Hallow-ween

October 31.  Hallowed.  Weening.

     Today, in my Spirit cards, I drew the butterfly.

                         Butterfly.  Mother.  Spirit.

     Daddy always related to Mother as his beautiful Butterfly.  She loved butterflies, and their delicate painted wings reminded her of Angels, messengers in the garden, and all things of beauty and mystery.  Not many species in the insect world are popular, but the butterfly is always seen as a princess arriving to the party, gracing the flowers and adorning the foliage, free and easy she flutters and hovers, full of color, bringing delight and joy! 

    This was Mother, her personality and function in her field of Life.  She was the entertainer, and hospitality was her passion. She danced. When she passed away two years ago, Daddy had a large portrait made of his Carolyn, adorned and surrounded by butterflies.  When I see one, I always think of her, so rare and beautiful and precious. "That's my mom," I think to myself, or speak aloud.

    On another level, the butterfly represents the art of transformation, the power of air, of mind, and the stages of Life.  From egg to larva, to cocoon, to the beautiful mature butterfly, the stages of Life (or ideas) are exemplified. As Mother has transitioned into the After-Life, I too, take on a new stage in Life, one of emerging from my own sleep to awaken to the miracle of my being, one of becoming fully in the life of my own. Life is short, and am now becoming into my later stage. Am I becoming butterfly?  Gently savoring the nectar of my days, from flower to flower, person to person, actively from Music to Silence,  memories to Memories, plans and Desires, things to do, reminiscing on my Life already mostly lived. Or is it?  Is there much more ahead?  The relativity of all things is certain.  I must fly.      I hold in my heart the cherished and sacred memory of my early Life as a child.  And elder, friend of my father said to me, "When your parents die and are gone, you realize that your childhood is finally over." (Kitty Whitehead)

    I still feel like a child, and will always be.  I saw both my Mother, and to a lesser extent, my Father, both revert to childlike simplicity and emotional expressions. As Jesus said, "You are a child of God."  We are children of whatever this phenomenal expression of Life is.  However, in the season of transition, Autumn, when leaves fall and we turn inward, a host of thoughts and memories arise, of our deceased Beloveds.  At the same time the Hallowed ground receives the dead and dying leaves, as the cold and changing weather weens them from the branches of trees, we remember the fallen, those who have made their own transition into Mother Earth and Father Sky, (both).

     As a child, and always a child, I savor these glorious days of Autumn, and celebrate the many beloved Spirits.  In the hour of transformation, my own butterfly emerges, and I do believe that I am weening from a certain aspect of childhood..sacred and hallowed.

I am Hallow-weened.

Windy in Alabama

     Windy in Alabama, Cold even.. dry yellow leaves dancing on arms of trees..
first fires of the season, smell of taco soup, DeJuana cooking in the kitchen,
Alabama football, of course, ominous reminder of imminent tidal waves to come..
New Yorkers, Eastern Coast hunkering down for the big one, Battery Park under water...
    All this spiral of cloud covering nearly a quarter of the globe..even at the edges we feel it.
The embodiment of the tortuous path principle in the midst of extreme beauty... For some, a
natural disaster, for others a promise of uplifting rites and rituals of ever changing Seasons..
    A walker leaving the labyrinth is not the same person who entered it, but one who has been changed,
in an experience of process where both life and death are possible. Hurdles and obstacles are
ever present. We see with our feet and hands, and hear with our heart, the pounding, and the presence
of breathing is our initiation into Life and Living... turning the corner of change, letting live that which was, and ever moving forward to that which will be.
 
   I love the wind, it brings the cold. My body remembers the sensuous warmth of Summer Sun,
now we must build our own fires... and watch the cinders fly.

Listening to Life

    As Autumn has slipped upon the morning's essense, lush green is giving way to
golden hues, and crispy shades of rust and ochre, crows dominate the sound sphere.
Squirrels are silent today, their hickory nuts largely shelled and hidden. The owl's fleeting visits and early morning howls, blue sky turning white and smell of distant rain on the way, cool on the tip of my nostrils, as I ponder Life and Death, and the mysterious process of entering full maturity and transition.
   The glow of fire is heart warming, and Autumn's golden orb, the Sun blazes like a feiry golden orb behind the hillside, illuminating treetops, and warmth exudes as leaves flicker in the trickling light and shapes of branches. Tree trunks tell the stories of ageless births and rebirths in this season of maturation and death.
   Rich soils support ivy and evergreen ground covers reminding of the fact that Life goes on, and is vibrant and eternal. As trees stand silent amid a chirping of a songbird hidden deep in the forest, I listen. The swoosh of traffic in the far distance is like a river of white noise.  Crows caw stereophonically  hidden in nearby surroundings.
   I sit quietly, bemused by the omnipresent livingness that surrounds me, in my Silence.

10/23/12  9:00 a.m.