March 31, 2015 - Illusion

It is time, again, to wrestle with illusion, to wrestle with all those things that seem so real but are not.  The long, cold, and difficult winter has left us all tired and bereft.  A sorrow and emptiness comes over those deprived overmuch of the bounty of the Sun King.  Now with heavy hearts and leaden feet, with aching bones and twisted muscles, we must still somehow find the energy to smash through the illusion.  It is at these times, the times of great sorrow or fear or depression, when our chances are best at breaking through the illusion to the Being on the other side.

Not everyone will do it.  Many will choose to stay with illusion, the price of freedom being too much to pay.  Many will continue on in the social constructs given them at birth, perpetuating the illusion.  Because to see the wheels and gears of society turning and grinding into infinity, each person a tiny cog that when worn out is easily disposed of and replaced, can cause death to the uninitiated.  One cannot touch the Mysteries and live without proper preparation.

Look around you.  Everything you see is an illusion.  It is not that there is nothing before you, but it is your interpretation that lies.  Your interpretation is yours only.  It belongs to no one else, nor would anyone else even consider it, so caught up are they in their own interpretation.  The seer must see through the eyes of the Eternal Spirit and quit the worldly lures placed before him to lead him off the path.

If this passage seems cryptic, it was intended to be so.

Break the chains.

March 30, 2015 - The Gift Of Trees

How useful a tree!  There are so many things they can do.  When alive, they provide oxygen to our atmosphere.  They give blissful shade from a sweltering sun.  They provide shelter from rain and snow.  They keep the topsoil fixed and solid.  They help to prevent landslides.  They shelter birds, small animals, insects, and microorganisms.  Some of them give food in the form of fruits and nuts.  Others give sap and resins.  Some contain medicinal qualities.

Many of them provide stunning beauty in the fall with a riot of color.  They are self-perpetuating in that their fallen leaves become their own fertilizer so they can keep on growing.  Their roots pull up many minerals from deep within the Earth that are now missing from our topsoil, and their leaves distribute these minerals when they decompose.  They are prolific and readily reproduce.  They provide a screen for animals to hide behind to avoid predators and hunters.  They are wonderful wind barriers in the winter, sheltering homes and lowering heating costs.

The ever useful tree.

Even when they’re dead, they’re useful.  They provide heat and cooking fuel.  They can be fashioned into beautiful furniture or utilitarian wooden pieces or canoes that will last for decades.  Their sawdust provides good bedding for farm animals.  When left in the forest, dead trees still provide homes for certain animals that like to hollow parts of them out.  They are still good food for certain insects, even when dead.  Eagles love dead trees because they help to provide high perches without leaves and branches to block the view.

Children love to climb trees, and tire swings hanging from a tree are part of (or should be part of) everyone’s childhood.  A hammock hanging in the shade between two trees can be such a treat.  Tarps can be hung from branches to provide additional shelter, and food can be hoisted into the branches to temporarily keep it safe from ground-dwelling animals.  Even homes can be built in trees!

Is there anything a tree can’t do?

March 29, 2015 - Hunger

I think, then, the difficulty of winter comes down to hunger.  Yes, I think winter can be summed up in one word:  Hunger.  And even though the calendar tells us it is now spring, we still suffer the long-reaching effects of hunger.  We suffer it even in the summertime.  I think it is ingrained in every single cell of the human body.  I think every fiber of our being screams out “Hunger!” most especially in the winter.

It’s not just a matter of having no food.  We long ago figured out how to get around that.  Yes, eons ago there was the all-consuming fear of no food anywhere, and that meant hunger and death.  While that has left its imprint in our genes, to be sure, it is not just the lack of food that causes hunger in the winter.  As I said, we have figured out how to get around that.  We know how to plan ahead.  We know how to save and store food.  In modern times, we have businesses that do the planning and saving for us, and even if one cannot afford to go to a store all the time, we have food kitchens and the kindness of others.  No, it is not just food.

The Earth hungers.

And it’s not just the desire to see greenery again.  It’s not the longing for trees and flowers and grasses.  Even though when we see such things, a part of us is refilled again, there is still a nagging emptiness and fear because of the hunger.  We know the greenery will leave us again.

It’s also not the absence of seeing wildlife, fish, and birds.  The abundance of the Earth in summer fills our senses with wonder and joy, but it never completely allays the feeling of hunger.  We may thirstily drink in every life-filled activity we can think of:  Lavish dinners, expensive drinks, vacations to beautiful climates, gardening, animal care, nature walks, etc.  We can titillate the senses and bring tremendous joy to ourselves by doing these things, but in the end, we have to face the winter again.  We have to face the hunger again.

I hunger.  I hunger.  I hunger.  And what is it?  It is that we have seen death and we cannot unsee it.  Once seen, it is never forgotten.  Life feeds upon life:  That is the condition we accept for being here.  There is no other way to be alive than to consume what was formerly alive.  We may toy with the idea that some life is more worthy than other life, and so we consume what we relegate to a lower form of life.  But we cannot escape it.  We are born with the memory of death, and the winter reminds us yearly that we will always be hungry, no matter how much we may have.

