seasons – Penny Reilly Artist Beyond the Gate

Ebb, flow, shift, align, flux…

Everything is in constant flux. Not only in the seasonal shift, but in the whole vibratory force of a changing world. Already we hurtle towards Samhain and the dark half of the year commences. The veil thins and as consciousness reveals, everything we think about or imagine, becomes real somewhere so therefore, if we can balance how we see the world, not letting destructive forces rule, we can allow consciousness to shift, elegantly. It takes more than just prayers and dreams. Action is needed. We need to know who we truly are and by this I mean not to impress or to say, ‘look at me,’ despite challenges from others who may be uncomfortable with your being other than they imagined… change for many is confronting on many levels. This doesn’t mean you must dance to another’s way of seeing you.

The air is sweet, birds are everywhere – there’s a cormorant on the edge of the pond; wings outstretched, head back to catch each drop as rain turns to a fine mist, cleansing her of parasites and dust. She preens and grooms, flapping her great wings occasionally, sending droplets flying.

Earth is wakeful as the shift begins towards winter… I feel her tremble in the unusual warmth of a new day, when the sun shines warm on both our skins and tiny wildflowers burst open under the canopy of, gold and amber leaves on sycamore, elder, oak and birch. Winds whisper secrets to the flitting Weebills catching sleepy insects. Seasonal dried grasses rustle as small creatures pass. Branches lift their heavy limbs, their fragile, drying leaves cupped toward a duck-egg blue, sky waiting to accept the rain.

There is movement on my peripheral… nothing of this world as the Wildlings stir… shifting shape like pellucid mist and then solidifying, to be seen… twig limbed… green wings rasping, against woody skin. Imaginings… I’ll let you be the judge of that, but then you don’t see through these eyes…

Wild Spirits dwell

in the most unlikely places

They may surprise you

with their presence

in the everyday

as much as

in the quiet places

of your mind.

You can find

the wildness

of childhood innocence

by finding

the magical awareness

lost to so many

hidden within

our mundane lives

but this doesn’t mean

they’ve disappeared for good.

Look into the cracks

and crevices of tree bark

of rough textured stone

in the wild fragrance

of a fleeting, musky perfume

sent on the wind

Find them

in the wild places

of your heart.

Wild Spirits

are waiting

for you to notice them

to remember them

and in so doing

they may well help you

to reconnect

…to the Soul of Earth

Autumn harvest is waning and winter crops are slowly maturing. It’s wonderful to sit in a cool room, windows open to the breeze as I write. It’s nearly time for greenhouse clean-ups, bringing in the last green tomatoes to ripen slowly in a warm room or to hang upside down in the greenhouse to finish the process, keeping their roots moist. Once the beds are cleared the oncoming crops are covered to protect them, for when the hens are let in to do the job of digging, running pest control and manuring the beds.

In the wild and on the farm, rosehips, hawthorn, rowan, crabapple, blackberries, beechnuts, hazelnuts and chestnuts are ready to wildcraft. Tiny field mushrooms grow, cheek by jowl with their poisonous counterparts of fly agaric and puffball. Wild mullein, sorrel, selfheal, yarrow, tansy, fennel, garlic, cress, dandelion, plantain and such, along with my cultivated culinary and medicinal herbs, are ready to gather and hang for tinctures, balms, sachets and herbal infusions… garlic honey ferment and wine vinegar are also on the list.

Nature tugs at me now, guiding me to those hidden delicate herbs and berries. Paddocks are green and the dandelions have regrouped, flowering again in profusion. Everywhere holds the scent of water and wet earth. Little birds bathe in puddles and ponds… a kookaburra calls late, indicating rains to come. Storms have been spectacular and the bats came inside, chasing large moths and march flies that snuck in when the doors were open. This year has been rich in Aurora Australis activity; electrical storms caused wildfires and lightning brought a spectacular display of nature’s fireworks. A light show of raw power. Fire, flood and sunshine. A climate of extremes that my head and eyes can’t ever take in, but all my senses do.

Samhain always brings me into balance, even more than any equinox cycle… everything ebbs, flows, shifts and aligns creating a natural flux of seasonal change. Farmers battle to feed us through climate change and political upheaval and all need to learn to be responsible, at least in part, for their own food production, wherever possible. A huge movement is afoot that can teach these balanced ways of eventually, memory takes over through ancestral origins.

Nature is the decider of any given seasonal crop and like everything, has its own struggles to combat. Death for any creature is inevitable including us and a disassociation with nature will mean in return she will have no association with you. Your garden fails if your out of balance with her rhythm, your house floods or burns because you haven’t made your motivations clear to her or perhaps are even aware yourself, that you are a part of the greater flow of her ways. All things come from nature, even the knowledge that created science, astronomy and space.

