Tag: writing

Paul Bunyan, a Dragon, and a Fairy Queen Meet with Me on a Small Mountain in New Hampshire

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections, the labyrinth, Warriors of LightLeave a comment
The large tree on the right was about where I encountered the image of Paul Bunyan

“What do you see when you tune into the land?” a friend of mine asks.

The answer is unexpected, at least at first. Standing in the field facing the north side of the house, like the giant he was fabled to be, is Paul Bunyan.

Strange, I think, but is it really? I type “Paul Bunyan” into the computer and key words stand out on the screen that, when combined with my personal relationship with masculine power/patriarchy, start to make a lot of sense. Was it a test? I wondered. Was this giant of a man who symbolized colonial power standing in my way, standing guard, or standing as witness?

Here I was, a white woman born in a colonized nation, on the cusp of “owning” a “property” to fulfill a long-held dream of rewilding not just the land, but the soul. It was here that I found a place to create a refuge not just for me, but anyone who felt a tug to come home to the land and find reconnection.

I close my eyes again and notice a definitive challenge to the giant man’s stature. He is so much taller than life. Feet firmly planted on the ground. Eyes staring down at this prospect.

“I want to write a love story with the land,” is what I told another friend some time ago as I tried to put my mission into one sentence of purpose. A feeling so visceral I couldn’t utter the words without tears flooding my vision.

You see, I understood this love story, at least in part. I have followed its narrative through the ley lines of England and parts of Ireland, reading its memories on each sacred (bone) stone I touch. My body has long ached for a reunion that is not just mine.

“I can’t feel it here,” I would confess to Sue. “It’s not the same.” And she would remind me of the fallacy of division, and that all land is a part of our shared mother. That there are no true lines of separation, only the circle of unity.

I have learned that life lands us where we are meant to be, even if we think we should be elsewhere. And sometimes what we resist most is the path we are meant to explore.

And why wouldn’t Paul Bunyan be standing at this place that seems to have chose me as much as I have chosen it? He faces a home and outbuildings built two hundred years ago out of felled trees on top of a rolling canvas of white snow. Here are your pages, he seems to be saying. What will you create?

To answer, I call in the dancing soul. I see her spreading the skirts of spring in pale green over winter’s etiolated white. She looks strikingly similar to the fairy queen of my books, Elena, who follows the paths of the stars to feed Earth’s veins with life. I am delighted, but not altogether surprised to see her. After all, below the peak of the small mountain where the house stands, there is a dragon who takes the form of a pond, wings tucked, head pointed towards the sky.

“Are you ready to play,” she asks me, “Are you ready to dance the light into the land?”

When the Bird of Night Bookends Your Day #barredowl

On By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, Reflections22 Comments

It was not yet 7:00am in the morning, I had reached over to grasp the teapot, about to fill it with water to brew a cup of chaga, when I looked out my kitchen window and saw the owl staring back at me. It was perched on the lowest branch of the hemlock just beyond the far side of the pool, a couple of yards away. An “Oh my god,” or something close to it, escaped from my mouth is I put down the teapot and grabbed the phone.

My morning visitor, a barred owl on a hemlock

There was no need to panic. The owl had no plans elsewhere, in fact, it was quite content to spend its morning in the copse of hemlocks, peering into my soul window, and occasionally onto the forest floor for a sign of breakfast. Or would that be dinnertime of an owl?

The barred owl casually hunting for a meal

One thing was certain, I had not been expecting a visitor of night to show up at my backdoor that morning. And, for a bird known for its eerie call that sounds an awful lot like “Whooo Looks for Yooouu?” my visitor never made a peep.

The barred owl was silent during the entire visit

For more than an hour, the owl hunted silently the small woods in my backyard, mostly staying in the same hemlock, and quite frequently peering into my soul window directly through into my eyes.

It was a bit unsettling, but felt like a gift

If you have never stared eye-to-eye with an owl, perhaps you will get a feel for what it’s like through these photos. There is a reason why owls have, throughout time, been associated with darkness and magic. A reason why they are associated with wisdom, secrets, and symbols of what is hidden and perhaps needs to be revealed. Every bit of lore associated with owls becomes unsettlingly clear when you stare eye-to-eye with one.

