Remember....

Forbidden Sorcery by Gabriele Negri (flickr) Creative Commons License

Remember

          who you once were

Wild

          not domesticated and living in boxes

Free

          not bound by chains of debt and obligation

Independent

          not serving so many others you have lost yourself

Strong

          not beaten down by life

Aware

          not mind-dulled by a constant stream of useless information

Primal

          in touch with the world around you

Tribal

          not living alone

          not feeling alone

          not fighting the world alone

Listen

          as the wind whispers in your ear

Hear

          the voices of your ancestors singing in your blood

Fight

          against those who will enslave you

Resist

          those who try to divide isolate you

Know

          that there is more to life than this

Find

          the ones who will stand at your back

Seek

          the primal knowledge that was once known by all

Answer

          the call of the Thornwood.

Age of Invisibility

Something's Missing by Allison Rose

I have entered the age of invisibility. Having passed my shiny hair and perky boobs, Cosmo-girl days, and then my young-mother days, I've moved into the graying-hair and carrying a few extra pounds days.

With it comes a cloak of invisibility. People literally no longer see me on the sidewalk or waiting in line at a store. People no longer speak to me in that flirty, warm way they have when they are trying to "get to know you."

Oh, there is one exception to the cloak of invisibility--people who are lost and need directions. To them I must exude a friendly librarian "safe" vibe that says I won't rob them or send them off into a bad neighborhood.

Instead of lamenting this change in my appearance, I'm trying to appreciate it. To cultivate it. To use it to my advantage. If I appear safe and non-threatening to everyone, this makes blending into the background much easier. It makes acting the Charade much easier. If you are unnoticed then you are free to work your magic, for the most part, because few people will suspect you of being the creator of changes around you.

The LIE Around Us...and the Thornish Way Around It

The world around us is a LIE.

It is a lie designed to keep us enslaved.

It is a lie designed to keep us forever struggling, constantly on edge, and feeling inadequate.

It is a lie designed to strip away your power.

It is a lie designed to make you believe that everything is scarce, to force you into competition with everyone else because THEY know if we work together we can overthrow the system.

There are more of us than there are overseers to imprison us.

But what is the answer? How do we escape? How do we escape the hamster wheel?

The answer is TRIBE.

Tribe. Community. Whatever word you choose to use for like-minded folks working together.

Once you recognize the LIE for what it is, you begin to awaken to other realities. Once you have seen the other realities, and the man-behind-the-curtain truth of our current mundane world, you can never look back to the innocence of days when you did not know.

Once you have seen through the lie, you begin to realize how so many people are simply hollow-eyed herdlings, following the rules, doing what they are told, dancing to the whims of those in power. They become distracted by the bread and circuses, by the Trumps and the sports teams and the Kardashians and high fashion and Game of Thrones and whatever else is being dangled before them as the Popular and Important Thing of the day.

We of the Thornwood cannot afford to be distracted by these things. We need to look beyond, to look forward, to look sideways, to find coyote-paths around the obstacles in front of us. Ours is a way of Balance, of strength, of knowing-beyond-knowing. Of gathering and waiting, of watching and exploring.

The Thornish Path is a way of patience, of knowing when to speak and when to play the Charade. It is not the way of the ox, plowing forward, disregarding all discretion. The Thornish Way is the way of the coyote and the raven. We seek the way over, under, around, and hiding in plain sight.

The time is now. Awaken to the LIE. See it for what it is. Once you see beyond the lie, you will begin to see the ones standing in the shadows, watching and waiting...

Be a Midwife for Change (or a Doula)

Wish I could find a credit for this image!

I think the world needs more midwives. Not just the kind that bring forth babies, but the kind that help to birth change in the world. An idea-midwife, a change-midwife. That will ease the world into the best position to bring forth change, and aren’t afraid to get their hands in there and manipulate the pressing-down head of change. Alongside them will be change-doulas, who will hold the Earth’s legs and cradle Her gently and remind everyone that is a part of Earth that they can do this! That it is always the most difficult part right before the change is born. That the terrorists and the crazy candidates and suicide bombings are all just contractions, just waves pushing positive change forward. The waves must be ridden, tamed, survived and used to propel that change-baby forward.