It smells heavenly as the rain storms impregnate the soil and the sticky heat releases the crude essential oils from the eucalypt in the surrounding forest …wild fennel adds an exotic pungency to the mix as lichens free their earthy moss fragrance along with their spores, to the air.

Everything lifts their faces skywards as the soothing, thirst quenching rains of autumn turn the paddocks green, wild dandelion nodding as they cast off their puff balls to be taken where they will…

…and I can see summer’s yield to autumn as hedgerows change their coats from green to amber and ripening blackberries lend a splash of rich, current colour to nature’s palette …the mornings are cool and tiny spiders are making their webs from grass stem to stem across the ground …droplets of shining rain cover each thread with silver and my thoughts begin to drift towards retreating into winter.

She’s changing her gown from green to gold

the harvest is ripening as the year grows old

Mabon’s first kiss was felt in the air

as elders ripen in hedgerows fair

What do you wish for your harvest this year

Have you laboured long for your fruits to appear

Let go the old growth, let the leaves fall

the fruits of you harvest will come when you call

With winter’s approach, I like to dive deep into the notion of communication with the ancestors… a slow evolving toward humanity that shows us we are connected, aware, a part of her. Our brains development has led us to hive off from the planet and perhaps in our arrogance as a species we have told ourselves we don’t need her, but when we use her the way we have, surely it’s no different to treating your oldest friend badly. We have the wisdom of science and the knowledge of technology but reconnecting to the planet, our roots and ancestry, seems to be abandoned by so many for the shiny tick-tock world of illusion. Her resources aren’t infinite, however… she is not a commodity and she is, as we are, made from the stuff of the stars… we are inseparable.

To be continued…

Walk softly… walk with the ancestors… Awen /|\

Autumn muse, seasonal musings and a little magick…

There’s been a pause for me… everything slowed and yet internally I’ve been moving fast… my mind racing to find answers to the craziness we’re witnessing. But, then I stop and look around me… at the beauty of this world despite the cruelty of human behaviour and wonder if so many lost their way, lost their natural rhythm or just hadn’t found it.

I realised I have and that in truth I never lost it. From childhood running wild amongst the trees. Exploring natural nooks and crevices in their knobbly bark while my mouth, and fingers became purpled with wild blackberry stain… that same stain I brew for ink.

A trip to the coast, where at low tide, tiny crabs and other crustaceans could be seen in rook pools or half buried in tidal foam rims of kelp and other flotsam and jetsam.

Today, in my seventies, that child is alive and well. Although I may not clamber down a rocky shoreline or even race around the orchard at the farm that was my home in West Sussex, so long ago, she lives behind my eyes, in my seeking hands and in my mind that will never tire of witnessing the wonder nature lays out before me. A different farm may hold me now… Australian energy is very different to the Isle where I was born and where I grew to adulthood before launching myself into the world, but somehow the link between is clearly marked by the parallels in the landscape now, after years of merging the Australian with the Isle of Britain. Perhaps, in so doing, I have instigated an energy exchange… a portal or a tunnel if you will, that creates a liminal space to allow the myths and legends of both tiny island and vast continent to merge via the energy exchange of trees, fungi, native and non native flora and fauna.

Autumn for me is the season of the muse… she arrives in the crunch of dry leaves underfoot and the soft earthy scents of moss and mud. In the woods, spirits stir, stretching rustly leaf-wings… Samhain approaches and the veil thins, letting creatures come and go unhindered through the corridors of time.

The nature of this world is change. Seasons change and the year moves through its natural cycles. When the very nature of humankind shifts us from one cycle into another of violence and death, starvation, homelessness and fear, all in the need for political/financial gain… life, aka nature, simply keeps going.

Her cycles change and adapt, but she doesn’t need us… so yes, she moves from spring into summer, into autumn and winter, seamlessly. A tree falls… other organisms thrive on the remains and nothing is wasted. Flowers bloom, fade, become berries or apples and are devoured by whatever predator gets there first and we are one of them… we are predators, our instincts to survive pushing us to live, to breath, to have, to create and to destroy and all is mirrored in nature except… we want it all and if not freely given, we take and take and take to build our little empires that too, will eventually fall into obsolescence.

Just as leaves fall and seeds are blown on the wind, (or perhaps, make a journey through the alimentary canal of bird or beast) we shed skin follicles, hair, droplets of fluid from sweat, tears, spittle… not to mention other bodily functions, solids and fluids. These particles that bear our ‘Sigil,’ our unique signature of who we are, are constantly and eternally drifting out into the universe to share themselves (aka explains themselves) to anything else they come into contact with. I am sure you’ve all heard the phrase ‘we are made of the stuff of the stars,’ …well of course we are!

