The Honey Bee Totem - Part 1


The honeybee works for the benefit and well-being for all, ensuring that her actions in her short life-time create a healthy and secure future for generations to follow.

This natural and simplistic goodness for a holistic wellbeing of self and others taps into the deep threads of life where all beings are as one, on hive, one harmonious entity. In the image we can see the golden threads of the Earth mapped against the background of space and time; our universal energetic resonance.

Welcome to January- The Month of Firelight

Keyword -  Introspection

For everyone in the northern hemisphere, we are in the month of dark stillness. Night is partnered with Winter in that eternal marriage of the North. Air is icy and starlight flickers. Our sun, that white star, is pale on the horizon, and makes a low sweep before settling into another night. It is the time of fires, woodsmoke, dreaming and conceiving. We all turn inward with deepening reflection.

How we use this valuable time is up to us. Even in our busy days we need to work with the energy of winter. In the upcoming week, take one moment to light a candle in the evening and check in where you are. Call yourself back, turn inward and reflect. All things have their place in nature and so do you.

A Golden Reminder

A friend who was staying over remarked that the golden leaves of the deciduous trees kept making him think that the sun was out and shining. When he glanced out of the window, he would again be tricked into thinking the day was blue and sunny despite the unceasing rain.

And of course, in one way, he wasn't being tricked with sunlight having been once used to make the leaves to begin with. Preserved Sunlight. A wonderous thing.

The weeping birch tree in my yard, with its fine, delicate leaves is like a spire of dappled sunlight against the grey sky. It is a fifty foot lightning rod, though in this case,  a sunlight rod, that is channeling the gold energy of sunlight back into the earth.

How fitting for the coming of winter and the darker days ahead. When the last gold leaf falls, I shall imagine the earth below storing and holding the golden energy for the greeness of spring.

In this way, my weeping birch is a reminder of the continuous flow of energy, energy that changes, transforms and transmutes.


Aurora Borealis

Standing half-way up Mt. Erskine, the first thing that came to mind was the incredible sweet smell in the dark air. Long grasses, Douglas Firs and Cedars, all mixed in the warm air. Then, as our eyes adjusted to the dark, more and more stars appeared until the Milky Way was so dense above us, we could see the shadows left amongst the stars. I had not noticed these before until a Peruvian friend pointed out the negative shapes. In the Andean heritage, the shadow shapes were as important as the starry shapes. These shadows, the Andeans call "The Llama, the Fox, The Toad and Snake."

We were up on the mountain to catch a glimpse of the Aurora Borealis and we were not disappointed. Although it was a 'diffuse aurora' and not a 'discrete aurora' with all its wave-like curtain formations, it was still a stunning sight.


Over the orange glow of the city, a faint band of green could be seen. It grew stonger as time passed.

Off to the north-west, out of the glow of the warm city lights of Vancouver, a more ghostly green illumination backdropped the fir trees.

Auroa borealis


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Golden-crowned Kinglet

I'm not the fastest gardener or do-er outside. I tend to take long pauses between things and simply stare off. (It can take me 45 minutes just to dig in a couple of plants.) And so, there I was, standing and staring off into the distance when I notice a fluttering in the tangled mess of shrub, lower branches and the like. I assume it is an acrobatic Chickadee hanging onto a milk thistle gathering seeds when I see a flash of yellow. Something isn't right. My feet are already in motion before my brain catches up. Sure enough, it is a Golden-crowned Kinglet caught up in the burrs of the burdock plant gone to winter seed.

Kinglets are gleaners of the high tree-tops and to see one fluttering two feet above ground is not so normal.

KingletSuddenly my hands are too large and clumsy. The burr, that has impaled the underside of the Kinglet has turned his leg red with blood. How long he has fluttered upside down trying to beat his way free makes me ill to think.

Inside now, I cut, with tiny manicure scissors, the spurs of the burdock seed head away from feathers and downy underside. He is still with fear and exhaustion. I take the opportunity to remove the fine splinter-like shafts as best as I can and gently nudge a tissue into what I am guessing is the wound area. 

Not sure what to do next, we both just sit quietly, my hands covering such a tiny thing. His heartbeat I can feel and my hands, having come in from the cold, are tingling with a rush of blood and now they have that strange firey heat. And so we sit, neither of us moving, just feeling blood, heat and heartbeat.

And then he stirs, the smallest amount of softness in my hands. Then a bit more. I take a peek in my cupped hands, his eyes are open. We sit quietly.

Then, true movement. He sits up and his world changes and so we move into action. I go upstairs and ask my husband to call the wildlife rescue. Their office, it turns out, is not far from us.  As he is on the phone, I take another peek, he is so small in my hands, but he is looking up at me with such a spark in his eye and he ruffles a bit of red-orange under his golden crown. "I'm good to go", he says but I am not listening. I am still back with the bloodied leg, the burr, the awful upside down fluttering and I am in the future, worrying about the wound and how he will survive the night.

But my legs are walking me to the door and outside now, I crouch low to the ground and open my hands. He is attentive to the sunshine and the air. His intensity is not focused on me but out there. He's off. A few feet. Sits in the driveway, a tiny thing, no bigger than a leaf. And then, flying he settles on the lower branches of a hemlock. He pauses for several minutes. The orientation of what was into the now. He's away and gleaning the tops of the shrubs.

He is correct. We continue. This intermission is over, how long in all, I do not know. But now, I turn and cut down all the burdock seed heads on my property and set a fire in the firepit. There aren't many to burn, but enough to be able to sit in the sun with the dog and enjoy the afternoon light.


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