 This time of year I feel like I’m sitting in the middle of a pressure cooker. The energy and tension seem to build until it shifts quite dramatically on January 1st. I am so curious about it. I study/observe/sit with it year after year. Certainly it is a transition and humans often struggle with transitions of all sizes in big and small ways. But at this time of year we are urged to move through the transition without a hint of honoring the trepidation we might be feeling and so I think for many it becomes an unconscious pressure that miraculously feels lighter when New Year’s Day comes around. But this has left me wondering “How often in our world are we invited to simply linger in the in-between?”
In my tradition, the in-between, the thresholds are something to be sanctified. We place a ritual object called a mezuzah within our doorframes. This relic for me is a deep reminder that beauty and the divine can inhabit the smallest of spaces and that the in-between is just as valuable as where I am headed. A mezuzah also reminds me no matter how small or large a space is, it can be a place for contemplation, connection, and devotion. At this gate of the new year, my first invitation is for you to literally sit in a doorway. I like to sit (or stand) with my back leaning against one side of the doorframe (with the mezuzah above my head) facing the other side of the door frame. Here I sit and envision the mezuzah dropping a sacred divine blessing into the top of my head. If do not have a mezuzah and you would like to have your own sacred image in your doorframe that would be lovely (or any image that feels like a blessing to you - a dove, heart, spiral, sun, star, moon, etc). You can visualize the symbol or tack one up above you and then sit against the doorframe and breathe. Feel the threshold supporting you, not pushing you into the present or the past, but to linger in this in-between space and notice if even a drop of your being says “thank you.” My second invitation is into reflection with me. Not to change anything (you can if you want), but to take account of your life lived. To create space for what dwells inside you: your hopes, dreams, frustrations, disappointments, resentments, insecurities, talents, grief, gifts, and everything else which resides in your being-ness. Where are the thresholds inside you - the places where two emotions, two feelings, two thoughts touch? What is the smallest drop of reverence and devotion you can invite into this internal threshold? What oh-so-very-ordinary, mundane space inside you can you adorn with a sacred, beautiful energy to show how miraculous the ordinary truly is? I hope as you move into this next year, the threshold is a space where you can return to again and again as a source of blessing, wisdom, compassion, and gentleness for the journey of being human. Blessings, Valerie
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 One of the first lessons I learned on my spiritual journey was the wheel of the year, a way to keep track of time by the natural world - the equinoxes, solstices, and the cross-quarter days (Imbolc, Beltaine, Lammas, Samhain).
It would be easy to flatten this following into a rote, two dimensional cliché - fall, winter, spring, summer - with their ascribed meaning and symbols always the same year in and year out. But after 30 years of following this rhythm I’m in awe of the nuance, subtleties, and differences that each season brings year after year. This is my 48th Halloween and no two have been the same. There maybe whispers of the years past, imprints of what the season represents and holds. But it’s impossible to meet each Halloween exactly the same, because I am not the same year after year. Yes the basic blueprint of me is constant, but constant does not mean static. We are not static beings no matter how much we so want to be. So while we can say fall is a time of pumpkins, candy, and leaves falling, there is so much more variation from year to year. Lately noticing the subtleties is what gets me through the day. Often as we move through our spiritual lives the signs and guideposts become more and more wisps and whispers. If we continually expected the very loud moments again and again we would soon find ourselves disappointed or on a quest to find bigger, better, more and more or what could be called spiritual greed. But if we move out of cliché and into the realities of life - paradox, complexities, nuance, and contradictions, these qualities lead us into the quieter and deeper layers of our being. And there we might find more contentment and less of the grabbing quality that comes with bigger and better. This is what the Samhain season invites us into. When the veil between the spiritual and the material thins, things may not get more showy and obvious but quieter and steeped in the unknown. It’s the invitation into a whisper and a stillness. An invitation that doesn’t rest on only the logical, linear, and tangible. What a reprieve this season offers us from our modern expectations. We are midway between fall equinox and winter solstice during this first week of November. We are moving to the more quiet and barren (vulnerable) time of year. This time is an invitation to begin the travels to the deep within. So light the fires and let them whisper to you. Feel the warmth of your tea (or pumpkin spice latte) mug and let it gently soothe you again and again. Invite these simple rituals to help you navigate your own internal landscape. What is inside you that needs tending to at this moment? What is whispering that has yet to be heard? How are your feelings showing up and asking to be witnessed? Invite spirit to come and sit with you in silence and notice how the release from the expectation of answers offers freedom for both you and spirit to just be. Let this season burrow inside you, so as the winter approaches you are more and more comfortable with your tenderness and in turn the world’s tenderness. Blessings, Valerie  Although I grieved for a long time, over a year, it was accepted as a normal part of life. I was never asked, “Aren’t you finished grieving yet?” Rather, they would say, “have you grieved enough? Have you cried enough?” -Sobonfu Somé This year marks 25 years since my father died. My father got sick when I was a senior in high school and died the year after I graduated college. It was the crucible my adulthood was forged in.