March 28, 2017 - Strawberry Creek

The ice is breaking up faster on the coast than it is further inland.  Even a few miles make a big difference.  This photo is of part of what’s called “Strawberry Creek” in Harpswell, although it’s not really a creek and just eventually leads out into the Casco Bay.  But it’s close enough to the land that it freezes solid in the winter.  As you can see, it has taken on the temporary “lunar landscape” look as it transitions from frozen to recognizable terra firma with a lovely ocean inlet.

The news brings us stories of places where bulbs are flowering and shoots are sprouting up everywhere on the Earth.  They tell us the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the squirrels are chattering back and forth.  We hear about gardens being planted.  Ladies are wearing sundresses and children are wearing shorts.  And everywhere the world is screaming, “Spring!!  Spring!!”  This is what we have heard.

Here in Maine where the snow and ice still rule, we know these to be the tall tales that they are.  Surely, the news exaggerates.

The ice melts on Strawberry Creek.

March 27, 2015 - Tie A Buoy

Edwin and Abigail were two lovers who lived in these parts a long time ago.  They would meet in secret any chance they could--in the woods, by the stream, at the mouth of the river--to kiss and to talk about the life they wanted to have together.  They didn’t dare tell anyone of their affection for one another because Abigail’s parents had already chosen Gus for her, and Edwin’s parents felt that Abigail was too common for their son.  And so the two of them met any chance they could and began to plot a way to escape together.

Abigail always refused Gus’ attempts at affection because she was not interested in him, although she couldn’t come out and tell him that directly, and this made him very angry.  He was not stupid.  He noticed that her eyes lit up whenever Edwin was around, and he saw Edwin following her everywhere.  The more he tried to gain her attention, the more she rebuffed him and the angrier he became.  He noticed that they would whisper in a corner any chance they got, and he decided he would try to find out what they were talking about.  Perhaps he could shame her into loving him.

So he followed them, and he was very good about it, very nonchalant.  His efforts were rewarded after church one Sunday when Abigail and Edwin headed toward the shed out back.  Once they had disappeared behind it, he ran over and crept to one side in the hope of hearing their conversation.

“Can you get away just for a few minutes tonight?” Edwin asked.

“No, I dare not.  Mother’s in a tizzy about the picnic and has been ordering me around day and night.  She’d miss me if I stepped out.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Abigail said, “but doubtful.  Let’s wait until the picnic is over.”

“If you can get away, hang a buoy on the old Elder tree by the river walk.  I’ll see it and meet you in the usual spot!” Edwin said.

“Good idea, my love.  Now I must go!"

Tie a buoy as a message to me.

Abigail came out from behind the shed, and Gus was terrified for a moment that she would come around on the side where he was hiding, but she did not.  She walked straight forward to the church where people were milling about and talking.  Shortly thereafter, Edwin followed suit, using the same side Abigail had used, and so Gus was never found out.

Back at home, Gus was furious.  It was as he had suspected all along.  And who did she think she was??  This was not the way his future wife should behave.  And Edwin.  Every time Gus thought of him, he clenched his large fists in rage.  He was just playing with Abigail.  His family had plenty of money, and he was sure to marry a wealthy girl and not a pauper like Abigail.  He was just using her.  He didn’t deserve her.

All night long, Gus fumed and paced back and forth in his bedroom.  At last he came up with a plan.  He would sneak down to the Elder himself and tie a buoy on it so that Edwin would think that Abigail was going to meet him.  Then he would follow Edwin to wherever their secret spot was, and he would have it out with him.  He would not allow Edwin to steal Abigail from him.

The following day, Gus waited patiently and did all of his chores and whatever his parents asked.  Near suppertime, he headed out to the barn and told his parents he would take care of the horses.  When he was sure they weren’t looking, he stole away from the barn and went down to the tree by the river walk.  He stayed just inside the woods the whole time so no one would see him.  When he was sure the coast was clear, he ran out and tied the buoy on the Elder tree.  Then he ran back into the woods and waited.

It didn’t take long for Edwin to come by.  He had brought a couple of pails with him, which he would no doubt fill up at the river and that was his excuse for leaving.  When he got to the tree, a huge smile appeared on his face and he hid the pails behind the tree.  Then he left quickly for a small path in the woods, not far from where Gus was hiding.  Gus gave him a minute or so, and then began to follow the path.  It was a little used path and partially overgrown, but it was passable.  After about five minutes, he rounded a ridge and saw Edwin waiting in a gully by a small bolder.  He sneaked around a bit and came quietly down into the gully, out of Edwin’s eyesight.

His plan worked perfectly, and now Gus was standing just behind Edwin.  He cleared his throat very loudly and Edwin spun around, alarmed.

“What are you doing here, Edwin?” Gus asked.

“I could ask you the same thing!” Edwin said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Well, I followed you, if you must know.”
“Do you always follow me?” Edwin asked.

