It is 4 AM and I am wide awake. At one time I would’ve
called it the curse of the insomniac, would’ve been angry, and spent the rest
of my allotted sleeping hours in front of the television—seeing nothing,
learning nothing, knowing nothing. That was before I realized how uncommon life
is and that when something unusual happens (like waking up at 4 AM although you’ve
taken your prescribed medication for sleep at midnight and have only been in
the sleeping realm for 4 hours!) it’s best to check around and see what that
thing might be. Obviously there is something that the Divine wants me to
experience. Must I not be about my Creator’s business? Yes I must.
So, I dressed myself in warm socks, untied tennis shoes,
a pair of pants over the jammies and a couple warm hooded sweatshirts. Last but
not least, I wrapped a quilt that my grandmother made from scraps of fabric
around my body and stepped out onto the porch.
It snowed last night. Only about two inches that will be
gone by noon tomorrow but tonight it is creating a magickal space of the entire
outdoors. It glows you see, in an eerie and very unusual way. It reflects the
starlight and makes everything brighter out here even though the moon has set.
I can only imagine how bright it must’ve looked when Luna shone upon it! It
must almost have seemed like the day.
We are more than a dozen miles from the nearest traffic
light and for some reason, in this community, people do not opt for the “dusk
to dark” lights that the power company could come out and put on poles to push
back the darkness around our homes. No, for some reason folks around here
embrace the dark or at least tolerate and accept its presence in their lives.
That’s sort of a strange decision for a bunch of contemporary humans to make,
especially in one small community, way out in the country.
You see, we humans have some kind of genetic memory about
certain things and one of these collective memories we have is a fear of the
dark. A History Channel special back in 2010 collected the research and made
their own documentary using all the proof of past human behavior to support
their theory. If you’re interested in watching the special here’s the URL:
http://www.amazon.com/Afraid-of-the-Dark/dp/B004G7EU4U#
. It’ll cost you a buck ninety-nine but you can watch it on any supported
device so I guess you could watch it at noon on your cell phone if you’re
really afraid of the dark.
Me? I’m a lover of the night. And this one while cold, is
magnificent. It’s not perfect; there was only an inch or two of snow so not
everything is “buried” under the white stuff thus creating a new landscape all
together. But it is changed, magickally, gloriously, undeniably changed. And it
seems to glow. By just the starlight above, it seems to glow! I can’t seem to
get this notion of glowing snow out of my mind. I believe, if I wanted and were
dressed more properly, I could walk right out into that snow and see exactly
where I was going. I could walk to the barn and back without a flashlight and
without a mishap.
Then I begin to wonder what it is about snow that makes
us believe such things? The rational part of my brain knows there are several
places that a misstep would be easy to make and ankles easier still to break.
Then the snow might be the last blanket I would ever have. Still, it doesn’t
frighten me, this knowing that like the Moon card in Tarot, snow hides as much
as it reveals and it doesn’t reveal 100% of the truth about the things in its
domain.
It’s so beautiful, so uncommon to see in this part of the
world. It’s hard to believe it could be deadly. What in the name of all that is
good and right does that mean? A beautiful thing that lights up the darkest
part of the night but also has the potential to be deadly?
Oh come on! It isn’t the first thing that is “natural” to
the planet to be both beautiful and deadly. Some of the most
beautiful creatures we know about are incredibly deadly. We don’t want to pull
away from them. We even house them in zoos and lots of us go to look at them,
to admire their beauty from the safety of the other side of the glass. We do
this over and over again.
This thing, though, this snow, this eerie, glowing,
beautiful snow lighting up the depths of the darkness before dawn, singing a
siren call to a few who can’t sleep but who can hear the call. This wild thing
we cannot capture. We cannot put this snowy night into a cage to visit when it’s
convenient. This is something else. This is a gift from God/dess, whatever and
whomever you perceive that to be. And let me tell you something about such
gifts. Come closer, it’s a secret….shhhh…..none of these kinds of gifts can
ever be caged or bottled or convenient ever.
If
you want the uncommon, you’ll have to abide by its terms. You will come to it
when it isn’t reasonable or comfortable to do so (although my grandmother
created this quilt with layer upon layer of fabric remnants—no fluffy stuffing
bought by the sack full at WalMart for her, oh no, just layers and layers of
remnants—though it is heavy, it is no match for the icy temps outside on my
front porch). You will wake up and recognize that no two people brush their
teeth the same way. You will begin to notice the cracks in your life that, when
you peer into them, reveal the uncommon that has always dwelled there. Then if
you are very, very smart and very committed to walking a spiritual path in
life, you will follow the uncommon to see where it leads.
It
often leads to front porches at 4 AM. Or to cars pulled off the side of the
road at midnight where you watch the shooting stars that weren’t predicted by
the weatherman and that 99% of people didn’t see. Or you will find yourself
sitting in some lonely place considering…nothing at all and being very content
with that.
All
you little witches are uncommon, even if you are not little witches. But it is your
job to find and appreciate your uncommonness. To embrace your other. To look
unflinchingly at what is unusual about you, about your life, about everything.
Sometimes those looks will break your heart. In fact, in the beginning it is
almost a guarantee because we humans will often find the unattractive “other”
before we notice the otherworldly landscape of starlit snow at 4 AM. Go ahead
and cry your tears, then get up and find the uncommon again. And again. And
again.
It
won’t be very long, Aunty Selene promises, until the uncommon reveals itself
with the beauty of a flower unfurling before your very eyes. And you will be
awake to the uncommon in your life. You will see that your cubicle or work area
is NOT the same as the others. Yours is uncommon because…….well, you will see
for yourself.
In
the meantime, Aunty Selene sends out an invite to those who might stumble upon
this little blog. When you find the uncommon in your life, send a photo of it
here to this blog. Tell Aunty Selene all about the uncommon life you are
living, show the world the photos of said uncommonness. Show us all the joy of
your uncommon life. And if you have photos of a landscape of snow lit only by
the moon and stars, a backyard that glows from the interaction of moon and
stars and snow, send that as well for that is a most uncommon and wild event
that should be shared with all who would break free of their prison of
banality. A beautiful first introduction to the wild uncommonness all around
us.
Now
Aunty Selene is going inside because, heavy and warm as grandma’s quilt is, my
toes are uncommonly cold and my warm bed awaits.
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