Tag: snake symbolism

Can we find flexibility and growth in the Year of the Wood Snake? #yoga #2025 #fiveelements

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections, yoga6 Comments
This photo was taken inside a magical forest in England. I don’t know about you, but I see at least three wood snakes.

As many of you are aware, we have entered the year of the wood snake in the Chinese Zodiac. I wanted to take a few moments to explore what this means on an individual and global level. The snake is a creatures that is sometimes revered and sometimes feared. Fossil evidence indicates snakes have been around for at least 165 million years. A highly adaptable organism, snakes exist on all continents except Antartica. Some species are deadly, while others are benign. Most often, snakes notice you before you notice them, if you do at all. Evolved to blend into their environments, snakes are masters of stealth.

In lore that spreads throughout the globe, snakes are depicted as symbols of wisdom and mystery. Sometimes they are heralded as gods, and sometimes as villains. Almost always, though, they are a symbolic of rebirth. Snakes offer an invitation to shed our old skins and find a new way of existence that is different from what we have become accustomed to. They can be both powerful messengers and omens, in both our waking hours and in our dreams.

In yoga, snakes are associated with the kundalini energy, also known as the serpent energy that is said to exist, coiled at the base of our spines until it is awakened. It is a powerful, yet sometimes dangerous energy. Stirring it to life too quickly can cause shock to our systems, yet with care it can lead to powerful creative awakening and healing.

When serpents appear in mythology, they often sprout wings, attesting to the magical, mystical nature of the snake. Consider the depictions of the god Quetzalcoatl from Aztec mythology, Hermes in Greek mythology, and Isis in Egyptian. All adopt the form of feathered serpent gods with the power to heal and transmute.

Add the element of wood to the snake, and the symbolism becomes more complex. In Chinese medicine, the wood element is associated with the season of spring and the emotions of anger and assertiveness. It is the second element in the cycle of five elements that repeat themselves (it might help to think of a snake here swallowing an egg). Beginning in the season of winter/birth and the element of water, we cycle through spring/adolescence/wood into summer/young adulthood/fire, equinox/middle-age/earth, ending in fall/end of life/metal, before we repeat the cycle. It can be an endless loop, or it can be a cycle of growth and transformation.

People who are stuck in the element of wood can become rigid with their thoughts and beliefs. Anger is their dominant defense mechanism. It can be a period of resistance to growth. Consider a tree refusing to release its buds. Consider the kundalini energy tightly coiled to the point of rigidity.

Let’s go back to the elemental wheel and look at in terms of the stages of growth in a human being. Water is the period of birth and infancy. When we move away from the womb and into the embodiment of the individual self, we find ourselves entering the season of spring and adolescence. Here is where the wood element resides. As we all know, adolescence is not an easy or comfortable time for most. In order to move into the early stages of maturity/ young adulthood, represented by summer and fire, adolescents must learn how to temper their emotions as they begin to establish their personal autonomy. It is a period of growth ruled by the ego. Or, in yoga speak, the “I Am” presence.

Many people who enter the world of politics often have wood as their primary element. If you are interested in gaining a better understanding of the five element system in relation to personality traits, I recommend Dondi Dahlin’s book The Five Elements.

Wood, in order to cycle, needs water and sun. It needs to be able to bend and grow. Consider now, the flexible nature of the snake. I find it interesting that we have entered the year of the wood snake when here in the USA (and throughout much of the globe) we are facing an onslaught of wood-driven energy in a quest for power and dominance. It is a chaotic and troubling time, yet the snake offers the promise of transmutation. The opportunity to, eventually, shed long-held beliefs dominated by the ego and move into the stages of growth and wisdom. “America” is very much in the wood stage of adolescence. We have been in this stage since colonialism took over a land that was once in a state of harmony and balance.

In this year of the wood snake, we have the opportunity, both individually and collectively, to move ourselves out of the rage-filled energy of adolescence and wood and into the stage of maturing growth represented by the next element of fire. Fire can be destructive when it is not controlled, but it is always transformative. Fire is the element of creative alchemy. It offers the opportunity to acquire wisdom and a different way of existence than what the ego might want to hold onto. It offers the ability to create something new out of the old.

