I believe that many of my cycles of change have converged on the last few weeks, and like my 25th birthday, so much of my birthday discomfort comes not from age but expectation. 5 years ago I mourned the milestones I always knew I’d achieve by then but had abandoned not 1 year before; this year, I realized I have ultimately re-embraced those values and shut down again- things are just easier to endure on auto-pilot.

But are we here to merely endure? Does that feed my spirit and continue me along my soul’s path? No. And in the last week I have come to terms with the fact that I once again strayed the course, once again traded my journey for the comfort of others, and ultimately betrayed what I have fought so hard for by handing it over to another.

30 is too young to give up on myself and too old to expect the change to magically come to me while I patiently wait. I own this- I am my own. And the burden for my chicken-shit numbing of life’s intensity I fought so hard to earn back rests solely on my shoulders. I gave it away- no one took it. No one even asked for it. I relegated myself, my exploration, and my needs beneath those of others because they were ‘other’ and therefore more worthy.

Fuck that. I am worth my time and love. I am worth knowing. I am worth the discomfort that comes with ever seeking deeper. I am worth the effort it takes to know me. I am worth the effort it takes to please me. I am worth the effort it takes to BE me.

I renew my quest for self; I seek the physical experiences we are here to explore. Without apology, shame, or retreat. I am going to refill my well and see just where I’ve drifted off to when I wasn’t looking. I am going to be- be bold- be strong- be whole- be happy. When necessary, I’ll be mad. I will do for myself. I will fill my well. I will reacquaint myself with my dreams and desires. I will fill my well. I will embrace my own beauty for me, unabashedly. I will fill my well. I will stand my ground, and see what comes of it. I will fill my well. I will reassess all the cups I fill first out of love or obligation. I will stand tall and fill MY cup, without excuse or permission, and see just how many people fall away because their jobs were returned to them and how many join me on this greater quest of self-expansion, inspired and respectful.

I am a child of the universe; I deserve to respect myself and must honor that greater connection. I will seek to know me, even when it is uncomfortable. ESPECIALLY when it is uncomfortable. I will find and fill my well, and at once see the true landscape around me. Come spring, I will know where exactly I need to point my leaves- and my roots. I will better know all parts of me, and in that expand through them. Blessed be!

Even Isis grieved; even the strength to defy death does not harden a woman’s heart.

History is full of strength, of men who charge into battle with swords high and emerge from the other side covered with their opponent’s blood, victorious, righteous, and unchanged. This is not the strength of a woman; a woman is not left untouched or calloused by the experiences she triumphs over. She is stronger, but by that she is soft, sensitive, in tune with those around her. This ‘weakness’ is the source of a woman’s strength, not it’s undoing.

A strong woman is not rigid; she is not an impenetrable wall, a fortified citadel for you to triumph within or compare yourself against. A woman’s strength is that of a tree, flexible when needed, mutable and regularly changed, but fixed enough to stand impervious while the fates of men are fought and decided. A woman’s strength is fluid, organic, and does not preclude her from pain. It is not her armor or her weapon- it is the quality of her heart.

Challenge or roughly handle a woman’s strength and you will be excluded from it. Value a woman’s strength on the scale used to measure men and she will meet your expectation, hardening her armor and sharpening her sword. But do not be fooled; she has not bought into your values or your war. When her heart tells her it’s time, she will sheath the sword and pull the armor from her delicate skin; she will stretch her roots and branches toward the water and light she needs, and leave you to your field.

Even Isis grieved; but Set never had his throne because of it. A woman’s strength, and will, is driven by her eternally perceptive heart.