Grief became something of a curiosity (special interest) for me. From that moment on, the only certainty of life I knew was that some time, some way, I would feel this complicated, complex, compounded set of emotions again and again. For 30 years I have been actively dancing with grief. Mystified and humbled by it, I go to bed every night acutely aware of its possibility, and wake up every day with it as my companion. Because what I know of grief is that while it may shift and lessen in intensity, it is there just below the surface, and one little scratch brings it back. The other day I got a message from a client asking me to remind them how to move through heavy grief. I am always humbled, honored, and deeply compassionate with a request for healing grief. It is probably one of the most complicated, complex, bewildering emotions that humans face. Grief is a visceral, physical, heart- and head-hurting experience. When we are in it, most of us wonder how to get out of it. We want it to end. We put a time frame on it and think that once it is over, we can go back to living as we once did. But as you know, there really is no going back. Grief is a tender time to lean into what soothes, while making space for the painful and uncomfortable. So how do I move through heavy grief? I give it time to be. I give it much more time than I “think” it should need (and what our society deems acceptable). I give grief space. Space to be present. Space to talk about it, to cry, to yell, to sleep, to comfort eat, or to not eat at all. I give myself permission for anything that brings some comfort and feels like what my body wants to do - or not do. I honor my body’s wishes. What I don’t do is ignore it. On grief anniversaries, I plan for them - I take the day off and let my loved ones know I may be "in a mood." I give myself space and time to tend to my emotions. I lean into memories (I can remember everything about the day before and the days after my dad died, and I let myself remember them). And when the grief anniversary is tied to a person, I celebrate them - my dad loved shopping and eating ice cream, so that is what I do on his day. There is no quick way to get out of grief. And getting out of it isn’t really an option. It becomes a dance partner who at first makes you feel awkward and raw. Slowly it morphs into a partner who one moment is filled with the grace of life, and the next is stepping on your toes and dropping you to the ground. It’s the most human dance of all. I wish that grief would never visit any of us. But as the saying goes, “grief is the price we pay for love,” and my greatest wish is that we each know love. So my prayer is that when we find ourselves in grief, we may feel the gentle holding of the earth and be companioned by those who carry the medicine of time and space. Sincerely, Valerie  Spring Equinox corresponds with the rising sun (the direction east) and the Aries New Moon (the beginning of the astrological year), an aligned moment each year to begin again. In life each beginning starts with a question - an honest inquiry that sets us in motion. Yet how often do we give energy to crafting the question?
Where in our culture have we been taught to ask a question which is tender and innocent, less critical and snarky? Where have we been taught to ask the questions from the heart (vulnerable and compassionate) as opposed to the “head” questions that fill our learning systems? As we know, the set-up, i.e. the questions, designates the tone for the whole journey. Humans hunger for answers. We search for answers in books, people, oracles, and inside ourselves. But so often the answers elude us and we get frustrated. And in our frustration we think it must be the wrong book, the wrong teacher, the wrong oracle, etc. What if answers eluding us is due to asking the wrong questions? All journeys begin with a question. We are often afraid of wise and provocative questions - what path might they lead us down? What hard truths might I have to face? Who would we transform into? Questions are powerful and the refining of our questions is the quickest and most transformative way to uncover the answers that we seek. What if we honored questions for what they were? A doorway to more questions and a way to cultivate greater curiosity. An inquiry all on their own, whether an answer arises wouldn't be the point. What if we held questions in high regard and not just something that directly moved us to action? How would questions change us if they were not about the answer, but about simply getting deeper and deeper to more questions and therefore more truths? For many years I had a prayer practice that required several rounds of prayer. Each round started with a question, and each round brought me closer to the answers I sought. At the end of each round I would find myself with a new question - one that was clearer and more refined in regards to what my heart & soul were really grappling with. By the end of the three rounds, I was grateful for the opportunity to improve in my original question. I found that what I considered an impediment to my development often diminished with the wiser questions. This spring equinox my invitation is for each of us to be open to questions leading to more questions. To invite an abundance of answers through a fertile practice of questioning, and not to halt inquiry simply because one answer has been found. May we all have a practice of inquiry that allows kind, gentle, delicate questions as you would ask a baby bird instead of the stern, task master questions so many of us hear in our internal worlds. May your question be ever wiser and lead you to a deeper knowing of yourself and the world around you. As ever, Valerie  Imbolc is the time of year between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. This is possibly my favorite time of year, at this time in my life. The balance of day and night, cold with the promise of new growth, and yet still social acceptable to hibernate. Each one of us has a season we favor. Have your favorites changed over time? Mine have and to me this reflection of how and why mine have changed has brought some welcome insights.
