Recently, in Salmon in the Weir, I referred to a dream I had, where I felt that I was being told to capture the salmon, which is a symbol of knowledge, by writing down my dreams, and other possible revelations, from things like card readings or meditation journeys. Many of us love the written word, me included, but I also recognise that it can create limitations for us. When we write something down we risk setting it in stone, and somehow "killing" what we were trying to preserve. The written word takes on more import than the thing we tried to describe. This does not have to be so, of course, but we need to allow our insights to have a life, not stick them in a museum. Also, writing something down, filing it away, putting it on speed dial, is a great way to abdicate responsibility for remembering it at all. Could you remember a friend's phone number for a week without writing it down or storing it on some device? I'm sure you could, whether you think so or not, but I'm sure most of us don't bother anymore, because we think the information is "safe" for the time when we need it. How would you gaze differently on a beautiful scene while on a rare holiday, if you hadn't just snapped a couple of digital images of it? Would you let it fill your eye and your soul, making it part of your deepest memory - rather than hurrying on to the next item on your itinerary?

You might also remember that in my dream, there was some confusion in my mind between a weir (a device to trap fish) and a salmon ladder (which facilitates their journey upstream). Now I think I understand this. Trapping the fish, via a reading or a dream, etc. is only the first step. You need to get the essence of the knowledge it contains upstream within you. Let it climb the ladder up into your consciousness and into your everyday thinking.

In Celtic myth, there are many tales of magical Salmon. The Irish story of Fionn Mac Cumhaill tells how the young hero accidentally, and innocently, tastes a salmon of knowledge which is supposedly intended for his master. His true identity as a great person is then revealed and he is transformed both in status and ability, after his master tells him to go ahead and eat the whole fish. I think that this is an important part of the story. Fionn's act of accidentally licking some juice from his thumb seems merely to confirm him as the person for whom the salmon is meant, but it is the eating of the entire salmon that brings about his transformation. I like this picture. A salmon of any size - and this was said to be a very large one - takes some eating! Think of the repetitive act of this eating. Slice after slice, bite after bite. Did each mouthful taste the same? Did each chewing noticeably add a new layer of knowledge? Was there a time when Fionn felt full, and thought that surely it would make no difference if he left some portion uneaten, after all? We'll never know, of course, but I'm sure we've all been there.

This is interesting, though. Fionn didn't just write "Today, I tasted a drop from the Salmon of knowledge," in his daily journal and then somehow magically he became great. He sat down and engaged deeply with his gift. He gave it respect, he gave it attention. Those of you who have had a reading from me will know that I place a lot of emphasis on working with the material in that reading, of spending time with the information in meditation, contemplation and study. Believe me, I know that this isn't always easy to do. I have had some very profound experiences - with my cards, in dreams, in readings from others, and in meditation. These can be humbling and awe inspiring, and yet in a few hours I am caught up in whatever life puts in my path, and if I'm not careful - nothing comes of it. Well, I am trying to do better. I'm trying to learn to "clean my plate". To follow through with ideas until I understand what action to take, and then to take that action. It's a tall order, but I feel more honourable when I do it, and I think my life goes a little more smoothly, too.

What I know is impossible, however, is to implement all the things I find immediately - just as Fionn did not go out and do a lifetime's worth of heroic deeds the next morning. However, he did acknowledge the transformation and he did begin the journey. I know that my journey is nowhere near completed. It's uneven, sometimes it gets stalled, but I am on it. I do my best to follow the signposts, check the map and make progress - and I try not to forget to enjoy the experiences along the way.

In Salmon in the Weir, I mentioned that I was going to put some things on my walls. At the time, I had recently had what felt like a very important session and reading with someone. He had given me some homework. Things to do and say in order to be more at peace. I liked the ideas, but was uncomfortable with some of the details, so I let it slide for a few weeks. The day I wrote that piece, however, I adjusted the wording and printed some things out, nicely, on my computer, glued them to some beautiful photos saved from a scenic calender, and put them up in my bedroom. The change for me has been positive, and I feel pleased that I took the trouble. This is just one of many ways to make an adjustment. What I liked was the concreteness of it. I still have a backlog of actions I would like to take based on readings, etc. but I hope to hold myself to account. I intend to do it with patience and compassion, but I will be honouring each bite of the salmon, if I can.

I sometimes shuffle my meditation and prayer cards in with my oracle deck for my daily draw. Today, I drew this card, once again encouraging me to reach out to nature. If you follow my writing and other work you might think I need no encouragement -- but that depends on which nature we're talking about. The lush, green world of Britain really speaks to me, even from a distance, but the stark, sandy, drought-ridden of Colorado -- not so much. I am trying. Trying to open myself up to whatever this land wants to tell me.