Chocorua Part 4: Meeting the Chief in the Clouds #mtchocorua #NHhikes #snakesymbolism

On By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, Gaia & Elementals, Memoir, Travel Adventures10 Comments

As my husband and I continued our journey up the quiet mountain, I stopped now and then to place my offering of tobacco leaves in the nooks of trees and rocks. Noting, as I did, how sometimes others had made their own offerings. Small and large stones nestled into crevices of wood and stone, along with the more permanent and not so mindful markings of names carved into the skin of trees. I saw the carvings as a sad reflection of the ego’s need for permanence, forgetting that the mark that lingers is a mere shadow of the true self that never dies. How we yearn for something that is false, so often forgetting the harmony that beats around us. I found the buzz of the mosquitos oddly comforting, in its reminder of the cycles of life. The sacred spring below having given birth to the insects that followed my footsteps along a path older than the trees surrounding me.

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There are several large and impressive boulders near the summit of Mt. Chocorua, but they hold their stories in a quiet, watchful manner.

The mountain remained, to me, quiet and reserved. Welcoming, yet not offering too much. Not yet. This was my first visit, after all, and as the miles slowly rose, I realized that I would likely return someday. Perhaps not to the same trail. Perhaps not with the same companion. I didn’t yet know, and that was okay.

Life cycles as it will, and it behooves us to allow it to play its rhythm without resistance. When we push, we are often met with a counter-push. A simple law of physics. Perhaps this is why the snake appeared. Not once, but twice, as we hiked the long, winding trail, slowly losing the mosquitos as we gained elevation.

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One of two snake messengers we encountered during our journey. This one reared its head toward me as though reading for an attack as I ventured near to photograph it.

I have found the snake to be a frequent messenger that appears at points in the cycle of life that call for a surrendering. A letting go of the old “skin” I choose to wear to make way for the new, lighter sheath. They remind one of the wheel, ever-turning. Endings moving into beginnings, endlessly repeating.

I had thought that the mountain might harbor hurt. A long held wound from the legend of the chief who fell from its summit. Cursing, as he met death, the white man who had poisoned his son. As I walked the first half of the mountain, I found that I was also, in essence, curing the “white man” who had felled all the trees, and placed the wall of stone beside the path of the sacred waters. Yet, as the snake reminded me (twice), time moves on, whether we allow it to or not, without judgement. The cycle weaves its circle of life and death, over and over again, and we can be a part of it, or we can use defiance to try to resist its flow.

I could not forget that I had breathed acceptance into my body before I had left my hometown that morning. There are no true accidents to life. I realized, as I walked, that it mattered little, if at all, that I was not seeing the faces of the long passed in the rocks, or feeling the pull of the familiar through my cells. Instead, there was that quiet harmony of belonging. Of being present with my beloved in human form, and the sacred landscape around us.

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A guardian along the path

There was no denying the many gifts that had been offered. The crow who had welcomed us, the “ghosts” beside the stream, the white feather in the path before the call of my feathered seer, the snakes of renewal, and even the mosquitos buzzing life. There were also berries, full and ripened to the deepest blue of truth as we approached the final mile. Tempering greed, we reached, now and then, to pick small handfuls of the fruit and felt the renewal of life in each magnificent bite. Agreeing that there was never a better blueberry than those grown on the nearly soilless top of this mountain. A grateful gift that was even more welcomed when we discovered how little water we had left and how warm it had become during our journey, as well as how unsatisfying the apples were that we had brought. Mealy and soft, whereas our mouths hungered for a cool, crisp bite. I thanked the land for the blueberries as I offered it more tobacco in return.

As we sat on the granite ledges and took in the views of the landscape around us, my husband and I noted the time and how far we had come. We felt the ache of the climb in our bodies and the hunger in our bellies. Ahead of us was the head of Chocorua, perhaps another half mile away, we could not be sure. Its side looked steep and a bit dangerous as we realized we would either have to make our way around it to find a more gentle side, or allow ourselves to finish our journey below its peak. I was surprised that I did not feel disappointment. That there was no resentment bubbling up inside at the possibility of not “completing” our journey. Instead, I felt acceptance. It was enough, all of it.