When I was young, I would say summer was my favorite - hello, no school and abundant pool time (I love water). As I reached my adulthood, fall was my favorite, the return of school (learning in connection), the crisper air, the vibrant colors, and some of my favorite food flavors in abundance. At some point fall gave way to spring, a season filled with hope and newness. And now this year, I notice my love for this midwinter point, Imbolc. The trees are still bare, modeling strength in vulnerability, the air is still cold, the night is still abundant, and even with winter still heavy in the air, signs of new growth are visible in the garden. The very tops of the peonies are a few millimeters out of the ground, and daffodil leaves have pierced through the winter beds. This moment, with just the smallest signs of a new season, the tiniest spark, is digestible to my being. This time is marked by turning towards nature in a variety of traditions: Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day, Groundhog Day, Lunar New Year, Tu Bishvat (the Jewish holiday celebrating trees). Marking this time is as old as we are. May we find comfort in the subtle signs that something new is on the horizon. My invitation for you during this touchpoint - what are the arcs that you have witnessed in your own being? How many Imbolcs have you witnessed? Where were you 5, 10, 20, 50 years ago during this season? What new majestic caverns have been carved within throughout those eras? Drop by drop is the everlasting way. Each Imbolc lands differently year after year. When we start to measure our lives by nature's time, we see our evolution in a more spacious and grace filled way. Instead of beating ourselves up for not moving fast enough, or hustling to accomplish, we witness the smaller, deeper changes of the caverns within. And those changes that move at a slower pace, that consider time in long arcs instead of bite size 24 hours, 30 days, 1 year, anchor us again and again into our way, not other people's way. My hope is this season offers you a gentle reflection of how you have shifted throughout the weather of your life. That you allow yourself to be in whatever season your find yourself in, knowing others have been there before you. And that this Imbolc is the reminder that the smallest signs of life find us when we are deep in wintering. May the fires burn bright for you during this season of hope and renewal. Blessings, Valerie  Here we stand in the in-between, the doorway from one year to the next. I was born at this in-between time. I was starting life on the last day of the year, when everyone else (except my birthday twins) was closing a chapter and readying to pick up with the new. It is a strange time to have a birthday (in my experience). Lots of energy, lots of expectations, and a celebration where the focus isn’t really on the present but what’s to come when the clock strikes midnight. For me, birthdays are joyous certainly, and they also conjure up deep reflections within. This paradox is much like standing in a threshold - you are neither here nor there, OR maybe you are both here and there.
In my tradition, thresholds are something to be sanctified. We place a ritual object called a mezuzah within our doorframes. This relic for me is a deep reminder that beauty and the divine can inhabit the smallest of spaces. And no matter how small or large a space is, it can be a place for contemplation, connection, and devotion. At this gate of the new year, I invite you into reflection with me. Not to change anything (you can if you want), but to take account of your life lived. To create space for what dwells inside you: your hopes, dreams, frustrations, disappointments, resentments, insecurities, talents, grief, gifts, and everything else which resides in your being-ness. Where are the thresholds inside you - the places where two emotions, two feelings, two thoughts touch? What is the smallest drop of reverence and devotion you can invite into this internal threshold? What oh-so-very-ordinary, mundane space inside you can you adorn with a sacred, beautiful energy to show how miraculous the ordinary truly is? I hope as you move into this next year, the threshold is a space where you can leave behind what no longer serves you, and step into the mantle of wisdom, compassion, gentleness, and knowing. Blessings, Valerie  It’s the end of the year and I am tired. Thank goodness it's the season of rest (said no human ever in December, though the natural world in the northern hemisphere would disagree). It has been a year of personal accomplishments and spectacular failures. A year of deepened relationships and relationships lost. And a year of several personal health quagmires and recently a death in the family. My year could be your year. It is a year of being human.