I want:

• to know who I am when everything is said and done
• my own space
• to disagree with someone and be okay with it
• to stop censoring myself, especially in my own home
• to define myself outside traditional roles
• to be happy; to laugh
• to be part of something bigger
• to know I can succeed on my own
• to feel beautiful, inside and out
• the ability to just let go
• to inspire others
• to write things that mean something
• to be happy singing
• to not be "just" anything
• to keep doing things that scare me, and stop being afraid
• to just listen
• to be in the moment
• to keep the TV off
• to be thankful for what I have
• to know that I can't be everything to everyone- and accept it
• to stop waiting for others to make me happy
• to make my own decisions; to have an opinion
• to be me all the time, in all my permutations
• to contradict myself; to contain multitudes
• to sit alone in a room and feel complete
• to be moved; inspired
• to just be
• to lose myself in something beautiful
  

Last night was the Beaver Moon, when the animals finish gathering their wood stores and disappear underwater and into their hidden lodges for the winter. I’m not the only person for whom water is a metaphor for emotion and dream, and so I think a great deal of this moon revolves around that, and the home that dwells in the center of it (the physical self).

Given that the two nights preceding carried terrible heavy dreams, I believe this impact has only grown with the moon over her last cycle. The beaver’s internal clock begins to fall out of synch in the winter; it is believed that this happens so that there is time for all family members to leave the lodge to eat, but with heat recovery time between, to reduce the chilling impact of their wet return on the pocket of warmth they all depend on for survival (about 60 degrees).

Taken one step further, I have spent a great deal of this last month more fully exploring my own emotions, psyche, and spirit, both day and night. I have had to be careful, however, to not bring that experience too heavily on the rest of my family and compromise their comfort. In this cycle, I have realized the full impact of my being away gathering resources, and more so the impact of how I re-enter my family’s lodge. It is not hard to compromise the warmth here and leave us all more vulnerable.

For most of the last cycle, I’ve been learning how I fit into a complicated, subtle, and scared professional environment, and have spent a great deal of time bouncing my thoughts (and by extension, parts of me I am and am not proud of) off new people in my life. I have exposed more of my whole self (not just the professional side) than I would normally, through these conversations, and this has given me pause when I’m alone, exploring those same parts of myself after the fact. I’ve spent a lot of this cycle in my head. And like a dip in an icy pond, it’s been refreshing to turn inward again, but also very uncomfortable at times—especially in my dreams. And given that we have only started winter, I believe there is a lot more time left to spend in those icy waters in the coming months.

Like bears and beavers (and other winter averse animals), it is time to turn inward for a little while, and explore the complexities of a smaller and more intimate inner space.

May the goddess walk the sky beside you, if you share this winter journey. Blessed be!

Tonight is the harvest moon, and for all the writing on it, I find the symbolism a bit too literal for a jumping off point, and my space a little too dark to feel thankful for the ‘bounty.’

One thing, however, is new to me, and intriguing. Apparently, the amount of daylight lost each day decreases briefly around the harvest moon, slowing ‘time’ and providing not only a brighter bit of moonlight but a little more daylight (relatively speaking) as well.

I don’t know what I’m harvesting right now, but it’s truly painful. And the extra ‘time’ provided to do so feels almost mocking. It feels like all the things I’m waiting for (a visit to my ocean, a break from the kids, news on a new job, a lightening of spirit, even my cycle) are all delayed, with time stretching longer than usual and making things unbearable.

Tonight’s meditation has brought a little insight, however, for better or for worse. Part of the harvest is the moving indoors- - with the last bounty pulled from the fields, there is the trading of gardens and orchards for kitchen and hearth. Historically, this would be the beginning of a time for rest and rejuvenation. And I think this is part I find most distressing, and until now I didn’t know why. I don’t feel at home- at home. I don’t find strength, or rest, or rejuvenation here. I don’t find ‘here’ a place of comfort. I don’t find ‘here’ home at all. In fact, I am often a stranger here, chastised and spent, with needs that aren’t met and generally assumed ignorant or excluded from things. For all my efforts I am without a home.