We did not turn around then, though, but decided to walk a little further. I was grateful, as we continued on for this small final leg of our journey forward, for the soft presence of the land and it’s hallowed feel. For the berries that continued along our way, and for the knowing that we had just enough daylight ahead of us to get back down, and just enough water to quench our thirst if we needed it. I thought of that sacred stream and the yearning of my body to feel its cool release. And, as I turned my gaze one last time to follow the path of a vulture around the neck of the mountain, the mighty bird moved toward a cloud that hovered beside the rock face. Perhaps it was my imagination, but to me it looked like the head of a chief in profile. Its face pointing away from the summit that would need to wait for another day.

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Where we stopped to rest with the cloud formation of the legendary chief in profile. It was a bit more clear in person.

 

 

 

The (dead) Crow, the Red Fox & the Turkey (feather) and a New Book about Warriors of Light #visionaryfiction #animalmessengers #middlegradeseries

On By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, the labyrinth12 Comments

I used to keep a journal of my animal encounters. Not just animals, insects too, and birds, and all manner of non-human life forms I met up with each day. I was interested in their symbolism and what it might mean to me. Synchronicities and patterns. The universe talking in code. I used to do a lot of things I no longer do, and these days I am acutely aware of how much I am allowing myself to be wrapped up in the mundane, favoring it over the magic of life. Not because I want to, but because I have somehow convinced myself that I must. I must not search for encounters, but for what feels like artificial messages. Messages that I must send to get readers for my new book. It is a task I do not like, but that in itself is a lesson and, therefore, a gift. How do I make magic out of the mundane? Somedays it’s easier than others.

When the jobs we feel we must do become a chore, should we continue on in toil, or should we pause and breathe into the depth of being to find the magic contained within the moment that is always offered to us? The moment upon which we trail our breath and our thoughts, whether they be rapid, or peaceful? Today there were many encounters throughout my day which felt forced, labored, and without the fruits of joy. Yet, there were also pauses when I stopped to be present.

I watched the squirrel, boldly wearing red fur as it masqueraded as an acrobat climbing up, then down my “fairy” tree stealing apples in its mouth and leaping through limbs as though gravity is a ruse. I could almost believe anything was possible until I returned to the drudgery of musts. “You must do this to sell books.” “You must do that.”

The voice inside my heart forever whispering against the pull of musts, “just let it be.” “They’ll find the words you wrote for them, somehow.” I don’t always believe in somehows, but the voice inside me tells me I should.

The crow that stopped my feet today was dead. Its head pointed downhill. Black feathers tucked above the vibrant green of grass on this sunless day. I couldn’t help but think of magic extinguished. It had fallen beneath wires. Was it electrocuted by too much force? Energy coursing outside its bounds? The owl had been found in nearly the same place, also dead, one month before. I cannot help but think of the two bird messengers in my book. Grandmother Crow. The owl who haunts the last pages with a warning…

Yet death, I am reminded by yesterday’s snake, is not an end, but a beginning. Decayed life breeds new life in that ever-lasting cycle. How can I forget the wisdom of Shesha? Did I not write his story upon the pages too?

Briefly, today, I thought about fairies. Sue had reblogged a post about the fey and for some wonderful moments, I was transported into the realm of magic not often seen. Perhaps that was why I was led by the turkey feather, which floated up from the blackened road as though wanting to be seen. To be caught, as I drove home. So I took the ever-willing dog for a walk, and there it was. In the middle of the road. Large, curved, and perfect. Banded in brown. A solitary turkey feather waiting for my hand to receive its gift.

