I feel much healthier now that we are back on Standard Time. I am not a morning person by nature, my thoughts dragging along an hour or two behind my lark-tempered companions. I cannot knit lace in the morning. I drift off into random parts of the pattern, thinking that my fingers know what they are doing.  They do not.

Right now, it feels like the world has slowed down and waited for me to catch up.

I am ready for this quiet time, although I am not prepared in the traditional sense. I am sitting in the heart of the spiral, wondering and waiting. Usually I carry a question or a point of focus with me. Sometimes I find it on the way here, through dreaming or meditation. This year, I am here in patience, willing to wait, to dabble my fingers in the pool that gathers around the bubbling spring, waiting for Her call. This kind of waiting is not passive. My senses are all as engaged as they would be if I were active. I am not coiling tight with frustration. It's hard to explain, but it is peaceful and restorative.

Wouldn't it be interesting if all I am meant to do is wait in peace?

The deepest quiet time is about to begin, and as is often the case, I find myself being pulled between where my thoughts are going and where my obligations lie.

I want to wrap myself in a warm, dark shawl and sit at the roots of an old tree, a single candle to guide my thoughts until I am ready to pinch it out and savor the dark night.

Others expect me to be someone else, the quiet and efficient woman who bakes apple pie, makes tea, and creates a space where we gather to honor our fore-mothers. I must be priestess to others beside myself. Then, I will take time to be priestess to myself.

Lucy calls me. Lucy the elder. Jeremiah's wife who lies buried in that small family cemetery in the woods. I want to welcome her, let her know that she is remembered, and to honor her. What was it like to live in an isolated mountainside community, too far from the sea, too far from home? What was it like to be handed from father to husband? To be buried without her maiden name? If I am strong, it is because of women like Lucy who shaped my family.

The Grey women have always made pots of tea and done what needs to be done. Tea will get me through baking apple pie tonight, and all that the days ahead require.

Blessings!

 

I've ordered a set of runes fromlupabitch. Runes have been on my mind for a long time. The visual simplicity of the symbols attracts me. I've wanted an artisan-made set, but couldn't find one that seemed right for me until now. I'll share pictures when it arrives later this month.

I wonder if the very simplicity of the symbols makes them more difficult to read than tarot? Tarot gives you a lot of imagery to draw upon. You see the cards differently each time you read them. I wonder if that will be true for runes as well? It remains to be seen.

Sometimes, the images in my 'sight' and those on the tarot cards create a very muddled vision that gives me a headache to untangle. It's like a collage gone mad, with the layers slipping in and out of focus. I think the rune images will be easier to hold onto while I explore the spontaneous images.

I wish I had been comfortable enough to ask my grandmother if her 'sight' worked that way. She never spoke much about it with me, and it was hard to know what was the wisdom of a long lifetime and what was her gift. My mother's gift was completely different. She noticed connections and juxtapositions of things in the everyday world and saw deeper meaning in them.
 
The runes  will be what I take with me on the inward spiral through the darkening nights. Can anyone recommend a good book or two on the subject?