Sunday, March 6, 2011

A Revel Toward Spring! (27 February 2011)

It is near, but not quite here_ I can sense it!  The days have grown almost long enough for it to be declared ‘Spring’_ but not quite.  Three weeks until the Vernal Equinox!  Though we are still in the grip of wintry weather_ I can sense the turning of the Wheel of the Year in my bones, in my ever-chilly flesh.  Who will dance with me in anticipation? 
The time for Enclosure is passing; I am moved toward Emergence; that bodily desire for movement outward_ for being out on the witch; out on the path_ leaving the solitude of the Hut of Dwelling for three seasons!  I’ve been hearing the ice around my Hut melting for the last week_ despite the storm we had last Moon Night—and though more snow is in the forecast_ something within me cries, “It is time to end this hibernation!
To the Woods!  _If only I could_ brave the ice-laden and slippery paths and skate my way to a new place of insight and inspiration!
Look around you!
The Daffodil heads pushed up through the soil to peek out by the back door last week; they are yet buds; tiny ‘knobs’ at the surface of the Earth; organic periscopes – yet even they sense that the time is nearing for Emergence, and all my senses are steering me in the direction of release from this momentum-quieted sojourn called ‘Winter.’  While there has been activity in this Hut of Dwelling for the last three months; meditation, srudy, thinking and dancing and singing—the time for pathing out into the Cathedral of Nature is once again at hand, and so I shall soon leave my table, my desk and my chair and go a-wandering_ ever here and there!
At this cusp, I stand and look backward and forward.  I remember the Winter Solstice and its quiet solitudes.  But now_ my flesh thrills and my soul sings at the prospect of going afield!  Three weeks!  Then, we may celebrate the Feast of Saint Patrick and stop to dwell at the Vernal Equinox, then watch for the Pookah – that 6-foot tall gray rabbit of olde – who will come with his whisperings and his whiskers flitching_  inciting us to vernal dances, while leaving us eggs of wisdom’s prospect!
Ahhh_ Who will dance with me?

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