tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30788771721396008132024-03-06T01:37:17.554+13:00Seasonal inspirationReflections on the changing seasons, and harvesting the gifts.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.comBlogger532125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-74812249345129589992016-03-25T15:50:00.000+13:002016-04-07T23:33:58.454+12:00Things change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZTRCGioIS0gx_bQY_kY4PbvthyL9z2Ck6qeM92mAicB5DE0G77DP74eEpqP0Ts2xB6iItF5KsqdX9DzXpLNiQKpokvcuAhh8aVENlyiVp8zNM6QwgsQ5ghYntm2wrOzfnTAogPiH3bU/s1600/grasses+IMG_2109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrZTRCGioIS0gx_bQY_kY4PbvthyL9z2Ck6qeM92mAicB5DE0G77DP74eEpqP0Ts2xB6iItF5KsqdX9DzXpLNiQKpokvcuAhh8aVENlyiVp8zNM6QwgsQ5ghYntm2wrOzfnTAogPiH3bU/s400/grasses+IMG_2109.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Dear readers, I've been absent since equinox last year. Now that equinox has come around again, it's time to return, to tell you how things have changed.<br />
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We live in times of changing technology. Last year our local post box was removed, due to reduced volume of mail. I used to walk just half a block to post my books all over the world. Now I have to put them in my back pack and walk 8 blocks that include a steep hill.<br />
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It keeps me fit, but there are some days when I wish the old box was still sitting cheerily in its old place.<br />
<br />
There was no polite notice when a change occurred that meant I could no longer import my blogs from this site to my website with Wordpress. I just kept on trying, wondering why it wasn't working, until in the end I realised it wasn't me that was at fault.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfdr-621tjuNZetKEekDAZ0REGMuy3wLTSq_Py0N2dPBA_DXi9p_6hPeH7h6e8m59ZH8va5OoYx4y4sC5NLjeZ7kKoTZsteIXhIaVOeoZ7UonY5sFqxqfFJISaEMCZtWy8nScbCB7ZyQ/s1600/Mira+on+swing+IMG_1938.jpg+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBfdr-621tjuNZetKEekDAZ0REGMuy3wLTSq_Py0N2dPBA_DXi9p_6hPeH7h6e8m59ZH8va5OoYx4y4sC5NLjeZ7kKoTZsteIXhIaVOeoZ7UonY5sFqxqfFJISaEMCZtWy8nScbCB7ZyQ/s400/Mira+on+swing+IMG_1938.jpg+.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
I have been posting on my website blog page for some time, mostly the text and images from the Seasons Newsletter that I've been sending out to a list of readers for some years. I really wanted to keep up this more informal blog as well, and to add these posts to my website from time to time.<br />
<br />
Why have I posted a photo of my granddaughter on her swing at the beach? Because someone thought they should cut the rope and remove it.<br />
<br />
Change happens all the time. Things are taken away that we have got used to.<br />
<br />
What will I do? I could just blog on my Wordpress site, but then you wouldn't know that was happening. You would wonder where I've gone. And I would no longer be able to order the nice books that Blogspot will create from my blogs.<br />
<br />
So for now, I offer you my Wordpress blog address, and if you would like to follow me there, I'll be so glad to see you:<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><a href="http://www.julietbatten.co.nz/blog/">http://www.julietbatten.co.nz/blog/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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And if you'd like to receive my Seasons Newsletter, you can sign up on the home page of my website:</div>
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Also, I'd love you to check in on my Facebook page, where I post things that you may enjoy:</div>
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Do let's stay in touch. For now, I'm keeping this blog open and may post here from time to time.</div>
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Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-70121686575201005902015-10-04T13:51:00.000+13:002015-10-04T13:53:37.582+13:00Two faces of granny-hood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkRXXhCzrRlVOKal4anOxdDxyTPRGMp2ixhpfYv0d8SE8VOJYyL1xAJ-7tV-j-3mdPm8bhtvMFqXQdF5UEcmY6-8n_2IyRI7IIepB05i1BcwAAYM3hcTGyEwqF16FSB6eHiI_5AJLqS4/s1600/Two+faces+of+granny+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkRXXhCzrRlVOKal4anOxdDxyTPRGMp2ixhpfYv0d8SE8VOJYyL1xAJ-7tV-j-3mdPm8bhtvMFqXQdF5UEcmY6-8n_2IyRI7IIepB05i1BcwAAYM3hcTGyEwqF16FSB6eHiI_5AJLqS4/s400/Two+faces+of+granny+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Spring is here, and I've been absent with a mix of winter flu and big busyness as I develop my business of distributing my books, speaking at conferences, and the new enterprise of 2015: teaching online courses. It's all very exciting, but has taken me away from the blog (and I've missed you, dear blog friends).<br />
We have just passed spring equinox, which makes me aware of the balance of dark and light.<br />
Today I'm musing on the two sides of being a grandmother.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEUkjsKbw0lhAs747yxPYZuWQdOyxXfoXURE4ZzkKqj7EIuon1xfK4zVBkvZQSLHZzPUSDgHvkwiHAVBOuyKqjR2vqo7NKfjL3Zw2Jl6z5bld11sbhQcrPyE4ZMYJV_9TfHv15wOj2Lg/s1600/Two+faces+of+granny+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEUkjsKbw0lhAs747yxPYZuWQdOyxXfoXURE4ZzkKqj7EIuon1xfK4zVBkvZQSLHZzPUSDgHvkwiHAVBOuyKqjR2vqo7NKfjL3Zw2Jl6z5bld11sbhQcrPyE4ZMYJV_9TfHv15wOj2Lg/s400/Two+faces+of+granny+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1. Hands-off. Visit, adore and leave </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's so seductive to stop there. After all, isn't that part of the deal of grandparent, part of the great privilege: that you can leave at any time? </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">'Bye-Bye,' says the smallest one now, as she opens and closes her little fist.' </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And away I trundle, with a bursting heart. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Back to my own life. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlXPwhQdFvE7KwhVvQeV1rh5mi_qFyWQ1FAzln_HD7oatCy8htMkGeTGSdCwgx-UyxO70kdSWwHMvtku6-OXas7DvPM8KMgurbhBQiMga_x-nKjazr2_p90gmuBjoGq3pp9TNYihUlFU/s1600/Two+faces+of+granny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlXPwhQdFvE7KwhVvQeV1rh5mi_qFyWQ1FAzln_HD7oatCy8htMkGeTGSdCwgx-UyxO70kdSWwHMvtku6-OXas7DvPM8KMgurbhBQiMga_x-nKjazr2_p90gmuBjoGq3pp9TNYihUlFU/s400/Two+faces+of+granny.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="8fltf-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$8fltf" style="color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span style="color: black; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But there's another aspect. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2. Hands-on. Do the work </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last night's sleepover began with the little one (7) throwing up within minutes of arriving. 'Take her home?' offered my daughter-in-law, who was exhausted from a day when the smallest one (14 months) didn't sleep at all. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; white-space: normal;">t's school holidays and more demanding than usual. Father is away in USA. It was a no-brainer; she stays. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; white-space: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I gave her a clean-up bath & washed the sofa cushion, drying it with my hair-dryer, and dabbed the carpet. Then she vomitted over the sofa again. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She threw up every hour until 3 a.m. I slept on the sofa next to hers, waking just in time on each occasion to hold the basin. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFpY5TGyUUQ5v6Kn9utX-_v-aXUPh_GBkJQ083z_gE6GyuQ7YtOkFJpqdYrR8x5UxGpaJAfu-MYKtM5yPBN9ZnQKI7mkvGAZinZ_Jw9QHiIb1UQhWeG-WdIL3SaJQit_PE4TAi2TiSa_0/s1600/Two+faces+of+granny+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFpY5TGyUUQ5v6Kn9utX-_v-aXUPh_GBkJQ083z_gE6GyuQ7YtOkFJpqdYrR8x5UxGpaJAfu-MYKtM5yPBN9ZnQKI7mkvGAZinZ_Jw9QHiIb1UQhWeG-WdIL3SaJQit_PE4TAi2TiSa_0/s400/Two+faces+of+granny+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="28n7r-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$28n7r" style="color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="28n7r-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$28n7r.0:$28n7r-0-0"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Remembering what it's like to care for a sick child: staying present to 'Is this serious or something that will pass?' (Well, it was passing all right!) Listening with a carer's ear, even while asleep, to the early warning sound (a cough and a whimper in this case) that means 'Wake up!' </span></span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="28n7r-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$28n7r" style="color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="28n7r-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$28n7r.0:$28n7r-0-0"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Trusting the knowledge that has been built up over time.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8N5yaOaSxi4R7L1lNPAUvXrrtpcSn3miIxevIb2ZbBkemQtyeccRVoKbYYmk2J7uWwTI6Rjk9Ig7-T2Q2IE-vdO2l7ZE7jPoW5Wu06PFCo1vqiOHiYc94hPooZmRSFBVoG6_HVWAgJ5c/s1600/Two+faces+of+granny+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8N5yaOaSxi4R7L1lNPAUvXrrtpcSn3miIxevIb2ZbBkemQtyeccRVoKbYYmk2J7uWwTI6Rjk9Ig7-T2Q2IE-vdO2l7ZE7jPoW5Wu06PFCo1vqiOHiYc94hPooZmRSFBVoG6_HVWAgJ5c/s400/Two+faces+of+granny+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span data-offset-key="f1nbu-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$f1nbu.0:$f1nbu-0-0">There's no such thing as forgetting this learning, hard won in the small hours of many nights 40 years ago. This morning the little one ate a tiny bit of stewed apple and pear, and peacefully drew a big picture. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6zLGNU4f2DLEy-bicIvVSKKdZAuvzzI7n2zrEL8ZZqahU9SUQ_h-obkZ9CBb8r_Gt6DpDiROhKDUu4OeBuYeOcSF-2hU543ImL9rMgSSIVxl4NNIWecyvdnUFGzGkX8smzj-1bEtiYI/s1600/Two+faces+of+granny+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit6zLGNU4f2DLEy-bicIvVSKKdZAuvzzI7n2zrEL8ZZqahU9SUQ_h-obkZ9CBb8r_Gt6DpDiROhKDUu4OeBuYeOcSF-2hU543ImL9rMgSSIVxl4NNIWecyvdnUFGzGkX8smzj-1bEtiYI/s400/Two+faces+of+granny+8.