Hola my darlinghearts,

It’s a few days past, but I keep thinking to myself:

You NEED to share this!

So I am.


So, apparently, a few days ago, there was this thing called Christmas.

And it took us two attempts through the rain and floodwaters, but we got to my brother’s place, and there was plenty of this:

Food. Family. Laughing.

And 2.5 hours later, we were done and heading home for a little family nap.

But the part that was my very favourite part of the day?

After all the food and family and frivolity, we drove back to town with two of my very favourite, wise & incredible nonogenerians (aka goddesses in their nineties!)

My ever rambunctious 93 year old Granny:

And the little old wise woman that I grew up down the road from, the incredible 96 year old Nan:

I always feel healed just looking in those eyes. Nan is kind and enlightened.

So, we were driving home. My love driving, Nan beside him. Ostara sitting between me & Granny in the back.

And something very strange happened as we drove.

As soon as the car doors were closed, a holy practice took place.

I don’t even know how to explain it.

I imagine that in traditional cultures, a ceremony takes place where the ancients of the tribe hand over the secrets of the universe to the newest babes of the tribe.

All I know is this:

It happened.

Nan sat in the front seat, talking happily away about how lovely the world is and what a beautiful day it was. Holding the space to witness what was to come forth.

And in the back seat, my grandmother leaned forward, took my daughter’s hand, gazed into her eyes and began whispering.

Whispering in a way that I’ve never seen her do before.

Whispering in a way that was so intimate and so sacred that I did not listen. They were the words of the world, the secret of life.

I knew the words were not for me. They were for the young one.

I got shivers. I could not help the glow in my chest, the sea brewing in my eyes.

I knew I was witnessing a miracle.

The holy baton being transferred and gifted on.

Halfway along, my grandmother began to sing a soft, wisping song.

And my daughter fell deep into slumber. There she stayed for two hours – even as we nestled her out of the car and into bed.

She was tired, that one. She had walking in Dreaming Land to do.

My GrandMother was the same. She kissed my slumbering daughter’s hand, and we dropped her home. She slept through the afternoon too.

She was tired, that one. She had walking in Dreaming Land to do.

Perhaps they met there, I do not know.

I can only imagine my GrandMother walking with her 14th great-grandchild, hand in hand, walking through the fields of Dreaming Land, teaching her all the wisdom, grace, courage & laughter she knows.

That is what I believe.

That is what I know.

And that, my darling, was my Christmas Miracle.

And the thing is? It made me long and wish that I had been given the same when I was a babe. But who am I to know that it didn’t? And who am I to not know that I am still being taught, guided and loved by my ancients every single day of my life?

Just like you, precious.

All the secrets, love and miracles of the universe,
all my love,