Sunday December 21, 2003: the longest night
The sun set, and I lit the candles.
Earlier today, I cleared off, dusted, and relaid my altar. It was interesting how things fell this time. When I'm rearranging my altar, I don't think, just move things around until they feel right. For the first time in a year or so, both of my athames are very much in evidence. For a long time, even the one athame that was out was bound--wrapped in a cord that a friend of mine made for me. The wand's bound now, and placed across the tips of the athames. The focal point is my mask, which has been the object that has consistently represented my creative side. Surrounding the mask are a couple of representations of the element of Air.
No interpretations, here. It should be interesting to see what the next quarter brings.
Tonight's the longest night of the year, and here in the Northwest the nights are very long indeed. It marks the end of a downward cycle that starts as Samhain. For three months, the world winds down to winter, and I take walks through my past. I've been doing a lot of that in the past couple of weeks, as there are some riddles that have unknotted for me, and some events that have finally been explained.
The older I get, the more of the old stuff I lay down. The path behind me is strewn with old things that I've decided to put down, and each thing recedes into the distance. As I understand what each hurt was for, as I understand how each joy built me into the person I am today, I am able to look at each thing and understand it, and release it from me.
I've never been really good at letting go of things, but i'm getting better at it. Everything is telling me that it's time.
It's been a quiet weekend. I made a couple of small books, to refresh myself on coptic stitch before I make a couple of large books for people as Christmas gifts. Today, I walked over to U Village and then cleaned. Also, cleaned out the kitchen cabinets, and threw away a bunch of stuff that I know i'll never eat.
I just have to figure out what to do with three cans of coconut milk. I mean, I should be able to think of something. Just not sure what, right now.
I've also been having a terrible, huge craving for sweet potatoes. In particular, steamed and smashed sweet potatoes, sans brown sugar and marshmallows (which makes them icky, anyway). I've decided to indulge myself in this craving, in large part because sweet potatoes, though now low-carb, are also not all that bad for you. Beta carotene out the yin-yang, etc.
I like to indulge my cravings for vegetables, when i get them. At least it's not chocolate, eh?
So I'll peel and cut up a couple of sweet potatoes, pop them into the steamer basket, and then steam them for 20ish minutes. Dump them out of the steamer basket into a bowl, add a little butter and salt, and smash smash smash with a fork.
And eat. Mmmmm. There's even leftovers for, yes, breakfast the next morning. Sweet potatoes go really well with coffee. You heard it here first.
It could be that I'm just nuts, however. Sweet potatoes are good in that whole "my body has been craving them" sense, right now.
When I make books, I take all of my supplies downstairs, to the coffee table.
I always have the covers made up already, so I don't have to do that. I watch movies while I mark and fold paper, and keep watching them while I'm tearing paper.
I sit back on the couch, with my legs folded under me, and I sew the books together.
The thread is waxed, which means it fights me when i tell it to go places. But once it's in place, there it stays, which is the great redeeming quality of waxed thread, this obstinacy. It's why I like stubborn people, as well.
The needle weaves. Out through the signature, around the previous stitch, back through the hole and then on to the next. pull, pull, but gently; the paper is deceptively tough, but wrong pressure placed there or there and it'll tear.
Slowly, the signatures stack, and the form of the stitch begins to show itself, chains of thread binding together the pages.
I love doing this in part because it is meditation. I am able to do it mindfully, to bind my intentions into the book.
The needle keeps weaving, long after the last stitch is made.
So I'm taking a week off of work. I'm spending Christmas Eve and Day with my local family, which should be fun. I've got most of my Christmas present in order, though I haven't started on my Christmas cards yet. oops.
Not sure what I'm doing, other than running errands tomorrow morning. I have a couple of books to finish, a few other projects to work on. But, really, I have nothing huge planned. Sleeping late, running, taking buses places.
It's been a while since I had a vacation where I wasn't going somewhere. I'm looking forward to it.
Earlier today, I cleared off, dusted, and relaid my altar. It was interesting how things fell this time. When I'm rearranging my altar, I don't think, just move things around until they feel right. For the first time in a year or so, both of my athames are very much in evidence. For a long time, even the one athame that was out was bound--wrapped in a cord that a friend of mine made for me. The wand's bound now, and placed across the tips of the athames. The focal point is my mask, which has been the object that has consistently represented my creative side. Surrounding the mask are a couple of representations of the element of Air.
No interpretations, here. It should be interesting to see what the next quarter brings.
Tonight's the longest night of the year, and here in the Northwest the nights are very long indeed. It marks the end of a downward cycle that starts as Samhain. For three months, the world winds down to winter, and I take walks through my past. I've been doing a lot of that in the past couple of weeks, as there are some riddles that have unknotted for me, and some events that have finally been explained.
The older I get, the more of the old stuff I lay down. The path behind me is strewn with old things that I've decided to put down, and each thing recedes into the distance. As I understand what each hurt was for, as I understand how each joy built me into the person I am today, I am able to look at each thing and understand it, and release it from me.
I've never been really good at letting go of things, but i'm getting better at it. Everything is telling me that it's time.
It's been a quiet weekend. I made a couple of small books, to refresh myself on coptic stitch before I make a couple of large books for people as Christmas gifts. Today, I walked over to U Village and then cleaned. Also, cleaned out the kitchen cabinets, and threw away a bunch of stuff that I know i'll never eat.
I just have to figure out what to do with three cans of coconut milk. I mean, I should be able to think of something. Just not sure what, right now.
I've also been having a terrible, huge craving for sweet potatoes. In particular, steamed and smashed sweet potatoes, sans brown sugar and marshmallows (which makes them icky, anyway). I've decided to indulge myself in this craving, in large part because sweet potatoes, though now low-carb, are also not all that bad for you. Beta carotene out the yin-yang, etc.
I like to indulge my cravings for vegetables, when i get them. At least it's not chocolate, eh?
So I'll peel and cut up a couple of sweet potatoes, pop them into the steamer basket, and then steam them for 20ish minutes. Dump them out of the steamer basket into a bowl, add a little butter and salt, and smash smash smash with a fork.
And eat. Mmmmm. There's even leftovers for, yes, breakfast the next morning. Sweet potatoes go really well with coffee. You heard it here first.
It could be that I'm just nuts, however. Sweet potatoes are good in that whole "my body has been craving them" sense, right now.
When I make books, I take all of my supplies downstairs, to the coffee table.
I always have the covers made up already, so I don't have to do that. I watch movies while I mark and fold paper, and keep watching them while I'm tearing paper.
I sit back on the couch, with my legs folded under me, and I sew the books together.
The thread is waxed, which means it fights me when i tell it to go places. But once it's in place, there it stays, which is the great redeeming quality of waxed thread, this obstinacy. It's why I like stubborn people, as well.
The needle weaves. Out through the signature, around the previous stitch, back through the hole and then on to the next. pull, pull, but gently; the paper is deceptively tough, but wrong pressure placed there or there and it'll tear.
Slowly, the signatures stack, and the form of the stitch begins to show itself, chains of thread binding together the pages.
I love doing this in part because it is meditation. I am able to do it mindfully, to bind my intentions into the book.
The needle keeps weaving, long after the last stitch is made.
So I'm taking a week off of work. I'm spending Christmas Eve and Day with my local family, which should be fun. I've got most of my Christmas present in order, though I haven't started on my Christmas cards yet. oops.
Not sure what I'm doing, other than running errands tomorrow morning. I have a couple of books to finish, a few other projects to work on. But, really, I have nothing huge planned. Sleeping late, running, taking buses places.
It's been a while since I had a vacation where I wasn't going somewhere. I'm looking forward to it.
