La Bona Dea's Journal of Everyday Magic

Storytelling which touches the heart and awakens the soul

Spring Into Non-Action

Spring is a time to jump up and fly! To bounce outside and wander the earth, to look for waterfalls and rainbows. The sun beckons us to join him in the golden ray-filled days, and we stretch our arms above our heads and agree. . . it is time to move!

Yet, sometimes it is important to stop and look at the beauty around us. We may not be able to be where we want to be or do the things we want to do because of work or hectic/conflicting schedules. And sometimes it’s poor weather, the irony, right? Or in my case this year a broken kneecap.

Of all the things that happen in the spring, the lighter evenings, the blooming flowers, the enticing foil-covered chocolate eggs, and the merriment of making summer plans, I think what hit me hardest is missing the wild iris blooms

An image from my sweet niece, Ashley

I hadn’t even thought of them, honestly. It has been one day rolled into another with recovery–oh there’s lots of love and attention to keeping me comfortable and alive, but for a moment I forgot about the great wilderness outside. I used to wait for spring to walk and find the wildflowers–especially the blue and yellow iris….But then I got the text with the image above, and I remembered.

For me, the image of the wild iris confirms of rebirth in the spring. With its delicate colors and fragile bloom, it only pops out for a short-lived time. And this year I will miss wandering along the wild trails, witnessing their arrival. But I keep in mind that next year I will find them, growing in the patches of dark earth, under a canopy of trees. I will walk and breathe in the good, cool air, and I will be reborn.

Until then, I will enjoy the photo from my niece and remember past visits to the great outside, and how this time next year, the wild iris will wait for me. Blessed Be, and So it Is!

Then this came from Prompt Writing… Who knew? xo

I took some time along this spiritual journey to discover my authentic self. –She was buried in there. There forest-loving, dirt-kissing, tree-hugging priestess that spring from the earth, a facet of the sacred feminine, the holy woman that came to appreciate all life, in all forms, and to love each one for themselves. A teacher, a reverend, a storyteller, a mamma, and a grandmamma with a big round lap, and soft breasts. A weaver of families, the truth keeper and the auntie with ears that listen, and the creator of a place for all at my table.

           It took a long time, many days of soul-searching and listening. So many afternoons crying to sappy songs on the radio. Many hours of meditation and ritual, birthing new ideas and casting away old skin. Not quite the phoenix rising, but a wild iris bursting through the black dirt of the forest. . . for all to see –a goddess in regal royal purple, my shining aura, my loving heart filled with grace.

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