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Letters to Biddy

~ a weekly reflection as a letter to Biddy Early, 19th Century Irish healer from Ennis, County Clare

Letters to Biddy

Tag Archives: winter

Puddles

12 Saturday Jul 2014

Posted by Moira Were AM in Uncategorized

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Tags

Biddy Early, puddles, Wellington boots, winter

Wellington Boots

Wellington Boots

Winter brings a mixture of icy stones, fresh air, star filled nights and cuddly moments in front of the fire – all the elements unite. At first glance the earth seems to be in retreat but when the skies open the expansiveness becomes visible as clouds are reflected in the puddles as I get my feet wet. Getting your feet wet is often about having a go, a first try. When winter arrives and I get my first seasonal feet wetting, I wonder what new journey this step is preparing me for. The pilgrim’s job is to keep walking and paying attention to the path, and an invitational puddle deserves attention.

Puddles form because there is a hollow or depression in the surface that allows the water to gather – they capture the offering of the sky and hold that space until the sun evaporates the water, or the earth soaks it up or a person stomps and splashes it around – and sometimes a combination of all those factors.

Puddles are small. Each puddle has its own unique shape. There is a puddle in front of my house, it fills up each day of winter rain. It keeps its shape and everyday offers the invitation: step over or step in. Some days I get myself wet intentionally and other days by accident. When I step into the puddle, I notice my shoe hasn’t been able to resist this element and my foot gets wet. My whole body shudders from the combined effects of the cold, icy and muddy water. Factoring in the puddle, I take extra precautions next time we meet so to avoid this wintry contamination. The puddle has taken me for a fool and when I laugh there is a ripple on the surface smiling back at me.

We all have childhood memories of playing in puddles and the pleasure of jumping and hearing the squelch of mud and splashing our friends dancing around after a shower or even in the pouring rain. Simple pleasures gifted from the sky. I remember a time when the back door of our home housed, in military precision, a battalion of industrial yellow Wellington boots. The laughter of those children (now adults) echoes, as I land my foot in today’s puddle and today’s steps add to the pilgrimage.

 

 

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To Solstice

21 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by Moira Were AM in Uncategorized

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Tags

Biddy Early, Hubble, solstice, stillpoint, TS Eliot, winter

Dear Biddy,

Today is the winter solstice, from now on every day will get longer and colder. It is a time to go inside, deep, to incubate and hibernate. In the dark spaces of rest and interiority new shoots will form and find their way from the underworld towards the sunlight. The cycle of the seasons are a constant reminder of the great narrative driving our human and planetary story.

I wonder how you marked the winter solstice Biddy? December heralds a time of renewal, where dreams are midwifed to birthed in the spring. A time to bury in the ground what needs to be hidden and decay to feed new life.

I once wrote that I want jonquils planted on my grave as they flower in the winter time and I want my life is a sign of hope. The heady perfume of the jonquils in the garden this time of year forecast the spring long before any other signs.

Showered with beams of light in the smiles and laughter of those I have met on the path between my home, the market and the high street of Willunga this day will keep me warm through the dark and long night. The solstice is a half-way mark in our journey through the tunnel, and at this half-way mark, we can take stock. The word solstice comes from the Latin duet of words – sol meaning sun and sistere meaning to stand still. The experience of time standing still is what the solstice is all about. A time to enter the dark of night and discover what might be in that space.

To echo a recent blog post, I invoke TS Eliot:

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement.

This still point may well be the winter solstice – holding the moment where the dance moves crystallise and synthesise – just as the eye of the storm is the quietest place, while all the winds, whirl and swirl around that central fixed point.

In my meditation and yoga practice, thoughts chitter and chatter in my head. I need to adopt a solstice position.

To allow the stillness to come like the sun to shine and stand still for a moment, dispensing light in single beams and to find me stationary soaking up the precious limited light to sustain me through the longest night. To solstice maybe to align with the universe, to stand still long enough to come back into sync with the cycles and the season. A lesson not lost in the hubba bubba that threatens to seduce me to disconnect from the Brother Sun and Sister Moon dance across the sky: I will solstice.

 

M 74, Grand Design, Hubble Telescope

M 74, Grand Design, Hubble Telescope

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Pas de Deux Pilgrim

10 Saturday May 2014

Posted by Moira Were AM in Uncategorized

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Tags

Biddy Early, Desert, Lara Damiani, plains, rains, winter

Dear Biddy,

The benefits of rain on our dry land are always appreciated where I live. Unlike your Emerald Isle, the colour wheel of ochre from rusty reds through to glowing yellows and warm oranges lie in wait to have their cup overflowing with the primary ingredient of life. The landscape somehow still finds a way to be alive. And the colours contrast with one another – I love how they are brought to life on the canvas of the desert and the canvasses in the desert! The Aboriginal artists who share their dreaming and stories in paintings provide some guidance to me to see that is in the landscape that they see – the plants, the animals and the stars.   This week a friend is working on a film in the outback deep in the heart of red sand territory and each day she is treating us with beautiful photos of smiling faces, broken down cars, blue skies and lots of red. She has been sharing the young and old working at their bushcraft and art and through her lens letting us peek into the fullness of creation that the landscape reveals.

The rains sweep away the season and herald the winter and the heaters are on, an extra layer of clothes and the first soups have been made and eaten. A time to turn inwards. Yet all the photos I been seeing from the centre are on the outside, under the sky and the twinkle of the stars are echoed in the gleam of the eyes of the young and old. This is my country – it is an inside outside job and an outside inside one too! To retreat inside is to go outside and let the trees and the moon and the creatures that abound to soak into you. To retreat outside is an inner journey. Both paths the pilgrimage.

Holding the inner and the outer together is a pas de deux for a solo dancer. Unpicking each of the steps that are being taken and watching where I put my feet and my gaze is a journey all of its own. Looking to the sounds of the landscape to provide a melody and to the seasons to provide the rhythm can be fun in the rain as I dash to the car to avoid getting wet or equally walk slowly to have an experience of being saturated. The physical experience of a sore back is invitational equity; to move in a certain way to feel more or less pain will bring a lesson nevertheless.

Alice Springs

Alice Springs

Both the desert and the plain, the winter and the warm, invite and delight.

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