Clare Mulvany 16/05/2023 Clare Mulvany 16/05/2023

No Now May

In honour of No Mow May, long grass, scattering seeds, biodiversity, rewilding and wrens, a little poem for the occasion. Find out more about the All Ireland Pollinator Plan.

In honour of No Mow May, long grass, scattering seeds, biodiversity, rewilding and wrens, a little poem for the occasion.

No Mow May

I don’t want a lawn,

something tamed and severed

from its own potential.

I want daisies.

I want cuckoo flowers that sing

a capella with the wind.

I want to fall down on my knees

in the hunt for rare bee orchids.

I want bees.

I want the way my legs

disappear among

the long, wet grasses.

I want the rush of it all,

the swoosh of it, seeds scattered

to the sky on each passing footfall

of my breath.

I want to explain the sun, moon and stars

of every exploding dandelion.

I want what the wren wants:

the possibility to shelter,

then to soar.

Find out more about the All Ireland Pollinator Plan and No Mo May

@allirelandpollinatorplan #NoMowMay #biodiversity#rewilding #nature #poetry #poem #pollinators

**Hello. I'm Clare**

I'm a writer, educator and facilitator, living in beautiful West Cork, Ireland. I love to share resources and learning to help harness the regenerative power of words, place and story. I hope my work offers nourishment for mind and soul. Thank you for being here. Clare x

New Writing Workshops

One Day workshops in West Cork.

Live a New Story (May 27th) and Writing Wild (June 24th) are coming to Schull! Bookings via Arran Street East.

Clare Mulvany 18/04/2023 Clare Mulvany 18/04/2023

The Secret Worlds of Writing

Writing happens in the confluence of secret worlds. The first is the world of our head, where memory, language, images and experience, together with the internal cadences and rhythms of our inner voice, collide. There is a solitude to this world which, when we allow ourselves the time and space to explore, we find is as vast and rich as any landscape. We speak differently to how we write- how we tell our story on paper, as opposed to telling our story with voice, is a layered, textured encounter. Before utterance, there is the invitation to explore the spaces and places which comprise our inner landscape, and in doing so, expand it. This expansion alone warrants the writing, whether or not we choose to share or even develop what gets written.

You can listen to this piece below- 5 minutes.

The Secret Worlds of Writing.

From this inner world, ink is a conduit. On paper, as words make our way to our hands, the speed of the written forms, the pace in which the letters land on the page, seem to provide pause enough for new articulations and ideas to form. I’ll forever be an advocate of handwriting for this very reason. The hand-brain connection seems to reach into that private world of the imagination and access ideas from an embodied, often more emotionally nuanced or charged place. A blank page is where the first discharge of this electrical connection of body and mind is made manifest, and those initial drafts often capture the energy of a first encounter. The first kiss of ink to page holds an erotic tension, which can birth worlds. But first, we must we willing to come closer, to make the first move, to offer part of ourselves to the page.

Once we encounter the page, craft also enters. We learn how to be playful with how we place images, and then to re-arrange them. We realise it is all a wild experiment; here we get to conjure elements out of our secret world of the mind, combine with words, and figure out what ones to amplify and what to discard. Through these twin currents of assembly and disassembly, what we choose to keep and what we select to jettison, we are emboldened with a sense of agency. We are both the breakers and the makers, and, as we create these worlds, we too are made. Here is another expansion, which again, whether we choose to share the writing or not, the very act of writing is warranted.

Writing as opposed to speaking has always given me access to ways of thinking, seeing and perhaps most importantly, connecting, which the oral tradition does not. Here, on the page, my world is formed with detail and colour; where past and present converge in an emergent conversation. On the page, even the imaginal world evidences as a tangible, seen world. The pages start to fill. The ink runs low. There is something to hold. Letters as bricks. Sentences as bridges. Words as organic matter.

Then, beyond the first secret world, there is the second secret world: the world of the reader. From page to eye to mind and heart, words are transported in a sacred covenant between writer and reader; an invisible thread that can extend beyond boundaries, time, borders, eras, ideologies, definitions, selfhood. As a writer, what a privilege it is to have ones words carried into the body of another. As a reader, what a magic it is to have access to another's inner landscape. Not all stories have to be shared, or deserve to be shared, for that matter, but the ones that are, become alive again in the reader. Some of those words even get to live on, as mirrors to the reader’s own lives, or maps or counter-maps saying ‘go this way’, or ‘definitely not that way’. Our stories, when offered to another, take up a new residence beyond which we have any control. To share our story is also to birth the potential for new ways of being, for ourselves, for the reader, and perhaps, just perhaps for the places and spaces between. Which is also to say: to write our story, and then to share our story is to birth new secret worlds.