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="f1nbu-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$f1nbu" style="color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="f1nbu-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$f1nbu.0:$f1nbu-0-0">Who's that old woman lying on the sofa? Oh, it's moi! Well at least I look happy. And I was. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6ZxZm6pqOm3qFUj6eO5TcVYPLPsLrXMtMgv9xhDX2I7xZ48CDqiaPMgTgTfakacgHzhVKgHsqq-EK-Z_CncirheEMqPpQFZ8Zc3c5_m4wg0w6K5QAqfo1OTVNN8LyUDkM-1BViWFvUs/s1600/Two+faces+of+granny+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6ZxZm6pqOm3qFUj6eO5TcVYPLPsLrXMtMgv9xhDX2I7xZ48CDqiaPMgTgTfakacgHzhVKgHsqq-EK-Z_CncirheEMqPpQFZ8Zc3c5_m4wg0w6K5QAqfo1OTVNN8LyUDkM-1BViWFvUs/s400/Two+faces+of+granny+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span data-offset-key="f1nbu-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$f1nbu.0:$f1nbu-0-0">Happy to serve, and glad that it ended well. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVioI8F3YHKoemV-kkMWxcZE3G2-xdwj9XyXSZsXsJig-QbRr81kA9LDO1hqjwQ9_X7Er4i__NS_hoawR5Ty9Eb8DVsCUA8VjcZQyO8qE4qpDJqqAYrYQq8YgrL98HZovMzokjhQNPtmQ/s1600/Two+faces+of+granny+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVioI8F3YHKoemV-kkMWxcZE3G2-xdwj9XyXSZsXsJig-QbRr81kA9LDO1hqjwQ9_X7Er4i__NS_hoawR5Ty9Eb8DVsCUA8VjcZQyO8qE4qpDJqqAYrYQq8YgrL98HZovMzokjhQNPtmQ/s400/Two+faces+of+granny+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span data-offset-key="f1nbu-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$f1nbu.0:$f1nbu-0-0">Then: adore and leave.</span></div>
<div class="_209g _2vxa" data-block="true" data-offset-key="f1nbu-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$f1nbu" style="color: #373e4d; direction: ltr; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<span data-offset-key="f1nbu-0-0" data-reactid=".2z.1.1.0.1.0.0.$editor1.0.0.$f1nbu.0:$f1nbu-0-0">Happy equinox to you all, (belatedly). May you find joy in the hard things as well as in the things that come easily. Relationship bonds are forged as we wipe up the mess, rub the back, stay calm, and hold on for a new day to bring relief.</span></div>
Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-24091119133366121902015-07-13T17:44:00.000+12:002015-07-13T17:44:00.519+12:00She's eaten my snail!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXtIOVXME5ULBZmMkMOjNE5sV8VTzFpXv-KJay_lTRKmbE4H_rejrLtd5IxDlWxFdWaz3auD_86Uf1MVxmf3GRrJxQxtk1rsTl3WdwpZN2x-s8n7ahYbhZUx27Ga1De1qu4GgDS4YV1FY/s1600/Snail+tale+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXtIOVXME5ULBZmMkMOjNE5sV8VTzFpXv-KJay_lTRKmbE4H_rejrLtd5IxDlWxFdWaz3auD_86Uf1MVxmf3GRrJxQxtk1rsTl3WdwpZN2x-s8n7ahYbhZUx27Ga1De1qu4GgDS4YV1FY/s400/Snail+tale+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
The wail could be heard throughout the house, bouncing off the walls and bare wooden floors. 'My snail!' Through the sobs she choked out, 'It's gone!'<br />
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This happened last Thursday when I was visiting the family for dinner. Oh dear. When I arrived, she hadn't yet returned from her Playdate. I'd spotted a little box with leaves and shells in it, beautifully arranged, and thought it was one of her little homes for the fairies. But no.<br />
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On the threshold between six and seven years old, the little one has graduated to wild pets. Before leaving to play she had left the box on the floor with a picture on top to act as a lid.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYj25lN2aBkXXJ5dutrvwVRwg08syTJOTwYEe56Es31UUv64WPGCvy-kfUIkIWZb62EJTR6czv0MauoudYlq32iGgclWThCjFuQFL4i0qGlTi51Hbru-E65sBwNnGz6l2w15Esfco_eIQ/s1600/Snail+tale+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYj25lN2aBkXXJ5dutrvwVRwg08syTJOTwYEe56Es31UUv64WPGCvy-kfUIkIWZb62EJTR6czv0MauoudYlq32iGgclWThCjFuQFL4i0qGlTi51Hbru-E65sBwNnGz6l2w15Esfco_eIQ/s400/Snail+tale+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
That would have been fine last July, when she was the only child. But now she has a very active little sister, who is crawling everywhere and exploring everything. There was no lid on the box when I came in, and I thought nothing of it when I found something squishy in little sister's mouth. I removed the dark soft object and placed it on the mantle piece.<br />
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It wasn't until the little one came home and let out her wail, that I realised what the squishy object was. Oh dear, it's tough when your little sister tries to eat your pet.<br />
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I have been at war with snails for many years. They attack my tender lettuce seedlings and destroy whole plantings in a night. But one snail, singled out for love and care, how can I be at war with that? I cradled the little one in my arms, and said I had a special story to tell when she came to visit on the weekend.<br />
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Making mandalas is soothing. Sometimes we draw mandalas, but the morning after the sleepover, she wanted to use shells, flowers and sticks. Her sharp eyes had noticed a little arrangement I'd been making on my desk, and she was inspired to create something for herself.<br />
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She had slept peacefully, for in the evening I read to her from the special story, written by a person who would have understood her upset.<br />
You may know Elisabeth Tova Bailey's book, 'The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating', or have seen<a href="http://www.elisabethtovabailey.net/"> the video</a> [click on the left of the page] of her snail slowly moving over a bed of moss.<br />
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We learned that snails are nocturnal, that they have 2,640 tiny teeth, and that they are very fond of mushrooms.<br />
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We found out how the companionship of a wild snail helped a woman with a serious chronic illness, and we learned how when life slows down, new wonders of the natural world may be revealed.<br />
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The little one found a new snail under a rock after Thursday night's little tragedy.<br />
Elisabeth Tova Bailey decided not to name her snail. It's hard, she said, to name a creature that is a hermaphrodite. She simply called it 'the snail.'<br />
The little one had already named her new snail. 'Nut' seemed to me a perfect name to describe a little brown shelled creature.<br />
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The mandala has been photographed, printed out and pasted on to a card. Tears are forgotten. We are fascinated to learn more about snails and the wild world they inhabit. What was nothing but a pest to me has now become a creature to study.<br />
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All the same, I hope it doesn't copy the author's wild snail, and hatch 118 babies.<br />
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<br />Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-42311261114748006932015-07-01T21:25:00.001+12:002015-07-01T21:25:17.684+12:00Mindfulness Mountain (2)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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'From the top, light and shadows will shape the land you know in new ways,' said the mountain as I rested with my back against a sun-warmed rock at the summit. I closed my eyes, and felt I could stay there forever.<br />
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But the voice of the mountain said, 'Don't be seduced by the summit. Don't linger too long,' and I remembered what my father told me.<br />
My father was a mountain climber in his youth. He climbed to the top of Mt Taranaki, on whose foothills I grew up, twenty-one times. He taught me the first lesson of alpine explorers: that it is more dangerous to descend than ascend.<br />
And so I set out before the weather changed and the wind came up and the light faded.<br />
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This time I discovered another path.<br />
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'Be mindful of every step,' warned the mountain. It would be easy to slip or sprain an ankle going down too fast.<br />
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'Follow the signs, and go slowly,<br />
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even though a new destination has appeared.'<br />
Joseph Campbell, who studied the mythology of hundreds of cultures, said that an important part of the great adventure (the 'hero's journey') is the Return. It is important not to return too fast, but to take time for integration. The new path down the mountain led me first to the labyrinth.<br />
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Time to pause and frame a question. The labyrinth is based on the 7-circuit classical labyrinth as shown on ancient Greek coins. Never have I walked a labyrinth with so much spaciousness on every side. I was given several answers to my simple question, all of them perfect.<br />
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And then it was time to enter the Sanctuary. Based on the old Byzantine chapels of Europe, this stone building breathes silence. Now was the time to stop, to meditate, to linger.<br />
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The golden mean was used throughout, giving a deep sense of harmony.<br />
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The late afternoon sun cast magical reflections on the wooden ceiling panels<br />
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and on the stone floor, with its central greenstone circle.<br />
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I chanted a little, feeling my voice enlarged into the four corners, reverberating as never before in this place of amazing acoustics, where it is said that sound takes 5-6 seconds before dissolving back into silence.<br />
