The Migrating Ancestor

Winter is damp and dreary here in the Salish Sea. Days of rain soak the ground and the thick rug we use as a door pulls heavy with moisture. Our roughly-cobbled kitchen stretches our tolerance for cold. Though there are recipes I can assemble and cook without getting as damp as our rug-door, more and more a can of good soup is a convenient nourishing option. I take it, and we are fed well enough. At this age the comfort of a 'settled life' is more than just a fantasy. My achy joints and tightened muscles ask for the contents of my safety deposit box of wants where a warm dry kitchen invites us. On the longest night, my thoughts dredge up the dirtiest of regrets, the most painful losses, and the worst of the worse futures. No wonder my joints and muscles complain.

In the dark, I find my way to my cushion (the very one I sit at now) and calm myself beside the heater. I slow my thoughts down and remember not to believe everything I think. For the next two hours I migrate away from the dark and open to the dawn. Engage the light is what I do.
"Engage the energy you want to attract. Don't direct it, engage it, seduce it, invite it." - Susun Weed
The darkest night stretched my tolerance and attachment to the losses and regrets. I asked, "Do I want to stay with those losses and regrets?" I slowed myself, meditating on something else. My breathing helped stay in my body. My body who was warm by the heater now. Sitting in my yellow metal chair with the foam cushion with a puka in it.

This video from paper-cut artist Angie Pickman is one of the things I found waiting when the hours passed, a Winter Solstice gift shared by Terri Windling. I pass that gift along here.


The Longest Night from Angie Pickman on Vimeo.

The longest night has just now passed. And as Terri Windling writes on her Winter Solstice post:

" In the mythic sense, we practice moving from darkness into light every morning of our lives. The task now is make that movement larger, to join together to carry the entire world through the long night to the dawn."
Yes to that, Terri! Yes! Keep walking.

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