Frog Song

Mosswood Pond
Pond at Mosswood Hollow by Nancy L

I attended a writer’s workshop near Seattle last week. I camped in a little tent in the middle of a beautiful forest. I was camping alone, but I didn’t feel lonely. The frogs of the nearby pond serenaded me nightly. I would lie each night in my tent beneath two huge old spruce trees and revel in their chorus. Here’s what I learned about frogs…

Frog timing is impeccable. Each night, one or two tiny frogs begin the frog chant and then another 2 or 3 will join in echoing the melody of the first perfectly. Then a third group joins, echoing the same melody. They join their voices and build a master symphony piece by piece, until their ultimate harmony rises and falls, undulating and echoing off the pond. Each masterpiece only lasts for one moment, maybe two. And then silence. Each serenade abruptly stops as if a maestro has cut the air with his baton to signal cease! Yet there is no maestro conductor on this pond. Only a few tiny green frogs magically harmonizing together.

At times, the nightly frog serenade would get so loud that I would literally have trouble thinking. But I was actually ok with that. Witnessing their creation up close was my compensation. It was fascinating to me that each frog sang out his piece of the symphony so loud and proud. I sensed zero hesitation and not an ounce of shame. One night as I listened to the symphony, I wondered to myself what I might learn from these little frogs. There had to be a reason my tent was positioned on the front row at this frog concert. It was too serendipitous to be an accident.

On my third night in the front row at frog symphony hall, I finally received the lesson frog was offering. I realized that I had been lying in my tent each night, debating with myself about how much of my story to write. I had been debating how much of me it was safe to share with the world. Meanwhile just outside, a tiny little frog sat on the muddy bank of a tiny little pond and bellowed out his song. He bellowed out his offering to the Gods with joy and gusto, night after night with little hesitation,  Frog refused to be silent. He just belted out his creations for all the world to hear.

Frog didn’t waste time worrying about who was listening. He didn’t worry about what his audience would think of his song. He just sang his song night after night. He sang it with gusto. Maybe, just maybe I was lying there in a tent next to frog’s pond to receive a lesson in the art of expressing myself with joyful abandon?

Joyful abandon… I love the sound of that. Juicy green joyful abandon! I could definitely use more of that in my life. 🙂

A·ban·don   əˈbandən/
noun – complete lack of inhibition or restraint

What if the Temple was the Earth?

What if the Temple was the Earth?

What If?

What if our religion was each other?

If our practice was our life?

If prayer was our words?

What if the Temple was the Earth?

If forests were our church?

If holy water—the rivers, lakes and oceans?

What if meditation was our relationships?

If the Teacher was life?

If wisdom was self-knowledge?

If love was the center of our being

~Ganga White

The Fire and Ice of Brigid

Fire of Imbolc

I had the great fortune to be on the west coast last weekend for a wonderful workshop led by Nan Moss and David Corbin. What a great group of shamanic dreamers! We journeyed and explored the nature of weather on planet Earth together. Nan and David are amazing guides and teachers. It was an incredible three days.

The only down side to my ‘dreamy’ weekend was that I didn’t have a chance to celebrate Imbolc, a traditional Celtic festival day that marks the halfway point between winter solstice and spring equinox. For my Christian friends, the holiday (holy day) of Candlemas grew out of ancient Imbolc festivals.

My Celtic ancestors held Imbolc celebrations to honor the imminent return of spring. Ironically, when I flew back to my home in the Rockies on February 3rd, it was 11 degrees below zero. And since then, it has snowed twice and been bitterly cold, with temperatures barely creeping above zero. And yet I trust that spring will return soon, no matter how foul the weather is outside. Underneath the cover of a foot of snow, tiny seeds are stirring and Mother Earth is quietly preparing herself for spring.

This year, I decided to celebrate Imbolc with a daily fire in my fireplace. A traditional Imbolc festival would be marked by the entire village feasting and attending a big bonfire. But for me, a small fire burning in my hearth seems just perfect this year. Snow falling outside while a fire burns in my hearth; what a perfect blending of fire and ice!

I have been sitting in front of my little daily fire, dreaming up new classes, and meditating on the Goddess Brigid (AKA Brigit).  Brigid is a fiery Celtic Goddess who is said to reign over the powers of poetry, inspiration and metal smithing as well as the healing arts. She has been associated with Imbolc since ancient times. And Brigid has proved to be quite a tenacious Pagan Goddess; when Christianity took hold in the Celtic world, Goddess Brigid simply morphed into the beloved Saint Brigid who continues to inspire many Catholics and non-Catholics even in this cynical modern age.

Brigid is very special to me personally; she has spontaneously appeared in my dreams many times. She seems to come whenever I need to stop, reflect and find new inspiration. This week she has shown up with messages about how I can release troubling family patterns and allow my writing to bloom in new ways. I LOVE it when Brigid shows up in my dreams! Her fiery energies seem to fill me with new insights and ideas.

As our days slowly lengthen here in the northern hemisphere, Mother Earth begins to rouse from her winter slumber and quietly prepare the ground for spring.  And, if you allow it, this icy time can be a time of inner fire and inspiration. May you find a few moments to pause, reflect on your dreams and light a flame both without and within. As winter slowly melts away into spring, may you be inspired by nature’s fire and ice.

Click here to learn more about Imbolc and the Goddess Brigid.

Smoke and Stone

Smoke and Stone
Smoke and Stone

I sit

breathing out my worry

and my wonder

as I silently ask the Goddess

what exactly is compassion?

and can I offer it to myself?

I sit

breathing out my fear

am I brave enough

to love

like a Boddhisattva

without reason, without end?

I sit

watching the Goddess

smoke dances, we sit

suddenly, the stone of me cracks

there is nowhere to hide

I am love.