“No, but maybe I should have.  You see, I know all about you and Abigail, and I know about the tree and the buoy.  And yes, I’m the one who tied the buoy on the tree, Edwin.”

“You ass!!” came Edwin’s swift response.

Gus hadn’t planned what he was going to do after he confronted Edwin with the truth about him and Abigail.  He knew he was going to confront Edwin.  He knew he was going to accuse Edwin.  He knew he would let Edwin know that he was the one who had tied the buoy on the tree.  But after that, he hadn’t made any plans.  He just knew he wanted Edwin to stop seeing Abigail.

“She never wanted you!” Edwin sneered.

“And you never wanted her.  Not truly wanted her.  You just wanted to use her!” Gus yelled.

“Abigail and I have been in love for two years now.  We’re leaving together, and there’s nothing you can do about it.  Better get used to the idea!  And find somebody else to follow, you ass!”

Gus hadn’t planned on Edwin being so loud and stubborn.  He hadn’t planned on Edwin resisting.  He hadn’t planned on Edwin calling him names, very much like the names he heard his father call him all day long.  He kept hearing the word “ass” in his mind over and over, and he was certain that Edwin was laughing at him behind that stoic appearance.  He hadn’t planned on any of it.

But when Edwin turned to go, Gus reached out quickly with his very large and strong hands.  He grabbed Edwin from behind and smashed his head into the boulder!  Then he smashed it again and again and again until there was blood everywhere and Edwin wasn’t moving at all.  Then Gus just let him fall to the ground.  He stood there staring at Edwin.  This was not what he had planned, but it was too late now to do anything about it.  He realized that Edwin was dead, and a tremendous fear overtook him.  He had to get the body away from the boulder before Abigail found it!

So he picked Edwin’s lifeless body up and started marching back up the path toward the Elder.  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do.  What should he do with the body?  He hadn’t planned on any of this.  When he got to the tree, Edwin was still dead and slung over his shoulder.  Gus dug out a very shallow indentation with a large flat rock he found.  The ground was very wet and soft from many rains.  He put Edwin’s body into the indentation and then piled many small stick up over it.  He wasn’t thinking clearly at all, but this was the best he could come up with, so the grabbed the buoy and left.

Gus ran home as fast as he could.  He sneaked into the barn and took off his bloody clothes and changed into some spare old clothes that were always kept in the barn.  He rinsed his hands and face in the watering trough and then went back into the house without a word.  His parents never said a thing to him.  They didn’t know, and this made him feel somewhat relieved.  It began raining very hard, and this made him feel even better because it would wash the blood off the boulder and from around the area where he had killed Edwin.

The next day, Gus could not resist taking a walk toward the river.  Maybe he could come up with a better way to hide the body.  Animals were sure to find it soon, so he had to do something.  But when he got there, he saw a buoy tied to the old Elder.  Abigail must have tied it there and must be waiting for Edwin!  He quickly untied the buoy and tossed it into the woods and ran home.

The day after that, the same thing happened.  He wanted to remove the body, but when he got to the tree, there was another buoy tied to it.  Abigail again!  He untied the buoy yet again and tossed it into the woods.  For three more nights the same thing happened, and each time he untied the buoy from the tree.

But on the last of the five nights, Abigail jumped out from the woods and ran over to Gus, demanding to know why he was removing the buoys.

“Why are you taking the buoys off??” she screamed.

“Why are you tying them on??” he yelled back.

Abigail just stared at him.  Then her eyes narrowed.

“You know, then, about me and Edwin?”

“I know, and I also know that it’s not going to happen.”

“It’ll happen,” she said fiercely.

“No,” Gus said, “it won’t.”

Then he took her behind the tree and moved the sticks away and showed her Edwin’s body.  Abigail cried out in fear and horror, but not for long because Gus had grabbed her around the neck tightly.  This was not what he had planned.  He wanted Abigail to love him.  He wanted to marry Abigail.  But she kept screaming and fighting him and he didn’t know what to do.  And now she knew about Edwin.  Now what should he do?

Abigail kicked Gus as hard as she could, and he almost dropped her.  The pain brought him out of his thoughts, and when she spat at him, he snapped her neck.  And it was over so quickly.

None of this was what Gus had planned.  He brought Abigail’s body down to the river.  Then he went back and grabbed Edwin’s stinking corpse and brought it down to the river as well.  The current was running tremendously strong because of the extraordinary amount of rain they had gotten that spring.  He tossed both bodies into the river, and the water quickly rushed them away.  Where the bodies ended up, he never knew.

Gus went back to the Elder, guilt and fear overtaking him more and more with every step he took.  He began talking feverishly to himself about how it was all just a big mistake, about how he never meant it, about how everything would be okay in the morning.  Then he went back home.

Just like the last five nights, though, he couldn’t resist walking down to the tree.  But when he got there, he was in for a severe shock.  There was a buoy tied around it!  He untied it and threw it into the woods and ran home.  But the next night, the buoy was back on the tree!  And the night after that and the night after that.  He kept tossing the buoys into the woods and talking more and more to himself, rather loudly.  His guilt was overwhelming him.