A tree in the forest communicates with everything around it in the same manner, in order for creatures to understand its signature as ‘eat me’ or ‘eat me at your peril.’ It’s only humans who are stupid enough to forget the signatures of the forests; the signatures of the elements in weather patterns through cupped leaves, bird and animal behaviour or simply by that feeling in the belly that something is about to shift.

The communication of that same tree is no different to our sigil of skin, hair, spittle etc., it loses leaves, seed pods and seeds go into the ground. Dust from its bark and the bark itself, falls to become particles that fly off to join with others to create something else entirely. Eventually the whole tree will rot and fall… does it question that? It’s really only us that say, ‘oh no you can’t dispose of my body like that. You can’t let it rot where it is like all the other creatures of the forest, including trees and all plant/animal life!

Yes, naturally, ceremony for our dead is important, honouring our ancestors too, but how the body disperses into those particles in the Dance of Life is probably the moot point and the mystery. It is our ‘reaction versus response’ that has made us the way we are towards life and death itself. We are I feel, even more sensitive right now to these rituals of honouring due to the way we see the world shaping up; descending into war, famine and fear. Random, tragic events are also more evident every day through the news and social media.

We mourn, we grieve but nature simply moves on… cycles change, seasons change and it is there… right there in nature, we come to terms with mortality, fragility, fear and pain by its mirror of ourselves but completely without judgement. She teaches us to feel it all, to surrender to it all and find the peace of simply being…

I decided to begin Wild Spirit Whispers (now that the the layout and ideas are more firmly strung together, rather than rattling around like wooden beads on a thread), with the season of autumn as she wanders through my psyche, trailing long sleeves of frost and dew, through the icy portal towards winter.

She’s such a delicate entity, made of pure reason and yet prone to throw off the season’s delicately coloured skeins and stride along in white and silver moon-struck lace, just to catch one unawares… sprinting ahead with random ideas, thoughts and dreams of a final completion to another year and the beginning of another book… my tenth.

Yet, in this season of withdrawal, when leaves fall, let loose by the retreat of sap and energy, we too may go within and seek out the next phase of our being. Just as I attempt to do same… there she is, entering my dreams with odd sounds and symbols. Clattering around like a cook in a kitchen who can’t find the right implements to create a feast, all in my sleeping psyche.

At first she leaves only remnants for story, prose, art or poetry but then in she comes with the rubber mallet, leaving larger deposits of data for my battered brain to work through and it’s precisely at this moment it’s time to retreat to the studio… no matter the given hour, to write or paint until she leaves me to my slumbers…

As this inner dialogue progresses, amounts of information are downloaded in huge juicy bites (sometimes, sound-bites) then it’s left to me to conjure it into some sort of order, understandable for mortal ingestion.

			
When spirit speaks
in muffled tones
and autumn drifts
into wintry zones
you can feel the calling
in your very bones
…speaking the rhythm of nature
When mind clouds gather
and winter winds roar
the muse enters
through a forgotten door
taking your mind to leap and soar
…singing the rhythm of nature
When the mind is free
to wandering
allowing the time
for pondering
a landscape appears
beyond all mortal fears
…whispering the rhythm of nature
When mankind’s actions
threaten extinction
storms create fractiles
of pulsing division
Earth rumbles and shakes
volcano spume
deep earth quakes
…roaring the rhythm of nature
When oak presents its tiny flowers
and birch shines silver
in sweet rain showers
red tipped leaves glow
in sacred bowers
do you know the reason
you sit for hours
…absorbing the rhythm of nature

		

…and so the journey of creation begins anew as I prepare to dive into wintry solitude with my whispering muse.

I heard an old song, sung

Black is Black

about loss and gain

harvest and lack

when our heart bleeds ink

onto paper thin

can the poem wrought

soak into our skin

leaving trails of silvery

tears in the dark

in circles round

a luminescent track

in an ark

…of pain

we are told is gain

yet

black is black

in soft, velvet folds of night

and without the dark

we cannot see

…the light

Walk softly… tread gently… surrender to the season’s muse… Awen /|\

Penny 💚🙏💚

On the move towards Solstice…

Winter arrived with a boom… days of autumn sunshine and colour, turned white by instant frost… brrrr, -3°.

Still… winter brings introspection as solstice approaches. We burrow deep into the cold… dark days, somehow bring hope. We know, subtle underground movement is already afoot… green shoots silently unfurl to break through the icy crust. When I close my eyes, I imagine them slumbering, waiting and with animism, perhaps anticipating, how the light will feel on their green flesh… sunlight, pulling on them, tugging them to reach up to the light from the darkness beneath.