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I could have rushed back down the path I originally came up on. But the mountain showed me another way. It brought me to this sanctuary, and reminded me that while sacred places abound in wild nature, there are times when human endeavour also results in great beauty, stillness and upliftment.<br />
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As I left, the bells, cast in Germany using old methods and transported hundreds of miles to reach this place, began to ring. The cascading peel rang out across the valley, up the sides of the mountain and into the sky.<br />
<br />Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-76719779051694299482015-06-29T19:06:00.002+12:002015-06-29T19:06:45.168+12:00Mindfulness mountain (1)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've just spent a weekend at the beautiful Mana Retreat on the Coromandel Peninsula, where I led a winter solstice ritual for the community and helpers who had gathered for a big working bee. On Sunday I had time for replenishment. At Mana, there are many choices. On this day I felt fit, and as the mist cleared, I decided to walk up the mountain.<br />
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In the still rhythm of walking, I could hear the mountain guiding me.<br />
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'Take a staff,' it said. 'This will steady you.'<br />
I had forgotten to pick one up from the big basket as I left, so I needed to search amongst the trees. The mountain had a staff ready and waiting (not one of the soft punga trunks in this photo, but a tough kanuka pole),<br />
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and it was true, the staff gave me steadiness as the path ascended steeply and at times it was hard to find a foothold.<br />
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'Pause to notice what's here', said the mountain. Native flowers are quiet, not flamboyant. They are mostly white, because of being pollinated by moths at night. I paused, and discovered rangiora about to burst into flower.<br />
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'You will be supported,' said the mountain, and so I was, with a sign just as I was feeling lost, or a foothold cut into a steep part, when I was faltering.</div>
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'And when you think you have reached the top, know that it is not really the top. </div>
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Take some breaths and gather more energy.'</div>
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'Now is the time to stop and rest.'</div>
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'Lifted high above dwellings and roads, bushes and tree tops, up in the realm of bird song, pause to drink in a new perspective.'<br />
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To descend from such a height is sometimes more challenging than to ascend. In my next post, I will tell you how the mountain guided me, and what I found. But for now, dear reader, we have climbed enough. Take a rest with me, and enjoy the view.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-65169201111374836392015-06-17T12:42:00.001+12:002015-06-17T12:42:04.887+12:00Thyme for solstice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Just
before I picked up my pen to write to you for winter solstice, I opened an
envelope that had just arrived through the mail. Neatly folded inside the
letter, I discovered two little sprigs of wild thyme. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #094ec0; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Lost
on the limestone</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I
inhaled the tangy scent and was suddenly tumbled back to the late sixties, when
I was living in Paris. It was Easter, I was three months pregnant and we'd
taken a train to the south of France for a holiday. Now we were wandering
on a high limestone plateau known as the Calanques, searching for the Youth
Hostel that would be our haven for the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Darkness
was falling rapidly, the moon sailed high, and we were lost. I sat down on a
rock to relieve the weight of the back-pack and rest my weary legs. That's when
I was surprised by an unusual fragrance, penetrating the air: wild thyme,
more pungent than anything my kitchen had known. It was everywhere, growing out
of every crevice.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #094ec0; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">An
injection of courage</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Have
you ever found that the smallest, most unexpected thing can charge you with
courage when you are floundering? That's what the wild thyme did for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
friend is having medical treatment that requires her to draw on courage every
day. Her gift reminded me of how connecting with my senses, beauty and wonder
allowed me to refresh my brain, make sense of the map, agree on a route with my
partner and find the way to the welcoming lights of the hostel. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #094ec0; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Finding
life in the dead of winter</span></b><b><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">At
winter solstice on June 22 the sun's light will return. But how can you feel it
when the days grow more chilly from now on? In winter, sensory awareness tends
to contract. Autumn brings glorious richness and spring sweet fragrance, but
winter sometimes seems like a bundle of dry sticks or soggy dead leaves.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-oD2M62X3EyBQBoqrF3LEdu3oLA47JfXtNWVYO8MwMMZ9NxcLUEg4EhbC4KF1gObSOtvxpRpRy6pZjXhSe4fDiFwEERLdDglBiFIefxAwFPLbwtXr2s657KGU0ANBvTOAfUfA4JbKO4/s1600/Thyme+for+solstice+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-oD2M62X3EyBQBoqrF3LEdu3oLA47JfXtNWVYO8MwMMZ9NxcLUEg4EhbC4KF1gObSOtvxpRpRy6pZjXhSe4fDiFwEERLdDglBiFIefxAwFPLbwtXr2s657KGU0ANBvTOAfUfA4JbKO4/s400/Thyme+for+solstice+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">Dear blog readers, you've seen less of me here because I've been busy writing my Seasons Newsletter, which I now post on my website as a blog. Today I had the bright idea of copying the newsletter into my seasonal inspiration blog, hoping that you will enjoy it too. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">You can read and post on my website blogs by clicking <a href="http://www.julietbatten.co.nz/thyme-for-solstice/">this link.</a> (Scroll down to see earlier posts)</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 17px;">I'm also teaching online courses now, and this is keeping me busy. Below is a sample of what I'm doing: </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The 'Winter Attunement' on June 23 is an opportunity for you to
tune in — not just to the depths of winter, but to your own self. In
the online meditation you will be guided to connect with the source of
nourishment and wonder within. Following this there will be the time for
drawing or writing so that you can express what you discovered. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #0e6e6d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My
friend did the first winter attunement in 2014. She told me that the image she
drew sustained her for months afterwards. Others reported feeling 'very
relaxed, centred and nourished', and having something 'shift and ease
inside'.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
I'm hoping to keep this blog going as well. I value the connections we have built with one another, and enjoy posting more personal material here. I just need to find a way of juggling the balls! Meanwhile, happy winter solstice to my friends in the south, and summer solstice to my friends in the north. </div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262087; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In
the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible
summer.</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262087; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262087; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">—Albert Camus</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-10340468553494199672015-06-05T20:49:00.000+12:002015-06-06T13:44:30.680+12:00Against the dark<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is human nature to rebel against the encroachment of winter. At the Steiner School in the late afternoon, the rain cleared, and Darkness stepped coolly towards us.<br />
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The air was alive with chirping children's voices. 'I know where he's gone,' said a young boy. 'He's gone to the bamboo forest.' Pranks were played, naughtiness frolicked amongst the trees, and all the time the lanterns began to appear. As Darkness threw her cloak over the end of day, more and more lights twinkled from the trees.<br />
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Then circles formed in the classrooms as the children were called inside. Their bellies were full and warm with tai chicken curry, dahl on rice, and hot tomato or buttercup soup. Our little one is in Class One, and we waited outside in the dark, wondering what would come next.<br />
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And then they began to emerge, little processions from each room.<br />
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Each one had its own style of lantern, depending on the age of the children and what they could manage.<br />
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Gradually they formed their lines, until all the classes were gathered. Silence. Waiting. Then the bagpipes began to play. A violin followed.<br />
After an invocation to Matariki (the Pleiades), which is soon to return and mark the Maori new year, the children began to sing - Maori, Scottish, English songs and rounds, ringing out beautifully in the shivering air. Music drifting over the cloak of Darkness, while lanterns blinked and winked—and my cheeks softened, wet with tears.<br />
