February 4, 2017
On Imbolc, the celebration of the quickening of Spring, halfway between Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, I sit here with sunlight streaming into my home and welcome the thought of this year’s new birth. There is so much hope and magic awaiting us in this new year. Time is relentless, it never stops, and during times of pain and grief I often found myself wanting life to stop, give me some breathing room, room to heal and release the pain. I often felt frustrated that life kept moving on, business as usual, and I had to keep going when I really wanted to just lie down and never move again. On the other side of my grief, I am so very grateful for the relentless movement of time and life. That movement is our lifeblood. To keep moving and hoping and dreaming and welcoming the new life all around us, is life.
As I followed my silver blue faerie down to the heart of the cedar, memories began to gently return to my mind of my first adventure with my faerie angels, when I was very young, younger than I probably should have been able to remember. I was a baby. My oldest brother, almost four, was dying of A-Plastic Anemia, a now curable blood disease similar to Leukemia. I have always had a special connection with my big brother, even though I wasn’t blessed with the opportunity to grow up with him. He died early in my first year of life. I believe that is why the veil between this life and the next has always been thin for me. I remember my brother and my two cousins that were near his age, running through my grandma’s house, slamming screen doors shooting old, needleless syringes filled with water at each other like squirt guns. Doctors took a lot of blood tests to try and help my brother and it was difficult for my family to watch and tough for him, so as a way to try and soften the impact of the situation, often the doctors would allow him to keep syringes to play with. I remember running and laughing with them and my faerie angels. In and out of the house, around and around. Years later, when I related this memory to my mom, she said that she was amazed I remembered that because of two critical facts; my parents never talked about those painful days with me and more importantly, I wasn’t born yet. Nevertheless, it was a clear memory of mine.
I looked down at the silver blue faeries delicate hand that clasped my index finger and led me deeper into the heart of my cedar tree. They were long and thin, graceful even. I wondered what things this faerie did to make our world a more beautiful place. I could barely look around because it was lighter and more shimmering than had been my world above. However, as my eyes adjusted, I realized me and my faerie retinue were winding our way down a grand staircase into a circular entrance or reception area below. Rough cut wooden beams entangled with roots held draping chandeliers made of similar petrified roots, teardrop crystals of all colors and sizes, intermingled with candlelike lights glowing brightly. The crystals scattered the light merrily around the enormous room. An angelic faerie, much larger than the wisps of faeries that had rescued me, stood in the middle of that room at the bottom of the stairs. She was glorious, taller than me, slender and full of light. The little faeries flitted around in gentle circles around her, moving faster than they did out in the snow and more opaque. Oh, yes, a fae, memories of my childhood and lessons learned there continued to return as I descended deeper into their world.
I remembered how my faerie angels were always with me during the most difficult as well as the most beautiful times of my life and truly, every time in-between. But my next memory came to me bright as the candle’s refracted light, and nearly as merry. As I said before, I saw my faeries first in Michigan in the little magical town of Harbor Springs where my mom grew up. We traveled from Seattle to Michigan as often as my parents could get us back there because my mom always missed it so badly. After getting married, my dad and mom moved to Seattle where my dad had grown up and where my dad had a good job. But it had been a heartache for my poor mom from the beginning. She was born and raised in this small resort town on the shores of Lake Michigan where it was sunny nearly every day of the year, when it wasn’t snowing, surrounded by family and extended family that were close and adored her. In Seattle, my dad and his family had been one of the only members of their large extended family who moved away from their roots mainly in Cashe Valley, Utah and some parts of Idaho. So, my mom not only moved away from her extended family but she was thrust into a rainy, overcast climate of the Pacific Northwest away from both of their extended families and away from everything normal to my mother but especially away from her dear family. My blessing in all of this is that I grew up close to my dad’s immediate family, loving the grey and glowing green ambience of the Pacific Northwest as well as being able to spend time with my mom’s immediate and extended family, in the magical glittering sunshine and enchanting beauty of northern Michigan.
This memory I had of my faeries in Michigan happened the day when my girl cousin, who is the closest to my age, and I were exploring around my grandma’s house. We couldn’t have been more than 4 or 5 years old. I remember the smells and the textures and sounds of that day so well. It was sunny and the cherry tree in her backyard was full of baby green cherries with just a few red ones that we could eat. We swung on the swing that my mom and my cousin’s dad, who were siblings, had once swung on as little kids. I remember the smells of my grandma’s cellar where she stored food and supplies, it was cement and humid and cool on a warm summer’s day. It smelled like years of history. After exploring for most of the day, my cousin had to go home. I was bummed because it had been a really fun day. I slowly retraced some of our steps but nothing seemed as fun without my cousin. I remember going down from the kitchen past my grandma’s bathroom that always smelled of Lavender from the soap she loved, and past drying towels with sand on them from our latest excursion to the beach, and down the steep stairs towards the backyard and then down the dark cement stairs to the cellar. It was a little scary, for there was the feeling of mystery and enchantment in the place. I peeked into the cellar and saw cans of food, old tools and odds and ends. I ventured into the center of the little room and looked around. I felt very brave to be down there all myself when a glimmer in the far corner of the cellar brought all my senses crisp and clear. I almost wanted to run but a warm, inviting feeling stirred me and I glanced toward the light. There in the corner was a tiny opening where a glowing light surrounding the most beautiful face looked out at me.
Faeries are so beautiful. And this one was exquisite! To my little girl eyes, I didn’t think anything else could ever be more glamourous or charming. She had deep blue, almost purple eyes that were large and intelligent, her skin glowed bronze from spending most of her life outdoors, her hair was brown and short and flowing like she was still flying in the wind, her dress was baby green with pink edging and I wished I had one just like it! The top was loose around the arms with fringed pink edges, the skirt was short and flowy, also fringed with pink edges and didn’t quite go to her knees. She had a pink and green sash around her waist and sparkly jewels spread throughout her outfit and hair. When she smiled, I wanted to giggle.
She motioned for me to go upstairs. One of the things I loved most about my grandma’s house was all the secret passage ways. I took the main way upstairs, past the door to the backyard, up the stairs to the laundry and drying towels, past the lavender bathroom, past the kitchen that smelled like coffee and an old gas stove, past the porch off the kitchen, past the dining room, past the front room, the fireplace and chimney, the piano, the front porch door and up the narrow stairs to the bedrooms, through the bathroom where the super cool laundry shoot was that went all the way down like a twirling slide to the washer and dryer, to the attic room where so many of my cousins could sleep together and to the back of the room where the closet, if entered, led to a secret passage way to the other guest bedroom. And there my faerie angel waited for me near the vanity. Taking all the secret ways, she beat us by a long way.
