The voice on the wind

A dark moon meander

I’ve taken to sitting in silence at midday when the sun is high and the toddler is asleep. Sunlight trickles through the leaves of the oak tree, light dancing on my bare feet. Pressure weighs on the back of my mind. You only have so much free time, do something! It says. But just look at how beautiful the wild bee balm with its purple firework flowers look against the evergreen of the forest! Don’t you want to hear what it has to say? I reply. The voice quiets.

Some people read the movements of the moon and stars. Some people pull tarot cards for cosmic guidance. I sit. I ask. I listen. I wait.

How do you get used to the sounds that come out of the woods at night? A text from my sister reads.

She just moved from a farm to the woods. She finds out quickly that living in the woods is not the same as country living. The forest engulfs you. Darkness doesn’t fall in the forest. It circles, prowls like a pack of wolves, creeps closer and closer. As the sun dips below the canopy, each layer of forest slowly disappears from furthest to closest until there is nothing but night. There are no streetlights, no light pollution from a nearby town, no porch lights from the neighbors, just darkness.

In the darkness lives the abyss. And out of the abyss comes sounds human ears can’t comprehend, that would break your heart, that send goosebumps down the back of the neck. For centuries the forest was seen as a primordial space where the depths of the universe and the mythic consciousness resided. It wasn’t just for fairytales, it was lived in, experienced. It was something to fear, something to stir awe. It’s where all of the heroes wandered in search of answers.

I remember my own fear and how it softened over time. I also remember just a few weeks ago how quickly that fear can return. Evan saw a “shadowy figure” standing at the edge of our woods before it promptly disappeared. I stood at the window all night waiting for something to step out of the trees. Nothing did. Days later both neighbors down the road said they saw a bear around the same time. Just a bear, I let out my breath with some hesitation.

I told my sister time, and a dog also helps.

Along with this healthy sense of primal unease though, lives a connection and a natural rhythm. The forest has a way of peeling back the human sensibilities. This is why I sit and do nothing at midday. I don’t need to look anywhere for the wild divine, it comes to my front door every day.

I sit and I ask: what do I need to know in this moment?

Lately, it’s been a blue jay. When I sit on the front porch, it flies to a low branch, a fence post, a stump. We sit together in silence. I wait, I watch. I think about the notion that blue jays are “mean”, or so someone once told me. It’s true I saw her fighting with a squirrel in the trees the other day, but she’s just quite fierce, a bit territorial, maybe too over protective. She must have a nest nearby. I understand.

Sitting with her though, she’s peaceful. I wonder at her presence. Sometimes signs are grand gestures like a fox running in front of your car or an orchid growing under your porch step. Sometimes they are quieter, softer, requiring a closer look. Sometimes the message is received immediately, sometimes it takes longer to understand. But there is always a moment when I know that it is a sign and not just natural coincidence. The heart jolts, sparking a sense of waking.

It’s the same concept as reading the moon or pulling tarot really. I ask for news from the universe, it delivers in some way, and it’s open to my interpretation. It’s not about conjuring magic, it’s about observing.

For a bit I just enjoyed blue jay’s company. It was a bit odd, but I didn’t look further into it. Until it found me again on our morning walk, miles from home. Ok, I said, I’m listening.

What I received was a whisper that’s been swirling around us all it seems. I feel it in the turn of the new Cancer moon, in the way it feels like the world is holding its breath.

Blue jay is an orator, loud and confident. They are communicators. As she returned each day, I felt the peace between us turn inquisitive. What do you want? I felt her say, this winged messenger of the cosmos. For a moment I saw her not as a bird, but as the open eye of the universe, watching me, waiting in return. Communicate clearly, tell the sky and the forests and the rivers what it is you want. Thinking it is not enough anymore. Say it and say it now.

There is a small town in Poland where traditional folk healers called szeptucha still practice. Their name translates to the “whisperers” because they use spoken incantations during their rituals to heal ailments. People travel from all over to experience their miraculous work. They implement various herbs and wax and other talismans, but it is the word that holds the medicine.

For hundreds of years people believed in the power of the spoken word. Not just in its effect on the mental and emotional realms, but on our physical realm as well. Slavic people once believed the spirit resided in the breath. When we speak, our spirit travels out into the universe, doing the work we assign it, whether good or bad. I do not take this lightly.

The universe is watching, waiting for you to speak what’s on your heart out loud. It seems simple, but I always find it difficult to speak things into the universe. I can think or write about it all day, but spoken word holds so much more weight. And this is where blue jay leaves me, leaves us.

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A soft journal prompt

I so enjoyed all of your responses on my newsletter from a couple of weeks ago so I thought I’d include this section again.

I would love to hear your thoughts. My favorite part of this newsletter isn’t writing it, it’s hearing from you. Send me an e-mail, leave a comment, or just use this as a prompt for your own journal.

Blue jay brought us the challenge of telling the cosmos clearly: what do you want. Not in vague terms, not in some faraway future. Right now. But let’s go deeper. The psychology-based astrology newsletter FarStellar posed this question for this Cancer new moon: what do you actually want to belong to? Not what has worked and felt comfortable in the past, what feels socially acceptable, but notice what is stirring now. It can be a home, a place, a community, a belief system.

For me it is an uncomfortable question. It’s one I’m not sure I have an answer to yet as we are currently looking for a new place to move, potentially close by, potentially across the state, hopefully in another forest. But this has been our home for a decade, I brought my baby home here. Where else could I possibly belong? I feel that pull that I’ve felt many times before in my life though, telling me go, it’s time to go. For now it’s open ended, but I’m working on figuring it out.

I’d love to hear your thoughts though. Where is that friction of change, of belonging showing up in your life?

Much love,

Val

P.S. Feel free to share, it’s much appreciated!