Ah yes, the New Year…

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This morning, because her words reached me and are doing their intended work, I’m borrowing from Rachel Alana (R.A Falconer), Midwives of the Soul, with deep appreciation for her gift.

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~ This year, dear friends, may we all lose weight!

The weight of expectations. The weight of self-criticism. The weight of disconnect that fills us with a deeper hunger. The weight of not always loving. The weight of a worn and weary world. Of not always accepting, seeing, and inhabiting this precious and sacred body that we’re in.

~ This year, dear friends, may we all exercise!

…our holy will! Our sacred sense of purpose. Our vision and hard-earned wisdom. Our discernment and our shining hearts. In ways that enrich connections, with our bodies, our souls and those we love. And even to the world. ❤

~ This year, ah yes… may we all start the work of quitting…

…that collective Kool-Aid. The negative self-talk. The small-assed living. That cacophony of cockatoo-voices that drown out our souls. And old habits: Those used to stop us hearing our pain, our disappointments, and all things much better loved, seen and accepted right down to the very bottom ~ and to find true freedom, through a connection with our deepest souls.

And…

~ This fine new year, (well, here’s the best…) May we all be rich!

Yes, utterly and completely rich. Wildly and unapologetically. Rich in love. Life. Connection with one another and all that really matters. Filled to the brim and bubbling over; more again and spilling over that. Full of laughter, acceptance, joy, and less of worry. Less of sorrow ~

Rich in renewed experience, of a whole new year! ❤

Happy 2025, dear friends!

~Rachel Alana (R.A Falconer)

Midwives of the Soul

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Ahem (cough, cough) …

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America, it’s the dawning of a Brave New World. By all accounts this letter is legit, although apparently not published by an official government entity, so if it isn’t satire we have three choices: denounce it / embrace it / or ignore it, knowing how willful blindness turned out last time the world was in this mood. We can now see the precipice from here, kids.

Take note of the instructions to the churches and neighborhoods.

An Indian Nations University is part of my town so I see lots of beautiful brown people I won’t be turning in to anyone ever. Nor anyone else whose pigment is enviably dark and compelling. Nor anyone, ever. It seems impossible that this country is really at this ugly juncture and that the lives and livelihoods of Americans are being openly threatened for their place of origin and the shade of their skin-suit. The language of the notice is chilling… how can this be America?

We need to all, at this moment, embrace the awareness. We can’t claim we didn’t know. That light at the end of the tunnel? It’s a freight train.

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Fractured fairytales…

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Once upon a time, strange as it may sound, Christmas happened in a world that wasn’t ready for it, making things discombobulated and odd from the start of the season. Planet LOOK.AT.US. was out of sorts and feeling aloof from the whole affair. Things were not right in the kingdom and no one knew how to fix it. Such a different holiday it was shaping up to be, with far too much sadness in the mix.

But wait… since the task of Christmas is to lighten hearts and gladden the soul, I must give you, instead, the story of The Four Farmer’s Daughters… have you heard this one? Get another cup of coffee and pull up a chair, it goes like this:

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We were festive…

Just not THIS festive.

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Christmas Day this year was sweet and special in too many ways to list, but you know I’ll try. It’s hard to sort out what the whole thing is about for me now, but what remains… always… from the past and forever… is the love. It’s entirely a feel-good day if we can do it right.

Rita was here, she and I wore our Christmas jammies, the Chiefs won, and dinner was amazing.

The traditional cheese ball I hadn’t made in 30 years. The recipe holds up.

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Salmon filets in cream sauce with spinach and cherry tomatoes over Jasmine rice; candied carrots, and cheesy biscuits. And vino. Dessert was warm fruit tarts with ice cream.

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The usual suspects.

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Today we’re being hugged by a heavy fog and indoors is where it’s at. Perfect.

Let quiet and peace soak into your bones, and savor every blessing.