And then it was back

Since my morning visitor (who appeared again at the end of the afternoon), was a barred owl, I found myself starring into eyes blacker than night set inside a tawny white face with a yellow beak. It’s rather like looking into a sky devoid of stars (planets, satellites, and moons), but that doesn’t exist. Hence the feeling of otherworldliness. It is no wonder owls are associated with magic and mystery.

So much magic wrapped into one form

When I looked at my visitor, I saw my dear and departed friend and mentor Sue with her cloak of owl feathers, I saw my maternal grandmother, and I saw Athena encased inside one magnificent form that more than once I felt like hugging.

My visitor definitely had a huggable quality

Let’s face it, owls are rather adorable, albeit imposing figures. I have a tendency to want to hug pretty much any form of wildlife I see and it takes a fair bit of willpower not to. Instead, I settle with filming and taking photos, when possible. Yesterday brought two opportunities to do so, as the owl appeared again late in the afternoon, just after I had settled onto the sofa to work on my manuscript. It was nearly 4:40pm, and after typing a few lines in book three of the Warriors of Light series, in which perhaps not coincidentally, the barred owl makes a reappearance as an important messenger, my friend reappeared. This time, outside my living room window. Like déjà vu I looked out the window to find the same barred owl starring directly into my soul. Forget the crossout, I was now convinced.

A messenger from beyond the day

Summer’s End

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections22 Comments
Photo taken in July at the Rachel Carson Wildlife Preserve in Wells, Maine

It’s nearly the end of summer, and almost three months since my last blog post. Now and then I thought about stopping to write, but I abandoned the idea for various reasons. During this fiery season, Life has wrapped her joy and loss around me in a shroud that has caused a fair amount of processing and examination. I suspect I am not alone. We are each trying to navigate this labyrinth of uncertainty where kindness is woven into cruelty as love reaches out her arms to marry hate. Asking, perhaps in each moment, how much can be held at once.

This yogi meditating troll can be found at the Southern Maine Botanical Gardens in Boothbay, Maine.

My individual journey this summer has led me to an acceptance without resignation. My eagerness to push my long-held dream of creating a wellness sanctuary in nature into reality has caused me to face disappointments and realizations that initially felt monumental, but which were in reality merely pauses and opportunities to reassess and redirect. In early August, the month of my birth, I lost a beloved canine companion, Zelda, and was pushed out moved on from a soul-crushing job.

Zelda enjoying her final nap at the lake that she loved

There is a period of unease, an adjustment to unsettlement, that comes with a series of sudden changes, especially unexpected ones. We learn during these times what forms and defines us. We learn what needs to release before the rebuilding begins. I am getting used to the gifts of a quieter house as I scrub away the stains and welcome in the autumn air. I am finding comfort in the gift of solitude, and this time offered for letting go the hold of unfounded fears.

Sunset, Edgecomb, Maine

There is a profound peace the rises when one sits with potential. The stirrings of magic that bubble up through the strata of self is nothing other than joy. Suddenly the palette becomes infinite, the canvas without borders. The human mind, its only limitation. Or maybe it’s not in fact the mind, but its emotions. Letting go of the known and embracing the yet-to-be-defined is not without entanglements. Yet we do not go through life without support even when we believe the structure has collapsed.

A monarch butterfly outside my front door

The losses that have come along my path this summer have not been catastrophic, but they have nudged me towards reclaiming my origin story. They have brought me back to residing with my truth and not something that has been manufactured out of fear. The summer has gifted me with the opportunity to open to something that is still being defined. The imaginal cells are stirring, they are finding bonds, they are starting to form their potential. As always, life it is to-be-continued.

Stilling the Quickening Pulse

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections13 Comments

I have neglected my writing for the majority of spring. This blog, untouched since the end of March. Only a few more words have made their way into the pages of my two manuscripts, but I have not been entirely fallow, nor has the life around me. In my backyard, “No Mow May” has turned into a meadow filled with color and noise. During the day, the pollinators dance among the whispered seeds of dandelions before they sink their bodies into the violet petals of self-heal. Bees, so many bees, emerging out of this wild yard with pockets of gold tucked into their hind legs. When the sun hides behind the hemlocks, the wood frogs take over, and dusk becomes a mating song.