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Time collapsed and rolled into a ball, in which centuries past and this very day here and now all folded around one another, and by the time the hooded senior pupils came on with their flaming torches to banish the darkness, I no longer knew which era I was born into.<br />
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Asserting 'enough!' Turning the sun around. Banishing the dark of the dark. I tumble and roll back forty years or so, remembering these words of Thomas Hardy in 'The Return of the Native' as he described bonfires being lit on the hilltops of Wessex:<br />
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'. . . to light a fire is the instructive and resistant act of man [sic] when, at the winter ingress, the curfew is sounded throughout Nature.'<br />
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'It indicates a spontaneous Promethean rebelliousness against the fiat that this current season shall bring foul times, cold darkness, misery and death.<br />
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Black chaos comes, and the fettered gods of the earth say, Let there be light.'<br />
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Time rolls around again, and I am a young child, returning to drink up a sense of wonder and ceremony that I didn't have at school. It is never too late to receive what was missing. And to rejoice that my granddaughter is having it all now.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-38063804884176175682015-05-01T20:10:00.000+12:002015-05-06T17:01:50.468+12:00Unearthing in autumn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We've done this before, you and I. It's that time of year again, when the shadows are lengthening, the nights are growing cooler and it's time for us to venture to the other side of the hill.<br />
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At first we seem to be making straight for the sea, but the secret place we are heading for means a bit of a climb<br />
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as we take the winding path up the side of the hill. Our back pack is heavy, with drink and a container of rice salad, along with camera and warm clothing for later in the day.<br />
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The climb never matters when there's a view like this at the other end, before the descent to the hidden garden.<br />
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Repetition is unavoidable in a blog about the seasons. The wheel turns and we are back where we were last autumn,<br />
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ready to join in the communal kumara dig. It starts with the tearing up of the vines. What lies beneath, says our host, is a mystery.<br />
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There might be nothing at all this year. It will take patience as our fingers work into the sandy earth.<br />
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Implements are forbidden. They might cut into the kumara, or into little fingers. The trick is to make a 'cliff' and then tunnel into it from the side. Not easy this year as rain has fallen and the earth is quite solid under the first loose layer of the mounds.<br />
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Our host was right. This little cluster was all I found,<br />
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and compared with last year, the crop was not huge. When things repeat, the differences stand out.<br />
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After a barbecue, and chats on the grass with friends new and old, it was time to wander back along the beach before the full tide made the river crossing difficult.<br />
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As I inhaled the fresh tang of the surf, I thought of the comfort of the seasonal cycle. Harvest time comes round each year. Through abundance and scarcity, friends gather, food is shared. Yet repetition also throws into relief what has changed; the friend who is now a widow, another who is in a wheelchair, the absences, the uncertainties of climate, the endings, and some unwelcome beginnings.<br />
<br />
I returned to the comfort of the turning wheel of the year, and remembered an old rhyme:<br />
<br />
The earth, the water, the fire and the air.<br />
Returns, returns<br />
Returns, returns.<br />
<br />
May it continue to be so.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-53239332150772063182015-04-18T10:38:00.000+12:002015-04-18T12:45:12.236+12:00Autumn treasure <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The shadows are lengthening and the days are growing cooler. Salad days have come to an end, and it's time for hot soup and toast.<br />
At Easter I laid a trail for the young one (now 6 1/2 years old).<br />
'To do this treasure hunt, you need to be very observant,' I told her.<br />
'What does observant mean?'<br />
'It means you notice things.'<br />
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I knew very well how she notices every detail in nature. And so the clues consisted of plant samples in tiny plastic bags. Hard to photograph these, but you may be able to detect the lobelia flowers, which she found after finding the peace lily, whose leaf I placed into her hand.<br />
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And there she discovered a lemon yellow flower head.<br />
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She knew immediately to go to the snap dragon. It's a flower that has fascinated her since she was very small. But what are these stamens?<br />
She had to think for a while. It's a pohutukawa, but they only flower in summer. Then 'I know!' as she ran up to the gate where a small Tahitian pohutukawa grows. These plants flower through autumn and winter.<br />
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The geranium was easy.<br />
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And then the clivia.<br />
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It took a bit of hunting for this one as it hides in shady places.<br />
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Then to the hibiscus and the jade plant - that's another easy one.<br />
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And finally to the treasure. We don't do sugary things, but she loves bliss balls, the little butterfly notebook, and a nice edition of 'The Secret Garden', which we immediately read from cover to cover.<br />
What a delight to have our own 'secret garden' where the plants are alive and well, and fun grows freely.<br />
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<br />Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-59741168278482223892015-03-31T17:07:00.000+13:002015-03-31T17:07:58.734+13:00Time for pilgrimage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You have walked this walk with me before, dear readers, and it's time for us to return. Here in Auckland, In the week before Easter, St Matthew In The City creates a labyrinth (based on a medieval design) out of river stones, and lights the way with many candles.<br />
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What is your question? What will you hold in your heart as you slowly walk the labyrinth, attending to the three movements?<br />
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First, WALKING IN: letting go of distractions and releasing unwanted thoughts. As you walk in, let them all drop away and your mind become clear. Step by step, release and clear. Step by step. Take your time. There is no hurry at all.<br />
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The Centre is not straight ahead. You will appear to be walking away from it, often. You will find yourself on the periphery, as far away as you can be. Your path will twist and turn.<br />
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'Enjoy the turns,' you are advised. 'The turns can help you to accept change in your life.'<br />
Whatever feelings arise, you are advised to trust and keep walking, knowing you are being led to where you need to go.<br />
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In THE CENTRE, stay awhile. You have arrived.<br />
Open to receiving.<br />
Maybe your question will be answered in a surprising way, and maybe it will unravel a little more.<br />
Be still.<br />
Be present.<br />
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From the centre the labyrinth looks different, and you may see new beauty and order that was not apparent before.<br />
<br />
And now it is time for the RETURNING. You leave by the way in which you came. You return to the world, bearing the gift of the labyrinth.<br />
It is yours to share.<br />
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I found many insights, and saw my question from different angles. It became a sculpture of a question, each view showing me something new. Sometimes a question is best not answered too soon. Sometimes it has to grow bigger inside, to gain dimension and presence. That is what the labyrinth gave me, and that is what I offer back to you.<br />
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I wish you all peace at Easter, and space to make your own pilgrimage into the heart, wherever you may be.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-6608164857658102352015-03-29T18:08:00.000+13:002015-03-29T18:31:23.860+13:00I took my drum . . . <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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'Bring a drum,' they said, 'to help with the protest.' So I dug out my old animal skin, shaman's drum that I made many years ago. In the rainy morning, the drum skin sagged. So I put it in the airing cupboard, and almost left it at home, taking a saucepan and wooden spoon instead. But then the sun came out, and after a little sun bathe the drumskin tightened up and became staunch and all ready to go.<br />
