Category Archives: 2 Ostara: Awakening and Rising


Faith. Joy. Hope.

JOY is something that rises from within, an inner fountain, clear, rushing upwards. It is our inherent response to our connection with oneness. A burst of joy can make us giddy.

When we HOPE, we prop a window open to a brighter place so that light streams into our dark world. It does not call to any specific outer force or being.

FAITH is opening oneself completely, to allow the Spirits of Kindness and their whole ecosystem to flood in and perform their loving work. An act of faith is taking a seemingly unreasonable action with the knowledge of forces in play.

DEVOTION is love fest of mutual devotion between oneself and the Spirits of Kindness. It is an event, a conscious practice.

These wonderful things may be a natural human experience but they don’t come easily for many of us when living in this world. What I mean is, you are not alone if you can’t relate.

Joy is something I knew nothing about until I was in my forties. No wonder I was so annoyed with the “fluffy bunny” spiritualists of the time. They drove me mad. I remember one time I confessed to a new friend over the phone that I was spiraling, and if I kept heading in that direction, that the spiral would lead me to suicidal ideation. She reacted severely. (This was the second time in my life I was yelled at for talking about suicide).

She angrily shouted, “Everyone is at the party, where there is a well of light and joy. Why can’t you join us there?”

When I finally cleared enough trauma to feel the natural phenomenon of joy, I experienced it as a fountain. It is a song. I know I am happy when I catch myself singing.

Hope is something I always had, but in a more tragic sort of way. Like someone lost in an endless landscape of despair just crying inside that things must get better some day.

Not like today when it feels more like a choice – a responsibility even. I take this action and it clears my metaphysical environment. Life must go on.

Devotion and faith? Well as an ex-Catholic, those two have been tough ones. After my particular fall from the church (and it was a fall) I vowed to never again swallow, hook line and sinker another philosophy. I would have my own thoughts. So it was ten years into my pagan and shamanic practices until the topic of faith and devotion started opening up for me.

It started with my shamanic teacher in the early 00s. I almost left Janine’s classes because she was really quite so fluffy bunny. She referred to her spirits as ‘her team ‘ and smiled a lot about it. But she also showed up to class in her sweatpants and T-shirt unlike other teachers who dressed like they were going out on the town. I thought that part was cool. I realized she was genuine and I watched her in quiet awe. I didn’t get it but I loved it. She really cared about me too.

After she died, I came across a musician who performed kirtan in the most sublime way. And her voice is gorgeous. The call and response, the heightened sense that came from the practice. I volunteered to perform my light projections for her shows for free so I could support her vocation.

I think of what a devotional practice looks like in shamanism. Journeying for the simple purpose of spending time with our friends on the other side. Mediumship, inviting the benevolent beings in for a moment of time. And of course, repetitive praise chanting in the traditional way.

There can be momentary devotion without faith in the day-to-day.

On Monday morning, I went to the  beach in this dark, dark season of wet. I went to clear my head after too much time in my cave applying for jobs and stressing over the fact that I have six weeks of unemployment left. Walking across the foot bridge over the railroad tracks, I saw a whacky woman coming towards me. She had a crazy colorful hat and she was carrying a little boom box that she was singing to.

She came closer and I recognized her. A few years ago I met her by the same water. She was singing and because I missed my music jam, I stopped. I had my flute, as always, and played for her. We sang together. She told me that she came every morning to sing to The Lord. I recognized beauty in her devotion and loved that about her even though I would never sing to The Lord.

She is a small, elderly woman from somewhere in Asia. As she walked towards me on the foot bridge, we exchanged greetings and I said, “I remember you. We sang together.”

She remembered and laughed and said in that loud joyful way that the Vietnamese women do when they greet you at the nail salon, “How are you? “

Without any warning I almost burst out crying. I said, “I am not doing good.”

“Not good. Not good why?”

“I cannot find a job.”

Well, this elder gave me a good, long lecture about faith. She told me about how when her husband died and she didn’t think she would make it. How things worked out.

She insisted. “You have to have faith! You have to have faith and the Lord will take care of you!”

And she said, literally three or four times, “But you have to believe it for it to happen. You have to believe!”

I thanked her and asked her name. Song. Of course. Song.

As soon as I turned away to walk down the hill, I was bawling. It felt so good to cry. So good. How do we make it through life without this delicious release?