The quote on this card is from Inisfail, by Ella Young. The quote below, is from the guided mediation on the reverse of the card.
This and other guided meditation cards are available from my web shop.

While the connection between all things must be acknowledged and respected in the individual, whether songbird or sunset, I also want to remember that bigger things like where I live vs where you live are connected, too. Sometimes, in a warm, fuzzy way, it's easy to see the connections between the small, loveable things, or human things. or the obvious ecological connections that concern us so much lately. It's not always so easy to stop drawing lines between cultures, between what we like and what we think we don't like, between my dog and your dog.

If I truly believe that there is Spirit and Deity in the joy-shout of the rivers, then knowing that all things are connected, perhaps I can trust that even the tumbleweeds and dying cottonwood trees contain the same spark. It all contains what Fionn mac Cumhaill called the music of what happens. The music, one might say, of acceptance. No attachments, no aversions, no resistance. Just vibrating with the molecules of the universe, and yet . . .

And yet, what brought the Tuatha De Danann to Ireland? What brought the Milesians? If it wasn't a love for one place over another, then what? I can only conclude that part of coming to earth, part of living an earthly life, is to experience a heart-rending love for certain things, for particular views, for particular weather. This is part of what defines the earthly experience, and part of what defines the spiritual experience. As usual, balance is everything.

Solitude, in and of itself, means nothing today. If I sit in solitude switching between Netfilx, the radio and my smartphone, the result will probably be loneliness rather than solitude - even if I don't recognise it as such. It will also be mentally noisy, and even when I switch off all devices, that noise is likely to continue. One result I notice from spending too much time media surfing is a shortened attention span and a lack of ability to focus. I need antidotes to this, and I need discipline to partake of the antidotes some days! Regular practice really helps. What I need is "soul-itude". Time spent honouring the needs of my soul. Turning off both the media chatter and the self chatter. Quiet in the environment provides a route to quiet within. Only when I am quiet am I able to listen, not just for a voice, but to listen with my very pores for a sense of the divine. Whether I am sitting in conventional meditation or riding a horse, my inward quiet and awareness provides my chance to hear.  

I'm the kind of person who longs for a regular schedule, but as soon as I come close to achieving one, rebels against it. Living in the country with animals, and at the mercy of weather and changing seasonal chores, I'm probably in little danger of ever achieving that regularity - particularly since I have so many competing interests. Can you sense the rush of thoughts there? What will I do first? What chores have I forgotten? Why don't I have more time to have fun?

The frustration of shortage.
There is an acknowledgement here of the frustration I'm sure others feel, too. I feel the shortage of fellowship keenly at times, whether in ritual or during the flatness of a Sabbat day spent without companions. One of the lessons that has to be accepted from Island life is that shortages are real, and if the Island's only shop is out of butter, no amount of money or complaints can change it, and all must equally go without until the next boat brings more. Some of us may be on this island by choice, others only by circumstance, and others are just visitors to the solitary path.

The need for simplicity.
I have found that ritual, far from adding another "chore" to my list, seems to simplify things. I know what is required, and I can get on with it. Rituals, like recipes, are best carefully chosen, tested and adjusted - but then they become second nature. It's how I learned to bake bread. What initially seemed like a lot of trouble to go through to eat healthier bread is now a straightforward and enjoyable process. This was something of a revelation to me. It happened when I decided to learn a couple of prayers. They were fairly short prayers, and the hard part wasn't learning them, it was remembering to say them. I ended up printing them out, sticking them onto pictures I liked, and putting them on my bedroom walls. It worked, and now these are a comforting and uplifting moment in my day.  As I've shared before, this was the origin of my meditation and prayer cards.

Valuing what you have at hand.
I can see myself doing something similar with the SDF daily devotions. I will value them, and no doubt personalise them, and enjoy knowing that perhaps others are doing something similar. I hope that I may gain a little extra strength to value and use the other gifts I have at hand as a result, and learn to spend a little more time in true "soul-itude."

*edit 2021: The SDF no longer exists.

For my personal daily card draw I have my meditation and prayer cards shuffled in with my oracle deck. Today, this card came up. I thought it was interesting and appropriate, with all the thinking and writing I have been doing about the Cailleach and Bride. At the winter solstice, this card felt particularly appropriate, with the short days, and so on. However, it feels equally appropriate now, at Imbolc, with its theme of the natural cycles of death and rebirth in nature and in our lives. Looking at the cycles of nature and of the seasons we can all have certainty of rebirth to come.

Meditation and Prayer cards are available in the webshop at this link