Well, the hedge has gotten rather tangled over the winter! I've been tending to sick pets, and to my own fledglings who are in a period of rapid growth, and swirling in the whirlwind of the winter holidays, the publishing of “A Beautiful Resistance”, and a disorienting, odd ebb tide of my creativity. I've been absorbing life and experience, lately, rather than generating ideas. It seems like a natural part of the inner seasons. I think it attends busy times with a lot of external work to do. Have you noticed such a season-change in your own inner-life? Are you usually overflowing with creativity, but sometimes find yourself just... being present, with nothing to say? Do you sometimes find yourself in a mode of being a reading needle, rather than a writing needle, on your track of the akashic records? ;)

 

 

(Perhaps part of this particular ebb is that we're stunned by the passing of our modern Taliesin, yeah? May his awen grace us again. And again.)

 

 

Fortunately for me, it's the new year (Blwyddyn Newydd Dda!) and I'm gathering about me all the habits I'd like to form for 2016, (along with some goat girl friends to bound with who will help chew down the edges), so I can reverse the ebb into a flow, untangling a cozy spot in the hedge to nestle into and to journey out into the wilds from. I have made some time in my new schedule to dedicate to writing regularly. I am sitting where I can see the white winter sky and the birds wheeling, with Dead Can Dance in my ears, seeking that place where the wild words are. I am making space for the awen to well up and pool, and you’ll be hearing from me very soon.

 

Happy 2016! May it be good to you!