Sow the seeds
Weave the web in time
Weave
sow
Grow
in wisdom
in knowledge
of the
life stream
and the
soul spark
of
intelligence
…breathe
All one
Awen

I love to connect in this way to the earth and all things, by knowing I am a part of it all, as it is all a part of me… all of me, contributing to the wheel of life.

Life is a moment and in that moment, all moments exist. Life can appear fleeting or be forever in full consciousness. There is no separation between who we once were in the scheme of things, are now or will be “one day”, for all is a continuum.

Complex thoughts, and yet not, unless one thinks in straight lines, past, present, future rather than in circles, and cycles of ascension and descension… expansion and contraction, filling up and emptying out.

There again, perhaps our very challenge is overthinking. Does nature think, “I’m a daisy; I wanted to be a rose.” Does an amber-coloured leaf in autumn, wish to be green?

As children, we fight to maintain our identity until parental expectation, educational institutions and peer pressure, forces competition, whittling away at our personality, character and psyche until we’re swamped, drowning, in other’s expectations of how they perceive we should be. We’re moulded by circumstance.

This is the pivotal moment, when we can realise, we are in fact, our inner parent or teacher, continuing to hear and be instructed by the echo of their physical counterparts instead of learning to simply be ourselves.

The thing is… nature doesn’t judge how we behave, how we express ourselves or criticise who we intrinsically are, with or without societies trappings… just as a daisy doesn’t wish to be a rose.

Letting go of guilt-induced reactions to how others respond to our internal change, can be like running a marathon… but when does the adult self, stop apologising for who they are, despite the constant inner and outer critique.

Nature doesn’t judge the leaves falling, to strip branches bare, or new leaves budding on near-naked limbs.

Life in all its ages and stages is a precious gift so why waste it, desiring to be something we were not designed to be? Isn’t this a unique wonder in itself?

Observing nature, we see there are few straight lines, except those we create. Nothing is linear. Droplets of water constantly change shape to adapt and are a part of a greater body be it a droplet, an ocean or small pond. If we understand everything is energy in constant motion, where there is a void space, something always rushes to fill it and there is no judgment in the process. Unless we ourselves, judge that filling as good or bad and this, dependent on where our thoughts are leading us.

If we can reconnect to nature’s cycles, movements, brief pauses, breath held and let go… a beating heart, a pulse within myriad pulses, we simply become. Every cell becomes luminous with cell-wisdom-memory of everything experienced, and in the remembering, remembers its source.

When we become aware, strength lies in the allowance of emptiness and in not filling empty spaces. In this knowing, we can choose substance to fill the void, and in fact always do, even by not choosing. Waiting, empty, gives us clarity to know what we truly desire. I speak not of “having” for the sake of it …because it’s the most recent fad or gadget, but more the awareness, “being in emptiness” can bring. It has its own taste, smell, sound, sensation and there is nothing to fear there, except the proverbial fear itself.

My waking and sleeping moments, fill with the rhythm and scent of nature’s cycles rather than the tick-tock of the business world. Although that said, I run my own studio… one has to live, but the key is to find the ultimate balance between the perceived mundane and the “spiritual life” …and there we have it – everything is spirit/energy, and therefore, spiritual… sacred.

Hollowing out
emptying
Seeking the purpose of life,
in simply being
Giving up
the fight for more,
allows unhindered flow

Living… simply being
with no place
left to go
Past
present
future
merges
the well of life
upsurges

The wheel spins
on and round
All places,
all seasons
begin and end
…on sacred ground.

The ocean tides, whittle away at the shoreline as we wear away our lives, often in needless struggles for understanding.

All energy is in motion constantly, in waves and pulses, just as our body is in flow and flux, cyclical birth to death, with each waxing and waning moon. We are ultimately 78% fluid. Our body is at the mercy of those internal and exterior tides unless we can be observant, present in awareness as those tides turn. Thus, we can see ourselves not as helpless puppets, but empowered by those very tides, toward the shores of creative consciousness by our own choices.

Our natural state
of being
is magick
Moving between
full, exhilarant joy
and oft, comedy tragic
Spaces between
filled with
liquid notes sublime
in cycles spinning
adhering to the rhyme
Diaphonous, silken threads
on the loom of time
fading in and out
annual, biannual, diurnal
We are but a blip
in life eternal

Walk softly… make wise choices… Awen /|\

Penny

You can now find me at my website http://pennyreillyauthor.com for direct book purchases.