We’ve had more snow here than has fallen in over 100 years,
and through it, as through all weather and Nature, the Goddess is
speaking. The Goddess has been teaching me a powerful and peaceful
lesson with snow.
As opposed to hurricaines and lightening storms, where Her voice is a
powerful roar that forces you to listen in awe, Her snow over the past
few days has brought me understanding of the phrase “… the still,
soft voice.”. From a different (Christian) context, the idea is the
same. Sometimes the Goddess speaks in a whisper, sometimes Her voice
can be heard in the silence of the muffled, white-blanketed peace of
snow. Everything is quieter – few or no cars driving by, no
lawnmowers making their racket, and even the sounds of people
shoveling, walking their dogs or the wind are softer and hushed. When
we stop for a moment and listen, the world is a still, soft place.
And because she’s draped the world in silence, you don’t have to
strain so much to hear her voice and feel her presence. It’s like
she’s the only one out there who isn’t bundled up and shivering –
she’s beautiful, wind and snowflakes swirling around her. Here’s what
I’ve heard her say: “Slow down. Stop even for a moment. Breathe.
Close your eyes. Listen. Feel. Empty your mind. Your time on
Earth, in this body, is short. Spend time in the presence, being
truly present, of those you love and care about. Make time for what’s
important in your life, and prioritize the rest. Rest. Relax. This
is the time of year for those things. Find peace within, as I offer
you temporary peace without. I will always love you, and I am always
with you (even if you are not always with me).”
I hope you feel and find the same peace in the still, soft breath of
the Goddess outside. This snow is a blessing and part of Her infinite
grace and magick.
Snowy blessings and stay warm,
By Aurora Star Light Bringer
As the wheel of the year turns another eighth, Imbolc has a bolstering effect that is a necessary at this time of the year and after the lessons learned at the last quarter.
Imbolc always finds me when I am about ready to throw in the towel. Like the season which is gray and sloppy, cold and barren, I find myself frazzled, belaboring my every mistake and bemoaning each slight annoyance that comes my way.
Scarcely six weeks ago, Winter Solstice taught us faith, but in the cold, messy gray that surrounds us, it’s hard to hold to the promise of the returning of the light. Now, surrounded by leafless trees, just about out of patience with faith, Imbolc finds us asking “Yes, but when?”.
Where Winter Solstice finds us in the dark night of the soul, Imbolc is the first light of dawn. This cross-quarter marks the first salmon-colored light of the rising sun. Where Winter Solstice urged us to keep the faith that light would return, Imbolc offers us proof. Mornings and afternoons are lighter, snow melts, revealing blades of grass and rogue bulbs begin to send tender green shoots up from barren garden beds. Imbolc shows us evidence of the coming of the light. Imbolc renews our faith. Through signs of Spring, it offers us a new sacrament: hope.
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