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What got me out on the streets? First it was the fight to save the 500 year old kauri tree that a developer was about to fell (with permission from the Council) in Titirangi. Then it was my rush to 'save' the flame tree when its limbs were being sawn off one by one (as described in my last post). Now it was the threat of deep sea oil drilling around our coastline. In an island nation like ourselves, any oil spill would be devastating.<br />
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We drew the line once, and said no to nuclear power for our nation. Now it feels imperative that we draw the line again.<br />
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There were so many children and young people on the march, and their messages were simple, even simplistic.<br />
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'Evil', she wrote quickly on the pavement outside the conference centre where the government was meeting with the petroleum companies.<br />
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It's easy to blame our leaders and to call names.<br />
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But the issues are more complex than that. How can we oppose the oil economy when we are still so dependent on roads and cars? We are complicit. And dependent. Buddhist activist <a href="http://www.unlearnandrewild.org/listen/joanna-macy-on-the-world-as-lover-and-self-1">Joanna Macy</a>, in a recent interview, speaks of this with such clarity.<br />
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This bright bicycle spoke of another way to travel. But it's not for everyone. For me, I've changed to a smaller car and reduced my footprint by walking and taking buses as much as possible. But to get to the bach and reconnect with nature, I need to use petrol. The issues are filled with dilemmas.<br />
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What did my drum have to say? First, when it beat in slow unison with hundreds of other drums along the streets and outside the conference centre, it was sounding the beat of the earth. Keep beating your heart with the beat of the mother, said my drum, and you will know what to do.<br />
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Then, when I sat down, weary from drumming, and held the drum in my arms while others kept going, I noticed something surprising. My drum was vibrating. It was vibrating with the beat of all the drums around it. I held it amazed, as the vibration went on and on, bringing strange comfort.<br />
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These are heavy issues to face, the ones around climate change and what we are doing to the earth. Sometimes I feel alone with issues that are too big to bear. But today, marching with 6,000 others, I was part of a tribe. Together, our hearts were beating. Together our drums were roaring. And together we were resonating, as one heart, one voice, all saying one thing: No more.<br />
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<br />Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-82904426952945616772015-03-20T11:30:00.000+13:002015-03-20T11:30:02.580+13:00Don't fall in love with a tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear reader, don't fall in love with a tree. </div>
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I did. How could I help it? From the balcony of my apartment I look out on it every day. Beyond the cypress, and in front of the sea, there it stands through all seasons. In summer it leafs greenly, and in autumn turns to yellow. You will have seen this tree before in my blog posts.<br />
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In winter when the leaves drop, it flares brightly, for this is a flame tree. Its lower branch holds a swing for children to use. They live in the apartment block next door, and I often hear their laughter.<br />
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The tuis flock from far and wide to sip nectar from flowers. I hear them chortling and croaking in the branches as they flit, black and sleek between the red cups of nectar.<br />
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At the end of the day, the setting sun caresses the sturdy trunk and sets the flowers aglow all over again.<br />
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Every morning as I exercise or eat my breakfast on the balcony, my eyes sweep out and over this tree. It is my daily companion. And so, I fell in love. Love at first sight, to tell you the truth, but also a love that grows tenderly over the years.<br />
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And so, dear reader, you can probably imagine how I felt when I heard the chain saw screaming through the air.<br />
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My client saw it first. 'A branch has just fallen from the tree,' he said. 'You'll have a better view of the sea now.'<br />
I didn't want a better view of the sea. I wanted my tree.<br />
By the time my client had left, and I dared to look out, many major branches had already been cut.<br />
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These photos were taken in haste, not like the loving, lingering photos of the whole tree that you saw earlier.<br />
<br />
I phoned the Council immediately. 'We'll check the Resource Consent,' they said.<br />
<br />
I put on my coat and ran. Ran up our steep driveway and out the gate. Ran along the street and round the corner. Ran down to the piece of public land that runs along towards the tree on the neighbour's property.<br />
<br />
'Who's in charge?' I asked the lounging workmen, waiting with their empty truck to take the debris away. 'No one,' they said and laughed.<br />
I ran towards the tree. One man was tied to the top, and another on the ground held the ropes.<br />
'What's happening?'<br />
'It's coming down,' said the bloke on the ground, and laughed, showing gaps in his teeth.<br />
But the bloke up the tree understood. He stopped the chain saw.<br />
'The trunk has rot in it,' he said. 'We're removing the weight from all these branches so that it doesn't fall over.'<br />
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'We are trying to save the tree.'<br />
My pounding heart began to slow down.<br />
He got the other guy to take me round the back of the trunk. I had to scramble over a tangle of cut limbs and bushy foliage. Sure enough, I saw the rot, and understood what they were doing.<br />
<br />
As I left, I passed the neighbours who had come out of their apartments to watch. A suave gentleman called out mockingly, and the other workmen did too.<br />
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'The pohutukawas are going next,' they jeered. As I left I heard their laughter.<br />
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Dear reader, never fall in love with a tree.<br />
<br />
You may be seen as a crazy old woman or man.<br />
<br />
But when the chain saw tears through the branches, you will feel as if your own limbs are being severed. And when you look out in your favourite direction in the morning, and see the damage, it will hurt. Even though it's all for your own good.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-51020666760866926882015-03-15T15:23:00.001+13:002015-03-15T15:23:05.817+13:00A cyclone conversation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's hard to believe that a fierce cyclone is approaching. The evening before is so golden and calm.<br />
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There is just time for a quick dip before the little one goes to bed. Sleepovers are so precious. They allow time for conversations to unfold:<br />
<br />
—'What's a cyclone?'<br />
—'It's a fierce storm with wild winds and lots of rain.'<br />
—How do they know it's coming?<br />
—Because the satellites up in space circle the earth and take pictures. They see a place where the clouds are going round and round - like a whirlwind, and that's the cyclone. It's up in the Pacific islands at the moment, and is moving down towards New Zealand.<br />
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Time for a warm bath after the shivers that follow a dip in the sea. Then to be wrapped in a warm towel. And a little more conversation:<br />
<br />
—Granny, can I lift the plug?<br />
—Yes, you can.<br />
—I want to see the cyclone go down the plughole.<br />
<br />
If only the cyclones that sweep through our lives could be dealt with so easily! If we could unplug and watch them spin away, never to return.<br />
<br />
We have been warned to put aside lots of water, get batteries for our torches, have a radio handy, food in the cupboards, and not to go outside when the cyclone hits tonight.<br />
<br />
When the life cyclones hit, what do you need in your survival kit?<br />
I have a little pouch of prayers, a bundle of bravery, a rumble of resilience, and a fistful of faith.<br />
How about you?<br />
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<br />Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-29732940448293102682015-02-22T00:00:00.000+13:002015-02-22T10:23:29.971+13:00Stones for Christchurch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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February 22 is the 4th anniversary of the big Christchurch earthquake that shattered a city and claimed many lives. After the quake I went to the Auckland beach near my home and made a shrine. I returned over many days to make new ones to post on my blog. You can see one of the posts <a href="http://seasonalinspiration.blogspot.co.nz/2011/03/solidarity.html">here</a>, and four others by scrolling back from there to older posts.<br />
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I wasn't just making shrines. I was also offering up prayers.<br />
<br />
Those who have remained living in Christchurch have been shaken hundreds of times since.<br />
They have had to learn to live with instability.<br />
Solid ground turned to liquid and we learned a new word.<br />
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Anyone whose life has been shattered knows what it's like to have your foundations knocked from under you, to have everything that seemed certain and stable to turn to liquefaction.<br />
