The moon begins anew today (in America) in the sign of Aquarius or Pisces? According to
Satori on ElsaElsa we get to choose. I kinda like the sound of that, and my dreams have been indicators of not being really sure. The weather in our part of the world is moving rapidly from winter to spring. Out the window where I tap away at lettered-keys the first sign of Salmon Berry buds are turning the winter limbs a pale green. Daffodils and Camellias have fully burst into bloom. Song Birds wake me every morning. And though the sun has yet to warm us in the woods, there have been clear skies. While I waited for Pete to return from an errand in town I stood at the edge of the Star Market parking lot. I noticed the juniper hedge, low and speckled with golden tips. As I watched a mist of what looked like light fog rose and then
poooffed like Nature's spray bottle. Pollen. It's what happens after the deep sleep--hibernation to some-- and every one starts to wake up. Slowly or medium the old cycle ends and the new begins. We do it every morning we wake. We slip easily or resist the draw of sleep and dreamtime every time we lay our selves down and let go.
As the New Moon tips me into the next, and the New Year of the Green Goat/Sheep/Ram blesses us with the character of courage, resilience and strength I sit at the screen and put together a New Year post that pulls from the dreamtime and Imagination. My writing has been focused on the dreamtime storytelling ... a winter tale. I've been in the between states of winter and spring, aware that my physical body needs the deep and dreamy conditions to reconnoiter and get my bearings. What dreams seek me out? What ghosts need feeding? How are my roots, or where is the
rest of my self? Am I all here? So many questions. With the new season folding itself into the old winter, I thought I'd do just that here ... fold part of the winter tale
"Ariel and I" into the page. If you have not been reading the tale you can
go here and read the installments previous put down. What follows is a scene between the folds. It may stretch you or confuse you but I hope you will find something to douse you with the magic of letting go. Spring approaches watch for the
pooof.
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Sleep deprivation shows itself differently. Elves don't need much sleep thriving on activity they dream awake by nature. Ravens and crows make the most of regular roosting and sleeping times. Sleep refuels them for all the meddling their lot have signed on for. If a raven has a bad night the neighbors will pay. Caw, caw, caw, gallup and gurgle. Sparrows on the other hand are bred to watch. The time they live in one tiny body is mostly awake time. They pack in a world of observation.
"There's not much to a sparrow." Ariel Courtney's voice called to me between waking and the glorious milky path of dream. "You the Mother Bear have dreams awaiting you. Catch up with them. Breakfast will be ready when you wake."
"It's funny isn't it?" Ariel liked to ponder the silliness of the purely human ways. With her father's help the honey-doused bear was now settled into the domed cave, her nest, yellow saddlebag pillowed under the great cheek, the snoring rumbled, a slacked jaw opened and shut, chest rising and falling.
"What's that," encouraged the man still dressed in his apron. There'd been little time to change when his daughter flew through the opened window to the bakery.
"No one noticed that "I" should have been missing these two winters. Missing to hunker into the dreams so..." Again, the serious thinker girl-sparrow wanted just the right word. Her father remained open to his daughter ponderings. He was a patient man, familiar with waiting for his breads to rise at their pace.
"Ripe and ready! That's what the Great Bear's job is. Winter sleep is the season to harvest dreams that are ripe and ready. Two winters worth of dreaming. Unharvested." The sparrow was making a point.
"I see what you're after darl'n. I see. Boote has been about its business, content or ignorant of the sleep deprived state of our most precious guardian." The father wiped at his eyebrows bushy and unruly hedges of brown and sandy stubble. Many silver spikes coiled at odd angles. "Hmmmm. Seems the Wind had a destiny to deliver when you chanced to meet "I" at the light reading WAIT." F.F. Courtney's face was no less freckled at sixty and when he had time to hear of his daughter's discoveries freckles and feathers made his name a bold border-crossing statement.
In the darkness of the great bear's cave the sparrow man's feathers patterned fully. His apron now the white chest feathers like his mother's. "Are there bits of magic needed now that she finally dreams?"
"Our part Pop, it's mostly a matter of watching the Others. Boote has forgotten how to notice. there's a story missing a part. It's in the songs really. Can't say how things will go exactly."
"What can I do then? F.F. Courtney filled with the curiosity that kept him alive to the magic of what many would miss in between. "Is there a remedy worth stirring?"
Ariel Courtney smiled, cupped her thin fingers into a megaphone and poured a secret into her father's right ear.
GUNG HEE FAT CHOY Happy New Lunar Year.
The Year of the Goat/Sheep/Ram
P.S. My computer has some bug that will not allow me to include images, so the ramble of words is the gift for the day. All the best to you and your kin as Moon blesses us with her energy! Mokihana .