I’ve written here before about the role my home has played in my peace of mind and sense of well being. I am most sound when I can tidy my mind through order in my space, honoring the internal with external ritual. And I thought I was moving toward resolution, patiently watching for the pieces of my new prayer to present themselves in my new space. But how do you find a prayer for yourself in a place that isn’t yours? I see now that perhaps I squandered the summer with my efforts elsewhere, and am now sowing a disappointing personal harvest as a result - one of my most enduring emotional thorns is now all I’ve gathered from the fields- The last ‘home’ I had is now 1 year passed and 1500 miles away and I fear I will never see feel like that again. We have made family decisions, and I personal sacrifices, that will perpetuate the feeling of ‘otherness’ in my own life. As harvests go, this one is not exactly good for eating over the next 6 months.

Unfortunately, tonight’s moon has offered only questions, no answers. My deepening depression keeps me from reaching out to others, even those who own the space I so much need to reclaim. I am tired of having to ask for myself, my needs, to be recognized. I am tired of every twinge of pain I feel touching back to the move. I am tired of feeling like I’ve given away everything of myself to be here, in a place that does so little for me and makes me feel so small and disconnected. I am tired. And no extra daylight, no brighter moonlight seems to help. I only hope that the next month, and next moon, are a little more forgiving.

Tonight's moon is the strawberry moon, and a search for its symbolism fittingly revealed little philosophy and a great number of events. Who wants to be inside reading with a moon like this? Action appears to be the theme of this June moon.

The strawberry moon is relatively straight forward, being the time of the strawberry harvest. It is a time of rapid growth and fleeting fruit. Since the last Strawberry moon, I have witnessed the rapid growth of a newborn baby to a toddler full of life, light, and attitude. I have watched a shy and hesitant toddler bloom into an articulate and engaging little boy. I have witnessed Rob grow as a musician, as a husband, and as a father. I have experienced an insane amount of change, transforming and transplanting almost everything in my life. And through all this, I have experienced a challenging stretch of personal growth, finding unknown inner strength, my breaking point, my voice, and a few more steps on the patch toward being a whole person.

Yet all this change seems haphazard, and successful navigation of it outside my control, Like the frenzied growth of a strawberry patch. Only by happenstance have I arrived here intact and a better version of Jade.

One source I could find pointed to a Coyote mother as teacher and anchor through the Strawberry moon's time of change, and I couldn't help but wonder who my Coyote mother is. In last year's Strawberry moon, it was Nettie. While I waited for Sophia's arrival, a change that already manifested for me and was about to, unbeknownst to all of us, rocket our family into a year of nothing BUT change, Nettie moved me to act. She helped move me to the ocean, to the field, to my kitchen, and to the Goddess. It was in those moments of simple action that I was able to harness and experience the change that swirled around me.

In the ocean, I drew Sophia's name on the beach and let her know that I was ready for her. I conquered my fear of early labor and allowed myself to visit the sea, miles from my midwife. We collected sand and water and said our thanks at the frothy hem of the Goddess's skirt.

In the field I was moved to laugh, to eat, to satisfy and manifest my vision for Sophia's pregnancy. I was moved to embrace my round body's strength and desire and take pleasure in the earth that had grown such a beautiful and healthy baby.

In my kitchen I was moved to capture that fleeting perfection, to find a natural stasis that would allow me access back to that field after the moment had passed. In my kitchen I connected that moment in my life with that of many women before, harvesting the peace and bounty of one time for the unknown to come.

And with Nettie's help, her calm presence and stability with the one thing that scared me most about going into labor, I was able to give myself wholly to the experience of birth, communing with the Goddess and finding that well of strength it took to move Sophia into this world.

So I take that lesson of action in this Strawberry moon and wonder where it will manifest. So many changes have found us in the last year, and I know there are more waiting for us. Dylan has an incredible big year ahead, with a world around him expanding at a pace none of us can fully comprehend. Sophia has ahead of her the patch Dylan took last year, but filtered through her wind-in-the-face personality. For me, I don't know. For now I'm just tending my home, my family and my garden, enjoying the moment of summer bounty.

Last week we had a heck of a wind storm, and when I got up in the morning I noticed that the makeshift gate for the chicken coop had blown down. The girls, obviously pleased by this, were scratching around the yard, looking for some tender 6am bugs. (early bird, you know....)