Then came the night when there were several buoys tied all over the tree.  Gus stared at the tree in disbelief.  Had someone followed him?  Did they know what he had done?  He kept looking over his shoulders.  He removed the buoys and sat down for a moment.  Then he made to head home, but when he looked over his shoulder at the tree, it was covered with buoys again!  Gus began to cry and went home.

No one in the village knew what had happened to Edwin and Abigail, but they began to notice Gus’ strange ritual of going down to the tree every night and taking buoys off of it.  A couple of people asked him why he was doing it, but he just cried and cried and said that Abigail was watching him.  The people in town believed Gus had gone mad with Abigail’s absence, and they supposed that she and Edwin had run off together because some of them had seen the two of them whispering together whenever they could.

People felt sorry for Gus.  He had lost the woman he was going to marry to another man.  Every night he went down to the Elder tree and pulled the buoys off and cried and cried out Abigail’s name.  People became used to Gus’ strange behavior and just sort of left him alone.  They figured he was quite mad but harmless.  Of course, they were wrong about Gus being harmless.  He was quite dangerous, in fact, but it was true that he was quite mad.  Night after night he wrestled with the buoys on the tree, pulling them down and crying out Abigail’s name, and night after night the old Elder, the silent witness to Gus’ crimes, tied the buoys back on.

Elda Mor, Elda Mor.  The spirit of the Elder tree.  Together through the decades she and Gus danced through their strange nightly ritual, hanging buoys as markers of those dead long ago.

March 26, 2015 - Losing Ground

The snow fights back tooth and nail, though.  You can see it hanging on, digging its claws into the still-frozen ground, trying to make a stand.  Some days, it succeeds; other days, it must hand over some hard-won ground to the growing Sun King, who struts around now like a gangly teenager.  And can you see the snow’s teeth as well?  See how they dig into the soil hungrily?  It is a constant battle between the two opposing forces for the body of the Earth.

Today we saw our first delicate rain.  It didn’t last long, but it brought a feeling of excitement with it.  The snow howled back at it and bared its teeth even more.  We would be great fools to think that the snow has been beaten just yet, but we can see its demise on the horizon.  I shan’t say a word about it, hoping to stay in the snow’s good graces for the next battle.  The Sun King and I have never gotten on very well anyhow, and that’s common knowledge.

The teeth of the snow bite into the ground.

March 25, 2015 - The Wheel

With eight equal sections, the wheel of the year keeps spinning and spinning, rolling through our lives.  Two equal-armed crosses with one center rose are enclosed in the circle.  Each cross holds four sections, and these sections overlap one another.  Twelve spikes, one hidden in the platform, mark the outer boundary.  These numbers are known everywhere and have always been sacred.

The thing to remember is that circles do not operate on a linear scale as our minds do.  They do not go forward or backward, but instead revolve.  The beginning does not lead to the end, but back to the beginning again, so that everything starts and finishes at the same time.  And the center stays in one spot, while all of its constituents revolve around it.  Yet the circle moves as well, taking everything orbiting with it.

We see this pattern again and again.  We see it in our own sun and its planets.  We see it in the atomic world, where the electrons spin around the nucleus.  In our own hearts, we see everything revolving around the core, the hidden one, the one we keep secret even from ourselves.  We should remember the wheel.  We should learn from it.

The wheel of the year.

March 24, 2015 - First Faerie Den Opens

Now that Persephone has opened the door to the Underworld and returned to the land of the living, the first faerie den of the season has finally opened.  I found an area without much snow, and that seemed odd to me and prompted me to look closer.  They’ve unsealed the cavern, as you can see, and cleared a good bit of the snow away.

This is an advanced patrol that will make inspections, only.  Dens in the area will be marked, and the snow depth will be calculated.  Those who are to help with the melting of the snow and the falling rain will be cleared for emergence first.  Now that I have passed a year’s worth of recording the activities in the woods around here, I am fairly confident of how things work with the Good Folk, having been through this many times before and now having a written record.  As you can imagine, there’s a great deal of work to be done.

The first faerie den of spring has opened.

First and foremost will be the melting of the snow and clearing of the forests of any animals that have succumbed to the dark part of the year and the Unseelie Court.  The Microbial Kingdom will be employed for this task.  Severe rain should follow afterward so that the fields can be washed and made fresh again.  Fallen debris will be cleared away with the water.  Then the Prana will be activated and used on the seeds and bulbs hidden in the cold and wet ground, waiting.  The green is being mixed even now as I write, yellow of sun and blue of water.

Yes, there is a great deal to be done before Mayday arrives, and not much time in which to do it!

March 23, 2015 - Earth Alive

How long can we deny that when we look at trees, what we are really seeing is a complex network of arteries, veins, vessels, and capillaries?  How long will we tell ourselves that each organism is separate unto itself?  That the appearance is only coincidental?  There are those who believe that the entire Earth is just one living organism.  The typical definition of life is an entity that can grow, respond to stimuli, reproduce, and maintain homeostasis.  The Earth does all of these things.  Is the Earth alive?  I think it is.

