Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts

December 21, 2012

Winter Solstice

It is 21st December,, the Winter Solstice, Midwinter,Yule call it what you will:)

It has been a very long time since I have blogged but this morning I woke with the need to mark this longest night and shortest day.

 I had the need to feel the words beneath my pen again. I haven't felt like blogging for a long while or indeed for any writing in my journal.
 I do miss it somewhat and obviously more today, hence this post. As usual I don't have anything particular in mind but just the need for words to flow from pen to paper(or from keyboard to screen as I am now copying this onto blogger)
 It is a need to write as opposed to type and that is what I have always loved, the act of writing and not just the content.
 So with that in mind maybe I will try a page a day in my journal as the days grow longer. Words or art but most likely words, for words I am. The art being merely the illustration of the page where words are the star.
 For others the art is the important thing, the colour that runs wild over paper or is genteelly placed, a dab at a time.
 My art when it comes is wild,untamed, a way of writing the words that must spill. But with colour sometimes instead of letters.
 My other crafts mean much to me as colour escaping from its box, a wilder form of words in visual form.
But the words are still there. They are always there, waiting their chance to play upon the pristine paper. To spill as jumbled,windswept ideas.
Or to march purposefully one by one in straight lines.
 Does it matter which form my thoughts choose? Not at all. As long as they dance their way into form from dreams I care not. Just letting them free is an act of beauty, a way of meditation and of ritual. A way of being that is all they need to be, nothing more and nothing less is required.
Just a beginning, a middle but not an end. A spiral, not a circle. Always moving up and on.


So Winter Solstice, a dark time but with the promise of  more light to come  each day. An introspective time. We all need this time of quiet, even with Christmas and all its gaiety our hearts are still and our minds thoughtful.

Mr Mog had his latest oncology appointment this week and they are very pleased with him. The drug trial is keeping the cancer static.It hasn't spread any further. It hasn't  gone any less but we aren't bothered. As long as the drugs keep it in stasis, long may it last.
We are both currently nursing the latest flu virus which isn't good. This time of year I think we are more susceptible to bugs and it isn't helped by those who insist on coughing and sneezing without covering mouths and noses. 

May I wish you all a peaceful solstice. 

January 22, 2012

Writings



I wanted to write about writing today.
I have not done my Morning pages for quite a while now, long before Christmas. I always used to do 3 pages of writing before I got up in a morning. It helped to get rid of the dross in my head and free my mind for creativity. I'm not sure why I stopped. I suspect a combination of pain, worries over Mr Mog and other stuff going on. Who knows why you stop a practice?

 
In the past I haven't sweated too much over missing a day or two, after all it is no good doing something if the time isn't right.
But I realised 2 days ago that I missed it. I missed that meditational aspect of writing anything that came into my head.

 I suspect some of my reluctance came from the dark mornings, putting off doing something because it is dark. It hasn't helped me any. My head gets full of stuff and there is no room for creativity and beauty.
 The muse prefers it if you concentrate when she calls. I know that I always feel better when I have done my pages. The knitting and spinning are other forms of creativity but the forming of words and sentences has always been my first love.
 I want to recapture some of the journalling joy. The joy of the written word, the poetry of sentences. The outpourings from the poetic side of my brain.
 It is still there, it has just been hibernating for winter's dark withdrawal time. A chance to sleep and recoup energies and inspiration ready for the first bud.
 The first snowdrop dancing in the dark wet soil. A reflection of the moon's pale splendour here in the earth.
 Solitary ones spotted at first, then whole clumps dancing in the wind. A beacon of hope and of summer warmth to come.
 Then as other flowers show their heads the snowdrops retreat into the ground to be nurtured through spring,summer and autumn ready to begin their dance as winter returns once more.
 I hope my returning muse is like the snowdrops, a little to begin with then pages full of joy and inspiration.
 Imbolc is just around the corner now and I can't wait. I don't want to wish my days away but I want this turn of the wheel. I want it to bring good things, a staying of the disease for Mr Mog. A chance to enjoy  many more days together in the returning sun and light.
I have started back on my studying also. My tarot cards are out once more and not just the daily card I always chose from my Wild Spirit pack but a new tarot. One sent for Yule, a gift from my friend Pixie.
The Gaian Tarot by Joanna Colbert.
Pixie and I had spoken about this a long while ago when Joanna first started to create the pack. Both taken with the imagery and both thinking of purchasing it when it was no longer a limited edition pack but a more accessible one.
To be honest I had forgotten but Pixie hadn't. It was such a surprise to open my Yule gift and find this . I have only nibbled at the edges but intend to work with the cards and see what comes of it.
I've also been delving in the library by my chair and pulled out other books, colour healing, numerology to name but 2. No idea why again but why not?
No preconceived ideas just going where the Goddess takes me.

September 14, 2010

Doing as I'm told:)

I'm on 48 hours rest, doctors orders to help combat this extremely nasty chest infection that I have, yet again.


I'm doing as I'm told no option really as it has made me weak as a kitten.
I can't just lie here though so I decided to explore my writing and reading passion.
I've always written. I've always read.
Throughout my life and my lifelong illness reading and writing have comforted me. They have been my escape and my solace.
I spent  a large portion of my childhood in hospital and convalescent homes. Then 2 years in a home for delicate children:)
Unable to do anything.
My nanny started my lifelong interest in history from around the age of 6 I think. Before that I read children's books.
I learnt to read at 3, my nanny again. In those days there weren't any kindergartens or play groups, you started school at 5.
By then I'd been reading a while. You still had to do things by the book :) but schools were far more flexible then than now and if you could read and write you were encouraged to explore that as far as you wanted.
A few years later I had read all the books in the children's library and started on the adult section.
Historical novels and science fiction were my favourites alongside history, but I would read anything:)
I wrote stories and poetry. Even when I became interested in other stuff books and writing were still essential.
When I first married the writing had to become a secret, it wasn't allowed and was a waste of time. I was chastised , hard to believe now that I let someone order me about like that.
So I still wrote but in secret, I had to do it it was a very big part of me and who I am.
It wasn't until I met Mr Mog many years later that I could be me, truly me. Write anything I wanted and bury my head in my books whenever I chose to.

I journalled furiously, after all I had a lot of time to make up.
My blog was, and is, an extension of the journals. I still write morning pages when I feel the need. I write bits in journals and bits on my blog.
I have empty books in the car and in my bag for when the need to write is on me.
Lying here with doctors orders for complete rest for 48 hours the writing again gives comfort.
It always has and it always will.
The written word holds so much within its letters, a magic all its own.
26 letters of sheer sorcery ready and waiting to weave their magic at our request and need.

Poetry for Brigid Imbolc

  The Lake Isle of Innisfree BY  WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay a...