Already dressed for work, I stepped into the backyard and rounded up the ladies, careful to keep the hem of my slacks out of the garden dirt. With the girls secured back in their run, I returned to the kitchen to finish getting my coffee.

While I puttered around the kitchen, I thought about how silly a pre-work chore chicken catching is, and just how much I like our "farm" chores around the yard. There is something very right about caring for the animals and plants as the sun rises, slow and intentional sustaining of the things that sustain us. I wandered through my thoughts for a bit, and found myself slowing down and enjoying my morning routine. Which is quite an impressive thing at quarter of 6 on a Wednesday.

It kind of made me sad- first, for the speed that the rest of my day would take once I left my kitchen and started toward work; second, for the years I was in such a hurry to get somewhere or be someone that I would have been irritated, not amused, by such a humble morning space. It's odd, really, how fast we expect life to move, and how much we feel we don't have time to do simple things. How much time would it take before we had time to spare?

We have microwaves, dishwashers, clothes dryers, and robot vaccum cleaners, tools to do things faster and unsupervised, to remove ourselves from the mundane- to free us to other things. But what other things, though? What are we doing with that time?

My morning chasing chickens, my afternoons hanging laundry, and our evenings tending the garden remind me that the mundane is not something to categorically avoid. The mundane, when embraced, is often the only part of my day that replenishes my perspective, connecting me to the people and world around me. Sometimes, in this mean and hurried world, shooing chickens back into their house is just what I need to move everything else into its place.

The equinox is a time of balance, with the scales tipping tomorrow toward light, growth, and activity. We see the sprouts of what incubated dormant all winter, and we have the planning and promise of summer. For me, the balance between these two seasons is a turning point.

The things we planted last fall were rushed and haphazard, like a dropped box of mixed seeds. I don't yet know what we planted, or where, and I don't know how these things will fit into who I am or where I am going. It's still to early to tell, and there is some thinning that will be required.

Summer, however, carries the promise of planning and planting, of intention. We are to a point in the year, in our life, that we must conscientiously decide what seeds to plant in our garden, in our children, and in ourselves. While cause and effect are ever present forces, we are in the position to decide our causes. To live intentionally, conscientiously; to manifest growth, joy, and beauty.

Blessed be!

All of us, even those who are not attached to any formal religion, have need of that which silent prayer satisfies. It is the need of gathering one's inner resources. –Felix Frankfurter

I used to pray. Not the kneel by the bed with hands folded kind of prayer- more the silent gathering of resources. I had my ritual. Every morning once the sun rose, I would open all the curtains (and windows, if it was warm enough). Top to bottom, front to back, starting near my alter, I'd welcome the morning sunshine into our home. I'd get my cup of coffee and ring my great chimes, which hung in the living room. Once counter clockwise, to clear our space, then once clockwise to bless it. I'd stand near the storm door if it was warm, drinking in some beautiful (summer) Oregon sun and fresh air, then I'd go on with my day. It wasn't much, but it centered me.

When things got too harried in the house, I'd smudge before everyone came home. Cedar counterclockwise, sweet grass clockwise, chimes to carry the intention to all the spaces I might have missed. This was my home-grown silent prayer.

I haven't prayed in 7 months. My alter, chimes, and herbs were in a box for 6 of them. Now my chimes are hung, but instead of being centered in our house, they hang on the edge in the sunroom. Their music no longer touches every room. My alter is still packed somewhere with knick knacks. My herbs are buried under orphaned remnants of hurried packing. My prayer was an organic part of my day, the space we lived in, the way I worked. I needed an external ritual for my inner space, and now that we've moved, my prayer is gone too. I start over.

This space will not accommodate that prayer because it didn't grow here. This rediscovery process will just be part of re-planting my roots. What grounds me here must grow here, and become entwined in this new space. My new prayer will be born of time and space- it will meet needs I didn't have in Oregon, and abandon those that did not move with us. It will be a natural extension of my old prayer, connecting these two places, but be unique to here and now, moving beyond that place and supporting me as I move beyond the person I was there. I just have to be patient and wait for it to grow.