When I look around me in winter and early spring, I see the truth.  I am not beguiled with colors and scents in the season of death.  I see the trunks and branches and twigs of the trees and I know that they are the vascular system of the Earth.  I am aware of the atmosphere, and I know it is the lungs of the Earth.  The waters are the Earth’s blood, and the countless numbers of plants and animals are the many individual cells of the Earth.

The veins of the Earth.

The mimicry is fascinating.  The macrosystem and the microsystem are strikingly similar, only different in size.  If you are a cell on the Earth--just one cell--what, then, are the cells to you in your own body?  Do they seem more important now?  On the microscale, each cell in your body is a separate living thing that, of course, depends on you for its existence.  On the macroscale, you are a separate living thing, a cell, that depends on the Earth for your existence.

We can feel small and puny and useless with this information, or we can appreciate the divine beauty in each and every cell in our body.  What we do to the body, we do to the cell.  Each of us is a tiny Earth housing its many cells and maintaining homeostasis.  If we watch the rhythms of the Earth and develop a real understanding for them, we can come to know the mysteries of our own bodies.  What happens to one, happens to the other.

March 22, 2015 - The Sap Is Running

Today is “Maple Syrup Sunday” in Maine.  It’s a big celebration of the first harvest--the sugar harvest.  There’s singing and dancing and food and, of course, maple syrup.  People from away might not even know it was taking place.  Everything looks the same as it always does in a spring that still looks like winter, and since the temperature was only 14 degrees today, it’s easy to miss the signs.

But if you ask the animals, they’ll tell you that the sap is running.  Somehow, they know.  I’ve always wondered if they can hear it running through the trees.  I think they can.  I think they hear the swoosh of it through the trunks, and they know that sound means warmer weather is on its way along with abundant pastures.  Their spirits really start to pick up around this time.  It’s not that they’re “down” in the wintertime like many humans are, but when the sap runs, the animals start going just a little crazy.  They get antsy and quite comical at times, sneaking out of their stalls and pens whenever they get the chance.  You can see it in the way they walk that they know winter is over, and if you look closely, I swear you’ll see them smile.

I should have known.  A calendar on the wall means nothing.  A news report is just babble.  Spring comes when the Earth says it’s spring and not a moment sooner.  And once the Earth does say it’s spring, look out!  Everything happens at once.  I hope you’re prepared.

The animals know the sap is running.

March 21, 2015 - A Ghost Ship

Where are the trumpets and horns?  Where is the drummer with his marching band?  Yesterday was the first day of spring, and we had built it up to a frenzy in our minds.  Spring!  Spring!  It’s all anyone has talked about for the past two weeks.  And then . . . nothing happened.  The wind kept blowing and it snowed today.  There were no daffodils or tulips or crocuses.  The sky was overcast with no sign of sun.

But I went to the woods as I always do to see what I could see.  As I looked at the still-frozen landscape, I realized that it took a trained eye to see the beginning of spring in Maine.  It doesn’t come with flowers or sweet-scented bushes.  Most of the birds are still in their overwintering spots in the south.  Most rivers and ponds are still frozen over.  The silence from the absence of the moving water, the chirping birds, and the wind in the leaves of the trees can be absolutely deafening.  But there were signs.

The Earth rises like a ghost ship from the depths of the ocean.

It occurred to me as I traveled about today that the entire landscape looked like a gigantic ship that had sunk to the bottom of the sea and had somehow slowly risen again.  Like a ghost ship, the Earth was slowly thrusting itself above the waves once again.  Rails and decks were becoming visible.  Seaweed and dead matter was draped everywhere.  Cabins and masts were in need of repair.  Somewhere in the fog, a bell was ringing.

It may not seem like spring to the rest of the world, but this is Maine and the captain runs a different kind of ship here.

March 19, 2015 - The Last Day

The dead trees are occupying more and more of my thought, lately.  I have even dreamed of them.  It seems everywhere I go, I see more and more of them.  Tomorrow will be the first day of spring, and these trees know it.  In the winter, all trees appear dead, but of course, we know they are not.  In the winter, we cannot easily tell the living from the dead, and the dead trees quietly join the dance.  But soon the living trees will take over the landscape, and the dead skeletons will slink back into the forest, unnoticed.  In the winter, the dead trees can pretend they are part of the living again.  In the summer, they are cast out and cannot come back from the great divide.

Then the perfume of spring will waft down upon us like a sweet-scented opium cloud, and all memory of the dead trees will leave our minds.  We will forget them because the Sun King has returned at last with his entourage of knights all draped in brilliant silks.  The musicians will play their haunting melodies, and we will become intoxicated once again with the fruits of the land.  How easily we forget.

Back into the shadows, then, they creep.  Sunlight is their destroyer.  They will bide their time until the wheel of the year turns for them again.  And it always does.  It is the way of things.

The last day for the dead trees.

