Early Winter

As I write this, we're far enough past solstice now that you can tell that the days are getting longer. We're also getting more and more into proper winter weather. In the past two weeks we've gone from this slightly tentative version of winter:



To this not-at-all-shy version:



Since then, there's been a cold snap, a warm snap, and overnight, it's supposed to snow again. In other words, it's a fairly typical Southern Ontario winter.

For the past couple of weeks, I've been heading out with my camera and trying to capture some of the beautiful shifts that have been occurring in the world of trees and plants since the solstice. At this time of year, as I've mentioned before, trees are in a deep phase of dreaming, a time when the connection between their spirits and physical selves are a little bit looser than usual. They go deep into their collective consciousness at this time. A good question to ask a tree right now is, "What are you dreaming?" They will often share amazing imagery, sensations and even some snippets of narrative that can include information about the role we play in the grand cycles of the sun, earth and cosmos.

At the same time, even though we might think of the solstice as the beginning of a time of stasis, you'll find that many trees and plants begin to form buds in early January. I've tracked this phenomenon for the last several years. It always happens, and always, people remark on it. "The trees have started to bud. I hope they don't get injured in the winter."

"We've had a warm snap. The trees are blooming way too early."

We love to worry about how things are going horribly wrong, don't we? But believe me, the trees know exactly what they are doing.

My understanding of these January buds is that they are part of the interaction of the trees with earth energy at this time of year. Leading up to the winter solstice, the trees have been driving their energies down into the earth. Because our Mother is nothing if not generous, this sending of energy results in a pretty immediate reverberation of energies back up through the trees. Although she will rest throughout the winter, and only send the real power surge of energy up into the trees when they are ready to begin the push toward spring, shortly after early February, there is a slight uprising of energy now. The buds of early winter are like a thank you, a sign of remembrance from Mother Earth, reminding us that the apparent death of winter is only an illusion and a dreaming.

In the meantime, despite the small signs that winter's back will someday be broken, the early winter woods everywhere bear the evidence of the end of the previous time of growth.

The trees dream lucidly. If you tried to talk to them in the week or two after solstice, you might have found them sluggish and unresponsive, but all in all, they are willing and able to share their dreaming with those who take the time to ask. This hawthorne bore an awesome tangle of sharp thorns all over her straight, unbranching trunk. I asked her to talk to me.

She showed me the image of a castle, much like the one in the Sleeping Beauty stories, covered in thorns. This impassable tangle looked like it was hiding secrets that no one could ever know, because no one could ever get through the plants that protected them.

The hawthorne seemed to have plucked this image from my mind to use as a touchstone for the lesson she was about to offer. When we enter the dream state of trees, we mingle with their collective consciousness, adding our awareness to theirs so that we can have a free and open exchange of imagery and ideas.

In the image the hawthorne shared with me, a lone rider approached the thorn-covered castle. "I know this story," I said. "Doesn't he hack through all those thorns with a magic sword?"

"We are the growers of the thorns," said the hawthorne. "And this is why we show you what we show you. We block those who are not ready to enter into the heart of mystery. For those who are ready, we move aside and cause no harm."

The many tangled branches around the castle formed a tunnel, allowing the rider to move through and collect whatever prize it was he'd come for.

I understood from what the hawthorne showed me that there was no fight involved, no valiant battle to push through to the goal. If you aren't ready for initiation, for opening to the mysteries or entering into the Chapel Perilous, the thorny blockade will not yield, no matter what you do. But if you are prepared and in the right frame of mind, the way is open.

And you can always try again later.

"This is the truth of the heart of the world. This is what we protect," the hawthorne told me.

The heart of the world is nothing less than the energetic and emotional core of our Mother. The hawthorne is among the trees that enfold this heart in deep energetic taproots that they form at the earth's core. They've shown me this heart many times. Sometimes it appears as a pulsing green energy. Sometimes she is a sleeping goddess, and sometimes a matrix of tangled roots, beating all together to provide love and sustenance for all of us.

"Not everyone can have access," the hawthorne told me. "You must be sincere."

I carried on through the woods down a deer path to a place that is off the main trail, an open area that always feels calm and peaceful. At its heart is a tree with pale bark of a pearly grey. Its roots look like the tentacles of an octopus:

In the springtime, this area is often flooded with water. The ground squishes when you walk on it. This tree seems almost to float in the earth. He told me some fascinating things this day, about people who were here before modern humans, but that will have to wait until another time.

His branches did look beautiful against that sky, as did the rose of sharon pods in my backyard, a few days later:

About a week after I took these photos, it snowed. The weather cleared and we had some gorgeous bright days where the sky was blue and the light was just incredible. I took some really interesting photos in the woods when I went to talk to Grandmother Oak, but you'll have to wait until my next post.