Going Slow, Going Within: Family Advent that Honors the Earth

Perhaps it's because my own life has been a roller coaster lately, or because it seems like the whole world is on the brink of utter insanity, but I've really dedicated myself to a calm and peaceful December this year. For me that means fewer gifts, local shopping, and doing crafts and baking when and if I want to. In the Christian faith, Advent (the days leading up to Christmas) is about waiting, pregnant, hopeful, but also with a little trepidation. Remembering to breathe. Honoring the light of those waiting with and for us. Lighting candles in the darkness. In the Pagan tradition, this time is about telling stories, watching the light wane further, and awaiting the return of the Light that we know will soon come. May this time of the year be about inner peace, wisdom, and connection with Spirit for you and your family. Here are a few ideas:

Painted snowflakes and a simpler holiday
season from The Artful Parent (I love this blog).

A gorgeous Yule coloring book for sale from LillianaPress. 

From a wise woman tradition on the Inner Christmas, some thoughts for meditation and journaling.

Sitting Dragonfly Vigil

Yesterday I stepped out back to pick a green onion for my breakfast, and discovered a dead dragonfly on the patio. I knelt down to pick him up and he began whirring his wings; he wasn't dead, just dying. I shooed the cat away and brought the beautiful blue and black creature into the house. I gave him a drop of water, which made his wings beat and his legs move. Clearly he couldn't fly anymore. I couldn't think of how to help him, and recalled that dragonflies don't live very long in their adult form. I could, however, make him safe from cats and other predators and give him a place of honor on my kitchen counter, holding the space for him as he passed into Light.

His eyes were like geometric blue opals. They had a depth to them, like a glass gem or a bead of water. My four-year-old remarked that the dragonfly's patterns on his body reminded him of a totem pole. I covered him with a bug-box lid so the cat wouldn't get him but he could breathe, and we left for our trip to the science museum.

When we returned, I thought he had passed, but when I touched him one leg moved. His opalescent eyes had turned a dull black from the top down, with just a crescent of blue at the bottom. I gave him Reiki, hoping it would ease his transition. While he was "just" a bug, he was fierce and beautiful, and I at least wanted to honor his slow death.

When he died, his eyes were completely black. You could literally see the life force leave him through his eyes.

I set him on my altar. Dragonfly is about illusion, and I am writing a book about Zen right now, which is all about the illusions we carry in our heads about life, about each and every thing we encounter. The problem is not that we live in illusion, it is that we think the illusion is "real." Dragonfly teaches us to hold the dichotomy of illusion and what we call reality. He teaches us about the illusion of life and death, and the dichotomy of death being real and final, and not.

I give thanks to the Universe for gifting me this honor of holding vigil while a beautiful Blue Eyed Darner. Aho.













~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For more ways to live in harmony with the living earth,
check out my book Living Earth Devotional by Clea Danaan

Imbolc to Ostara

Snow forecast, but we've seen the first butterfly and several violets!  In the dining room I have this promise, or at least hope, of spring:

That is all. :-)

Elusive Holliday Spirit

I've been lacking the holiday spirit something fierce this year. I was even feeling a pretty deep bout of depression, and though that has passed, I still look at the Yule tree and feel... nothing. Maybe a little annoyed. Certainly not sparkly and excited.

I remember my mom hating Christmas. She felt stressed by not having money and annoyed that we had to attend a requisite family party with people she didn't like very much. An agnostic, she didn't feel inspired by the nativity. A working-class mom, she didn't really have anything to look forward to like a family vacation or big gifts. I remember feeling sad for her, and puzzled. Now I find myself feeling similarly - but still not really understanding it.

I discussed some of these feelings with my husband, who mostly had big happy Christmases as a boy. He pointed out that part of the season is darkness. That feeling that darkness, even in the absence of specific stresses or causes of grief, is normal and maybe even healthy, if not honored in our consumerist, tech-heavy culture. That helped, but still I longed for that sparkly feeling I had as a kid.

