The Story Midwife

Spring Giddiness

Spring GiddinessToday, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.

I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it.

Daylight, full of small dancing particles
and the one great turning, our souls
are dancing with you, without feet, they dance.
Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?

All day and night, music,
a quiet, bright
reedsong. If it
fades, we fade.

	-- Jalaluddin Rumi

Ah, welcome spring!!
It's been over a year since my words have splashed out here. Today, on this first day of spring 2008, it feels like the blessedly ripe time to stop in for a visit again. These days of solstice and equinox are, after all, some of my favorites in the year. 

Rumi's Spring Giddiness has been my mantra in the last few weeks.  A little over two years ago I wrote a song from these words. Called Don't Go Back to Sleep, once I made a rough scratch recording it seemed to fade back in my mind. I was perusing the contents of my little hand-held digital recorder which I use to capture my song ideas or works-in-process. When I stumbled upon the very first strains of this song  my breath caught.  It was just what I needed to hear that day.  And apparently every day since.  Over and over the refrain comes to me: "The door is round and open, the door is round and open." The song has begun to sing me.

This is a different phenomenon than getting a song annoyingly stuck in the groove of my brain. Roseanne Cash has been quoted as saying, "I've always found that songs can be postcards from your future."  When I first heard this quote about a decade ago I totally got that haunting quality to art of any medium.  To me, as with Roseanne, it comes in the form of song and I find it everywhere in my works. Even considering the new rush of energy and enjoyment of a fresh baby song, in some ways it's more fun to look back at a song when I can feel it through the seasons of my life. Rumi and his poem and my ensuing song have embodied this haunting future-past quality.  Something in me wrote the song two years ago, but it's real impact hasn't been noticeable until now.  Perhaps some mysterious future self sent this song back to me a couple of years ago so that I could partake of it in this season by simply enjoying my earlier fruits.  Or maybe my subconscious was just way ahead of my conscious.  Either way, it's a cool thing.

Being the equinox, we Bruxvoort-Colligan's will be celebrating with our traditional Equinox Pizza.  I'll be sitting in some quiet space with a candle and my journal for some reflection and looking forward.  And my beloved and I will find space together on our couch (Viola - who will be making an appearance in the sheep pasture on our upcoming duet CD), sipping red wine and sharing the holinesses-made-manifest from our own lives this Holy Week.

And you: have a happy equinox and may you drink in the loveliness of this grand day,
Trish

A Music Gift for You

Spiraling round,
Darkness abounds,
I am bringing the light.

__________________

Merry Christmas,
  Happy Hanukkah,
   Blessed Advent,
    Joyous Kwanzaa,
     Wondrous Solstice,

               to you.

To celebrate you I am offering you the gift of song. To receive your free song, please either leave a comment below, or email me at the EMAIL ME link to the left just below the picture of me smiling at you. Then, I'll send you an MP3 of the song.

Called Spiraling Round, I wrote this simple and sparse chant last winter to accompany a ritual my husband and I led some retreatants in at Prairiewoods Spirituality Center.

When I decided I wanted to gift you with this song, my amazing guitar-playing husband and I went into our studio to capture it. What you'll hear on the MP3 is the dance of Richard's guitar and my voice. It's quiet. It's simple. It's like we're sitting with you right in your own living room. So go ahead! Dance. Sing with your unique voice. Add harmony. Play your drum or your pots and pans. Change the words, if you wish. Light a candle. Take some deep breaths. Let it lull you to sleep.

Why would I do this, you may ask? It's a rich and full season we are in. For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, we are experiencing shorter and shorter days. You may know that I am in love with darkness. In the midst of this darkening time we hear all around us the buzz of the winter holidays - many of which include stories of brightness of light. It can be disorienting. It can also stretch us to find the Sacred in the midst of all of it. In any way I can I want to offer blessings of hope and mystery for these days of intensity.

Over the next year I hope to be writing a book of rituals with accompanying chants (in the vein of Metta Chanting Circle) which will include a different arrangement and recording of this song.

I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention that this is one of our 5 year-old son's favorite songs. Last year on the Winter Solstice we called several friends and family members to sing them this song. He gets into it with full voice and drum - announcing his "Lightness" to anyone who will listen (or might just be strolling through the neighborhood). Consider calling your dear ones to sing Spiraling Round quietly in their ears.

However, wherever, and with whomever you mark this season, whether it is the Light or the Darkness that most calls to you, I bless you.

Finally, I wish to thank Christine at The Sacred Art of Living who has been clearing out her books and giving them away to her faithful blog readers. (I was a happy recipient! Thank you so much, Christine!) She was part of the inspiration for my own giveaway.

And thanks to Kashfia at Stock Xchng for the incredible picture above.

With blessings and deep bows,
Trish
The Story Midwife

In Love With Darkness

I love the dark. Love, love, LOVE it. Appropriately then, the Winter Solstice is my absolute favorite day of the year. 