And at last change will crown, and it will be the most painful stage of all. And the change-midwife will be there right in the thick of it, hands covered in blood and the fluid of birth, catching the change-idea, making sure it is still breathing, that it survived its long difficult passage into existence. Maybe she will need to resuscitate it, breathe more life into its lungs, caress it briskly, or even use her hands to restart its heart.

Can't find a credit for this one either!

And then the change-baby will take its first  crying breath in this world. The change-midwife can then place the change-idea back on the breast of the Earth, handing it back to the millions of souls who birthed it so that now they can nourish it and bring it into existence in their own lives. And everyone smiles, and laughs in delight, and cries a little bit, or a lot, at the labor they have gone through and the change they have birthed.

So be a midwife of change, bringing new ideas and change into the world. Be a doula, encouraging and helping others when they are in the throes of change. And when you yourself are laboring to bring forth change, know that there is no shame in asking for help, asking for a doula to sit beside you and hold your hand, or a midwife to help pull the idea or change into this world.

Embracing the Gray

 I watch another clump of henna-red hair fall to the bottom of the shower. It hesitates momentarily, wriggling Medusa-like before it surrenders and slides down the drain.

I am almost a half-century old. When I was you and naive I always swore I would not be one of those women who dyed their hair. I would age gracefully, accepting the changes, defying society and the cult of the young and the beautiful.

Then I turned 40, and my eyesight began to weaken and streaks of gray hair appeared at my temples.

Oh no! So soon? But I am not ready to look old and gray. I don't want to look wise. I am still in college, still struggling to find meaningful work. I still want to look hot, dammit!

Maybe those streaks just look blonde. Maybe no one will notice...

And then the rogue grays began to appear, crinkled, sticking crazily out of my head at odd angles, refusing to be contained in ponytails. I plucked them angrily until they increased in number and I knew I was losing the battle.

I couldn't dye my hair with harsh chemicals. I am a seer, a Farer, a walker-between-worlds...my hair is like antennae, living, breathing, connecting me to the multiverse. Like in the movie Avatar, it is a connector. Stripping it, bleaching it, and dyeing it back to its original gold was not an option. So I took the only natural alternative I trusted--henna--and slowly, over the course of a few years, went from graying gold to copper.

And I hated it.

Correction: I loved the color. Looking at the length of it hanging past my waist, it was a gorgeous coppery-gold. The grays, under the influence of the henna, became almost blonde. But when I looked in the mirror, looked at myself with this red hair, I thought, "That's not me."

I didn't look like myself. The color seemed to clash, somehow, with my skin tone, with my blue eyes. The blood of my Celtic ancestors might have been celebrating within me, but the generations of icy-eyed blondes were in open rebellion. And always, whispering in the background, was the voice that mocked me, mocked my inability to withstand the pressures of society. Why are you trying to cling to youth? Why are you trying to be anything but what you are?

I went to grad school. I started looking for a professional job. It seemed very important to not appear old in a sea of young people, to forestall any judgements about my age from prospective employers and co-workers.

And then, slowly, I began to listen to the voices within. I began to resent all the energy it was taking to try to appear to be something I wasn't.

I wanted to look like me again. Even if that me had hair that was iron-gray. I wanted to live truthfully, honestly--true to what I was--and tell the rest of the world to fuck off if they didn't like it.

So I stopped putting henna in my hair.

It has been nine months since I made the decision to let my hair return to its natural color. Since my hair is very long I figured it would take a few years for the red to disappear, even if I continued to snip off the ends. The gray is creeping down, showing through underneath the red, while the crazy hairs continue to explode joyfully from my skull.

The red hair is now beginning to fall out, as if pushed aside by the determination of the gray to reclaim its territory. Watching the red hair slip away, I feel like I am a snake shedding its skin, slipping off one life cycle so that another can begin.

It is scary, this change. Part of me does not feel ready to embrace the aging. And then there are other parts of myself that are reveling in it with childlike exuberance, feeling somehow freed from expectations, free once again to play and explore. I find myself admiring women with hair of white, gray, and silver, and look forward to the morning when there is no more red in my hair, when it falls naturally in whatever color it is meant to be.