In the beginning is a walk ~ a wander through woodland, along shoreline, hugging edges of land and mind. Then returning with thoughts and shells, words and stones and feathers ~ a gathering of glimmers.
Ideas begin to sprout and grow and a first page appears – some gentle layers, quiet words and slow stitches. This is a beginning I think, the beginning of a book. Another page follows and the beginning of another but then one day, nothing. It feels as though the ideas have shrivelled, the magic has died and the plan I had has all but dissolved. In front of me now are some meaningless, half finished pages and I feel disappointed and confused by this loss of energy and enthusiasm.
Days pass, the season changes and the clocks go back. The sun sits low in the sky and the trees are all shades of ochre and russet and brown. Logs are needed in the evening and the mornings ask for a candle or two. And on one of these golden autumn days I find my pages hiding under a pile of paper scraps and other maybes and what ifs and I start to play with them again.
Some lines and marks, smudges of paint, some stitching. Slowly, slowly the magic reappears and the hours pass as I make a book. No plan, no ideas, just doing what feels right and letting my swirling thoughts settle. By the end of the week I was holding a book in my hands, a book that was probably nothing like the one I had originally imagined and planned.
Sometimes we have to loosen our grip and let things unfold; focus less on the end result and more on the tiny moments of being. This book didn’t want to be planned and managed, it paused for a while then looped back. It chose a different direction. If we’re always busy making plans then how can we be truly living? In order to be fully alive we need space for uncertainty and spontaneity, for the unknown and unexpected, for the ability to change our mind again and again.
Too much planning removes the element of surprise and takes away the mystery and the magic of life. We need to wander off the beaten track and explore those curious winding paths with their half forgotten memories and dusty dreams; those edges of worlds where the heart seeds are found.
Quietly, I gather spells and charms in the shape of feathers and stones ~still and soft, remembering,
a message from a soothsayer, a sign from a crone, listen to the ancient wisdom ~ the earth,
feelings scatter, taken by the wind, and take root ~ heart seeds,
wander the edges, thoughts like flotsam; heart spilling open, a breaking wave,
gather glimmers in hands and pockets, skip along a heart strung tide line,
sun warmed and moon whispered, these leaves could tell a thousand tales
of wandering to places where the stones hold the mysteries and the shells a song,
this heart breaking alchemy
I
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