A Season of Songs

Births bring about remakings at the center of us - surprising, joyful, often weighted with unexpected gravity.

Beginnings, changes, openings, portals...

They come to us in seasons of magic, bearing songs.

These seasons of magic build in us. They may seem to burst suddenly into our skies, but in truth they are becomings.

Bloomings... that have their ancient code embedded into our blood and soul breath.

They creep into our lungs and sing songs that only our feet hear at first, as they tread cool earth in bare skin.

No thing of worth simply appears. There is the waiting and watering time. The weaving and threading time. The time of silence. The time of tears and tenacity. There is the baking and glazing time. The calm before the storm time. The time of questioning. The time of doubt. The time we stand wide as grown oaks, standing our ground and shaking our limbs at the thief who would rob us of light. There is the preparatory time of gathering leaves and fine moss. There is the fire making time, to ward off the chill.... There is the laying to rest time, and the time to bear down.

This season of magical openings we find ourselves in arrives only because of the seasons before it. The season we suffered. The season we lost. The season we wondered. The season we wept.

And now, the opening. The thinning veil and holy graces. The cricket songs and fertile voices.

The blooming songs we are given are holy offerings meant to be given away- to the forests and fields, to the rivers. There we will hear what we have heard before, what is sacred to Self, what is life for us, what is our path, what is ours, what is to be left.

Where is your song, sweet soul?

Where is the singing in your body?

Are you in seasons of dryness, of cracking, of drought?

Don't lose your hope. Your heart.

Your song lives. In the bones.

Open your parched throat.

Give life to your song, and it will become.

You will become. In season.