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It’s Christmas Eve Eve…

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The passage of months, weeks, days, and hours delivers us once again to The Holidays, a time of year we celebrate religiously whether we are or not. Christmas is such a fusion of new and ancient traditions, from pagan to Holy of Holies, it’s hard to know just what to make of it as an adult. If I were a novice looking in, I’d be totally baffled by all the cognitive disconnect involved and mystified as to what Baby Jesus has to do with singing mice in Christmas hats, and other flights of fancy. I would also be troubled by how militant Jesus appears to have become while I wasn’t noticing.

Christmas Past was always about family more than anything else. There was abundant food, a pile of packages under the tree, music, aromas, laughter, and hugs, all cooking down to a big happy mess called family. At least once every year we were many and we were mighty… and that feeling of belonging to something bigger than yourself can’t be replicated, so I miss it. Time extracts an inevitable toll on family dynasties… we become citizens of the world, taking our children and grandchildren with us, until the connections pull taut and start to fray. We don’t know each other, which is standard for this time in history but makes for a little melancholy nonetheless.

Christmas, whatever it may be, always arrives on time, even in war-torn areas and battle-weary hearts of every kind. It’s a few hours, a day, a week, in which we seek to make ourselves whole and new again before we screw up yet another year of living. Sigh… “it’s the most wonderful time of the year.”

And it really is, regardless. I have no idea what the whole thing represents to most people now, but the lights and decorations, the pictures of children’s happy faces, and the generous atmosphere improve the scene during an otherwise mostly gray season, no matter what.

It’s gray and chill this morning and nearly all the trees have finally dropped their leaves except the sugar maples, so it’s almost time to make the cookies and dust the chimney before Midnight Mass.

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A sincere Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and wishes for a good and safe year ahead.

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Let the light always remind us…

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… that the sun will soon return.

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Still there, world?

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What a long strange trip it’s been… and growing stranger by the minute. The air feels muted and in a state of suspended animation, but it’s winter time and the trees stand diminished in their vulnerable nakedness, painting stark lines against a gray sky. Nobody’s saying much, though, which brings a room down in a hurry. And it’s cold out, that’ll do it for sure. This is a strange time in history that we hoped never to see… but we instinctively knew that if it ever did arrive, it would look a lot like this.

So kids, if the voting stats are true we’re faced with the knowledge that a third to half the nation is opposed, often violently, to the values held by the other half. What do we even do with a sobering statistic like that? The next four years, and who knows how many more, lie before us. Days, weeks, months, and years when we won’t know which half of the people we encounter hate us and all we stand for, which half would prefer that we exist elsewhere or not at all. It is, to say the least, unsettling.

The nation that has represented freedom to the rest of the world is now scheming to rid the country of “undesirables,” by force and all other means necessary. It’s incomprehensible.

And there’s this, which we knew would be coming at us eventually:

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Time… free but priceless

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First thing I noticed this morning is that it’s December, which is a little disconcerting since January was only a few heartbeats ago, and I distinctly remember making plans for how the year might progress. Oh, it is to laugh. Plans are to the universe as the cape is to the bull, with similarly predictable results.

This stretch of time from election to inauguration feels like the calm before a highly capricious storm that has us asking “How bad will it be and how quickly will it happen?” I remind myself every day to sit in peace and let it soak into my bones because it’s a precious resource that may turn out to be non-renewable.

It’s the return to governmental chaos on steroids that I dread. It’s been a lovely four years in which President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris have not viewed us as spectators to their illustrious lives by bombarding us with daily, nay hourly, updates via TV and social media. It’s been a wonderful thing to just breathe for a while. I like breathing. It’s been a nice break to have the adults in charge. It’s more than possible that wholesale change is upon us, and for a girl who has always claimed to welcome change… this time around the block I do not.

It’s all real and it’s parked on our doorstep, so here we go, kids. Hold hands and look both ways before you cross the street.

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Don’t surrender in advance. And bear in mind that insubordination can be subtle.

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