New Writing Workshops

Clare Mulvany 23/02/2023 Clare Mulvany 23/02/2023

Grief and Gift

Spring is attendant to spring itself. After a long sojourn in winter’s dark, first the budding, now the bloom. The daffodils seem early this year, but I have been saying that for some seasons now, as time and arrivals are being re-ordered, rearranged. Weeks seem to shuffle and certain openings jump the queue.

I haven’t know how to begin this post, for how does one learn to begin again? With every new beginning there are fumblings and fallings. But as ever, we start by taking the first step, or writing the first words, however imperfect. Where it leads, it doesn’t matter, for momentum leads us to follow with the next.

I thought I had started, of course, back into a busy university teaching schedule and my facilitation world; the noise and joy of that. But then, BOOM. Life offered perhaps the greatest rearrangement of all, death, and grief has entered into my bones to shake and remould the very shape of me.

You see, just under two weeks ago (as it only been that long?), one of my dearest, most beloved, most cherished soul friends, passed away. She was my mentor, my guide, my anam cara, my soul companion, who I thought I would be walking along the creative path with for many years to come. But life and death did their own shuffling, and now our path has shifted. Her, in my heart now, pounding it to life, to love, in an ever deepening spiral of opening and gratitude. I want to write about her one day, and sing of her vast and glorious depths, but that will come. For now her passing has blown me right open, and into that chasm I dance and cry and paint and move and laugh and surrender. Grief is teaching me to step into it like a precious gift, unwrapping the layers, finding gems, even finding the parts of myself I had jettisoned to the abandoned corners of my heart. Even in her dying, she is giving.

And through all of that, spring is still attendant to spring. I pick daffodils from my back garden, and bring them to her grave. The birds chatter, busy building nests. My tears move to mist, move to rain, move to ocean. Through the mist, an emergent rainbow. Everything becomes something else. I take a step closer. It is a movement towards. Towards what, I do not know, but towards. She always pointed me there. I am here to follow.

New Writing Workshops

Clare Mulvany 21/12/2022 Clare Mulvany 21/12/2022

Wreath of Foraged Ritual

The ground had turned crisp and the hedgerow glittering with its own deep wintering. Into the early morning cold, our breaths made whispering shapes. Siobhan and I had made a foraging date to collect greenery to make some wreaths. It is something she does every year, and this year, she invited me along.

Siobhan is a very busy director of an Irish non-profit. Lots of our conversations circle the topics of strategy, fundraising, leadership, values and the constant challenge of trying to run social organisations. I learn lots and am constantly inspired by her drive and dedication. But on this morning there was going to be a different form of circling, and already it felt like those topics, somehow softening in this steady, wintery ground, could wait.

‘First you must find the right Sally’, explained Siobhan. Sally, or willow, is the perfect malleable branch for twisting and shaping into the wreath frame. Among these West Cork hedgerows it is abundant, and each of us carefully snipped a few rods to make some rings- enough, but not enough to impact the overall growth of the tree. Getting the balance right is the currency of the forage. I say ‘thank you’ aloud to the willow as I take my share.

Next, a few metres up the road, we find the long stands of evergreen ivy, which we will use later to wrap around the sally rings. Like verdant strings, the ivy will bring a reminder of the eternal cycle of life, and of the nearing Spring green, soon to bud. The ivy is in berry too, in brilliant bursts of inky black. A few pods of them will bring texture and seasonal colour to the wreath. ‘Thank you’, I say to the ivy.

And so our wintery forage morning goes, noticing the glistening in the trees, hearing the crunch of frost under foot, noticing the rising and falling of our misty breaths, aware of the robins and the wrens. Thank you to the moss. Thank you to the holly.

Soon our bags are overflowing, our hands near frosted themselves. So we sit in the car, sipping hot coffee from my flask, and tucking in to some cinnamon rolls Siobhan had made the previous evening. ‘Peak life’, I joke. It is a phase I use when I’m having one of those moments- those simple moments which no money can by, the kind of the wealth which hold both the ethereal and eternal in a joyous dance, ‘It doesn’t really get better than this, does it’, I turn to Siobhan laughing. It really is the simple things.

I think it might be a function of getting older, but the older I get, the less I care about things and the more I care about time; the less I care about presents, the more I care about presence. Here in the crisp and clear, was the gift of both time and presence; which felt like the very essence of the nature of a gift itself. ‘Yes, peak life’, says Siobhan, and we laugh.

…

Back home that afternoon it was time to make the wreaths. As I laid all the greenery and berries on the back patio, a little robin joins me. I throw him some seed, and a few of the red berries, and he sticks around, his companionship both comfort and delight. He is watching my every move, waiting, I imagine, for a wandering berry. But I wonder if he is somehow in on the ritual, sensing the gift of it too.

