Category: Nature + Moon + Tea

Forgotten Women of the Water

It rained all night and the bamboo chimes on the veranda danced in the storm all the way through to the early morning. I felt the dry river filling in my sleep and slowly begin to move again. Something inside of me quietly began to move again too.

I woke up to a grey world. All was still, wet and drenched in soft light. So, when I drew the Daughter of Water tarot card this morning, it seemed fitting for this dreamy rain soaked day. The Daughter of water reminds us that our delicate feminine qualities, the softer parts of our wild essence, are searching for expression and she calls us to allow ourselves to be led by our deepest stirrings. These are messages that I’ve been leaning into a lot in recent times.

The Daughter of Water got me thinking about forgotten women of the water. Not just mythical mermaids, but real women of the water too.

Women like the Ama, the last remaining Japanese mermaids who for free dive to gather abalone, shellfish and pearls – a tradition that their mothers, grandmothers and the women in their line have followed for nearly two thousand years.

Women like Chiaro Vigo, whose story I discovered via Sarah’s blog. Chiaro is said to be the last woman who makes sea silk. Her story, her craft, her sea silk medicine and her profound connection with the ocean is just so beautiful it moves me deeply.

I can’t explain what it is about the watery threads of their beautiful stories that weave together tapestries of emotion and deep thought inside me. Perhaps it’s that they seem Goddess touched or that their stories somehow reaffirm the ancient link between the ocean and our delicate feminine qualities. They awaken the hidden pieces of the ocean that I carry in my womb.  In some ways, these stories also remind me of the power we have as daughters to carry our mother’s and grandmother’s stories into the future.

Wishing you a peaceful and watery weekend.

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Blushing Jasmine & some link love

I dreamt of jasmine the other day. Then yesterday I noticed my jasmine bush is blushing with pretty pink buds that will soon burst into bloom. Jasmine has a special place in my heart. Not just for its beauty or fragrance, but because it symbolises a bond with a dear soul sister of mine. My friend loves jasmine flowers. Back in our university days we would seek jasmine out on campus this time year, creeping along the hedges and secretly picking a bunch for her room. When I moved to the city, I’d pick the flowers wherever I could find them and send them to her in a letter. Now that I have some growing in my own garden, I’ll send her some once they’re in bloom. It’s a beautiful thing to have these kinds of precious connections with people.

Today is hot and dry and my airy lounge offers me refuge from the sudden wave of heat. After a productive writing session and a mid-morning nature walk, it’s the kind of day for sipping on cooling peppermint tea and reading leisurely into the afternoon.  So that is exactly what I am doing.

That said, this seems like a good opportunity to share some link love. Here are a few things I’ve enjoyed reading lately:

This poetic sea washed beauty from Kerrie – Fading and Withered

I loved these two posts from Asia of One Willow Apothecaries – Allowing on a Late Summer Day and Spring Ephemerals + the Magic of Vulnerability

How tranquil and beautiful is this lavender farm that Monica writes about in here latest post – Summer Impressions {Small Moments}

Suzi Crockford writes about The Great Conversation

tps://woolgatheringwildcrafting.wordpress.com/2015/04/29/spring-ephemerals-the-magic-of-vulnerability/

How tranquil and beautiful is this lavender farm that Monica writes about in here latest post – Summer Impressions {Small Moments}

http://monicasabollagruppo.com/summer-impressions-small-moments/

When You Are Here

There is no chill in the breeze this morning, only the heat of the early sun beating down. It seems like a good day to wear a dress. My garden is ablaze with wild morning light and it’s too warm for the jersey I’m wearing. It’s early for this kind of weather, yet here we are.

The bamboo chimes sway slightly. They offer gentle notes of music…tinkle, tinkle, tinkle… There’s a sense of anticipation in the air, the one you get when you know that something wonderful is about to happen. Somewhere inside me dormant wild seeds are bursting back to life. Winter slowed me down, lulling parts of my into a deep slumber. Now I feel a revival taking place within.

Something about the light, the breeze and the sweet chiming sounds makes me wonder things. Like what it will be like when you are here?

You, my dear child, son, daughter…or both.

I think of you often. I feel your spirit around me too. I love you already. But I want to know, what will it be like to see you, feel you, hold you and know you in the flesh?

Will you squeal with delight when we walk out into the garden, saluting the sun, collecting herbs and giving thanks to Mother Earth, to the Goddess? Will you love the feel of wet grass under your feet?

And your hands, those tiny precious hands. I see them in my mind’s eye all the time. I imagine them kneading with me, scattering flour on the kitchen floor and leaving little imprints in the dough when we bake our weekly loaf.

These thoughts stir whirls of joy in my heart. They give me hope. I know that you will come when you are ready. Being patient isn’t easy, but yes, I must not lose faith.

I came across a quote by Nancy Levin yesterday that says: “Honour the space between no longer and not yet.”

I took it to heart. While I want you to be here more than anything, you are not yet. In the meantime, I need to remember to honour this space in-between, to accept it as it is. I need to stop seeing it as an eternal waiting room of separateness and instead cultivate wholeness, softness and the right kind of readiness to receive you into. I need to focus on cultivating the kinds of qualities that allow me to become wild mother I want to be to you. 

That is what I will do. Something tells me that the more I peace find in this space between, the sooner the day will come when I awake up to discover that the ‘not yet’ is the present and there you will be in my arms. Until then, I carry you in my heart.

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