In the front yard, the sea roses have intoxicated June, and me, pulling us into summer almost too suddenly. Spring always manages to run ahead of me, overwhelming, but it is still my favorite season. When I lose hope in humanity, I turn to the garden and search its wonderland.

It can be difficult to slow down when nature propels us towards the sun. I can feel the effects. Fatigue urges a pause, and so I sit down to write. Finding the centering solace of words. We create not to produce, but to come home. Our art is our individual origin stories. It brings us back to our essence. Here we find ourselves, again.

In my yard, nature sings our shared origin story and spreads wide the senses in a canvas of color, sound and scent that brings my body to a place of homeostasis when I allow the stillness of presence. It is the time when our Mother welcome us back into her warm embrace to find our center.

This is not an easy time in our shared history, but few times have been easy since we lost sight of our origin stories and began to cling to the heady thrust of power and greed. Rapid growth is not always advantageous, in fact, it rarely is. Anything that disrupts the natural rhythm of life creates chaos. This is when our origin stories become dystopians of corruption. Through a screen smaller than a slice of bread we can watch the world falling apart, sending our senses into overload. The heartbeat becomes erratic, the breath held shallow before it is released. That is no way to thrive.

Yet, we cannot entirely escape it, even if we turn off the device. We are, unavoidably, a part of it. One strand of the web weaves into the over, even if the strands are made from inorganic elements. We cannot escape our connection, but we can change the density of it. When adjust the force of its pull and free ourselves of at least some of its tangles, it is easy for us to access the center. There is no better time than spring to sort through the false trappings of life and find our way home again. It can be as simple as bringing our bodies with all of our senses engaged back to the earth. One bare foot, followed by the other, leading us back to our origin.

What our dreams may tell us in our search for service during these troubling times #dreamsymbolism #peace #healing

On By Alethea KehasIn Dreams, Energy Healing, Reflections, yoga14 Comments
How to use our dreams to find direction, purpose, healing and maybe even joy during challenging times
A recent photo of me taken by my husband. A reminder that when we live through our heart we find the thread of joy.

Last night, as so often happens, I found myself churning through scenes reflecting my fears and insecurities. Few would argue the fact that we are, collectively, living in challenging times. The upheaval that is occurring in our global community can be overwhelming to the point of feeling helpless. Many are wondering what to do. How to be of assistance to those in need. How to find their own inner sense of peace and wellbeing.

Last night, as so often happens, I found myself back at school. Each time I would wake from the dream-state, I would fall back into the same scene of unease. No more! I tried to convince my subconscious. I have had enough! And, then, finally, a scene of peace, healing and transformation. Out of the chaos, I had found my hope.

Our inner worlds reflect our outer worlds, and vice-versa. We are microcosms of the macrocosm. In each of us exists the universe the holds us together. I’d like to share the plot of my seemingly endless dream last night with you in the hope that perhaps it will be of use to not just myself.

As I mentioned before, I was at school in this dream. Being is school is a common theme for me. I believe I have these “school” dreams because my subconscious is literally asking me to learn something. Quite often, these school dreams are frustrating for me. I find myself back in high school, college, or graduate school often struggling with something I am holding onto. Last night, I was back in summer school, at the St. Paul’s School Advanced Studies program. I think this is significant because during that summer before my senior year in high school, I not only met my husband, but I solidified a career trajectory that I would later discover felt inauthentic to who I am and why I am here in this lifetime.

In the dream sequence(s), I discovered that in order to pass my course of study, advanced biology, I needed to complete a short, one page or more, essay on who or what inspired me to fall in love with this field of study. I was in a panic. I had forgotten the assignment until the very last minute. The dream turned incredibly chaotic as I tried to figure out a way to write the essay, literally at the last minute. I knew I could write fast, that was not the primary problem. Other obstacles kept being thrown in my way, including my inability to find my true source of inspiration for choosing this field of study.

And then, suddenly, before I could write this final essay to pass the class, the dream shifted. I found myself in the future with some of the people I work with in my per diem job. We were in a bus on a field trip. As we drove in this open-air bus, we traveled through beautiful coastal scenery. In reality, I find this job mostly unfulfilling and irksome. I stirs up my ego’s insecurities that I have not done enough with my life, and it is, more importantly perhaps, not soul-fulfilling. Yet, in the dream, I was given an opportunity.