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This has happened in my life, not just once but several times. Maybe it's happened in yours too.<br />
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And so it's important to reach for a new order, to find what can be trusted, to discover another kind of stability.<br />
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Today I have made another shrine for Christchurch, invoking faith for a city whose cathedral was broken. The colours for Christchurch are red and black. My shrine has two faces. Which one speaks to you most?<br />
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Prayer for Christchurch, four years on</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
May the stones of faith be reinstalled.</div>
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May the heart find its own resilience.</div>
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May a new order emerge, stronger than the one before.</div>
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May there be healing and holding.</div>
Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-42414226835347870722015-02-07T20:54:00.003+13:002015-02-07T20:54:33.517+13:00Rituals of welcome<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Through the summer holidays I had been sewing, plying my needle through tough canvas, to prepare for this special day. Now that the little one was to begin in Class One at the Steiner school, she needed a chair cover with a deep pocket across the back. At the end of last year each child was asked to choose one of the colours of the rainbow, and given a chair cover for someone to decorate.</div>
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What shall I put on it? I wondered as the chair cover was entrusted to me. No problem, the little one knew exactly what she wanted: a tree, an owl, some grass and a moon. Oh, and the night before I was informed that her name had to be on it, so some hasty chain stitch was produced.</div>
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We stood outside in the cool breeze of early morning - well, early for me, to be out driving at the one time of the day I avoid: the rush hour, when workers, and parents taking their kids to school are all out driving here there and everywhere. But this was a special day, and I had to be there.</div>
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For on this, the first day of school, the little one was about to receive a special welcome. She wore a pretty new cotton dress, and slung her not-new back pack over her shoulders in readiness.<br />
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The whanau was gathered around her. Whanau is a Maori word for family, picked up by Pakeha ( New Zealanders of European descent) when describing a warm and nurturing family unity. And that's what we were: Chinese granny, Pakeha granny (me), father, and mother with the new babe in her arms, and the little one in our midst.<br />
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The Steiner School is robust on caring, and this means creating ceremonies of transition. While the philosophy began in Germany, there is a strong Maori influence in this school. Together with the other families, we waited. The children from the kindergarten were shepherded into a circle by their three teachers. Then we women—mothers, aunties, and grandmothers—were called to follow the little flock, and the men asked to walk in behind. We walked a few steps towards the beautiful school hall.<br />
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Then we waited again. A dignified Maori woman wearing a korowai, a cloak woven from the muka, the fine fibre inside the flax plant, waited in the doorway. Then the moment came that we were waiting for: the beginning of the powhiri, the ritual of welcome.<br />
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A ringing chant known as a karanga resounded across the space between us, and we slowly stepped forward, beckoned by the smiling woman, across the threshold and into the hall with its high stepped seating, like a steep amphitheatre. It was full of pupils and teachers; in fact the whole school was waiting for us.<br />
It was at this point that my tears welled up as if they would never stop.<br />
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The cluster of young children was shepherded some more, on to mats on the floor. There they sat with their kindergarten teachers, to whom they would soon be saying goodbye. Every now and then a little girl crept into the embrace of her teacher, cuddled up for a while, then bravely made space for another to do the same.<br />
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Meanwhile one of the Maori teachers began his oratory, welcoming the children in, speaking of the transition that they were soon to make, to Class One in the main school. He referred to the kindergarten as a kohunga, a learning nest, and that's just how it seemed as I watched those clusters of little children on the mats.<br />
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All the teachers then gathered around him to sing a waiata (song), and a Maori man on our side, representing the visitors, gave another speech. They went on a long time, these men, all in Maori, for they were brothers showing their skills to each other as well as to us.<br />
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And then came the moment that brought more tears. A candle was lit on a special table, an invocation was spoken, and through this wooden archway, threaded with flowers, the little ones were led, one by one. Each, when her/his name was called, was met by a senior student who gave them a posy of flowers, took their hand, and brought them through to their new teacher, Mr. Wigley (yes!), who is an award-winning musician and writer of children's songs.<br />
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The children now sat on benches with Mr Wigley, who then led them away through a doorway, off to their class room.<br />
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Meanwhile the three kindergarten teachers sat on the empty mats.<br />
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It was shortly after that when new tears began to flow, and not just from me. The seven years of magical childhood are almost over and a new phase is beginning. I felt as if the Pied Piper had appeared and led the children away into a mountain, where they would never be seen again.<br />
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A ritual of welcome can also be a ritual of loss, depending on where you stand.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-2047887912355853952015-02-02T12:51:00.002+13:002015-02-02T12:51:55.442+13:00Breaking bread at Lugnasad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The wheel has turned, rain has fallen on the parched earth and a lively wind is rattling loose branches around my home. Time to sip tea, break bread, and give thanks.<br />
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Thanks for the golden summer, which is now turning its head towards a doorway marked 'northern hemisphere'. It won't be departing just yet, but all action begins with a thought, a turning away and a turning towards, and today that thought is buzzing in the breeze.<br />
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In the Celtic calendar of old Europe tribes would gather to give thanks to the grain god Lugh, who was sacrificed with the reaping of the corn. Back to the body of the Earth goddess he was gathered, ploughed in so that new life might emerge in the spring. And so today we remember Lugnasad, his festival, and its continuation through Christian times as the festival of Lammas.<br />
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Loaves made from the first grain harvest were brought to church to be blessed. Last night I baked a gluten-free loaf of bread, from a recipe posted by Australian blogger Charlie, who is a superb cook. She calls it a 'life changing loaf', and it certainly is. No flour is used at all. It's easy and nourishing, full of nuts and seeds. You can find it by clicking here.<a href="http://hotlyspiced.com/homemade-vegan-bread/">http://hotlyspiced.com/homemade-vegan-bread/</a><br />
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This season is also berry time, which was important in the Maori seasonal cycle. Not being a grain growing society (until European contact), Maori depended on the kumara (sweet potato) crop as the staple. However, at First Fruits/ Lugnasad/Lammas the kumara was still sitting in the ground, needing another month or so to mature. And so this was a lean time, 'Te Waru'.<br />
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The native berries which the wood pigeons have been feeding on so enthusiastically out at my bach, provided some food, though not of a very substantial kind.<br />
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And the karaka berries needed special treatment, including long soaking in water, to remove their poison and making them safe for eating. Have you ever gathered wild berries? Berries are hard work.<br />
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And so, in giving thanks for plentiful food, I am also mindful at this time of year that for many, the basket is half empty. In my book <i>Celebrating the Southern Seasons: Rituals for Aotearoa</i>, I call this time the Festival of the Half Harvest. I find it a good time both to offer up gratitude, and also to make donations for those who are in need.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-3935465110160779302015-01-29T21:46:00.000+13:002015-01-29T21:46:12.570+13:00Rituals of Arrival<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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What are your rituals of arrival, when you come to a special place? Last weekend as I crunched along the gravel path and up the brick steps to the bach, I became aware of mine.<br />
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Between carrying in the first and second loads from the car, I found myself pausing to pull a few weeds from the path — not as in 'working', but as in greeting the land, and making a promise to tend it once more when I'd settled in.</div>