March 18, 2015 - No Path

Small temporary streams are popping up here and there, and if the warmer temperatures continue, we will see even more of them.  We have seen some above-freezing days, but most are still below the freezing point.  Still, it’s warmer than the extremes of January and February.  These streams are a welcome sight to the wildlife and to we humans who have been on the lookout for them.

Water takes the path of least resistance, not always a straight line.  In fact, in nature it is difficult to find water taking a straight path anywhere.  That is a manmade invention:  canals, dams, and aqueducts.  In nature, you will not find the straight path, but you will always find the easiest path.  Nature avoids difficulty wherever and whenever possible.  There are no obstacles in nature.

The lesson there is that if something is in your way, obstructing your path, simply go around it.  Sounds easy enough, of course, but it seems to be a very difficult thing for most people to do.  Our anger tells us that this path is our path, and others must leave immediately.  Our fears tell us to stick to the straight and narrow, to only what we can see immediately in front of us.  Our egos tell us that no path can be better than that which has been preordained.

Follow the streams.  They know where they’re going.  They take the path of no-path.

The path of no-path.

March 17, 2015 - Redemption

If we are to make any sense of our existence at all, it is to nature we must turn because the answers are hidden in her rhythms, as I have said before.  If we are to realize our position as co-creators, we must acknowledge the methods of nature.  And so the dead tree from yesterday begged for a closer look.  I scrutinized it, finding that it had many secrets to reveal. 

The dead tree reveals its secrets.

 

It is our tests, then, our trials and tribulations that make us who we are.  Our successes are our rewards, but rewards never shaped a soul.  It is the difficulties in life that carve and whittle away at our raw material, leaving only the impervious core.  Only those who dare to be stripped of everything can hope to find the grail.

Layer by layer, a person is stripped.  All of the trappings of humanity fall away, one by one, until the ego is at last exposed, helpless and naked.  Then, standing on the perilous edge, the decision must at last be made:  To go forward into the abyss with courage and conviction, or to stand back and re-clothe the ego with deceitful silks and mindless mantras.

Very few will cross to the other side, not because they are unworthy or incapable, but because they have believed their own fear.  To those who stay, the spoils of what remains on this side shall be fought for bitterly, with each hollow victory celebrated as if it were the birth of a new world, while all along the soul is pierced further and further and the magic of life ebbs away into inky blackness.  But to the few who cross over, redemption is finally at hand.

The Great Redeemer, then, is ourselves.  At last we understand--not “know” but truly understand--that it is not how well we did on the test but the fact that we actually took the test at all which counts.  From this, one goes forth with dignity, pride, and a sense of regality.  For the truth--the real truth, the one that can be stripped no further--is now made manifest, and one who knows the truth cannot ever be lied to again.

Where we go from there is anyone’s guess, but it will be met with purity, humility, and gratitude because these are the gifts of the one true heart.

March 16, 2015 - Lunar Landscape

If it weren’t for the seemingly dead trees, I’d swear that I was walking on a lunar landscape sometimes.  Here in Thomas Bay, the water has frozen, thawed, refrozen, and heaved several times until it looks very otherworldly.  The sun beats down heavily but seems to have no impact on the ice, although the glare coming off the white snow can be blinding.

A dead tree peaks out from the middle of the frozen mass, happy now to be the star of the show.  This tree, or what’s left of it, must sit in silence throughout the spring, summer, and fall while the rest of life bursts with color and brilliance.  This tree nods its head in defeat through three seasons, but when the ice comes, this tree takes on a ghostly sort of life.  No longer growing or breathing, it becomes a macabre sort of caricature of its living relatives, commanding attention and breaking up an otherwise total sea of frozen white ice.

It still serves a purpose.  It reminds us that in a season of death, there are varying degrees of dead.

A lunar landscape.

March 15, 2015 - Sarah Hatch's Grave

Sarah Hatch was a witch who lived around here a long time ago.  Some say she was related to old Crabapple Annie and old Agatha, and I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if she were, although if it’s true, she was certainly the darker of the three.  No one paid her any mind for the longest time, but as times came and went and people lived and died, old Sarah was still around in her cottage in the woods.  And while most people still didn’t care one way or another, some people disliked it greatly, saying that Sarah was evil and would bring bad luck to their town.

Elspeth Dyer was the daughter of the local preacher, and she often overheard her parents talking in hushed tones about Sarah Hatch.

“Only the devil can be behind someone who lives so long,” her father would say.

“She’s in league with something nasty,” her mother would respond.

Then they’d talk together about what to do with Sarah.  Sometimes some of the other townspeople would come over, and the adults would all huddle around Elspeth’s father and talk about old Sarah.

“It takes some powerful magic to stay alive that long.”

“I heard she can curse you just by crossing her eyes!”

“I think she’s the one who killed my cat.”

“My wheat field failed because of her bad luck charms!”

“She’s got a magic wand and can turn into any animal she wants.”

Sarah Hatch's grave.