Suddenly I found myself standing on this open-air bus holding a young man battling cancer. Beside us was his finance, and other members of the staff, including one of the physicians at the practice. As the bus moved along its journey, I stood in my brilliantly blue shirt holding steady this young man against my body. Healing and peace infused us. Amid everything that was going on around us, I stayed focused on this young man in need, fully present with him. I knew this was what I needed to be doing, holding this young man against my body. Blue, it is worth noting, is the color of the throat chakra; the color that represents our truth/purpose in life.

The messages here may be quite obvious, whether you know me or not, but I would like to extrapolate to a more universal meaning. In this chaotic global time, I have been searching for how best I can use my skills to be of service. My insecurities (that I have clearly not completely released) reside around this struggle between my ego and my heart and the feeling that choosing one over the other may not be enough.

The dream provided me clarity and guidance. It reminded me of who I am and why I am here, and that the essence of who I am is enough. None of us can do it all, or even perhaps, more focus on more than one facet of need. So if you, too, have been searching for how you can be of service in these difficult times, I hope you come to the realization that what your heart is calling you to do is enough. That you don’t have to try to do too much, or do something that doesn’t feel authentic to you. And if you are still uncertain, take a look at your dreams. What are they showing you? And if you can’t remember your night dreams, take a look at where your daydreams take you.

“I Will Send You Birds” #lifeafterdeath #signsfromspirit

On By Alethea KehasIn A Better World of Books, Animal Messengers, Reflections, the labyrinth, Warriors of Light28 Comments
A robin nesting in a lilac outside my window. I did not take photos of the robins two days ago. I just watched them in wonder, flying and gathering on the holly bush outside my window. Too many to count.

There were many moments after Sue Vincent passed away when I allowed myself to slip into the agony of the mundane. You might think agony is a strong word to use for the mundane, but let me try to explain why I chose this descriptor.

I believe we are birthed opening our eyes to wonder. We leave the vast infinite expanse of connection to experience individuality, but with the hope of holding onto the magic of being. We are not simply cells collected into a body to experience a finite existence, we are being itself. The most basic laws of physics tell us that our energy cannot be destroyed, yet how often do we allow ourselves to slip into the agony of the mundane doubting the magic of our infinite existence?

There are many things that remind me of this slip. Facebook’s algorithm pops up old photos and quotes from the years when I was wrapped in the magic of wonder. Blog posts reappear on my sidebar reminding me that the magic of life I recorded received more likes than the agony of the mundane. And, most importantly, the constriction of the cells within my body remind me that I am a body of wonder waiting to be expressed, again. Over and over again.

This is life.

Sue was, in many ways, a gateway to wonder for me. We met through wonder. I dreamt of the cosmic eye, and then she appeared. Soon after, I saw a vision of a hexagram, and it was Sue who nudged the opening of its magic. Sue came into my life at just the right moment. I needed a teacher and a guide to help me open to the labyrinth of light that threads through life, and together we traveled through time to find that connection. Sue was, literally, a gateway to magic. And when she passed, I mourned her with a fierceness I had not expected. I didn’t want to let that magic go.

And, of course, I didn’t have to. 

When I was working on the first chapters of Keys to the Heart I sent a passage to Sue for her input. The only thing she suggested I change was the use of the phrase, “of course.” I heeded her advice and erased the phrase each time I had used it, and made sure I omitted the impulse when it arose as I continued to write the book after her passing. With one exception, the dedication page.

“For Sue, of course.”

I can see her smiling. I can see that wrap of feathers she wore lifted into wings. I can see the wren, and the owl. The raven and the kite. And, two days ago, when I revealed the cover of my new book, I saw robins. Dozens of them. The most I have ever seen gathered together. In the middle of January. Outside my window. All day. Robins. The bird of birth and spring. It could not have been more fitting.

“I will send you birds.”

After Sue passed, and I began to question whether the thread of our connection still existed, Sue appeared to me during meditation. “I will send you birds,” she told me.

And so she has.

Of course.

