Irma me this, Irma me that.

There are so many courageous souls heading out during and after any natural disaster to rescue, repair and rebuild places so they are habitable and safe again, let's do all we can to  help.
The one thing all this techno-connectedness brings is help where it is needed. These latest months shows so much namaste in its true form.

Be well my friends.

Where's Florida?

We'll be in the Twilight Zone...

~ hippie

the wheel moves

Feeling the movement of the wheel,  got a vintage tune in my head like something out of the '50s
and interesting. It's something to work on while new classes start.

Many of us take stock of  projects, happenings and flow when a major holiday approaches  and not only are we facing a chance to grab onto a little bit of balance and teeter-toter back or sway a little on either side of center, I can just feel the need to see what is ahead on the path as the veil begins to call up on the consciousness of the mind.


What I felt was a very important message about the effects of music therapy is sitting on the side for awhile, as I start to hear new tunes as the air will cool. I see the weather up north is slightly showing signs of cooling already. A vision of turning leaves to bring some relief from the heat everywhere.

Enjoy a safe and joyful holiday!

The Grove

Not sure where to start, except a  welcome and some peace.

Today I'm attempting to outline the meanings within the second lyrical verse of Gateways.

So here the words work into recognizing sacred places of  life and the cycle we see in every year. It incorporates imagery in my head of the sacred cow providing nourishment for the crone of the underworld barrows, who is heading into rebirth as Brighid.

Starting with the  recognition that as Spring appears in Avalon, so does the snowdrop flowers coming to life under the snow. I  heard them whispering against the fading snow.


Then as the long sleeping winter crone, known in Scots and Irish Gaelic as the Cailleach, leaves the barrows and heads for the entrance of the green grove that is budding, full of live giving water of the sacred well and begins to sing life, as she does in the first verse of the song.

The whispers of the snowdrops

Reflect upon the fading snow

Winter Cailleach, (white old crone of  the night)

Leaves her dark and dreary mound

for the entrance of  the grove

(Budding fruits from the green hand of the grove)

In the forest 

(at the base of the hill)

She finds the springs of Mother Earth

Drinking deeply,

(nourished milk of the mother and she sings)

Brighid sings. 




I feel this as a vision of always cycling, never dying and falling in love with life once again.

Feel free to comment below on what visions you see  when you hear these words. 


Until  next blog time....

~ hippie