(This is a repost from last November that, given America’s recent election and the Shadow Masculine sweeping the presidential stage, poised against the holiday of Thanksgiving, seems timely and appropriate to share again. ～ LRH) The sea is rumbling and agitated. Even a half mile away in a quiet neighborhood dense with evergreen trees, I hear its
I wake in the night to a pale glow of moonlight illuminating the thick linen draperies, as if they were somehow spun of the luminous pearl outside in the heavens. Freshly emerged from the cocoon of the Dreamtime, still wrapped in silken images and the warm breath of feelings, I drink in the quietude of my bedroom
Overnight, summer returned to the Monterey Peninsula, meaning that temperatures plummeted and the offshore “marine layer” rolled in, creating a foggy, cool world requiring me to don a jacket to keep warm. In the quiet of the morning, I found myself feeling blue in spirit, partly from the return of grey weather when my chilled
Beyond the front windows of the cottage, the evening sky slowly shifted hues, fading from soft blue to a purple shawl of silk wrapped around the gracefully spiraling arms of the Grandmother Monterey cypress. On the table nearby, a pair of golden beeswax tapers flickered and danced with flame as I sat silently, listening to the music.
Nestled among the magical redwoods, in the hushed stillness of a Mendocino farmhouse, serenaded by a chorus of frogs in the green pond that my room overlooked, I slept and dreamed. A deep, healing sleep it was, not waking once for eleven hours, cocooned in a sense of being stitched back together at a cellular level,