small temple\u2026 light some incense and make peace with my grove.\u00a0 Settled into my usual nook, I am overcome with both the deep comfort of the woods, and the deep sorrow of my soul.\u00a0 I am home, and I am sad.\u00a0 Like a child I run home when I am hurting, and the woods minister to my wounds.\u00a0 My back up against the huge Oak of the North, I pour out my story\u2026 my divorce, my fear, my excitement, my insecurities, my writers block and my embarrassment that my faith is not stronger.\u00a0 I ask for the Grove to lend me its knowing of Imbolc, that I may not only connect with renewal but may write of it as well.<\/p>\n The Grove is still.\u00a0 I am lulled by the wind in the trees, the sun on my face, the grounding of the Oak behind me.\u00a0 A rustle in the Western quarter calls my attention to the small pond there.\u00a0 A beautiful woman steps through the trees.\u00a0 She is sky-clad, the breeze blowing her long hair around her.\u00a0 She holds in her arms a swaddled babe and in her hand she carries a water pitcher.\u00a0 She moves towards the pond and settles herself on a large sun bathed rock.\u00a0 She offers a full ripe breast to the infant, who nurses with sounds of satisfaction.\u00a0 The woman closes her eyes and lifts her face to the sun, a half smile on her lips.\u00a0 She sings in a voice both gentle and strong:<\/p>\n \u201cCome unto me my little Yule child, suckle my breasts full of love\u2026 come unto me in springtime so mild, suckle my breasts full of love\u201d<\/p>\n She sings this way until the babe has finished eating, and then she rocks back and forth until the child is asleep.\u00a0 She finds a sun-warmed spot among the roots of a tree, and nestles the sleeping infant there, returning to the pond.\u00a0 She steps one foot into the pond and bends to fill her pitcher.\u00a0 Turning back she offers some of the water to the earth.\u00a0 Then bending, she pours the rest over her own hair.\u00a0 Her hair is so long\u2026 it floats on the ripples she makes\u2026 she gathers the length of it and dunks completely under, swirling her head back and forth and emerging laughing.\u00a0 Stepping from the water she wrings her hair out and faces East.\u00a0 With a whispered word the winds pick up, and she combs her long tresses with her fingers as the wind lifts and dries them.\u00a0 She checks for a moment on the sleeping child, then lays on the rock, clean beautiful tresses behind her, milk filled breasts skyward.\u00a0 She hums the song to herself again, and I am suddenly very very tired.\u00a0 I find myself wishing to be young again, wishing to be nursed by my all loving Mother, wishing to be warm and fed and sleeping in the sun.\u00a0\u00a0 I feel my back slip down the trunk of the Oak, am vaguely aware of laying down in the soft dirt.\u00a0 I hum the song of the Mother and rock back and forth.\u00a0 I remind myself that this Grove is now my Mother, and that I am free to nurse here anytime.\u00a0 I remind myself that I am warm and fed and almost asleep in the sun\u2026 and that all I have to do is remember to show up.\u00a0 Just remember.\u00a0\u00a0 Sleep overtakes me, and I wake to find myself in my Temple, curled up in the smallest ball, a half smile on my face.<\/p>\n Back down to the computer.\u00a0 It frequently seems sacrilege to confine the experiences of the Inner Planes to the page, so much is lost\u2026 and yet I suspect I have brought back some kind of useful information to share with my companions on the path.\u00a0 Something about milk\u2026 sheep maybe\u2026.<\/p>\n First off I notice that I am no longer afraid, or sad.\u00a0 How did that happen?\u00a0 I sat next to my favorite tree, which is always good.\u00a0 Is the message simply to remember nature?\u00a0 What about the milk memory?\u00a0 Were there some sheep there\u2026 is the message that milk will be provided when necessary?\u00a0 Why does it seem that one little lamb was taking first wobbly steps\u2026 was there a wobbly lamb in the grove?\u00a0 Is the message that one must wobble before walking?\u00a0 I am visited with advertising campaigns of past and present\u2026 \u201cWe Bards wobble but we don\u2019t fall down\u201d and \u201cGot milk?\u201d\u00a0 I groan and keep typing.<\/p>\n Washing some thing\u2026 did I wash my feet maybe\u2026 is the message to remember that cleansing is a necessary step towards renewal?\u00a0 I seem to remember feeling beautiful, did I do a naked dance perhaps, with my Grove Guides?\u00a0 I do so love to dance naked, it would explain why I am no longer sad or afraid.<\/p>\n Hmmm.\u00a0 So tie it all together now.\u00a0 The living in Samhain and writing about Imbolc.\u00a0 The divorce, the endings, the beginnings, the milk and the wobbling and the dance.<\/p>\n I am reminded of a birthday party that I attended last week, at a restaurant.\u00a0 There was a small boy, just toddling, who had wandered a few feet away from his Mother.\u00a0 He was thrilled with his freedom, but frequently looked back to make sure she was there.\u00a0 I was sitting with a group of psychologists, and we commented on how perfectly he was expressing both the need to separate and the anxiety of separating.\u00a0 His mother must have read a few books herself, for she allowed him his adventure, and smiled at him whenever he looked back for reassurance.<\/p>\n So it is for me at Imbolc\u2026 and I have often said that what is true for me it is likely true for others, for I am not so different from my companions\u2026\u00a0 We are once again toddling and wobbling in the New Year, all within us is yet potential to be actualized.\u00a0 We are scared and excited.\u00a0 We know we must proceed, around the wheel of the year, yet we wouldn\u2019t mind just one more breast full of milk before we get on with it.\u00a0 If we remember to look back we will see our Mother smiling her encouragement.\u00a0 If we forget, we will feel lonely and scared, but nonetheless we will be fine, for She has fortified us for our journey.\u00a0 We need only remember.\u00a0 Just remember.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Betz King is a bard, psychotherapist, Priestess of the Western Mysteries\u00a0 and humanistic journalist.\u00a0 She wobbles but doesn\u2019t fall down in Royal Oak Michigan.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I am a bard.\u00a0 I remind myself of this as I sit and wish for words to come.\u00a0 The topic is Imbolc, and the deadline is soon.\u00a0 I have been feeding the fires of my inspiration with symbolism and correspondences, … Continue reading