‘Tis the Season

I actually love this time of year, which some of my friends and acquaintances might find  treasonous. It’s certainly strange that I should love these darker days at the end of December, given my family background. Nevertheless, even with a mother who suffered from clinical depression, I do love this time of year.

To top off things with my mom, she was born on December 21, and her family always combined her birthday with Christmas when she was growing up. Her depression would reach its nadir every year right around the anniversary of her birth. Somehow I was always a little bundle of cheer, bouncing off the walls and wanting to sing carols, string popcorn, wrap presents, snip snowflakes and other such activities. As the years went by, my siblings all succumbed to the unspoken maternal edict: I am depressed at this time of year, so you will all be depressed, too.

Except for me. I spent many years trying to find someone with whom to share my bountiful holiday spirit. I am still one of the few people I know who gets jazzed at this time of year, rather than depressed. Among the things I love most about this time of year are:

Lights!

I get great joy from walking or driving around my neighborhood and surrounding towns just looking at all the displays of lights and fanciful decorations. People get so deliciously creative this time of year — what’s not to love?

Gifts!

More than receiving, I love giving. I have a knack for picking out gifts that borders on psychic, and I get such pleasure from the look on people’s faces when they open their gift and like what they see. I also love to wrap gifts, although concern about depleted forests has changed my approach a bit. I try to find recycled paper or reusable gift bags, or I decorate the outside of the reusable box.

Decorating!

I still remember special decorations my parents had. One that especially delighted me was a mechanical snowman who blew a puff of air out the top of his hat. This jet of air supported a styrofoam snowball so that it looked as though the snowball floated magically above his head. Another was a string of lights that were clusters of red holly berries and green leaves. The berries lit up, and they were breathtaking — a rich, cranberry red that lent a dreamy mystery to whatever corner they illuminated.

Music!

My love of Christmas carols is mostly about the beauty of their melodies and harmonies. I am a Pagan, and I feel a sacredness inherent in this time of year, around the solstice. I love the reverence intrinsic to many carols, even though they celebrate different religious beliefs. A few of my favorites: Joy to the World; Hark, the Herald Angels Sing; O Come All Ye Faithful; Silent Night

As with most subjects, I could go on and on and on. I think I will stop here for now, and wish you a merry or happy one of whatever you celebrate. Peace be with you.

 ~Love, Blessings, and Greetings of the Season,
Selene~

Wednesday’s Child

I found out a few months ago that I actually was born on a Wednesday, something I suspected for many years. I always thought it was true because of the the children’s rhyme, the one with the line: Wednesday’s child is full of woe. Why, I wanted to know as a little girl, couldn’t it have been any other day? Couldn’t I have been full of grace? Have far to go? Be loving and giving? Even work hard for a living? But being full of woe seemed to be my fate.

I wrote a song a couple of months ago, based on an epiphany I had about forgiving myself. I discovered that I had never asked the child in me for forgivness for allowing her to suffer; for failing to provide her with better protection from the slings and arrows of outrageous childhood misfortunes. The song was called “Tuesday’s Child,” because the epiphany took place on a Tuesday.

I guess I’m evoking the spirit of that day because I badly feel that I need another such stirring of my soul. I am writing this on a Wednesday, and feeling especially full of woe today. For most of my life I prided myself in knowing who I was. Up until recently, I was deeply grounded in my own “me-ness,” if that makes any sense. That has changed, and I am feeling very much at sea, tempest tossed and flailing about for purchase on solid ground.

In these short, shadowy days of winter, I turn inward more and more. Perhaps I just need to let myself flail, and accept that sometimes one must be without an anchor. Sometimes, an anchored ship is more likely to be torn apart than a ship adrift. I have been stoic and inflexible. I have changed frequently but reluctantly, so that change has been a painful process.

Perhaps I am being invited to rewrite my past script, the one I followed so doggedly for so many years. The one I believed in so deeply that I failed to see it as just a script, and thought it was set in stone. What I am learning now is that even stone may become liquid if I go deep enough, spelunk to my own molten core.

On that note, I will end my post, even though my thoughts on the subject are far from complete. I could write a thousand pages on this subject, and more would still pour out. As always, thank you for reading. I feel and am warmed by your regard.

~Love and Blessings,
Selene~

Dream House

All my life I have had dreams about a large house — mansion, really – with many long corridors studded with doors of every variety. Some of these doors are inviting, some are terrifiying. Once in a dream, a door pulsed in and out as though it was a gigantic heart.

I woke today from a marvelous new dream about corridors and doorways. I was napping on my living room couch, drifting in and out of sleep. The result of this drifting was that my dreams became lucid. Lucid dreaming is something I have been able to do most of my life. If you are unfamiliar with it, I can tell you that when I dream lucidly I am consciously aware that I am in a dream, and knowing this fact, I am able to make conscious choices within the dream.

In my dream today, something that sounded large and scary began to growl. I tried to escape from the dream creature, which began to roar deafeningly. In my desperation to escape, I tried to wake myself up. This resulted in the realization that I was dreaming, and that the scary beast was only in my mind. I decided to go back into the dream and pursue the creature, find out what it wanted from me. After all, as Rainier Maria Rilke said, “Our deepest fears are like dragons guarding our deepest treasure.”

When I slipped back into my dream, I found myself in my dream house and oh, how beautiful it has become! Wide and well-lit hallways paneled in warm, polished wood, and everything looked brand new and well scrubbed.

Doors still lined the hallways, and as I walked down hall in search of the roaring beast, I passed a door on which a Halloween cardboard skeleton was glued. At first I walked right by it. Then I made my conscious choice: to go back and investigate the skeleton door. First I examined the skeleton. Then I danced around another cardboard figure that lay on the floor in front of the door: the cartoonish representation of some horrible, ghoulish beast.

After dancing joyfully around in front of the door, I opened it. A gaping hole yawned where the floor should have been, descending down into pitch darkness. When lucid in a dream, I can often do magic, so I held up my hand and said, “Light.” A ball of light appeared in my palm and I jumped straight into the hole!

Scene after scene unfolded in front of me. I saw myself in other countries, walking with confidence and presence and knowledge of my own beauty. I saw myself surrounded by friends and encased in light. I felt exhilirated. I felt my heart overflowing with joy. I felt loving and loved down to the very root of my being. I woke up in the midst of these feelings, and am carrying them still.

What more can I say, except that I had to share this with you, because it was meant to be shared. Thank you for reading my words, and accompanying me on this leg of my journey.

~Love and Blessings,
Selene~