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Between the second load and the third, I made a detour up the steps to dead-head the cornflowers, as a way of saying, 'hello, I'm so glad that you are still flowering. You are beautiful.' It was but a small diversion from there to visit the tomato plants and pinch out a few laterals.<br />
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After the fifth load I pick a fresh kawakawa leaf while the kettle boils. And after the sixth load it's time to pause for my cup of tea, and to taste the fresh fruit I bought on the way out. Big sigh of relief. I have arrived.<br />
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Unpacking can wait till later.<br />
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For now, creative ideas flock in, fluttering like butterflies around my head. I pull out my writer's notebook, and begin to write this blog to you, dear readers. So you come with me, you see, as my heart opens to receiving the blessings of nature, like these calling cards from the kereru (wood pigeon), that have been dropped at intervals along the pathways.<br />
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I take my tea outside and sip contentedly, listening to the wind shaking secrets through the foliage, and the penetrating ki-ki-ki of a kingfisher spearing up from the nearby stream. I think of <a href="http://www.wildwisdom.co.uk/easily-moment/?utm_source=Wild+Wisdom&utm_campaign=eef3be0829-&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_c174bbe3ad-eef3be0829-407324401">Jane Duncan Rogers,</a> who wrote recently about arriving at a beach hut in Scotland, in the cold of winter, and Joan Anderson, who took a year by the sea at Cape Cod, and all those women who face the bravery of retreat.<br />
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From Virginia Woolf's room of one's own, to beach huts, cottages, baches, boats, and other hideaways around the world, where women escape to soothe their souls and wait for the wellspring to fill again, it seems I am not alone. I am a bead on a long loose string that encircles the world, and loops around times past, present and future.<br />
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In solitude and silence, the magnificence of nature is most deeply felt.</div>
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<br />Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-37716008050406651582015-01-18T13:17:00.000+13:002015-01-18T20:52:29.528+13:00Nature is the teacher <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's time to take a break from some work that isn't going as quickly as I would like. Time to play, and my six-year-old playmate is all ready to go.<br />
It's morning, and the tide is too far out for swimming. Never mind, the beach is perfect for sandcastles and the wet sand left by the receding sea is exactly the right texture.<br />
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We know from trial and error the important of patting each layer and consolidating the sand in the bucket<br />
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so that the form is preserved. The little one turns out a perfect sandcastle, and celebrates with a scallop shell on the top.<br />
I find myself relaxing, accepting what nature is showing me. At present I'm developing an exciting new project, but it's taking a lot of time to set it up with a solid foundation.<br />
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Sometimes I get impatient, like the little one with her next sandcastle.<br />
It collapsed.<br />
All was not lost, however. 'It could be a hill. Or a house,' she exclaimed, and so it was.<br />
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I'm happy that she is so ready to make something out of the 'failure'. A collapsed castle is no big deal for her. But I don't really want my new project to turn into a flat-topped hill or a house. I have aspirations. After all, I grew up beside a mountain.<br />
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'Now we'll connect them all up,' she said,<br />
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gathering leaves from the sea. That's the best place. They are all floating in the water.'<br />
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And so the sandcastle town is completed, with pathways linking the successful with the less successful castles, each one decorated and standing proudly.<br />
I return home to reflect on what I learned from a bucket of sand. A collection of loose ideas swirling around is not good enough. I need to draw them together, connect them up and pack them into a sturdy container. The new technology needs to work. The website page needs to be set up. Inspiration on its own is not enough, but the right amount, like the ocean water, will hold everything in place, well consolidated, ready to stand alone.<br />
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<br />Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-44358050740902597442015-01-11T22:03:00.001+13:002015-01-11T22:03:50.045+13:00Back from the bush<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Being in nature and being in community: what a rich and nourishing combination this is. Once a year I attend a gathering of people who are concerned for the earth and its people. This year we tried out a completely new location.<br />
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The school camp at Port Waikato was set up for children's health in the 1920s, and has been cared for with great love over the years. The accommodation is simple, but clean and comfortable.<br />
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A local farmer gifted his land for the health camp on condition that the hillside of bush was retained.<br />
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It was the perfect place for our annual gathering.<br />
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I learned more about the bush, the dedicated work that my friends are doing in the world, and I had the opportunity to test out one of my 'inspirational ideas for 2015' (which you'll be hearing about in due course).<br />
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There were plenty of spaces to retreat to, for contemplation, journal writing or simply to sit quietly and integrate the stimulating ideas that we had heard during the day. This one is 'the chapel'. I set out expecting to find a building, and then realised that the 'chapel' was completely open to the bush and the sky.<br />
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I came away feeling completely recharged, and ready for another year of exciting work.<br />
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Oh, and the children had a great time too.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-84642219961442814142014-12-22T16:33:00.001+13:002014-12-22T16:33:24.081+13:00Summer Solstice Circles <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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After an hour of meditation this morning, a spell of gardening, a toast of elderflower champagne (!) on the steps with my gardener as we admired our work, I set off for the beach.<br />
Each summer solstice my favourite thing is to create an offering on the sand, to greet this turning point in the seasonal cycle.<br />
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This year, the pohutukawas are at their most splendid. It is a 'mast' year, which occurs occasionally, and has brought about abundant flowering of native trees throughout the country.<br />
The rain has stopped and the sky is cloudless. A playful breeze whisks away the heat from the sun, and down at the beach it's still fairly quiet. This week before Christmas is always a special time to be here, knowing that I have let go of deadlines and rushing about, and left the busy crowds back in the city.<br />
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Here, even the computer has slowed down. It will take over half an hour to load this post, even though I've limited myself to only three photos. Right now, slow is OK.<br />
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The wheel of the year is turning. For those of you in the north, the light is seeded at winter solstice. For those of us in the south, the dark seed has been sown, even as the warmth is increasing and the waves are beckoning. As the wheel turns, our light becomes your light, and your dark becomes our dark. We are all connected. Happy solstice, wherever you are.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-57860198589228938842014-12-18T15:30:00.001+13:002014-12-18T15:30:32.908+13:00Imagine . . . <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH90rQocFqk2g5vXNsFsQBu6a281EKU7YebBB6wWoFDsIFRhItrSRmcxxmKB5j56nQy50FBl_I0zONqSz0XS2mRBE7KV9jhNHTSJMKg90i_LTQ6KiJBlLoWoKkGDEREIUK5qariwSIhlI/s1600/blue+bowl+with+flowers+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH90rQocFqk2g5vXNsFsQBu6a281EKU7YebBB6wWoFDsIFRhItrSRmcxxmKB5j56nQy50FBl_I0zONqSz0XS2mRBE7KV9jhNHTSJMKg90i_LTQ6KiJBlLoWoKkGDEREIUK5qariwSIhlI/s1600/blue+bowl+with+flowers+2.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-size: 16pt;">Imagine . . . </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Imagine if . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">at this time of year,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">for every person who is speeding
up,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">disconnecting<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">and behaving erratically . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">there is someone who is<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">slowing down,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">connecting deeply<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">to the still centre<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">within,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">and taking special care.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Imagine what the lead up<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">to summer solstice/winter