And being human is not a moral failing. We react before we can think, we respond when we are more aware, we hide when we are frightened, we get sick, we mis-communicate, and we perpetually learn what works for us and what is no longer needed. Life is a laboratory where we are continually experimenting and course correcting. But instead of resting in this tinkering, many of us suffer trying to strive for a static arrival. I don’t want any of us to suffer. But denying suffering isn’t not suffering. It’s denying. Sometimes denial is a much needed survival skill and other times denial is what keeps us from the freedom we seek. To cozy up to denial and willingly take a peak around the corner takes courage and requires deep vulnerability and humility. It takes embracing that we are human. And humans are collective, transitory creatures. Knowing this - how can we rest in this knowing of our ephemeralness, which we spend so much of our lives trying to deny? One simple way is to remember we and all of our neighbors are part of nature. Not separate from it. The trees shed and we shed. The crops have a cycle and so do we. Each form we take builds upon another and another. The weather is dynamic, the seasons change, animals migrate & hibernate, and the physical ends while the luminescent remains. Surrounding all of this in every nook and cranny is the invitations for joy, engaging our senses, communing with others, celebrating, creating, laughing, weeping, mourning, and above all else being. So in this pause of the solstice. A marking of time of one extreme before we make our way back to the other end of the continuum, I invite you to pause and give witness to your very human year. Everything you have experienced has been witnessed by the moon, the stars, the trees, and other living creatures. Who has supported you? Where has reciprocity been experienced? Where has there been a falling short? And finally what are you most proud of? And how can you savor the tiniest drop of that pride to help sustain you throughout this season? For 2023, my wish for us all is a year of being seen and support by those who care for you, a year where you become more you and are welcomed for it, and a year where being human is filled with more ease and joy. Solstice Blessings, Valerie 
This is a holy week for so many - Jews celebrating Passover and Christians observing Easter. Both holidays have roots in the ancient traditions and both have the themes of rebirth, renewal, faith, and resilience. It's hard not to witness these themes in our daily lives as the society that we know has changed dramatically in the last few weeks. We have been called on to dig deep into our personal reserves to muster resilience for even the most mundane of experiences - grocery shopping, walking around the neighborhood, navigating government structures, etc. To cope with this crisis, many of us are looking to the future, when life will be better, when we can return to "normal." But as the quote by Murakami so eloquently states, our normal will be new in its form. Our rebirth and renewal will be from a place that absorbs all the wisdom from this time, and leaves behind what is outdated, no longer useful, and personally destructive.The phoenix rising up from the cosmic fire, leaving its former self behind.
So many of us throughout our lives have experienced our own crucible that left us far from our beloved normal. When we are forced to move from what we hold dear, there is grief, sadness, and anger. But what I have also experienced (often with a HUGE dose of resistance) is an emergence of new opportunities and ways of being. We experience this as a reincarnation within our current life, pieces remain the same but are colored by newness that we never considered before. Frankly, I wouldn't be discussing these themes at this point in our collective crisis if this wasn't a holy week. But the timing is an invitation for us to take note of what is inspiring us, what is challenging us, and what whispers of new ways of being arising inside us. These small moments are breadcrumbs to the new normal we face once we emerge from this challenge. And we will emerge, just as creation from the egg and the phoenix from the flame have done over and over again. My invitation to you is to take notes, literal notes, of what is arising for you during this time. What are you enjoying? What is challenging you? What are the habits you turn to when you are limited in choices? How are you feeling? What are your concerns and worries? What are your observations of yourself, your community and culture? Once you make your notes leave them be if you want. Maybe now isn't the time to make meaning of all that is occurring, maybe it's time to add your notes to the fire and see what arises weeks, months, and years from now. It's hard to make meaning in the middle of an experience - and Goddess we are in the thick of it. But a storm eventually moves along, and in its wake there will be time to take stock of the person that emerges. But for now, as the storm rains heavy, I pray we each have shelter that is safe and healthy. I pray that the new normal lands with softness and grace. And I pray that this is a true season of Passover - where the Divine spares each of us hardship as we shelter. With devotion, Valerie |
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