This evening the white lights of the Yule tree gently illuminate the dark living room. A tiny sliver of that old feeling smoldered somewhere in my chest. I contemplated the sensory details of Christmas that make up the season for me: the sweetness of  pine and citrusy oranges, the glow of white and colored lights in the cold darkness, wood smoke filtering through the night, the tangy smell of Scotch tape. It is that smell, Scotch tape, that illuminated my sense of loss this year.

A big part of Christmas as a child was getting gifts. Not the greed of stuff, but the delicious anticipation of mysteries revealed: what was in those brightly wrapped packages? Dig through the packing peanuts for oddly shaped parcels from Grandma Bobbie. Appreciate the crisp, precise corners and shiny, narrow tape on gifts from Grandma Dulin and Aunt Sharon. Learn to not expect much on Christmas day, for Dad would say it would be a "small" Christmas this year, and I would assure him I didn't care; and then gifts would overflow beneath the tree - what mystery of where it all came from!

Christmas -- and Yule as well -- is about mystery. What is that big star in the sky? What is the gift of this babe in the manger? How can this young girl Mary birth a child? Will the Sun return? In the wrapped gifts and lights in darkness, we honor mystery.

Then the other sensory delights: coffee and a bookstore with my dad. Cookies baked and turkeys roasted. The tradition for several years of my aunt Jo's spicy sausage in spaghetti on Christmas Eve.  Then sitting together and opening gifts on the bright morning of Christmas Day. Family - coziness - safety.

That is the other side of the season - being safe. Safe around the fire while the wolves howl out in the snowy night. This juxtaposition of safety and mystery has been with this season for millenia. With our wrapped gifts and strung lights and caroling we experience many of the same feelings our ancestors did.

And this year, as the mom who knows what's in all the wrapped boxes, who makes all the plans and cooks much of the food, I feel little sense of mystery. And in light of shootings and kidnappings and climate change, I also don't feel particularly safe. I feel tired and afraid and I'm not expecting any miracles. So, no holiday spirit.

I want it back, that sense of safety and mystery. Perhaps, understanding the nature of my loss, I can regain it a little by listening lightly to the quiet beneath the bustle. Noticing appreciation when it arises, rather than forcing myself into an "attitude of gratitude." Allowing the grace of the season to fall like a snowflake onto dry grass, or land like a chickadee on the feeder - not forcing or bursting forth, but just sensing the grace present and allowing it to be in a moment of thanks.

Teaching Children Gratitude

Two of my friends and I have a little co-op homeschool preschool for our three four-year-olds and their younger siblings. This month we are focusing on gratitude and giving. I've been giving lots of thought to how we teach our children these core values. The first step of course is to model gratitude, thankfulness, and charity by giving to food and clothing drives, giving what we no longer use to others who would use it, and giving thanks for our blessings like food. We say thank you at our house. We express joy when we something wonderful comes to us, from a ripe peach to a new pair of shoes. And we take care of our belongings and those we love.

'Tis the season for food and clothing drives, so several times during the month I will let my daughter pick out a few extra nonperishable groceries and drop them in the box herself, discussing that this food is for people who maybe don't have enough food right now. We do, so we can share. At preschool next week we are going to play "store," one of my daughter's favorite imaginary games, and our store will have a food drive. My daughter loves to give things, so this will be fun and natural for her.

Throughout the year we discuss if we are "done" with a toy and ready to give it away, either to a younger child like her cousin or to the ARC for someone else to play with. I think this Yule we will do something more formal and buy a new toy for a toy drive.

Generosity is part of gratitude and giving; the other piece is appreciating what we have. I want to include saying grace at our table more regularly. When we do, we remember to thank the food itself. Since we garden and raise chickens, thanking the garden and the chickens who laid the eggs has a reality about it that my daughter gets. As she get older we will discuss where the rest of our food comes from as well. For now we thank the plants, the meat, the earth, the Sun, and the people who prepared the food. Since she is four, my daughter will go from a genuine "Thanks for cooking Dad" (yes she really says this sometimes) to grumping about the food because it's all mixed together. She has been known to say that eating is boring. I want to say, "Tell that to those who don't have enough to eat," but I don't. I don't want to scare her, just instill the foundation for her figuring this out on her own as she grows older.