The first circle is the trickiest. I find a pliable rod, shaping it into a loop, then a ring. It pops out a few times, until I get the tension and the torc just right, and secure that first circle with twine. As I do, I wonder how long this tradition of wreath-making has hold. The circle of the wreath represents the cyclical nature of time. With no beginning and no end, one season falls into the next, and the next. Here in the midst of winter is also summer and spring, just a spin away in the great arc of time. And so we are offered metaphorical forage too; as chance befalls us, so too will change. In the depth of our own dark, is the seeds of the light. The circle can always spin.

After the first ring, everything else is weave. The ivy wraps, the moss is tucked in the gaps, the ivy berries give structure and depth. I decide to make three wreaths, two with berries as their headlines, one with heather and some garden herbs. Colour themes start to emerge and I notice more detail: the silvered backs of the rosemary and sage. I prick my finger on some holly. The smell of dried fennel seeds stirs something culinary inside me. My senses are alive. Yes, this is presence. When I am finished, I throw a few extra berries to robin, then find some lengths of ribbon in my Christmas decoration box, make a final bow for each. I hang one of my front door, one on my back door, and the other wreath is for a neighbour. Across the threshold, the foraged wreath- symbolic of cyclical time, makes an announcement each time I now open the door: the real gifts is in the ritual, in the making, in the presence. As I close the door behind me, my senses come alive.

Siobhan and I already know we have a date next year. She’ll bring the buns, I’ll bring the coffee, nature will bring the magic. Hopefully robin will stick around too. It may seem far away now, but spin the circle in the great arc of time, and we’ll be there in just the snip of a few seasons, which, of course, the circle always knew.

Available Now

**An Intentional Year**

Focus on what matters most, and create an intentional 2023. Guidebook and an Intentional Year course now available

Clare Mulvany 20/12/2022 Clare Mulvany 20/12/2022

Winter Solstice Prompts

But what does it mean to cultivate hope?

One of the origins of hope is pause. To sit still in the fullness of our lives and give ourselves back to the magic of joy, generosity and to the dream of better days to come- for to be hopeful is to have belief in the possibilities of the future, as individuals and as a collective.

The word solstice comes from the Latin, meaning, Sol (sun) + Sistere (to stand still). And so, I invite you to take a few moments of pause, to sit with the questions of the turning of the season, still honouring the dark while calling in the light, a way to cultivate your own sense of hope in these turning times.

December is deep upon us and here in the Northern Hemisphere the days are short and the nights are long. However, celebrated around the 21st December, the Winter Solstice is a turning point in the year, where a reversal in the light happens and the days begin to lengthen. It is not surprising then that many ancient and religious festivals take place around this time of year, for the solstice represented a renewal of hope and a reminder that the light would return and with it the warmth required for the seeds of new life to germinate. As the light arrived our ancestors knew the tide of the year would turn too.

In ancient times in Ireland, this magical turning was reflected in the architecture of the day. Newgrange in Co. Meath is perhaps the best known example of this, when, at dawn, the soft winter light is tunnelled down a long passageway to light up a burial chamber. It’s a remarkable feat of science and engineering, and hints to the mysticism and magic embedded in their honouring of the natural cycles of the year.

Christmas has long been associated with magic. Santa, flying reindeer, presents left under trees are modern day embodiments of these ancient practices of honouring this time of year- a time of giving thanks, of joy, of hope and yes, magic. And yet, for many Christmas is a hard time, the financial pressures of an overly commercialised festival, the missing of loved ones and absent friends, or even the deeper struggles to find a home in the wider place in the world, can all be amplified at this time of year.

Switching on the global news headlines does not seem to help either- one would not be alone in giving oneself over to cynicism. Hope then, in these days of uncertainty and fear becomes even more powerful and more urgent.

But what does it mean to cultivate hope?

Prompts for honouring the dark:

This is a time of year when the light is beginning to lengthen again. Before welcoming the light, take a moment to honour the dark time of the year.

Consider spending the evening without the use of electric light. As the dusk settles, take a few moments to sit in the darkness.

What does the dark represent to you?

What does the dark have to teach you?

For the ancient celts, there was a deep recognition that life begins in the darkness. The earth’s new life comes only after a period of hibernation and rest.

Are there areas of your life that are still craving rest?

What aspects of your life want to hibernate?

What can you do to honour this need in yourself- is there something you can release?

Prompts for welcoming the light

Suggestion: write/ contemplate your responses by candlelight.

What aspects of your life are coming into light right now?

What do you need to shine a light on?

And prompts for cultivating hope

What does hope mean to you?

How can you cultivate hope in your life right now?

How can you help to share a sense of hope or light with those around you?

Happy Winter Solstice

Blessings for the Season.

Clare x

Available Now

Clare Mulvany 12/12/2022 Clare Mulvany 12/12/2022

Intentional Year 2023

Let your Intentions Guide your Action.

