Happy New Year!

The old year now away has sped,
The new year now has entered,
Now let us now our fears downtred
And joyfully all appear,
Let's merry be this day,
And let us now both sport and play,
Hang grief, cast care away,
God send us a happy new year.

Traditional / sung to the tune of Greensleeves

LISTEN / To a dear friend struggling over the holidays

Ancient sugar maple stands majestic,

Her daughter at her side,

Both graceful in their icy finery,

A sparking gift from the winter fairy

Who, though unseen, 

Has been summoned by the whirling snow.

How is it

On this day

So close to dark of winter

My heart stands open in

Light-filled reverence?

Yet, lodged in the stone-heavy ache in my heart,

Shame ever readies her venom-laden claws,

Threatening in a thundering voice

To crush all wonder.

I don my armour,

Shield of Celtic courage,

Sword of phosphorescent gratitude,

And with the raging heart of Queen Boudicca,

I cast out all that is unlike love,

Cradle my bruised heart

In winter silence.

All sorrow is but a fleeting thing

For deep within the earth's

Radiant heart

The Great Alchemist works to fuel LIFE.

To you, my dear, I send a message.

Armed with the ferocity of mother love.

This warrior is

Ready to stand at your side,

Cut away what would strangle you whole.

But should you choose to wage this battle

On your own strength.

Do not forget,

Victory will come,

And Joy will return

In small steps.

Encouragement can be found in the tiniest things.

In the sweep of the wind through maple branches,

In the light in the eyes of a friend,

In the perfect symmetry which nature creates

To remind us that we are part of a great whole.

The Creator sings to you this day.

Be still. And listen.

Elizabeth Copeland / Dec. 2014

GRACE

On the day when the scar tissue burns at every turn
There is grace.

When the longing to be seen, 
to be heard, 
to be celebrated,
to be witnessed,
Rises up like a dervish spinning staccato prayers into the twilight
There is grace.

When the heart screams 'no more!'
And the howling in your belly 
Becomes the howling of the ages,
And you find you have no choice
But to bring up the poison seeds you swallowed so long ago.
There is grace.

I see you little one.
Spit the bitter seeds on to the ground.
Grind them under your heel and let the
Earth reclaim them. She will
Make medicine out of your poison.
Make beauty out of your suffering.

If you do this thing, the suffering will be great.
But then...ah then, you will know...

There is grace.

Elizabeth Copeland
Dec. 11, 2014