These were the kinds of things Elspeth heard when she hid behind the door and listened in to the conversations of the adults.  The more she listened, the more fascinated she became with Sarah Hatch.  Elspeth had many hardships in her life.  She had no brothers, and there was a great deal of work to be done on their small farm.  Whenever she complained out of sheer exhaustion, her father would beat her severely and tell her that idle hands were the work of the devil.  The more he beat her, the more twisted her thoughts became, and those thoughts centered around Sarah Hatch and her magic.  Elspeth was convinced that if she could learn Sarah’s magic, she could escape from her father and a life of constant work.

A plan began to develop in her mind.  When her parents went to the next township for a meeting to discuss building a new church at the halfway point between the two towns, she would sneak away and go down to old Sarah’s cottage and get her magic out of her.  She did not intend to leave empty handed and decided she would do whatever it took to force Sarah into revealing all of her secrets.

So the day came and she was given very stern instructions from her father about what work he wanted done that day, to which she silently nodded, knowing full well that she would not be doing it.  She saw her parents off in their carriage and went straight to the barn.  When she was quite certain they were gone, she headed for Sarah Hatch’s cottage.  She had to be careful to not be seen along the way, and more than once she had to dive into a wooded area to avoid being found out, but eventually she came to the enormous old elderberry bush that marked the trail to Sarah’s cottage.

Elspeth took the trail quickly and surely even through the snow as she was a very strong girl, and in a very short time she was at the rickety old door of Sarah’s cottage.  She knocked on the door very loudly and waited on the porch, but no one answered.  Again she knocked, hard enough this time to make the old wooden boards on the door creak and groan.  Still, there was no answer, but she had come this far and was not about to leave.  She went up to the door, knocked very loudly, and then pushed it open.

It was fairly dark inside and she had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the low light, but sitting at the table was a very old and emaciated woman who could be none other than Sarah Hatch herself.  Elspeth was surprised at just how old Sarah looked.  Everyone knew she was extremely old, of course, but she never looked as ancient as she did now.  She looked almost on the brink of death, and this worried Elspeth because she had come to get something from Sarah and was not about to leave without it.

“So you’re here at last,” Sarah said weakly, “You certainly took your time.”

“Yes, I did,” said Elspeth, caught off guard and feeling a bit confused.

“I was hoping you’d come.”

“Well, I’m here, and if you knew I was coming, then you know why I came in the first place.”

“Oh, indeed,” said Sarah a little more brightly than Elspeth might have expected, “and I know exactly what you’re here for.”

“Good.  Then teach me your magic.  Give me your wand.  Give me your powers so that I can finally live freely,” Elspeth said loudly, not bothering to hide the menace in her voice.

“I can’t teach you anything or give you anything.”
“Oh, you’re going to do it.”

“No, what I mean,” said Sarah, “is that this kind of energy cannot be taught or learned.  It can only be transferred.”

“Then transfer it,” came Elspeth’s cool response.

“It’s not that easy.  It takes time.”

“Do it!”

Sarah looked at Elspeth for a good long minute.  Each was sizing the other up, even though it was quite clear that Elspeth was physically superior.  It was also quite clear to both of them that Elspeth wouldn’t leave without the transfer.

“Very well,” Sarah sighed.  “I am old now and not very effective the way I am anyhow.  You must put me in my grave and keep me there for a full month, from tonight’s full moon to the next full moon.  You must visit me nightly and bring me bits of food, which you will push in through the holes.  A month should be enough time to do the transfer.”

Elspeth just looked at Sarah.  This was not what she expected.  She didn’t exactly know what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.  Put Sarah in her grave?  Did she mean that Elspeth was supposed to kill her?  But that didn’t make sense because then why would Sarah need food?

“Come with me,” was all that Sarah said.  She got up and walked out of the cottage, and Elspeth followed behind her.  Neither said a word, although Elspeth remarked silently to herself at the steady gait Sarah kept up even through the snow.  They walked through the woods for a while and came to an old stone grave.  The heavy cover stone had been pushed aside.

“This is my grave,” Sarah said.  Elspeth recoiled at the idea of someone speaking so lightly of their own grave.  She felt that something was not quite right and was very much on her guard.

“You must entomb me,” Sarah said, “and don’t forget to bring the food every night.”  With that, she lay down in the grave and motioned for Elspeth to push the cover stone over the grave.  Elspeth hesitated, but something in Sarah’s eyes told her to move quickly.  She reached across the grave for the stone, but as she did, Sarah’s hand flew up and caught her wrist and wrenched her downward!

Elspeth almost fell in the grave on top of Sarah, but she was a very strong girl and she managed to swing her legs around to the other side of the grave.  She wrenched her arm away quickly, and it took every bit of strength she had.  Then she quickly heaved the cover stone over the grave before Sarah had a chance to move.

Sarah screamed furiously from inside the grave for Elspeth to remove the stone, but Elspeth was unmoved.  She was scared half to death by what had happened but she was also very angry.  So? she said to herself, She thought she would trap me?  Now she is the one who is trapped.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night with some food,” Elspeth said coldly.  With that, she walked quickly away and went home, ignoring the screams from Sarah’s grave.

