The world seems to have continued on without me as I sit here. I watch everything move, yet I am unmoving. I go about my days as if by clockwork. I know my duties, I know my routines, and yet I long for something more. I long for something other. I so wish the words would flow through me as they did with The Call of the Sea, that something would come from these thoughts and feelings that boil within my spirit.
I am finding words difficult to write here, for this post. I feel like I have lost my connection to the words, to the images, though I know that this is typical for me. Once I finish a writing a tale, I always have a period of disenchantment, a period of silence within my mind and soul that eats away at me. This is why I fill the gaps between tales with artwork, with coursework, with something to give my thoughts an outlet. I am hoping that this lull in activity will subside come November, but I know that it is a real possibility (as it always is) that it will continue on into the new year. I am ready for whatever my spirit needs of me, I just hope that it is something I can give it.
Sitting under the sky, with the clouds rolling over me, has given me some peace of mind. The storms are still on the horizon, the rain still threatens to drench this desert, but the promise of cooler days and a more ancestral feeling is in the air. I love Autumn. It is a time of inner work for me, a time of ancestor work and of honouring Place. I do not know what I will be doing this Autumn, but I hope to bring some things into my life that have been missing over the last year.
For now, here are some photos from a recent trip to New Mexico. I hope you enjoy them:
This cursed blank page, it taunts me with all of the possibilities, but no words seem to be coming through. Have I lost my connection to the well of inspiration deep within my spirit? Where are the tales that have been begging to be told? Where are the vivid images that flash across my vision? I have been so focused on my courses, perhaps I have dulled my senses to my Muse.
No, I do not believe that. I do, however, think that my immersion in my studies has been because of my lack of inspiration – I need something to fill my mind during this silence, and what better way than to work towards a goal I have had for years? I promise that I have not forgotten about this space, and I will work to post more often.
Until Next Time,
“The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
No, I have not forgotten you. Many things have been happening, some of which I am not too comfortable with sharing here, at this moment. Changes are happening, within me and without me – some are for the better, some are seemingly worsening my situation. However, I am handling things with a grace that I have rarely shown in the past. Is it true that, as you age, you get wiser? Where does that wisdom come from, I wonder.
Something I am willing to share at this point is my journey through education. I have chosen to put forth the effort of doing self-paced coursework. I believe I have spoken, briefly, of my Bardic studies – those are still being done. However, I have also added in a few other courses through an online seminary, as well as my own studies of Gaelic, English Composition, Maths, and Life Coaching. If you find yourself interested in reading about my journey, you can follow the link below:
Starlit Dreams Assignments
I do promise that I have not forgotten you, my loves. I have just been rather self-absorbed. I hope to get back to normal in the coming weeks, but I cannot make any promises. You are forever in my heart <3
It has been far too long since I last wrote here – granted, seven days is not a long length of time to have between posts, however, after posting multiple times a week for a bit it created a gap. I wish I could share with you all that I have been doing, but for now, most of it will have to wait.
I have surpassed my original goal for the tale I am currently weaving, and I have changed quite a bit about it, the most significant being the culture that inspires it. Originally, it had been Nordic in nature but there were far too many questions I had about the mythology. I chose to make the transition to Celtic mythology and cultural inspiration, partially because of my current studies as well as the tale better fitting the Celtic culture. I will, of course, include a pronunciation guide for the names.
I have also made the choice to move my books to Kindle. Writing has never been a monetary occupation – it is rather difficult to sustain life while on a small time author’s pay. However, I find that the larger platforms offer a wider audience for my work. Someone may not enjoy it, but they may know someone else who would. I hope that this does not deter anyone from reading them in the future.
Finally, I wanted to share a significant change in our lives – my children will be attending a local school starting in August. The choice was not an easy one, but a necessary one for our current desires and place in life. It is causing me both anxiety and heartache to know that I won’t be offering them the education I want for them, but I know that it will all be for the better, in the long run. We all need our own spaces, and I remember that, as a child, school was my escape. They are not babies anymore, and I can only hope that I have taught them well enough to manage and navigate the halls of social interactions and academic learning. I will always be there, to listen and help where I can, but there comes a time when every child wants to experience things on their own.
Until next time <3
“A moth may be a poor cousin to a butterfly, but it is still beautiful none the less.”
― Anthony T. Hincks
It was safe to say that she feared moths – she understood that they would not harm her, but there was something about the speed at which their wings beat, their constant battering against the lights, and their tendency to favour her over anyone else. For as long as she could remember, she ran when a moth was present. She couldn’t stand how they got caught in her hair or behind her glasses or in her clothing.
It wasn’t until the night she met the Queen of the Moths that she learned why they had flocked to her all of those years. She appeared in a flurry of dusty wings, materialising out of the bodies of hundreds, if not thousands, of multicoloured moths.
They had been her calling card. She had been patiently waiting for her to answer and had a laugh each time she would scream and run. The Queen of the Moths rarely had the tolerance she exhibited with the young woman, but she had seen something in her all those years ago that had yet to disappear. The Queen had watched as the young woman sought after others that she had assumed were the ones calling her, and though it frustrated the Queen, she understood the nature of the process and chose not to back down.
Their exchange was silent, less a conversation and more an instant connection – the young woman understood, finally, and it had only taken nearly her entire life to find her way home.
The Queen of the Moths enfolded the young woman in her arms, covered her in the darkness that cloaked her, and warmed her at the fires of her heart. The young woman accepted her calling, accepted her place within the arms of the Queen.