Happy New Year
Happy New Year. No, I’m not trying to rush out of 2020, although it's not a bad idea, it's Samhain (sow-in), the Celtic New Year. It marks the end of the harvest and the beginning of a new year. A time for planting and nurturing what will grow in the darkness over the winter.
About this time last year, I was sleeping on the ground in an indentation in the earth that fit my body perfectly. It wasn’t lumpy and hard like the past times I’ve slept on the ground. It felt like I was being held by the earth, supported in every way. It was the final weekend of a year-long Soul Quest with a small group of amazing women spent writing, practicing yoga, laughing, crying, and learning to write from the deep well of stories held in our bodies. However, on that cool fall weekend last year, what appeared to be an ending, was a beginning.
Fall is a time of harvest. Last fall was the end of a creative body of work — the album Postcards from the Past — twelve songs written and recorded, done. The songs didn't appear to the world in their fully formed glory until the following Spring. The album release day came and went -- no parades, parties, celebrations, nothing. Ok, I'll be honest. I really wanted some form of validation from the world that I had done a good job -- a million streams, a picture on the cover of Rolling Stone, a Grammy or two, and a full bank account. Is that too much to ask? Instead, I got monthly reports from Spotify, Apple Music, and dozens of other stats telling me that nobody was listening, zero streams month after month. I told myself it didn’t matter after all the songs were gifts to people I love -- I was just hoping that maybe. There I said it. I’m human and not above wanting a pat on the back. That said, in my heart, I knew the truth. I had done my best, and it came from my soul -- that’s all that really mattered.
Back to that night sleeping on the ground, in the darkness -- new seeds were sown. The following morning, I had the beginnings of the song Water Feeds the Fire. It is about how everything, EVERYTHING, is connected.
“From a sprouting seed to a dying leaf, there’s a lot of living in between and love is the water that feeds the fire in you and me.”
For me, today is the beginning, not January 1st. Seeds are germinating now. I have a new grandbaby growing in the womb of my beautiful daughter-in-law, where it’s dark and warm and cozy. As I walk in the winter woods, seeds are taking root deep inside my heart. And when I plant the garlic bulbs in the cold soil this month, I will set an intention for the coming year as I push each bulb into the earth.
I once met a woman on the beach when we were camping on Assateague Island in Maryland. When someone in the group asked me if I had written anything they might have heard on the radio, the older woman looked at me and said, “To bring a song into the world is enough.” I will never forget her words.
So I will continue to follow my heart and make stuff up, to create for the sake of creating, just because it’s fun — and what happens after that isn’t any of my business anyway.
