Take me to the woods and let me stand with the trees. Let me synthesize my emotions and hear the humming of the birds and the bees….
Grief is a vast emotion that no one escapes, if feels deep and cavernous.
Whether it be the absence of a loved one, a place, a community transformed to the loss of a situation, All is welcomed to the doorway of grief.
It can take us into the underworld of our deep soul, searching for all that is Love.
Deep Respect ❤💗❤
Photo: carved head found during excavations around Furness Abbey Ruins
In my 49 life I am searching for a role model, a wise elder in the form of a Hag, in the best, fullest intention of the woman at the edge, the embodiment of the Hag. One who has pushed through the patriarchy and societies fair games into the undiluted vessel of a …… as my friend Kimberley quoted, a Queenager.
I don’t have a need for a knowledgeable teacher or well-read wordsmith. I have a desire, that’s it, a desire to be nurtured into this role-over into the 50somethings, with a storyteller and folklorist.
Today I was remembering the “Mothers” that I have had. By that I mean those who have mothered me, I have no qualms or crisis with my biological Mother, I had a childhood within a village, and this village expanded in my teens to include may women who shaped me….I met some strong, ferocious women, who taught me strong boundaries and determination, to never let a passion die, just because. I have been blessed by nurturing mothers who assisted in the framing of my emotions and how to gentle be with the children, the animals, the silent nuances of the caretaker. I also met with a friend’s unpredictable Mother who skilled me in to how to read the atmospheric dust storm gathering around them. Where their own boundaries were being flick into incitement, a valuable lesson in listening to my friend and when to just exit.
What I now just crave for is that wise elder to gather my attention, as my head is starting to spill, and leak to be honest, and to help me navigate this transformation with their wisdom after all they have been in my shoes and seen others do this before me, they are the experienced helper in this ageing ritual. I wish for help to expand my imagination, enliven me in my wearisome state and to give me a glimpse of the other side of this menopausal transition. I thirst for the folklorist to enchant me over to the otherly. To make my heart swell with the stories of becoming the white-haired women, to fairy-tale along the paths in the woods and weave the strands of consciousness together into a new realmdom of balance and non-linear living. To sing me the songs of transformed worlds of patriarchy and burning the need for a PhD just to be heard. I thirst for the elders to come bravely out of the fog filled woodlands and along the misty beaches shaking their rattles and sounding the drums to gather us around a fire. This is where I will be completely engaged with the storytellers, the well-keepers and the seeding earth dwellers who will gather and our days will be spent listening to the Earth Elders. Our chastised endeavours will no longer sit within us as unmaterialised, for we will learn of our inner sovereignty as “within us all along” as the Fairy Godmother always says at the end of a good tale. Our transformations will be in the form of inner knowings, remembrances, experience and oral traditions and seasons once more. Our new career trajectory will be based on heart compassing passions and journeying rather than a well executed bibliography. I have instead a thirst for juicy language and taking a seat within a circle where every seat is equal. I have a thirst for the magical over intellectual pursuits and for scrumptious chronicles than research papers. I desire the heady heights of the upper ridges of the mountain tops and pinnacle of the story than the offices of hierarchy. For non-essential processes to be burned away, as some things are just not necessary at the fire keepers hearth. This is my maturing into womanhood, cronehood, at the threshold of 50.