Listen to Your Mother by Joanne Mahler

Many years ago, I began to regard Mother Earth as my mentor, recognizing her repeating cycles as a platform that would both support me and at the same time model the grace, magic and transformation I was seeking in my life. This year, as the seasonal shift revealed itself and those long, lingering summer days began to shorten, I felt what at first had seemed like a bit of sadness develop into something more intense. Soon I was experiencing myself in full warrior-mode against the cosmic wheel -- resisting the call, digging in my heels, refusing to budge. What, I wondered, was going on? I was reminded of a much younger me.

I eventually came to realize that the effects of the triple archetypal energies of crone/visionary/mystic (can you say witch?) which seem to be driving my life right now keep me in a state of wonder and introspection much of the time. In my human condition, I was thinking that this year, I simply couldn’t go any deeper . . . any further . . . any darker — I was weary of it all. What I know, of course, is that at any given time I am barely scratching the surface of my vast inner landscape. There are mysteries waiting for me there, always.

During this same timeframe, I’d been giving a lot of thought to another of my usual Fall-time practices. For almost 10 years I’ve done an annual weeklong fast as part of my going-down process. As the season transitions, I begin to prepare for it on various levels, checking the calendar and choosing the week well in advance. I ask for energetic support from trusted friends, and often create personal rituals to mark the beginning and ending of the fast. This rite is both challenging and rewarding, and over the years I have been stunned at what has been revealed to me during many of my fasts. Often a portal opens on the third or fourth day, and a theme seems to emerge.

I approach the fast with eagerness, fear, wonder, dread and joy. I had begun to question, though, if I’d be able to complete the fast this year because of the side effects of a medication I now take for spinal nerve pain. I considered modifying it in some way, yet that didn’t feel satisfactory. I felt sad about the possibility of eliminating a long-standing yearly spiritual practice.

Then, a little over two weeks ago, while Dave and I were on our way home from a trip to Iowa, I was dozing in the car, in a light dream-state. I awoke suddenly; aware that I’d just received a message: since Dave would be leaving in two days for a weeklong trip to Texas, the perfect opportunity for my yearly fast was presenting itself. My non-intellectual state of mind seized upon it before my head could talk me out of it, especially in relation to not having done any of the preparations that I’d always done in the past. 36 hours later, I kissed Dave goodbye and began my fast, all wrapped up in the question.

This morning I feel proud. I will break my fast later in the day, having successfully completed day 7 yesterday. I don't know when I've ever felt more comfortable, more serene, more directed, or more knowing during a fast. Naturally there was the obvious advantage, with Dave being gone, of not having to deal with food in any way during the entire week. More valuable, though, was the gift of solitude. Other than a few appointments I left the house to keep, and several phone calls and emails, all of my interactions were with myself. It was lovely. It was sweet. Without exception, it was the best fast I’ve experienced. Strangely, the sequence of events before the fast created that opportunity, but I needed to complete the fast and have the vantage point of hindsight to appreciate it—yet another reminder that I need to always pay attention to the gentle voices in my ear.

Nineteen years ago, when I got clean and sober, I was instructed over and over to “get out of my own way". Back then, I didn’t understand what that meant. This Fall, I got out of my own way, and I was delighted to see that grace dropped in. I have dropped my sword and shield, and relaxed into the bosom of my Mother — a fine and trustworthy mentor.

Joanne Mahler
(WWTW, House in the Wood, Lake Delavan, WI. March 1992)

I create ritual and beauty by opening to mystery

Email: jsunseeker@sbcglobal.net