This was a year that began with a queasy feeling of dread.
Day of Mo(u)rning, 01-20-2017
Night terrors shudder you awake before sun.
Make your way to the deep half-moonlit woods.
Wait for the curtain to be lifted, the switch flipped,
Blue-black lightens. All of a sudden, the birds.
Follow the trunks of your fellow beings, tall trees
Silhouette hands raised.
Know you will be okay as long as the birds rise
And the trees stand tall.
Stand like these trees, rise like these birds.
Tomorrow, float in a sea of pink compassion.
Followed by a surge of hope.
Followed by months of weight loss and a few of gain, to total acceptance of body.
Of separating from person inhabiting a huge chunk of my heart.
Definitely the year of the knit.
And lots of moments of gratitude for being alive and physically able to connect with the natural world.
Ending 2017 with evolving deeper connection to ancestors whose stories I am uncovering bit by bit and imagining the many untold women’s stories in centuries’ trail of documentation mostly in language of men, sermons, money, and wars.
My maternal grandmother was one strong woman, making the trip across the Atlantic by ship once alone to meet her soon to be husband in America, and a second time alone after marrying my grandfather, five months pregnant, for purposes of visa.
“Freedom: Meaningless to those who never lost it; to us it meant a feeling like that of a bird suddenly released from its cage…We were on our own, without fear of the sudden touch on the shoulder in the streets. Nobody around us cared what we were doing. The freedom was enough to make one drunk.” ~ My grandmother upon arrival to America
My paternal grandmother was not only a librarian and a super resilient and frugal woman, but 50 years ago established an organization called Opportunities still thriving today in the Midwestern US that serves developmentally disabled (differently abled) people like the one she adopted as an infant. So that folks can be self-supporting and have lifetime work who otherwise may not have opportunity.
Leaving the year with an image of three roses a neighbor gave me this summer from her garden, since three roses are depicted in one family line’s crest and a single rose is in another line’s crest.
‘By the arts of a nation is a nation finally to be judged, by the arts of peace, not by the arts of war – the art of the painter, the sculptor, the architect, the musician, touch between them the whole chord of the feelings of mankind … and lead the blood of true life to course through our veins.’ – Marion Spielmann (my great-grandmother’s cousin’s brother)
May 2018 be the year of the rerobed Earth alongside rise of the divine feminine. Bountiful gratitude to TreeSisters.