Muddling through and reaching for the magic

It has been a rough several weeks. Collective depression, call it what you want to. Many people, including me, have been struggling with life as we find it. I've been scarce with posts here, containing my energy as I deal with difficulty breathing because of pollens and then an unexpected wrist sprain.

The long season of blooming Scotch Broom is drawing closer to an end. Thank the gods and goddesses. Homepathic remedies have aided the process, and Pete has weathered yet another bout of doubt and muddle-me befuddlement from this old woman with digging sticks. Gratefully, the precession moves in spite of my befuddlement, and the magic of gifts and story help navigate the slow but regular change that does happen -- eventually.

I planted beans on the Mahealani Full Moon. 

Harvested laukahi (plantain) from our orchard floor to make poultices for my sprained wrist.

Pete and I traveled by water on a ferry and journeyed to Tulalip to deliver gifts of thanks to people who have shared her language, and her culture with me. 

With the gift giving done, and a circle of reconnection made, I remembered that I was once the young mother above. The gift was my son. That gift keeps on giving. Lucky me.

Muddling and befuddlement is not the most sought after experiences; we, the kakou thing (us inclusively) all go through it. Reaching for the medicine in stories that fold and weave this bit with that, I re-opened a story thought complete until the muddle showed up. Here's where I went with the medicine of story to help a Border Witch re-discover her groove, and the precession.

Try this if you can relate to ever being befuddled.