True to her word, she came silently the next night with some food.  It took some doing as she had to sneak out of her home and wait for her parents to go to sleep, but she managed it.  She brought some bread and cheese and used a stick to stuff it through the holes of the grave.  She could hear Sarah eating it, but Sarah never said a word.  Night after night, Elspeth came with the food, and night after night Sarah ate it.  She supposed that Sarah was drinking what bits of snow and melted ice leaked into the grave, but she wasn’t about to ask or to bring any liquid.

This went on for almost a month, and the next full moon was nearing.  Finally, on the night before the full moon when Elspeth had brought the nightly food, Sarah spoke for the first time.  Her voice was loud and clear and almost melodic.

“Tomorrow with the food, you must bring me some wine,” she said.  When Elspeth began to protest, Sarah hushed her immediately.  “You must bring it.  It is necessary for the transfer.”  Elspeth figured she had come this far, so what would it matter if she stole some wine from her father’s secret stash?  He had always preached against drinking, but secretly he always drank.  She hoped he wouldn’t miss it, but even if he did, there wouldn’t be anything he could do about it then.  So she agreed.

The following night, the night of the full moon, Elspeth returned to the grave for the final time with some food and a flask of wine.  She pushed the food through the holes of the grave, using the stick to push it in as always.  She could hear Sarah eating.  Then Sarah told her to put the flask up to the lower hole and push its opening in so she could drink the wine.  Elspeth didn’t like the idea but figured it was the last night of this gruesome business anyway, and so she did as she was told.

But no sooner had she pushed the lip of the flask through the hole when a bony hand shot out of another hole and grasped her wrist like a steel vice!  Elspeth cried out and tried to wrench her arm away, but she couldn’t budge it.  She grabbed about wildly with her other hand, searching for something to smash against the bony hand that held her in its steely clutch.  Before she could find anything, though, she heard a terrible snapping sound and saw her own hand pulled right off her arm and dragged into the grave!

Elspeth sat in shocked horror, unable to even scream.  She held her arm up and looked at where her hand used to be only moments before.  There was no blood, and now she realized there was no pain either.  Her hand had simply vanished.  She sat there, dumbfounded, immobile from fear, petrified into silence.

Sarah easily moved the grave cover stone aside.  She rose up out of the grave quickly and put her hands on Elspeth’s shoulders.  Elspeth looked up into Sarah’s eyes, her own eyes as wide as saucers.  Then the transfer began.  Both of Elspeth’s hands were now at the end of Sarah’s arms.  Then her forearms and her upper arms went to Sarah, each woman trading parts.  Her feet, her legs, everything went quickly until just their heads were left.  Then with a smile, Sarah switched those, too.  Sarah still looked like Sarah, only much younger.  Elspeth looked like an ancient Elspeth, and she felt as exhausted as an ancient old woman would feel.

“You have done well,” Sarah said, “and the transfer is complete.”

“But . . .”

“Yes, not what you expected, I know.”

“Will I . . .” Elspeth began, but Sarah cut her off.

“I gave you what you asked for.  You asked for my magic and now you have it, but I thank you tremendously for giving me yours.”

Whether Elspeth realized her mistake in misunderstanding what magic really is was uncertain as she never said a word.  Sarah gently pushed Elspeth into the grave and tossed the wine flask inside with her.  Then she easily pulled the heavy cover stone over the grave with her strong, sturdy arms and hands.  Elspeth Dyer was never heard from again, and Sarah Hatch went back to her cottage.  The rumors and complaints about her continued, but time was on her side, as it always was, and eventually the naysayers would all just fade away.

March 14, 2015 - Awakening Woods

I was finally able to get into the woods today.  Most of my ventures lately have only been on the periphery of the woods, but today I was able to scale Bradbury Mountain.  On my way down, I got some nice photos.  Some of the snow has melted, allowing me entrance to the woods, and even though it’s still quite deep, it has basically turned to a soft ice that is hard enough for me to skim the surface without sinking in.  That was today’s goal:  walk in the woods but don’t sink.

In the fall when the snow first falls, the woods are always warmer than the towns because they stay a bit insulated from the all the trees.  However, in the approaching spring, it’s just the opposite.  The woods stay colder than the towns, and long after the snow has disappeared from the towns, it will still linger in the cold, wet woods.  But at least it’s accessible in some places.  I get very depressed if I’m kept away from the woods for too long.

Signs of spring include melting and refreezing ice.

In this photo you see some of the massive rock formations that are all part of Bradbury Mountain.  This shot was taken not far from the summit.  Maine itself is quite hilly and rocky with a tremendous amount of rock pushed up from continents crashing many millions of years ago to ice ages dragging and ripping the land apart.

While other places are beginning to see the signs of spring:  buds, grass, the return of birds, etc., here in Maine we are seeing signs but none so dramatic yet.  Our signs are of melted and refrozen ice formations and the sun at a higher angle.  Our signs include eagles building nests for reproduction and water forming deep pools and streams in the woods.  It will be sometime yet before we join the rest of the nation in what’s considered actual spring, but I can wait because, after all, winter only comes once per year.