Flowers & Rain in January

i can't even begin to tell you some of the things that have been occurring, everyday i get more and more ideas about more and more things i want to do; this has been causing me excitement and also overwhelm and stress; it is in these hours that yoga has become even more important to me, that place in witness state where i can see the endless stream of ideas flow; my struggle is not the generation but the execution...

images that have flown through me lately include fire and a cross at the end of receiving reiki and a message to 'clean my glasses'; also, all of you who i know when i think of you i keep seeing animals and i keep seeing fairy tales playing out in your lives; for those who don't know i work at a central library and it has become my friend in a marvelous way; i see it as my own personal collection and my favourite areas right now are the fiction of course as that is my area but also the fairy tale section...

every male and every female contain within them the male and the female archetypes; lately i have had a calling to delve as deep as possible into my female, the old ancestral female, the female nature of reality, the deep inner female in me; i see this as a shamanic journey into the female matrix, and it has begun to express itself in subtle ways in my life, i am seeking the quest...

and my amaryllis that i planted a few weeks ago is blooming... and i planted some wildflowers in a pot and they are sprouting... and it is raining...

Going Back to the Beginning

I came to Canada in 1981. I was born in 1976, and for the first few years of my life lived in Poland. I cannot really describe the shifts in my young consciousness when we moved. Here is one poem that begins the story.

Refugee

Draw me a picture of a heart,
one made of child stories.
Girl in white, a raven, old night.
Or about a dragon who devours maidens,
his fire put out by a bag of salt
dressed in roses and fine cloth.

It was the middle of the night and the lights came on,
stark and blinding.
Take one toy, they said,
wrapped me in silence,
took me away from all the stories and pictures
I had ever known.

Now, when I speak my native tongue,
it is a little voice I hear.
Now there are black places, rifts,
faint images and fragments of tale.
And sometimes I don’t know the difference between
the pictures,
and the saltmine in my eyes.

Lately I have been struggling and trying to figure out how much to give. I feel a sometimes uncontrollable calling and desire to give and be of service, and then find myself wallowing in anger I don't know how to express because I have passed boundaries I didn't know were there and exhausted myself. During the anger I want to shut myself away, as if I could hide myself from people and situations in my life. But I think that although natural boundaries are healthy my desire to stop the flow of giving, to stopper the flow of energy by shutting myself away is what causes my anger as it is there that I become lonely, depressed and disconnected.

Learning my own patterns and energy flows has been very exciting lately, as I can begin to manage the flow, and allow myself recharge time when I feel depleted, and not revert back to the walls that harm me. I find myself trying to describe an experience I had but cannot remember - something about the osmosis between humans and the flow of energy from the universe and how the giving or the allowing of passage of energy through me to others is what makes me alive. Beyond all the shadows that sometimes I can lift from me like a cobweb I know that there is a strong mountain woman picking wildflowers in the sun, past all the negative worry and anxiety shades that are a layer, that are not me.