Imbolc Valentine Moon
Life offers moments when our primary ancientrail seems to run out, fade off into a meadow surrounded by a forest or stopping at a rocky cliff, leading into the dark waters of a great lake. Entry into the third phase is such a signal moment.
The paths of education, family and career no longer extend into the distance, rather they can be seen now from trail’s end, a looking back at how knowledge came, how the children grew, the winding journey careered until it no longer mattered.
Ahead is a dark forest, or a sheer wall of Ely greenstone, a watery path like the one in Anthony Machado’s Pathmaker, “…there is no path, only the wake on the sea.” No wonder then that the third phase can force relationships to alter, to find new footing. Nor is it a mystery that the kind of doggedness and ambition so characteristic of life’s first and second phases turns into a short sword for hara kiri. This time insists on, no, demands a new ancientrail and the trail head lies hidden behind rock or fire or under water or deep in an unknown forest.
How can we proceed? This is a time for stillness. For quiet listening. To the Thou with whom you walk in your inner garden and the Thou with whom you walk in your outer life. This is a time for adventure. Risk taking.
This might be a fairy tale where a magic doors opens right into the heart of the rock. Or a mermaid awaits to guide you under the lake. Perhaps a Vergil will find you in the dark wood wandering and take your hand. This is no time to be shy about learning from the other, the Thou; this is no time to be shy about opening your mind beyond what seems obvious, like the imperviousness of rock.
Look for the faint letters written in Elvish, which you find you can speak. As you say them a door appears. Don’t waste time on how or why, just walk through the door and close it behind you. Away you go.