So I twirled it in my fingers, feeling the life still present. Blessed life. A reminder of abundance. Down the road, a red fox wandered from the twilight woods and stopped to fix my gaze. We stared as though each daring movement, until a car passed by. Some say foxes hold the secrets of the fey. Cunning, bold, stealthy. Red, like the squirrel. Have I lost touch with the red blood of Earth? I wrote the words in this book, in part, to save her. Created six warriors with a mission to repair her broken veins, forgetting, after I had finished, that one must care for the inner body, always, while caring for the outer. And so I look back upon today. To the red squirrel taking with ease the fruit of the apple back to its nest. The dead crow charged with too much power. The lone turkey feather in the middle of the road. One perfect blessing waiting to be held. And the red fox who had ventured, for a moment, out of the hidden realm to say hello.

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Grandmother Crow speaking her ancient wisdom from the pages of The Labyrinth. Order your copy today.

A Pine’s Lesson

On By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, Dreams, Gaia & Elementals, Reflections2 Comments

Spring Green on Pine
Spring Green on Pine

Today I am feeling the burden of a release waiting. The tension is in my neck and left shoulder, where the weight of an energy that I need not bear is ready to be freed. It is an old, stubborn weight; a habit carried over from childhood. These cords that bind us can be hard to cut. They are stubborn, they chafe and rub at our comfort, reminding us that their energy is still there.

I have learned that a verbal cutting of the ties that hold us is quite different than an energetic release. We can say we’ve had enough, we can even shut the door on welcoming more, but until we let go of the history, the accumulated burden we bear inside our cells, we have not truly let go.

The release can be layered, in fact it often is, as our bodies are not designed to deal well with a rapid, sudden change. I peel away my layers as though I am molting outgrown skin. I am a snake, uncoiling into spring, leaving behind the lacy ghost of my former self, but I am also a bear, shedding an old coat of energy in patches that leave me temporarily unbalanced. What remains, holds on the tightest.

I passed the pine tree before I turned to go home this morning. The creak and whine of the burden it bore called to me as the dogs stopped to sniff and pee. There were two pines, to be precise, one dead, one living. The living pine bore the weight of the dead, which had fallen into its arms. With each breath of wind, a moan was released at the place of union between the two trees, as the weight they shared shifted but never fully let go.

As I studied the two trees, joined by a death, I saw how the burden from the dead pine was creating a wound in the live pine. At the crease of its limb, the bark had rubbed raw, the orange skin below exposed. I imagined it felt like my left shoulder. There was a parallel between us, the pine was my mirror.

On Easter I had shut a door verbally, but it was something I had tried to do before. I’m still waiting to see if I will allow the door to be opened again, in some form, while my shoulder and neck remind me that my body and soul is waiting for a true death and resurrection. And, I cannot deny my dreams. Last night I dreamed I was trying to find what I had intended to let go. Before I got there, I had been delayed by the purchase of an over-large ice ream that was supposed to be the color of a rainbow. The total of the dripping expanse of sweetness was $12. I scoffed, I angered. It was all too much.

Joanne Scribes writes on her site, Angel Numbers, that the number 12 represents the combined energies of 1 and 2. One, is the number of beginnings, 2, of unions. Combined into 12, the energy of the number calls for the release of old habits and burdens so that the soul can begin anew, fresh, unencumbered. Resurrected in truth. When this occurs we are free to live out our soul’s purpose without the trappings of old attachments.

The male cardinal
The male cardinal

A pair of cardinals appeared later, nestled together in the azalea beside my driveway, at the conclusion of my morning walk. Here again was the number 12, in different form. Ted Andrews writes in his book Animal Speak that the cardinal’s cycle of power is year-round, reflecting the rhythm of the number 12 (symbolic of 12 months, hours, days, etc.). These birds, Andrew writes, “remind us that regardless of the time of day or year, we always have the opportunity to renew our own vitality and recognize the importance of our own life roles.” (pg 124).

When we let go of the dead weight, the burdens of the past we need not carry, we set free the energy of our true self. We allow ourselves to live in a free, unencumbered form, to shine bold and bright in the light of our truth. This is what we all strive for, whether we know it or not. This is the yearning of each soul, and it is a gift to self when we let go of the ties that bind.