Author: Willow Moon
Posted: February 27th. 2011
Times Viewed: 2,120
Once upon a time…a few years ago, my life as I knew it abruptly ended. I walked from the fiery debris of the tower card, sore and bruised, mentally shaken, spiritually horrified, and physically intact. I had no choice; my life as I knew it was dead. I gathered everything I had left, put it in a knapsack, and set out with my trusty dog. Life began, again.
Five years later, this task of rebuilding still daunts me. Having lost my creative flow as a direct result of said debris, some sort of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is suffering inside of me. It is as if I have been too sad to create. Getting fed up with my own process, I would firmly sit myself down with conviction and intention and “force” creative energies… Ya right.
As a child I was fond of spending time with my grandmother. She was everything to me. On one occasion, when I was about five, I remember waking early in the morning at about four AM and noticing that my grandmother was already up, I set out to find her. I heard, and felt, a rhythmic pulsating coming through the ground and into my feet, “thump, thump, thump”. It felt as if the ground had a heart beat. Being half asleep I did not realize that this vibration was coming from outside. I followed the sound out the door down the driveway and into one of the many gardens my grandmother nurtured. She was sitting on her knees with a wooden spoon in hand hitting the ground; in front of her was a thriving “camomilla” (chamomile) .
“Nona” I said, “why are you hitting the ground”? Looking up at me she simply said: “Some things grow better when you beat them”, this is a loose translation from her native Tuscan language. I remember being completely taken aback by this statement. She simply went back to beating the ground. I stood in frightful awe for a long time watching her; she went about this in such a “matter of fact” way. Here was this tiny, demure woman who was smart and kind, and very much an observer of life… beating her beloved plants. This impacted me so heavily that I did not think to question it.
When I was my twenties I learned that chamomile reproduces when pressure is applied to the rootstalk; this is why it is so fond of roadways and footpaths. It is reproducing as it is healing from the shock of trauma.
Last December, just prior to Yule, I lost my job like so many other Americans. I hated my job, but it did pay the bills and I loved the comfort it provided. I panicked for the first couple of months, and then slowly I began to acclimate. I entered the “job shopping” market and began taking free classes on how to represent myself and my resume with all the latest tools and know how; what work not working is! I began opening up. I began to see things, hear things, and experience things with more vibrancy and clarity and in living color. I realized how polluted I have been, working in corporate America. I began to experience an accelerated healing process.
A series of omens, many in way of death and rebirth, have presented themselves to me. Owl has been calling. Through all of this, my creativity is emerging. Like the first tender tendrils of sister camomilla. I have begun creating my sacred ritual jewelry once more, and while I am engaging in this particular venture I am learning to create a small business and providing a resource for my larger neo pagan community. I have begun to travel locally and this allows for new friendships. I am drawing again, and I am writing. I have yet to pick up a paintbrush or to sing… really sing… not car sing; but in due time these too shall birth.
Most recently I found myself on Amazon (dot) com ordering an iconic black and white 60's craft classic featuring Alex and Maxine Sanders; upon checkout the following message came up: “Next time use Express Checkout with PayPhrase, buy on Amazon and across the web with a simple phrase. Choose your pay phrase: “Willow's Open Partially”. Huh! “Willow's Open Partially”; this was an auto generated statement. Shaking my head in amused fascination, and just for kicks, I looked up “Partially”: 1) To a degree, but not completely 2) in a way that shows an unfair preference for one person or thing over another. Well, who can argue with that?
It has been roughly a full cycle since my (almost) reluctant departure from corporate America last December. Recently I have been gifted with a new job. It is everything I asked for, although the commute is a bit more than desired and the pay is quite considerably diminished (we get what we ask for, and what we don’t) but I believe I will be happy in this new endeavor, and for me, this is the key.
The Gods have a way of placing stepping stones; it is up to us to see them. Even so, we have the beautiful, knowing, difficult, fierce, and raw gift of choice. This is not to say that our path will then become more manicured, but perhaps simply better measured. For it is through love that we endure the trials of death so that we may have just one more chance to feel the sacred gift of hope through the inception of life.
This year I birth my creative endeavors. I have made a commitment to begin my days looking forward to creativity simply for the joy that it brings. I am open…. partially... and willing to hold the blessed energy of inception. I am willing to love myself wholly and “be” the sacred gifts.
May we bathe our faces in the tendrils of the coming Sun! May we be the creative flow of life!
Copyright: Copyright © 2010
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