solstice/Xmas<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">would then be like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Just imagine. . . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Could that someone be you?</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Blessings on you all, whether you are opening to the fullness of summer solstice light, or to the seeding of a new cycle in the winter solstice dark.<br />May there be peace in your homes and love in your heart. </h4>
<h4 style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: 'Open Sans', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: inherit; line-height: 21px; margin: 12px 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
Juliet</h4>
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Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-81637775235618017742014-12-08T18:45:00.000+13:002014-12-08T18:45:43.415+13:00Retreat into stillness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The calendar year attempts to impose its agendas of deadlines and completions, yet the seasonal year is opening like a flower, towards the shining light of summer solstice.<br />
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And so what better time to retreat for the weekend, to a beautiful place in nature, with beloved friends, who belong to a group that was formed 29 years ago to celebrate our southern seasons.<br />
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Together we create sacred space. We draw inwards, into silence, and meditate on the season.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEippTTt80SmO282Z-1sXBWXeHCp8S6GIY_06s30dkih75iRpzlkugAqaZxU0_NwZdjvVb2HHlIk9mxELX-ic9vh01CjJejflkAqy8gnr4vDCdtNDREchk7ECF1Mi3AgIigaE0va_DjGuy4/s1600/Cone+S+Solstice+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEippTTt80SmO282Z-1sXBWXeHCp8S6GIY_06s30dkih75iRpzlkugAqaZxU0_NwZdjvVb2HHlIk9mxELX-ic9vh01CjJejflkAqy8gnr4vDCdtNDREchk7ECF1Mi3AgIigaE0va_DjGuy4/s1600/Cone+S+Solstice+5.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
the movements of our lives,<br />
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and the presence of love.<br />
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Our original families have mostly passed on. But this circle of women endures. It embraces every season, from the depths of darkness to the radiance of the light. To mellow together over time is such a blessing and a gift.<br />
And now I am pondering on new ways to help others create such a group. If you would like to know more, you can click <a href="http://www.julietbatten.co.nz/contact/">here </a>to leave a message on my website contact form.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-79735500123575646872014-11-30T20:57:00.000+13:002014-11-30T20:57:19.962+13:00Preparing a welcome for summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here we are on the brink of summer, and the little tree climber has come for a sleepover. Pohutukawas are great trees for climbing. They sprawl out over the beach, and their bark has plenty of grip.<br />
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Jumping off on to soft sand isn't hard.<br />
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And now we've collected some offerings from nature, it's time to make our summer solstice cards. The little one made her first card last year, and today is the promised day for making a new one. We gather shells & stones, together with petals & leaves.<br />
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I still have some of my once vast collection of stones and shells gathered from North Cape to Totaranui at the top of the South Island. In my days as an artist these were my materials for installations and ritual performances.<br />
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I'm glad now that I kept some. The mandala grows slowly.<br />
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It takes patience to balance the tiny shells on the stones, and to protect the petals from the Wind Woman's frisky fingers.<br />
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But finally the circle is complete. Once photographed and printed out, I paste it on to a yellow card for her, ready to be gifted to the family. In the flurry of her being picked up, and our packing up of so many playthings, I forgot to take a photo of the final card.<br />
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Never mind, here is a picture of last year's card. Now we can welcome in summer.<br />
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Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-51064301370781944692014-11-21T14:50:00.002+13:002014-11-21T14:50:24.915+13:00Abundance Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do you ever feel concerned that today's children are at risk of growing up less connected to nature than to electronic media? —that children are now overprotected from exploring the natural world? <br />
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Then come down this suburban street with me. Technically, it's called a 'blind street'. But I think of it as an all-seeing street, because it opens my eyes so wide.<br />
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From the top of the street the green outline looks like a distant hill. As you get to the bottom of the street you will discover that the 'hill' is really something else: I call it 'the tree at the end of the road.'<br />
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To a child, this is wonderland. The tree is a puriri, a native of New Zealand. Not only is it robust, but it also has a long life (one specimen is thought to be 2000 years old). Limbs decay and drop off, and others take their place. It's a perfect tree for climbing. Children have probably climbed in this tree for a hundred years or more.<br />
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There are a lot of kids in this neighbourhood, and friendly parents who have added to the tree over time:<br />
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first a swing in an old tyre, then a wooden horse swing, then a simple stick fastened firmly to a rope.<br />
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A ladder was added, and then another to help take-off for the adventurous,<br />
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or to lead them up into the welcoming arms above.<br />
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Coming down is always a little more tricky than going up.<br />
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And then, just to finish off, here's a fun game. Why should a swing be nothing but a swing? That red rope can be twisted, and twisted, and twisted again,<br />
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and then let fly, faster and faster, whirling around and around [sound track: delighted shrieks and giggles].<br />
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There's even a rocking horse for the very little ones to ride.</div>
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What a well loved tree this is. It welcomes in all the neighbourhood kids. It is full of possibilities. It offers different perspectives, from the ground looking up, to the higher branches looking out ('There's our house!') to the upper reaches into the leaf-filtered sky above.<br />
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Truly, this is an Abundance Tree.</span></div>
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We all need one. What is yours? What holds you in abundance, delight and openness to myriad possibilities and imaginative play? Do leave a comment, as I'd love to know your thoughts.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3078877172139600813.post-62167787138057789982014-11-16T12:46:00.002+13:002014-11-16T12:46:51.846+13:00Summer Mandalas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When the wind keeps stealing the joy of spring, and rain and hail dampen the spirits, it's time to look forward to summer, which surely is coming.<br />
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And so I've made a gift card set from my past 'Summer Mandala' images. I've done one of these each year now, and the card set will be tucked into book orders that arrive during November, as a free gift to delight my loyal readers.<br />
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It gives me so much pleasure to prepare a gift that comes from my own labour.<br />
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Now I've started creating the image for 2014, which I will make into a card to send to family and friends.<br />
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Dear reader, I must confess it's not going well. The ingredients are beautiful, but how to put them together?<br />
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I try adding jade plant leaves to add some life, but no, it's not quite right. That flax mat looks too yellow, and drains the energy.<br />
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How about doing it on a tile? Hmmm. I'm repeating myself from other years. A fresh approach is needed.<br />
I read an article many years ago about the stages of the creative process. Frustration is a stage. It's not forever. In fact it is said to precede a breakthrough.<br />
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I'm reminded that the images in the cards above took many hours or days to produce. They all went through the process, with frustration speed humps jolting and jarring the flow and tempting me to give up.<br />
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When in the frustration stage, it's useful to take a break, and to remember past successes. So that's why I've photographed my card set and posted it at the top of this blog. It makes me smile to share it with you. Meanwhile, watch this space and see what emerges from the failures.Juliethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01542985048406828693noreply@blogger.com12