Wednesday, December 26, 2012

42 A humbling Reminder

42 A humbling reminder
Sunday December 23, 2012:
Oh I love that fluid eloquence of robins and tits, the bubbling softness of
pigeons and the grumpy cawing of crows. I sit in the garden under the
castor oil plant and allow the energy to take me away.

I love it that I have so many ways out of the garden. So many paths and
exits lead to other exciting places in my shamanic and magical world. It's a
pleasure to be here to explore.
Today, to the right of the shed, through next door's garden, is a gravel
path sloping down to the river through a copse. I walk down, revelling in
the piece of the woods, the songs of birds in winter mingling with the
cascading babble of a river in space.

I know I need to get into the water. My warm skin under my clothing calls
to the rivers cool embrace. I strip and step into the water.

My breath leaves me. My skin rises in goose-bumps to meet the cold. I swim
otter like down and across the river.

A crescent shingly beach invites me out. I climb up and sit down surrounded
by holly, bare oak, tall ash and other woodland trees, both deciduous and
evergreen. From amongst them comes the great stag, antlers as prickly as
holly thorns, as twisted as oak branches. I don't care that I am naked. I
don't even feel cold. I kneel down in front of him in humble supplication.
"Humble yourself in the arms of the wild) I hear the wood singing. I curl
up at his hooves. I feel his regard and I feel safe. Time moves on. He
stands looking at me. His gaze is benevolent but all-seeing.
"What does he see in me," I wonder. "What do I reveal of myself, curled up
by his hooves?"

He lowers his great antlered head to nudge me awake with a downy cheek, for
it seems I have slept. I uncurl and gaze up into clear brown eyes, full of
compassion and command. I know, I must return to my life beyond the wood,
but I must remember what it feels like to humble myself in the arms of the
wild, for this will make a difference to my life.

I run to the edge of the water and jump in. Like an otter I roll and play,
dive and emerge. I lie on my back laughing up at the winter sky through the
lattice of the bare swaying branches of the woodland trees. As I roll over
and raise my head, I glance back to the little beach. The woodland crescent
of hedge branches shake as they close behind something large and majestic,
departing further into the woods.

I climb up out of the river and shivering, scamper back through the woods
into my own garden. It's a cool cloudy day. It's not actually raining at
the moment. I walk back to the house with the rememberence of a soft downy
cheek tenderly nudging me awake.

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