I'd love to hear other ideas from you, reader. How do we raise our children in a culture of gratitude and compassion?

May you and yours have all you need and more.

The Goddess of Always Enough

Bee Smith writes, "As I have grown older and my spiritual practices have matured it has been shown to me to have faith in the Goddess of Always Enough. She is always able to provide what one needs right on time. Generally, it seems wisest not to try and second-guess Her or try to tell her what she ought to be doing." (1) Reading this was timely for me. It's been a challenging year, with a lot of doubt about myself, our finances, our health, and whether or not we (as a family) are in the right place, doing the right thing. When I get scared about money, I tend to turn to attempted manifestation, and I tend to try to be very clear about what I feel I need. Then when my prayers are answered but not in the way I specified or envisioned, I get frustrated. When I read Bee's bit about the Goddess of Always Enough, something clicked for me. As always, we are okay. We have enough - even more than enough! All is well, even though by conventional terms I feel on a slippery slope of dept and doubt.

The image of the Goddess of Always Enough helped me to reflect on the challenges we've dealt with over the past few months, and see where She helped us, even though it was not what I thought She "ought" to be doing. A few days after we discovered our eroding plumbing needed to be replaced asap, we got low-interest-for-the-life-of-the-loan checks from a credit card. These were a lower rate than your standard equity loans - and since we haven't savings or equity, a bit of interesting timeing. Then we had to replace our only car. A few days before our old car got picked up by the insurance company's scrap yard, a friend got a new car and was able to loan us her soon-to-be-donated beater (but very functional) car. We found our replacement a week before the insurance was due to run out on our friend's loaner. We were able to get needed repairs done on our new used car just weeks before taking an eight hour road trip (sixteen round trip) that had been planned for months. I'm happy to announce that the car, and the plumbing, are doing great!

Then health concerns hit. I am a little scared and frustrated that we have spent our beefed up flex spending account half way through the year - and three months before our baby is due - but isn't it interesting that I had *just* enough in there to get the chiropractic work I desperately needed?

Speaking of new baby, today my husband and I sat down with the clothes, accessories, and toys friends have given us, and we were both totally overwhelmed. Such abundance! Such a community we have! I do not have to buy anything for this baby. Not even shelves if we can get around to using the last of the scrap wood we have (given to us by a friend) to put some shelves in the kids' closet.

And in case this weren't enough reminder that All is Well and She Watches Over Us, I flashed recently on a memory of about nine years ago. We had just moved to Colorado. I had just finished massage school and barely had a part time job, my then boyfriend had just started graduate school, and his father had just passed away. We drove to Wisconsin for the service, a sixteen hour drive with no air conditioning, paid for by credit card. We found out that my boyfriend had a disbursement coming to him from his father's IRA of about $23k. Recalling this time, I thought, "Things may seem scary and tenuous now, but compared to that time - whew! Life is settled, grounded, and all is well."

I can get so caught up in what I think things are supposed to look like, as in no debt, a fancy (if modest) house, and other wants, but really, if I step back and let my perspective shift, I am amazed at how blessed we are. There is always enough. Always.

Blessings, dear reader! May you too be blessed with the realization of always enough!







(1) Smith, Bee. "Seasons of Change: Gaian Rhythms for Positive Living." SageWoman No 76. 62.