It was not always so. In my more fundamentalist Christian days I believed that truly it was the Light that was to conquer the darkness, and that darkness was bad and to be avoided at all costs.  Especially the darkness within. I am pleased to report with a deep sigh of gratitude that these days I welcome the darkness - especially the darkness within. I find such beauty and solace in that quiet, still place in my belly.

An example: For Thanksgiving, we drove out to Colorado to visit my brother and his new wife in the Denver area. My parents and sisters and their families also made the 12+ hour trip out. My favorite part of the whole trip was driving home in the dark. At the last minute we decided not to sleep over on Friday evening and begin the 13.5 hour drive at the crack of dawn. Instead, we packed up and headed out around 9:00 Friday evening, and figured we be home around 11:00 A.M. I was driver #1. While Richard and Sammy slept, I listened to two self-compiled CDs of music - one called STORY, one called ACHE.  And I fell in love over and over again. With the songs' characters, with the wondrous ways words and melody find and dance with one another, with the stars, even with the other late-night drivers. I fell in love even more deeply with this part of me that so treasures darkness and story and the ways they are ever interwoven.  Ahhh.  I believe this is why the word "luscious" exists. 

(The side story is this luscious dark-night drive would be AFTER the good yet wearisome family time and BEFORE Richard began manifesting the stomach bug my niece was first struck with en route to the Denver Children's Museum. Ugh. Obviously, I ended up driving the whole crazy way home.)

Five years ago now, Richard and I hosted our first Dark Party. We were so inspired, the next year we made a Christmas/Winter Solstice CD called Behold and wrote about it in the liner notes. An excerpt:

Last year, we began a new family tradition. At the Winter Solstice, the first day of winter and the darkest night of the year, we hosted a Dark Party. We invited friends to dress in black and bring dark colored food for a potluck. After the blackberries, deep dark soups, and "Edgar Allen Bean Dip" we sat in a circle, sharing our stories and witnessing for one another the presence of God in our dark places. At the end of the night, some chose to light a candle to symbolize a welcome of the returning sun, others held an unlit candle, honoring the presence of God in night.

(If you're interested you can view lyrics and listen to song snippets from Behold. Click here.)

This year's celebrations will be a bit different: on the solstice, I'll be doing a contemplative concert and ritual in Des Moines, and the Dark Party will happen nine days after solstice, and just the women of Spirations are invited.

Yesterday, I learned about another winter holiday celebration: Night of the Mothers! An ancient English holy day, it's celebrated the day before Christmas. Though legend holds Night of the Mothers was originally celebrated the day before solstice.  After the Church declared Christmas would be celebrated on December 25th, the Night of the Mothers date was also shifted.  Read about it here, here, here, and here. I particularly like the notion that dreams that occur on Night of the Mothers hold special meaning for the year to come.  Oh, I'm delighted by this new-to-me holy day so much I could just squeal!  In fact, so inspired was I yesterday that I wrote a new chant-like song on the spot. You can download that PDF here: Download pdf_night_of_the_mothers.pdf.

Well, there's a rumbly in my tumbly. Must follow that invitation.

But before I go, do share!

What does this holiday season mean for you?
What Holy Days do you intentionally celebrate - and intentionally NOT celebrate?
How does the idea of nourishing darkness strike you?
Shall we all have a virtual Dark Party?!

I can't wait to hear.

A Croaking, er... A Singing I Will Go

Well, today's the big day!  I head to Des Moines for a concert tomorrow evening.  I'll begin the day by co-leading a music and movement experience with Mary Ellen Lewis,  InterPlay woman extraordinaire.  We'll frolic with drums and voices and hands and feet and bellies. I can't wait.

Then I'll close down the evening with a concert - my first solo concert in nearly a decade!  I've been feeling the call to solo performance for a few years. I think now I'm brave enough to do it.  I of course perform bits and pieces on my own while leading retreats or workshops and the like. But doing a whole 90 minute concert (guitar and all!) on one's own is a different animal all together.  I'm looking forward to it.

One thing. I've been sick all week and have very little voice to speak of. I'm not worried that I'll be completely without voice, but it's a concern nonetheless. I'm drinking lots of Throat Coat Tea, taking tinctures, and trying to rest. Hopefully with another 24 hours of rest I'll be okay. If you feel so moved, I invite your prayers, reiki, loving, healing energy, and good wishes for hitting those powerful, out-there notes with ease!  Thanks!  I'll let you know how it goes!

Now. Time to pack up those drums and re-fill my tea mug!

Here's the the long Iowa road ahead.
Love and deep bows!

Shameless Plug

Excuse me while I shamelessly plug myself, friends.

I've just uploaded a new song for download on my website.  Called We Remember Them, it is the song I mentioned in my previous post.

Visit my other blog to

• read the story behind the song, including how and why it was written;
• and hear a little snippet;
• purchase and download instantly!
• 
  

Okay. Back to your regularly scheduled programming...