Distractions

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections3 Comments

The roof is coming down as I write, and I can’t help thinking about how easily the creative mind can be pulled away from its work. At least for me. I am a bit restless by nature, and sitting for any length of time for the soul purpose of writing is a bit of a challenge. I hop up to let the dogs in and out, to steal a snack from the fridge, or make one if I’m unsatisfied with the contents. I grab at the pauses between inspiration to check my emails and Facebook and reply to messages. This is how the minutes slip by before I can reign them in again and use them for the purpose I set out to.
IMG_2474

Now, the roof is coming down outside of the window where I usually sit to write. I could move, but I don’t. Instead, my eyes pull toward the sounds of shingles sliding on plastic tarps and the shadows they make in their reckless descent toward the ground. My mind pauses between my character’s thoughts to worry about the cloths hanging on the line precariously within reach of the avalanche of shingles that once adorned the peak of my home.
IMG_2475

Suddenly, it’s nearly time for the school bus to groan around the corner of my street to deliver my son home and I realize the 70 page mark may not be met today, or at least not during me kid-free hours. Oh well, there’s alway another moment to grab.

Spider, the Keeper of Words

On By Alethea KehasIn Animal Messengers, Poems4 Comments

The spider is one of my animal spirit totems. Often a guide for writers, the spider teaches us the mysteries of language, helping us find the voice we hold inside. Here is what spider had to say:

IMG_1897

 

 

 

 

Keeper of Words

I weave the memory
of words

Old soul
talk to me about

Silence

I wrap silk to hold
life. Bleed the tangled

Walk my labyrinth
back to the center

Step gently, remember
sound is vibration

Feel words held
like a mummy wrap

Release the ancient
mystery of your language

Awaken

Why we stop

On By Alethea KehasIn Reflections4 Comments

stop sign

I’m having one of those quiet days that come to me when my children and husband are back in school and work after a vacation. The house is quiet, aside from the occasional sigh and bark from the dogs, the whirr of the pellet stove, and the click of the keys on my computer. There is the scratch at the porch door that gets me up and moving to let in the smaller of my two dogs, and the ensuing smile that reminds me that love is about patience and the willingness to shift.

Today I am pondering the pause, the quiet space in our perception of time when stillness takes over the kinetic moments of life. Transitioning from one extreme to another can be uncomfortable, it’s a bit of a shock to the system of self. We can find ourselves a little lost in the place of quiet space where we wait for the next event to occur.

I love solitude, sometimes I crave it to the point of irritation. I need it, we all do, and yet I also crave the yell of bliss that ignites the spirit, forgetting that I can have both. I dwell on the wait, wondering when the next body of words will form to create a poem or a chapter, when someone will call for a healing session, or Spirit will bring me another gift of journey. I get caught up in the wait, forgetting that it is the very gift I need most.

Canada goose on pond

We feel the pulse of our divine light when we succumb to the deep breaths of silence. Here we remember who we are and where we come from. We recharge and realign so that we will be ready to move again.

Orange

On By Alethea KehasIn Energy Healing, Memoir, Reflections, UncategorizedLeave a comment

orange

When you look at the color orange, what do you see? Years ago, before I started working with the chakra centers in the body, I wrote a poem about an orange and compared it to love. Here is the poem, in revised format, with the essence still intact:

Orange

Love should be
like a ripe orange
before it is peeled. Thick,
heavy, sweet

When you turn
its bumpy surface
in your palm, there is
no beginning
no end

Love is the color of the sacred “womb” that resides inside all of us. It is the place where we grow our creative and sensual selves into being with the fire of our soul. The color of passion and love manifested in the form of our unique gifts, it is always present, yet sometimes hides.

I have been thinking and writing a lot about orange these days, as I rebirth dormant gifts held inside the second, or sacral chakra that vibrates in this hue. Rarely do I wear this bold color that tends to overwhelm my complexion, but there I was in a lovely boutique last Friday, buying a dress adorned with orange flowers.

orange flowers on dressOn Saturday I peeled sweet potatoes, carrots and gingers and cooked them into an orange soup. We are drawn to the colors that want to bloom inside of us. There is a reason why our bodies and senses crave certain palettes. I cook with orange to kindle the fire that hides in my belly. Today, my eye is drawn to the flames that warms my house as I nibble the flesh of mango and write, my orange dog staring me down, waiting for her walk.

Rosy, the orange dog