I spent the morning catching up with friends.
It felt like ages since we had spoken.
In actuality, it had been one week. But one week without the wisdom of the trees and the birds had proved to be simply unbearable.
Days earlier, a wicked bout of illness had given me the bum's rush, hurling me unceremoniously into the weekend, cruel and unforgiving. A crash landing left me battered, bruised; unable to gather the strength needed to even stand. I hadn't seen it coming.
Or had I?
The past two weeks had been unbearably challenging. Anger and odium collided like great waves slamming the sides of my already battle-worn ship. My graceful and resilient sails were now tattered, and supplies had run dangerously low. My stars had seen to it that deep dark ugliness needed to rear itself, whether I was ready or not.
Now, usually I meet these challenges head on, not being one to back down, really, ever. (It's both a blessing and a curse.) But this time, the tide simply took me. So the body decided to dock my pirate ass for a spell, though it felt in reality like being marooned on a deserted island. By my own crew, no less. "Sorry, Captain Flamehair, we had no choice. Use the time wisely."
This, traditionally, is the only way for me to stop the reckless internal spinning: by being forced, via the body's intelligence, to just stop. I'm guessing many of you know what I'm talking about. I don't get legitimately sick, like from a germ or virus. I'm simply too damned healthy for that. (Eternal thanks, beloved plants.) What I am susceptible to, however, is burn out. Endless mental wanderings, worrying, analyzing, and high-level creating, combined with a demanding, self-imposed work schedule makes for one perpetually-stretched-too-thin cat. Ignoring innate feline wisdom, I forget to rest. To take a pause. To be still.
And so, after getting a glorious cosmic ass-kicking, I resolved once again to return to my animal roots.
But there's a problem with that. I have made this observation and subsequent resolution many, many times before, which begs the question: at what point does it finally sink in?
After lying for days in a darkened cave of purrs, kisses, elixirs and blessed silence, I ventured out into the light once more. And there were my dear friends, right were I had left them. They knew, of course, that I had drifted too far without provisions, but were kind enough not to remind me of it.
Sipping a rather potent brew, I shared my seeds and bits of apple with the birds, gulping in the mountain air as if my very life depended on it. The winged ones know. They chattered merrily of their adventures, allowing me to forget mine.
And then I saw him.
A most beautiful fuzzy bee, nestled in the hydrangea. There were many others busily buzzing about, but this one was different. Carefully, silently climbing the stems, he seemed determined to reach a center point. An architectural web, if you will, radiating inward toward a center nucleus. The heart.
And there he stopped and sat still, not moving.
I wasn't sure at first if he was hurt, or sleeping? (Do bees sleep? And if so, where? I had to stop my brain from taking off in the direction of ceaseless questioning. That would have ruined the moment. ) I realized he was merely there, just being, suspended in the fluidity of time.
After what seemed like an unbearably uncomfortable amount of minutes (for me anyway - hellloo, fire sign!) he stretched, reached up, took hold and grabbed the nearest blossom with such vigor and passion that you couldn't help but be impressed! And then he made his way around to all the flowers in the cluster, confident and strong.
And, just like that, he flew away.
Bees are emblematic of fertility and great productivity, but they also remind us to savor the sweetness of life, the honeyed nectar of simple pleasures. This dear little messenger was clear in his medicine to me. And I owed him, by way of thanks, to heed it.
But what was that sound? With a rustle of the bushes, a tiny bunny appeared, delicately nibbling the fallen flowers whole, with rhythmic daintiness.
Rabbits of course also symbolize fertility, along with new life, and the ability to make great leaps and hops, but I have also always known them to appear when new money sources are about to make themselves known. More medicine for one on the precipice of great change...
So the recipe for today is not a food or beauty potion, technically. But really it is. It's spirit food. It's inner beauty that radiates out. It's the beauty of life, nature, spirit, and love.
It's about taking the pause. You see, it is the spaces BETWEEN the thoughts that actually create. That space is where the magick actually happens. Stillness breathes life, my Loves, the life force needed to generate and to manifest.
Without this, your magick will not be potent.
So adhere to this simple yet profound wisdom, Dear Ones, and share it. Next time you find yourself or someone you care about spinning out of control emotionally, or beholden to those sticky phantoms of fear, or driven by ego, remind them, and yourself, how it all works.
Thank you to my wild friends, the nature spirits that patiently and continually light my way.
And to you for stopping by to spend a little time here.
Now, I do believe I have my sea legs back!
Is that my ship I see,
not too far in the distance?
(Mind you, whomever marooned me is totally walking the plank!)