Accordion Revolution

So, people. I'm looking for an accordion. I have wanted to learn for quite awhile and have been on the lookout for an instrument. I know there have to be dozens of folks out there who have their uncle's dusty old accordion up in their attic or behind the ironing board in their closet -- and they'd be delighted to have someone take it off their hands and put it to good use. But after a year of looking I still haven't found those folks. So I'm puting out the Accordion S.O.S. here. Do you have one? Does your grandmother? Your next door neighbor? Your sister-in-law's great aunt Mildred? I like things with history, so a vintage accordion that's still got a few miles left in her is a grand inspiration that sets my foot a-tapping.

Why the accordion, you may ask? (As nearly everyone does when I tell them.) Let me list the ways:

It's quirky.  And so am I.

The accordion has shown up in many of the world's music. Think polka, Celtic, folk, Jazz, Scandinavian, Latin, Italian, Old World, even African! I like that in an instrument. I strive to be that adaptable and worldly.

It's old.

It's new.

It uses air - like breath - to "sing."

It's more portable than my 300-pound "portable" keyboard.

I'd like to teach Sammy, my 5-year old, to play. Then we can have a little trio of Mama & Sammy on the accordion and Daddy on the guitar.

Every picture of every accodion player I've ever seen just has a little..., well, SOMETHING about them. They're a little outside the lines. Let me just say I ADORE that in a person!

Finally. I'd like to start a whole accordion revolution. I have this vision of rescuing all the "sleeping" accordions in attics and closets and barns around the world and getting them into the hands of children who are in foster care. I used to think I wanted to gift every child in the Iowa foster care system with a hand-made quilt. That still seems like a possibility. But lately I've been drawn to the idea of teaching - and therefore empowering - kids to express what's within them. Music is an exceptional way to do this. See, as a teenager I was in foster care. In addition to being placed in a phonomenol foster family, music saved me. I'm not sure why, exactly, but the accordion seems like an unlikely tool to help bring this to fruition. 

Ah, dreams! Any thoughts? Reflections? Ideas?

Bring 'em on! Along with that accordion collecting dust in your grandma's closet.

Before I go, here are some other delightfully quirky accordion pics.

   

Happy Solstice

 

Welp.

Today's the Summer Solstice.

For awhile now it's been important to me to celebrate earthy-based seasons such as this in our home.  For instance, at the Winter Solstice we celebrate with a yearly Dark Party, where we invite friends to come dressed in black and bring dark foods and a candle. After we much on the Edgar Allen Bean Dip and Fear Not the Valley of the Fudge and sip on the blackest red wine in town we gather in a circle. We invite the stories from the last year to unfold. People share poetry, songs, dances. They reveal where darkness has lived in their lives, and where they have or have not felt God's presence in the midst of that. At the end of the evening, those in the circle are invited to light their candle - signifying that God's holy light shines even in the midst of our darkest stores, or to leave their candle wick dark - signifying the barrenness and longing for God we can experience in that darkness. Either choice is okay. Either choice is honored.

The Winter Solstice is my absolute favorite day of the whole year.  Just thinking about it right now makes my tummy dance with expectancy. It's the day I feel most alive. I've written several songs in honor of this darkest day. The Winter Solstice and its accompanying Dark Party has been such a powerful ritual for us and for our circle of friends that my husband and I even made a whole CD about it all: Behold

Today is the Summer Solstice, the earth's and sun's opposite expressions of my favorite day.  I am decidedly less drawn to its energy.  I wonder why. It's not that I dislike light. Perhaps it is simply that I have known Great Darkness in my life. Seasons of no-light, isolation, and terror were many in my childhood and early years. No one ever acknowledged - much less honored - these seasons for me.  Darkness has gotten such a bad wrap in our culture. We'll do almost anything to not feel sad, lonely, confused. But what if those seasons hold great wisdom? What if their very presence makes way for the resurrection of light?  Understanding and participating in earth-based and pagan experiences of spirituality has been part of the journey of learning to open  w-i-d-e  the doors to honoring all my stories. And naming them holy.

The earth turns. The seasons shift. The soil freezes and thaws. So it is in our lives. Paying attention to these seasons can be a lovely mirroring spiritual practice for the interior experience.

Tonight you'll find us in our backyard with a big bonfire celebrating the generosity of the sun and "boosting" its energy. (That is if the current torrential downpour doesn't persist.) Fiery, bright foods will grace our meal. Together with a couple of friends from a nearby town we'll gather around the fire give thanks for the blessings in our lives, for the abundance within and around.

As for me - I want to dedicate this coming season to honoring all the places, relationships, and expressions in my life that are gloriously light-filled. And I want to drink it in.

So let's raise a toast to the sun's incredible generosity, for the abundance that lives in every cell of every being. Lift high your glass of sun-colored orange juice and drink to the light within.

Here, here!