I’ve been taking care of life on life’s terms and doing small things that please me.
I found this sweet sugar bowl and tea plate that felt so right that I didn’t pass it up. The little plastic bowl thing that I was using is still functional, though the plastic bothers me. It has served me well for twenty years! I think that I paid $5 for a set of six nesting canister bins all those years ago. The bowl and plate were interesting and made me smile. They add a dainty feeling to the consideration of each cup of tea. The lid has a different and very satisfactory clink than the tinkle of placing a sugar spoon across the plate. I found a teeny-tiny stained up and ancient Revere-ware pot so that I might sing to my water and feel it roiling forth from the bottom of the pan, reminding me to allow grounding energy to do the same from the bottoms of my feet. In paying attention to these things, I have become more aware of the sound and the feeling of my morning bare feet crossing the floor–even slowing down to feel each small muscle movement of foot and of toe. The beautiful wicker mat under the tea things on the top of the microwave came at a negotiated price, as it was a broken lid that someone had hidden, rather than admit to breaking a store product. I offered a price for it et voila!!! Texture and tea mat for me.
I am also well pleased that the copper bottom of the pot came bright and clean with lemon, salt, and a light rub and that my total cost for Sweet Nesting was under $5!!! I enjoy watching the Thyme growing on the windowsill next to where I enjoy my tea. I think that I feel best when I am grounded, especially in the kitchen. Life, Change, and Creation exemplified.
“Deeper Into Alban Elfed
This is the Feast of the Autumn Equinox. The Light of the Sun in the Wheel of the Year stands in the West, in the Place of balance between the Light and the Darkness. This is a time of the Great Tides. This is the Gateway of the Year.
This Feast is known by many names to many people, for the Truth is reflected from many mirrors. It has been celebrated as Alban Elfed and Harvest. Our ancestors called it by names long forgotten, and our children will call it by names as yet unconceived.
At this time, our ancestors saw the Sun, for the first time in half a year, be unable to outshine the Dark. Although he still shines with strength, his strength grows weaker as the days grow shorter. Today he holds the Darkness in in equal measure to the Light, but he is struck in his season with the wound of Time and from day to day the darkness will grow as the Lord of Light sinks into his Age, for the wound is grievous and will not heal. This is a time of farewell and gratitude for the Summer that has been.
At this time, our ancestors saw the Lady who is the Spirit of the Land stand before her people with the full bounty of her Harvest. Here is the reward of labour and reverence of the Land. This is the fulfilled promise of the days of Spring and Summer. This is the Reckoning of the Year, for Harvest is now complete and the portions are set to feed folk and animals through the cold dark days that lie ahead. This is a time of wonder and gratitude for the gifts the Lady showers down upon her people.
This is the time of the turning of the Light into Darkness. Let us step forward into the darkening days holding before us the divine promise of new Light at the end of the Dark Days, from year to year and life to life. This is the lesson of the Lord and the Lady. This is our knowledge and our affirmation.
This is the Holy Word that is written in no less than the Earth and the Sky and in all things that are made. This is a wonder and a marvel.”
Like a cloud on the brow of a mountain
When the sun in his glory doth rise;
Like the spray of the far-falling fountain
That ascendeth so swift toward the skies
Like the infant’s gay laugh–like the blush
On the virgin’s soft cheek–like the flush
Of the floweret that withers anon
Is the year; Yea! the year that is gone
For the cloud it hath vanished away
Dispersed by the power of the sun
And dissolved in the air is the spray
E’re the blue heights of heaven it had won;
And now transient the laugh of the child
And the blush on the virgin’s soft cheek
And the flower is the beauty despoiled
E’re another bright morning can break.
Like such is the year; it has wings
That bore it with swiftness away
And though round it our memory clings
Ah! we cannot ritard it one day!
It is gone O my soul! It is gone
Its months, weeks and days every one.
Now I turn to the fresh coming year.
Shall wild Hope mount her chariot again?
And rush onward with reckless career?
And shall Fancy’s bright pictures so vain
Me deceive as may have done before?
Strange delusions! I fear ye and strive
You to cast from my soul evermore;
To escape earth’s enchantments and live
In the bondage of truth; for the true
Is the pathway, though weary and sad
And so darksome and dreary to view
That leads up to the world of the glad.
O loved Hope that hath recreant been.
Through the year and the years that are past
Let my chariot wheels turn where is seen
The bright gate of glory at last.
January 1, 1841
Thomas Cole’s Poetry
Be careful following
Where others have gone before.
In the forest once
I took a track;
It looked well beaten
As if often used.
But it became difficult,
Branches crossed it low
And I slowly realised
It was made by creatures
In whose veins
No human blood flowed.
But I held to it
Becoming more fearful
With each step I took,
Unable to return.
The path held me
Until edging a precipice
It ended in thorns.
I stood there on the edge
Gazing at a fallen tree below,
Long-dead, moss covered,
Splayed out like a corpse fallen
And thought a wrong step now
And I will join it.
Only by an effort of will
Could I climb the slope
To safety and a true path.
Beware truths apparent,
They may be lies in disguise…
© Angela Grant (Kestrel) 28/12/2003
Finding the Key
It is bright day but here I sit
with darkness in my soul.
I seek freedom but always tie myself
to some place, some person,
Does this make sense? I think not.
What sense can nonsense make?
What hope can hopelessness provide?
I am split as a chestnut husk
splits falling from the tree
revealing nothing but strange confusion.
Enlightenment I seek
yet feel I comfort from the dark.
For what is hidden can reveal
a wealth of mystery beyond itself.
Layer beyond onion layer, lost in the seeking
of a centre impossibly deep.
What meaning can mystery reveal?
What cipher can disclose plain truth
without a key?
Shall the white mare pass
without me following?
She will stop if I ask her.
She has done so before.
Or shall I hawklike
simply hover and watch
and let another chance slip by
gone in an instant.
No, not this time.
When she passes I will call
and let her carry me
where she will.
Now is the time to take a chance,
grasp life to the full
and run with the wind
wherever it may blow.
At summer’s end let only harvest fall,
let me run on and seek that centre
that I have not yet found
or lose myself in never-ending spirals
knowing that a time will come
outside time itself
where all mysteries will be resolved,
all conjunctions joined,
all solutions found
and the end only disclose
another new beginning…
© Angela Grant (Kestrel) 26/8/2004