And So It Begins….
New Years reflections and intentions for 2025
Bone Mother’s Tree - The place of surrender and transformation deep in the forest. A patron of artists, mothers, and creative genius, the Bone Mother demands trust and sacrifice of distraction. She looks scary, but her song inspires renewal and rebirth.
And So It Begins 1/1/25
In the days between solstice and New Year’s, time seems suspended, or perhaps distorted. Days blur into nights, and we lose ourselves culturally in the mysterious midwinter fog. This year, the fog has been quite literal, draping thick, ashy veils over trees and hollows like the ghostly residue of forgotten dreams. It’s lovely, really, that we collectively carve out this time of year for rest in a fog of unreality. With family celebrations in the rearview mirror, I usually let myself drift into dreaming states, —naps, stories, books, puzzles—and fully embrace a retreat from the outer world. For a blessed few days, I relinquish productivity, rarely bothering to change out of pajamas or sweep the floors.
Ornaments created from the chicken bones leftover from a Yuletide feast.
But this year feels different. My holiday haze has been overlaid with giddy excitement and a drive to begin something new: a writing sabbatical. That’s right—it’s finally time to focus on the book! Over the next six months, I’ve cleared my schedule and set my intention to complete the tarot-plant pairing project I began nearly a decade ago. This is monumental for me; never before in my adult life have I gifted myself the time and energy to focus solely on writing.
This commitment is the result of a year of dreamwork, intuitive guidance, tough decisions, and meticulous preparation—financial planning, business restructuring, all of it. After months of groundwork, I’m ready.
And so it begins.
I’m approaching this sabbatical as a chance to tend the shrine of my creative spirit. Rather than pressuring myself to “achieve” something monumental, I’m embracing a process-oriented and relational approach—much like how I work in my garden. There, I collaborate with the earth’s energies, its animals, and its plants in a mutually nourishing creative process. That’s how I want my writing to feel.
I have many allies in this devotional practice. Hawk appeared the day after Christmas, flanked by four crows. My beloved tree and plant spirits are with me. My dreams speak in the native tongue of creative genius. And the Bone Mother, whose shrine I visited today in a hollowed-out oak, guides me still. When I pause to look, I see that the benevolent spirits who visit my dreams, seed my ideas, and inspire my visions are always with me.
Of course, writing isn’t all dreaming. Tending the creative soul requires discipline, devotion, and consistency—qualities that often feel like hard work. Mostly, it demands focus and attention, precious and scarce resources these days. To guide this process, I’m experimenting with a daily structure that nourishes my soul while holding me accountable.
Though my official start date isn’t until January 6th, I’m easing in early, allowing my mental gears to shift and my writer’s mindset to take shape.
Here’s the schedule so far:
6:00–6:45: Dream tending
6:45–7:30: Breakfast and school prep for my son
8:00–9:30: Self-care—yoga, meditation, daily tarot draw
9:30–11:30: Writing, focused entirely on the book
11:30–12:30: Lunch and a walk outside—tree/plant shrine tending, nature communing
12:30–1:00: Email and correspondence
1:00–3:00: Writing—book and blog work
3:00–5:00: Afterschool routines, housekeeping, exercise
5:00–6:00: Email, community duties, dinner prep
6:00–7:00: Dinner and cleanup
7:00–8:30: Relaxation or additional writing
8:30–9:30: Evening routines—reading, meditation
Weekends will be reserved for family time and rest.
To honor this creative season, I’m simplifying: limiting community responsibilities, minimizing email, and stepping back from socializing and social media. Instead, I’m nourishing myself with a steady diet of poems, fairytales, myths, art, and magically inspired films. My bookshelf is my altar, holding the works of Annie Dillard, Elizabeth Gilbert, Yeats, Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Rilke, John O’Donohue, Octavia Butler, and Shakespeare.
And so it begins.