The Family as a Garden: Conscious Co-Creation of the Day-to-Day

I wanted to share with you Machaelle Small Wright's definition of a garden:

"According to nature, a garden has just three criteria: It is initiated by humans, given its definition, direction, and purpose by humans, and maintained with the help of humans. Well, managed forests, landscaping, farms, and potted plants would also be gardens that grow in soil. Soil-less gardens could include waterways, ponds, the atmosphere, aquariums, livestock ranches, trout farms, a landscaping business, a swimming pool, a home, large and small business,.... [W]here there is form, there is nature. Where nature and humans interact, there is a garden. Where there is a garden, there is an implied co-creative partnership" (22-23, Co-Creative Science: A Revolution in Science Providing Real Solutions for Today's Health and Environment).

By this definition, I co-create several gardens. There is what I call "my garden," soil in set areas with plants growing in them. This is the garden I usually refer to in writing and talking. But I also cultivate a family, a writing business, a community of mothers who support the ways I parent, a marriage, a home.... I'm sure the list could go on and on. I would say, though, that the most important "garden" in my life is my family.

My family consists of a husband, two children (one unborn), two cats, two fish, four chickens, a home, and a "garden that grows in soil." It is surrounded by a larger garden, my extended family: My mom, my brother, my aunts and uncles, my sisters- and brothers-in-law, my niece-in-law and her family (who is my age and also has two children), and other relatives. My family garden is also supported by my friends.

I find it valuable to think of my family as a garden, because first, the garden is a powerful metaphor of co-creation, support, faith, patience, and love. I can relate to this metaphor in a way that makes parenting and homemaking manageable. For instance, I know that some days are for weeding (aka vacuuming or doing laundry) and others for harvesting (aka sitting on the back porch and laughing with my family). I no longer feel guilty for putting up my feet when there is "work" to do anymore than I would feel guilty about picking a luscious, ripe tomato.

The second reason I find this a valuable naming of the process of "family" is that I can see my role as wife, mother, homemaker, homeschool teacher, etc., as Gardener. Rather than being at the mercy of a pile of laundry or bills to be paid or a cranky toddler, I can see it as one part of the whole, a whole I value deeply. Once I am not feeling victimized by my slave status, I can then choose to grow my garden consciously. I can honor the process of cooking dinner. I can appreciate the time it takes to get shoes on my three-year-old. I can take time to play with my husband. All with gratitude and self-awareness.

I'm certainly not saying life as a stay-at-home mom becomes easy, but using the image of Garden (which is not just a metaphor here), I can re-frame my experience of the most challenging and most rewarding job on earth. Instead of saying Life's a Beach (or a similar phrase that plays with the sound of beach), I can say Life is a Garden and breathe in deeply as I explore the path.

What new life is sprouting in your garden today?

Happiness is Living the Farm Life in the Suburbs

This moment comes awfully close to my dream life. It's Sunday morning, the chickens have been fed and let to range, then shooed back into the run to get them out of the seedlings doing so well in the garden. We had buckwheat gluten free berry pancakes with organic yogurt for breakfast. Our bathtub is being remodeled, so we're heating water on the stove to give my little girl a bath outside. My husband started a little fire in our portable fire pit. He's going to get some yard work done (thank you!) while I get in some writing. I have to finish my thesis, the beginning of a novel, by the end of the month.

It's been a crazy time: hubby needed a crown on his tooth, I need new glasses, we'll have a hospital birth to pay for by the fall, we had to replace all our plumbing (small houses can really be a blessing) and our bathtub (credit card promo checks only way to go with no equity right now), and hubby got in a fender bender - his fault - last night. On one income, all that is deeply stressful. It's easy to feel overwhelmed. And I can't even take a soothing bath right now to de-stress!

But I turn on the news and hear about swine flu, flooding, genocide...; I hear my neighbor yell at his kids, and they yell back; a dear friend is still reeling from her brother's suicide. Life is hard. Yet here I sit, smelling campfire, watching chickens and children mature, we're healthy, the garden is growing (we've had RAIN this spring!), and I'm writing to you, dear reader. The sights and smells make me feel like I'm a writing mama on the farm, though we live in working class suburbia. I feel so very deeply blessed. And despite the overwhelm, so very happy.

Blessings to you, dear reader.