We now return to our regularly scheduled programming… in progress.
The very first thought I had today (after “make that infernal beeping stop!”) was that phrase. Some of you are “of an age” that you’ll recall when we (once more: The Royal We) only had three channels on our TVs. (Some of us, those that lived in the Little Out House on the Prairie, only had two, and sometimes PBS, but not if it was raining.) It was fairly common then, to have your entire evening or afternoon viewing interrupted, then just as abrupty, it would come back on, with that phrase the only excuse given. Jeff Foxworthy did an absolutely hysterical bit on it once. “The president’s on every channel! We’re gonna miss Flipper!” For others, it’s similar to your captain saying that the seat belt sign is off and you are now free to move about the cabin.
Mourning is odd. I’ve been through it before, we all have. A loss is a loss. It leaves a gaping hole. Some losses are more ragged and heinous than others. No matter the method, association, or manner, it is painful. Just damn painful.
It hits you when you aren’t looking. It’s a sucker punch, completely unfair and playing by no written rules. Attacking when your back is turned, and dropping you when you least except it to. (Why yes, it does seem to be Cliche Day here in JulieLand. Feel free to play along and toss out some of your own.)
There are devices called Old Wive’s Tales, and they ring true so often because, well … those old wives knew of which they spoke. They were old, and they’d seen shit, they’d been through things. The old wives say that time heals all wounds, and mostly that’s true. It’s the amount of time that I seem to still be having difficulty with right now. I’m not going to tell you that I feel great, because really, I don’t. But we must move forward. We must continue living our lives, and walking our paths. We have chores that must be attended to. Glass that must be sold. Library books that call out to be read. And, other dogs that need our love and attention right now.
Thank you all for being so understanding during this mess (and the mess that is me). I know Daniel and the kids are reading along, so they thank you as well. Fortunately for Axel, Max has been staying over quite a bit, so that helps. (Not a ton, The Grim is still kinda mopey.) And soon Indi will be here as well. We’ll all get through it. We have to. It’s what this learning process is all about. It’s what we need to do right now, however painful it feels.
I took myself out for a little while this afternoon before I had to head in to the mall and get the payroll done. I went to our local artisans Holiday Market. I was not looking for gifts, but for something specific (didn’t really find it, but I did pick up a couple of “other” important things).
I used my fabulous Pop Tart tote bag that Tracy gave me (thank you again!) and filled it with all manner of crap I “needed” -like some incense made by folks who also make soap and lotions. One item I can’t mention here, shhh, don’t say anything. And also I found some people that we had met when J.D. and Emmy and I went to that gift and food dealie a while back. A delightful group from Asparagus Farms who make Dungeness crab chili rellenos (that’s what is in the plastic container top right, with a bad flash glare). Then I came home again.
Our card today is from that fascinating Celtic Shaman’s Pack, and it is under the category of The Shapers. The last few lines of the definition are the most important, and seem to be just what I needed right now. That hope of newness.
“The Maiden (Creiddylad) ~ Innocence.
A woman clothed in rainbow colours and leaves energizes nature with love. A white hind, symolising her innocence, stands beside her.
The story of Creiddylad is found embedded in that compendium of tales known as ‘Culhwch and Olwen.’ It is part of an age-old theme, in which the champions of summer and winter struggle to win the hand of the spring maiden, in this instance, Creiddylad. The same story is told of Trystan and Essyllt, Arthur and Guinevere, Robin Hood and Maid Marian. In each instance a hero (or sometimes the king himself) appointed to represent summer challenges the champion (king) of winter. The winner receives the hand of the spring maiden and thus the Wheel of the Year continues to turn in an appropriate cycle. Of course, there is never a winner in this battle, because at the appropriate point the spring maiden (now the maiden of summer) returns to the court of winter and the whole cycle begins again. This is the theme of the flower bride and it is one of the oldest tales in the world.
In the figure of Creiddylad we can recognize Cordelia, daughter of Lear, familiar from Shakespeare’s play, while the two opponents, Gwynn ap Nydd and Gwythyr ap Greidawl, are respectively the King of the Underworld and ‘the Son of Scorch,’ an obvious epithet for the champion of summer. Creiddylad seems to go willingly from one to the other and we must beware of perceiving her as a mere ‘chattel’ passed from on lord to the other. As the spring maiden she is the manifestation of young and burgeoning life. She is the lost innocence we all seek and which is most strongly present within us at the time of spring.
Journey: Travel to a flower-strewn meadow, sheltered by tall trees and gentle hills. As you walk there be aware of a clear voice singing. On the earth before you appears a trail of footprints marked out in flowers. Follow this to the foot of a graceful tree where sits Creiddylad. In her lap is a basket from which spills forth all kinds of fruit. As you approach she takes one of these and offers it to you. Take it and eat, feeling as you do so renewed and refreshed by the food of the otherworld. Sit for a while with the Maiden and talk with her of your dreams and hopes for the future. When you return remember all that you saw and felt and shared.”