December has been zipping
past in high gear this year. I feel like
I’ve been running behind the Holiday Train, trying my damnedest to catch up and
grab a ride. Wasn’t Thanksgiving three
days ago?
Before yesterday, I had not
crossed one item off my Christmas shopping list, even though it was drastically
abbreviated by our opting not to exchange gifts this year. About that:
I expected to be at least a little sad and disappointed that husband and
I wouldn’t be ripping into gaily wrapped packages (of things we didn’t want and
wouldn’t use), but in fact it has proven to be the saving grace of the holiday. I know I, at least, have felt much less
burdened and able to enjoy the season without that one very heavy thing hanging
over my head.
And yesterday was Winter
Solstice. It was inconvenient that it
coincided with the last shopping Saturday before Christmas, and that we still
had all our shopping to do. We spent the
daylight hours skipping around electronics stores, book shops and home centers
ticking things off our gift list. At
Lowe’s, we managed to remember to pick up a bundle of wood for my Solstice
Fire.
As compact as the season has
been, I haven’t done the meditation and soul-searching I managed prior to my
first two Solstice Fires. I’ve been
reflecting a bit on whether I have fulfilled the Universe’s mandate that I pursue
Joy in 2013. I think I’ve done it, to
the extent that I’m able. Certainly our
trip to Klamath last January started the year off on a most joyful note. I’m still struggling with relationship issues
and lingering after-effects of the café experience. I see myself making progress in my ability to
think before acting out in frustration or anger. And I’ve tried to find at least a little joy
in every day. But I still have a long
way to go.
Anyway, the busyness of the
day yesterday had me lighting my Solstice Fire well after the sun had gone
down, so the opportunity to obtain a message from a bird spirit was severely
compromised. Not too likely that I’d get
a flyover from Kingfisher or be accompanied by the song of Hummingbird at my
fire this year. I contemplated, as I
gathered my bells and my pen (to write down the things that “no longer serve”
which I would burn in my fire) and my cedar branches, if there would be a
message from an animal spirit at this year’s fire. I knew it was unlikely that there would be a
bird in attendance; but when I thought about the day, I realized that my
daylight hours on Saturday had been All About Geese. At first light, I was out in the yard filling
the bird feeders and heard the sound of the cacklers milling over the wetlands
by the channel. As we drove around doing
our holiday shopping, it seemed like every time I looked up, there was a group
of geese overhead. On the way home at
dusk, we were surrounded by literally hundreds of geese dropping out of the sky
to their evening resting places on the ponds and the rolling hills surrounding
them.
Geese are an important spirit
guide for me. They were, in fact, the
first bird spirits to bring me a message, way back when I didn’t even know bird
spirits had messages for me. In my personal liturgy, geese represent
family and ancestors. Geese symbolize my
beloved departed—my sister, my dad, my mom.
They remind me to honor those spirits, to call upon them for guidance;
and they remind me to treasure, nurture, and draw strength from the family I
have left.
Satisfied that I had indeed
received a visitation from a bird spirit to set the tone for the coming year, I
settled down to my fire. Without regret
and with no anticipation of an additional spirit bringing a message for me. I chose six chunks of milled kindling upon
which I would scribe the things that would no longer serve, set them aside and
proceeded to build my fire. It sprang to
life quickly and surely. All week long,
predictions of rain on Solstice evening had had me feverishly devising ways to
have my fire without being TOO cold, wet and miserable. But the promised rain had held off all day,
and stalled yet a few hours longer after dark, long enough to allow me to
kindle my fire in relative comfort.
I played my bells, and sang,
and hummed. I meditated on the past
year, considered the coming year. Thought
about Goose, and my family, and what meaning they would have for me. And gradually, I became aware of an animal
presence that I could not ignore.
Skunk!
No…he didn’t waddle up and
share my fire. In fact, I never saw
him. He probably wasn’t even very close
by. But his presence was obvious and
persistent. It was impossible not to
understand that my fire had been delayed until the hours after dark so that
Skunk could be present to impart his message to me.
Also remarkable was that I
was joined at my fire by yet another spirit whose presence was entirely
unexpected: my husband.
My first two Solstice Fires
had been conducted in solitude. I’m
pretty sure the husband has been at least partially convinced that a lightning
bolt would issue forth from his Polish Catholic God as I sat rattling and
singing and meditating, celebrating my connection to the Divine in the “heathen”
way to which I felt called. I never even
considered inviting him to my fires. It
just didn’t seem to be in any way something that we could share.
But to my surprise, somewhere
around the middle of my ritual, a be-parka-ed figure stepped out of the house
and made his way to my side. “Where am I
supposed to sit?” he asked. To which I
answered, when I found my voice, that he should just grab a chair.
The attendance of the husband
was at once a blessing and a distraction.
It did burst my meditative bubble; but it was also a welcome bit of
companionship. I had just been
considering burning “solitude” in my fire, which didn’t feel right, because
solitude DOES serve. It’s only too much of it that doesn’t serve. So I chose to
burn “loneliness” instead…because that is indeed what too much solitude
becomes. And as if on cue, out to my
side ambled my “better half.”
So we sat and gazed into the
coals, both remarking upon the obvious presence of skunk, until the promised
rain would hold off no longer and sent us snuffing the fire, stowing our seats
and retiring to the house.
I don’t even feel the least
bit embarrassed or silly that skunk attended my fire and had a message for
me. As soon as we were safely inside out
of the rain, I looked up “skunk” in my reference book. And this is what I found:
Be assertive and stand your ground as necessary, and
don’t let yourself be manipulated or pushed around.
Make your self-respect and dignity a top priority, offering the same respect to others.
You’re taking yourself far too seriously and need to
relax, play, and trust that everything is all right.
Now I have to do a bit of
contemplating about how these admonitions and the strong influence of family
will interact to create the story of the coming year.
