Hello friends,

 

The changes I've been going through internally are beginning to show on the outside, and one way this is manifesting is craving a complete re-design of the way I do my sacred work. Starting with this newsletter. Going forward, it will have a new look and a new name. In the last newsletter, I introduced a new series, Field Notes from the Wild Within, but as it turns out, this creation isn't content to be just another project. It wants to take center stage. 

 

I've been caught up in the flurry of activity that comes in late autumn, as we prepare for winter. Finish up home and garden projects. Put the tools away. Purge the clutter. Clear the to-do list. And my favorite: re-arrange my creative and sacred spaces for the quiet reflection and deep creativity of the darker months. 

 

When I was younger, I craved the long days of summer. Probably because it was the only time I was able to enjoy unstructured days playing and lounging outside, without anyone telling me where to be or what to do. As I mature into my Queen years, Autumn is now the season I long for each year. The bright colors against a backdrop of deep green. Foggy mornings. Moss and mushrooms. The wind dancing through the trees. The feeling of letting go. Settling down. Opening to stillness.

 

It's similar to the nesting instinct that comes in late pregnancy, when we are called to create a safe space to welcome our new child into the world. Only this nesting is about making space to welcome ourselves back home. 

 

It starts with moving the furniture and putting everything in piles. Sweeping the space, lighting some incense and then, step by step, asking myself, “what needs to be here?” Following my desire for beauty, the process becomes a sensual dance of form and function.  Finding unexpected answers to unasked questions along the way. Creative problem solving rooted in the story of now. 

 

Listening to the Earth in my body to create a sustainable environment aligned with purpose. Listening to the creatures (plant, animal, and stone) who share my space. Taking their needs into account, alongside my own. The result is a seamless blend of nature and technology. Rest and productivity. Chaos and structure.
 

That's the power of Magical Puttering.
It births a sanctuary, where the Mystery becomes manifested.

 

On a foggy morning, the coyote arrived through a green opening at the edge of a broken fence. My guess is that he was a young one, not very skilled at hunting. The squirrels kept evading him by running up trees. When I came out onto the deck, he behaved in a way that I would expect a wild animal to behave; he ran away and crawled back through the hole in the fence, temporarily disappearing into the greenspace beyond. But he kept coming back. For three full days, he made his home beside the blackberry hedge on the edge of my property. Resting and hunting, with no kill to show for his efforts. By the end, it took all the willpower I had not to toss him a chicken breast. 

 

Cautiously, so as not to scare him away, I opened the window and played my drum. We had a conversation. I asked “what am I to learn" and “how can I tend this relationship”? I expressed my gratitude for his visit, “you're welcome to share space with me…" and declared my boundaries “…but keep your distance when I'm gardening and I don't want to see any of my cats end up as your lunch!”

 

On the fourth day, I looked for him in his usual spot, but there was no sign. Maybe we had said all that needed to be said. Maybe he found his pack. Maybe it was a rare magic that is only possible during eclipse season. Maybe it wasn't just a visit, it was a call, and I didn't respond, so he moved on.

 

My home has become my sanctuary and I am reluctant to wander far from its warm embrace. My middle aged body has shown me its limitations (now that I'm listening). My mind has been liberated from the pressure to do "all the things." So where does this leave my youthful craving for adventure?

 

 

 For more of the story and to find out what I learned from Coyote, click here.