This is one of those days I dream of in the heat of summer. Rainy and blustery outside, I have no where to go and I have a warm cup of tea beside me. I’m wearing cozy socks and have a deliciously soft alpaca scarf around my neck, the scarf I knit from yarn purchased on our trip to Montana last summer. I remember buying the yarn back in the heat of July imagining myself wrapped up in it during the cold of winter.
The past foreseeing the future now present.
It is comforting thinking of how my past self dreamed me here. It has me curious about what I am dreaming now for myself this year. I feel like the tree outside my window. Stripped bare by its natural cycle and the winter storms, its stark beauty and mystery revealed as its branches reach towards the grey sky. Nothing hidden under a regalia of lush summer green.
I take stock of who I am now. The successes and failures, the wishes, desires, fears and circumstances as they led me here and as they are now. Then I open deep with in, feel into the subtle energies of creative flow slowed by the season and need for rest yet no less potent. I listen with intention and gentleness for the whispers of muses still finding their way to me. I seek guidance in deep conversations with wise kindreds, journal as a form of written scrying, card gaze and chart dive following threads of illumination spoken in imaginal languages.
I wait and gather pieces of the year wanting to be.
