Starting with full storehouses ~ harvest and new year blessings

Starting with full storehouses ~ harvest and new year blessings

If I said to you today Happy New Year, you’d think me mad, perhaps. But at rise of the new moon today, a new year begins: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosh_Hashanah and I can’t help thinking that starting a new year at harvest time with full storehouses makes much better sense that doing as our calender does, and starting it in the bleakest of deep mid winter when the worst of the weather is still to come and the joys of Christmas are past and forgotten as you pack away the tinsel, and in the not-too-distant-past people would worry whether the stores would last them out till the following year. Starting at harvest time means starting with optimism and a sense of achievement.

Autumn is a beautiful season in this country, filled with colour and changing scenes as the various harvests are brought home. Wheat and barley are gathered in, and the many other crops are either in or on their way. Wild harvests of nuts and berries will go in as the days shorten, and the apples on our trees are ripe and ready to bring in. There aren’t as many this year as the trees got a much-needed pruning and a lot of manure was spread about their roots. But I’m thinking now of other sorts of harvest, the kind you don’t stack in stooks or boil to make jam.

I have terrible tendency to think little of my achievements. I often forget that with less-than-perfect health, I’ve got a lot done in the nine months that have already gone by of this year. There’s not a lot to show for it, though, because most is unfinished works-in-progress. I’ve done around 30k words since April, long-hand, of a sequel to Square Peg, and I’ve added lots of words to other books. I’ve written some poetry, and I’ve done a LOT of journal work. I’ve also been working with dreams, so my dream journal and my active imagination journal have been busy. I’ve done a fair bit of painting for my Jungian exploration. I’ve put out the new book. And so it goes on. I must fight with myself to accept these things as powerful, valuable matter to go into my personal metaphysical harvest, as achievements to build upon during the coming winter, the coming year and onwards. Just as my apple trees need feeding and pruning, so too does my inner life if it is to see continuing harvests in the future.

My blessings to you on this special day.

apples and chalice

apples and chalice

Lammas Dream

I woke  this morning after a night of odd dreams, one of which moved me to tears. Last night I had to fetch back my hive of bees after we’d been informed that it was being raided by wasps so we were late back last night and had to get the girls settled in a discreet part of the garden, working by torchlight. I’m mulling over a lot of things right now and am intending to start weaving them into a set of stories when I get a bit of time and energy, but this dream seems to be a part of the inner journey I am taking right now. I’m not going into any more than that as it’d take too long so I’ll give the gist of the central part of the dream.

I am not sure where I was, but it was a bit like one of the great summer fetes we have here in England and I’d wandered off a bit before finding a sort of gazebo or tent with it’s sides up, much like the ones you find at summer fairs and village fetes all over the country. But when I stepped inside it, everything changed. If I said it was decorated with autumn leaves and berries and ripe apples, I’d be damning it with faint praise. It was as though those things had magically just grown there. No flower arranger had had a hand in this; it was beyond beautiful. Branches of all sorts of trees seemed to have woven themselves together, some laden with nuts and berries like hazel and rowan, and others had apples and pears and plums and all sorts of other fruit as well as leaves that were changing colour to their autumn hues. But it was the atmosphere that made me cry with a strange atavistic joy. I’d stepped into the very presence of God, or that’s what it felt like. A deeper peace I can seldom remember experiencing. The scent of fruit flowers, leaves and barks filled the air and there was a profound expectant quiet like the feeling in a church when the last notes of the organ die away leaving a resonance like silver hanging in the air. Apart from me, no one was there. I simply didn’t want to leave. The dream moved on then and other things happened that I must ponder later.

When I finally woke this morning and drank tea, I remembered today is Lammas, the feast of the ripening corn and the harvest. I’d woken with tears of joy and sorrow at leaving that tent of God and now I feel I must seek it again or even create my own corner of it.

Lammas blessings to everyone who reads this.