The cold comes in, it presses in. Mornings are frozen and white. Icicles drip with the orange glow of the rising sun.
Down coats and hats and mittens and extra layers wrap around our fragile flesh. We retreat inward to the warmth in our bones, at our center.
Going out into the cold days and even colder evenings begins to feel more like a devotional practice. The sacred, snowy weather vestments are applied in layers one by one. Often with a prayer of some sort for divine heat.
The days are increasingly shorter and the darkness seems to rise up out of the twilight air, faster than we can imagine.
A cold north wind blows down the hillside and swirls around tree roots and into each crevice of bark, as well as under door frames and through glass window panes. The stark branches, of quiet deciduous trees, stand as witness.
The land is covered in a blanket of snow and ice, while blue icicles hang from the corners of houses and barns. All of nature seems to be tucked up within itself.
The golden hues of autumn have given way to the monochromatic hues of winter. Heathered grey, soft black, haystack tan, weather white, green ash.
We pull our scarves closer around our faces and tuck our hands into furry mittens, yet somehow the cold seeps through and encourages us to hunker down indoors. We build all day fires, stoke up the thermostat and wrap ourselves in fleecy blankets.
Each morning, the sun rises and seems to slide along the horizon, keeping us in a state of perpetual wonder.
The days grow shorter and the dark rises up from the land so early. Days and nights grow colder and the last of the autumn's harvest is stored for winter. We enter the between time, not yet winter not past fall.
Large pots of savory root and winter squash soup bubble on the stove. Wollens are pulled from closets and fires are built at dawn and in the evening for warmth. Baked treats fill the house with the smell of comfort and sweet spice. The last of the summer herbs are hanging to dry all around the house.
Our attention begins to turn inward. Our energies come home as colder days and nights keep us closer to the hearth. We are often more able to "go into the deep" at this time of the year. Access to other realms is startlingly easy. Dreams may be more vivid, we may seem to 'know' things without knowing how, we may be prone to day dreams, or we may hear the whispers or see shadows of dear departed loved ones.
October is my favorite month. There is a change in the air that marks a shift to more inward pursuits. The shadows get longer and everything seems to smell of damp earth.
This particular October, astrologically speaking, has been a potent one. Mercury went retrograde and we were blessed with a huge, full, blood moon. AND an eclipse of said moon!
As we turn more inward and we begin to wrap ourselves in wool and ignite our hearth fires (even if it is just replacing the filter and tuning up the furnace), it is an excellent time to pause and reignite our dreaming or visioning time. A time to reflect on and dream our lives.
Our hands are powerful conduits. They can convey so much about what we are thinking and feeling. They are the way we literally touch the world. Hands give and receive pleasure. Through the hands we connect with each other, feel each other and convey a whole lot of non verbal communication.
Our hands are our built in healing 'tools'. We know that touch produces Oxytocin (a hormone in the body) which relaxes us, reduces anxiety and helps us build trust with others.
Because of these sensitivities the hands are a beautiful and instinctive way to begin to work with healing energy for our selves and others.
Lark Fox is a Priestess, an herb wyfe, Seer, intuitive healer, writer and ceremonialist.
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