This Imbolc morning, I went to the lake to play my flute. The crows were moving downtown, having left the Bothell roost. The sky was filled with their river of raucousness which appeared and faded, horizon to horizon. I played screechy sounds to them but then relaxed into a tune. I played both high and low flutes and when I was done, I saw a pattern in the clouds like two curved brush strokes with an opening in the middle, swooping down to the land. I turned to the water and look at the rafts of ducks in the distance. Two small groups fluttered into the air, outwards, landing on the water again. They left an area of clear water in the middle. The scene was like a door I could just glide through into a life that was easy, with fertile ground. 

I looked up to the sky again and I knew what faith was.

Tasara Jen Stone

Skeleton II

This life,
ever fought for,
sought for, sacrificed for,
runs fresh in my veins,

It shifts my body before the notion to do so arises.

I am alive.
What I gained on the other side,
this glowing rock,
this molten lava,
this star bursting from my chest,
is not meant to be beared, but shared.

In stillness, I would cave and fester.
In movement, a booming echoes around me, from me somehow.

The magnet of my compass has grown so strong,
it is more trouble to ignore, now, than to follow.

What will I do?
What will I do?

I will discover in the doing.

[photo credit:]

Beloved. Us. Shadow divine.

When this light comes in, it comes like a radiant star,
massive crystal, inviting embrace,
Warmth, glints, then crazy streaks all around us
to clap for, to raise our our hands for..

It presses on the vibration of our skin,
presses those frequencies to sing in a new way.

This light has been invoked by the thousands that gather, pray, seek,
concern themselves with the future of our planet and our relations with it’s peoples.
Peoples of the soil, the winged air, the forests and lakes, of the city buildings.
Millions. Millions praying, millions responding.

I have felt it reverberate like a cosmic shockwave during the Earthdance prayer for peace, sink into the deep lands of the power animals at the shamanic gatherings, resonate with highest of beings and portals at the devotions of Beloved. Where-ever people have gathered in love I have felt it. You have felt it too, I know.

This light, is light of light,
brought gently down for us to come into.
It is what it is and we glow in its presence,
the seed of star inside us invoked.

We see each other and we see the divine. We bask, we smile big. We cry.
We see the light in each other’s eyes, hearts, flame ignited.
We do not understand what it is but we want more.

We look to each other and then looking deeper, we can find shadow.
We find dankness – and then we are down.
We want the light to be everywhere, we want this bliss to remain.
We forget ourselves.
We are down.

We forget the light’s purpose to clear darkness. To distill from the shadow, divine.

Beautiful, beautiful darkness.
It will always be darkness but the things it carries in its soft folds can turn.
It can be shadows of wonder, hidden treasures of healing, deep knowing of the listen and the love.
Needed secrets we unearth for the sharing.
Dark womb, a place of comfort and rest.

But the light warms and the light pulls. It insists,
That which does not belong in the dark be drawn out!
unhealed bruises, shameful secrets, cyclical stories of loss, forgotten grief.
Fruitless communication patterns. Fear without reason.

— Beautiful – yearning  – never – replied – to —

The radiant star coos to the darkness.
Tugs. Comforts. Finds the edge of weeping, brings us joy.

It calls these misplaced things, so the synesthesia begins
it is a blessing, a relieving, a feather breeze, a reconfiguration
for some, a crushing – for then

I must remember, remember myself before a time when I do not remember.
A way when the earth beneath my feet cooled my skin and my wholeness spread out and touched the tree roots.

In the eyes of our kin, we see the pain, we see the drawing.
We see the divine. We join in on the drawing With the power of our seeing, we draw out that hidden strength and we sing.

‘It’s ok. YOU are ok. You are or you would not be here. You are Beloved. You know the way.
I see you. I know you. For I know myself. You are part of me.
We are all there with you. We are one.’

Coo, coo. Come into the light. And come.

A storm of emotion is merely a storm.
Connect with sky and strike the ground,
where I am, why this happened, who I want to be.
Love myself through the dismembering,
resonate with the grist, open old pains to the wind.

I want compassion,
I want to flower the world with it from my heart and then I am bounced out.
I must try or I am not myself.

Learn, harmonize, love, new imbalance pulled from the shadows.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
The path of love is the path of love is the path of love.
Steady, rocky, sure. Committed, confusing, clear.

If we were meant to control mystery, mystery would not be.
Our hardest constructs crack to allow new being.
Our energies resolve to allow access to new planes.
We do not reign. We join.
There are other forces there and then there is trust. Devotion.

When this light comes, we rise again
we can hold more than before
a new shadow falls away
a new love is born

We only have to align and pray.

And try, and love.

Again and again.

by Tasara