The Intentional Year 2023 guidebook, and new course, is here

Here we are, approaching the end of another calendar year, with all its learnings, delights, challenges and change. What a year! I for one am looking forward to a bit of a pause and wind-down, resting in gratitude for all that was, even the hard parts. So, as the temperature has dropped and West Cork glitters, as we scurry for layers and warmth, it feels like a perfect pause point for reflection and renewal too.

For the last 10 years or so I’ve been creating space at the end of the year for a particular kind of annual reflection, and a particular kind of visioning. It is a process which has evolved into my now annual, 'Intentional Year Guidebook’- a downloadable journal with reflection prompts, audio meditations, creative practices, ritual and action mapping- all designed as a guide to help us review the year that was and refine and articular clear intentions for the year ahead.

Over the years I have been refining the process too and working to improve the guidebook. So, I’m delighted to announce the 2023 guidebook is now available, with additional recordings, new artwork, expanded monthly review sheets and a dedicated webpage to access all the materials in one place.

Find out More

New Companion Course

Plus, many of you have been telling me that you’d also love a way to keep on track with your intentions throughout the year, and would value a tool for accountability and consistency. So, with that in mind, this year I’ve also created a companion course to the guidebook, to accompany you for the full 12 months of the year. It includes:

Guidebook and audio material plus
5 lives calls (January, March, June, September and December)
a weekly intention setting sheet - printable.
monthly check-in videos and resources
dedicated online learning platform.

It’s going to be fun, engaging and I hope very meaningful for you, as you refine and work with your own intentions-in weekly, monthly and seasonal rhythms- all of which I will support you through.

Two Access options

So, this year, you can choose to download the guidebook alone, which I continue to offer with the ‘honesty box’ payment option, as a way to make it as accessible to everyone while also honouring my time and creative effort, or you may choose to sign up for course for the full 12 months of resources and support.

From a previous participant...

As a previous guidebook user has said so graciously and generously:

Clare's Intentional Year Guidebook is the kind of planner I have always longed for, but never found - until now. Like a wise friend or coach, this beautiful guide offers reflective prompts and practical tools to help us navigate, and integrate, the chaos and beauty of our inner and outer worlds. At a time where life feels as if it is shifting beneath our feet, is the perfect gift and companion for anyone seeking to feel more grounded, clear and connected as we move through the uncertainties of a new year and new beginning- Caitriona R, 2022.

Thank you! And an important access note

It is a pleasure to bring the Guidebook and new course to you, and I hope you find it useful, rewarding and nourishing as you travel through 2023. Thank you for your continued support, an sending best wishes,

Onwards,

Clare x

An important note about access:

(Please note: If you choose to use the honestly box system, you will be emailed a link to a private webpage, with a password, which you can access to download the guidebook and audio materials. If you choose to sign up to the course, the guidebook is waiting for you in the dedicated learning platform).

Find out More

Available Now

Clare Mulvany 21/11/2022 Clare Mulvany 21/11/2022

November Sheddings

November, and the sky is moving, sometimes dense with cloud, sometimes fast with wind, and today, hovering in the glimmer of both. November, it feels like a transitional time, and in-between month- neither Samhain but not yet Christmas, neither this not that. The deciduous have shed their leaves now, and all around there is an elemental sense of being pared back, the bones of the landscape exposed where we can see the structures more clearly.

I like this idea of shedding, in life, in business. What can be pared back? What parts can I shed? What is no longer serving and what can be released?

I find this a good time in business life to look at my systems-what’s structures are essential to holding things together- what are the shape of its bones, where might there need to be more rooting, and where might their need to be shedding too.

This month for me it was organising how I store and share my files online- centralising my organising system and creating more space. I have also working been working on my financial systems- how I track, label and account. I often put these things on the long finger, but ultimately they are what helps to hold the whole together and deserve my time and attention to create more ease down the line. The act of shedding, is untimely an act of growth. What gets returned to the soil renews the cycle of life.

(image from Mizen Head, late November light, 2020).

Coming Soon

Clare Mulvany 11/11/2022 Clare Mulvany 11/11/2022

A powerful weekly planning question

Taking pause on a Sunday to plan the coming week. A question I always ask myself is:

30 years from now, what will be most important about the week ahead- for myself, and for the planet?

That question puts what matters most into focus, helps to prioritise and supports us to make decisions on our time based on our longer term vision.

I also find it helpful to bring that question to six core life areas: relationships/ health/ career/ finance/ spirit and community- setting myself up to attend to what matters in each area, each week.

It doesn’t mean that equal time and attention is given to each area, it just means we are bringing holistic awareness to the people, projects and practices which bring us energy and nurture our own and the earth’s long term wellbeing.

This week for me, that meant researching Green Investment pensions- (= extreme adulting!), and making financial decisions based on my values and how I want my money to be used in the world. (Two things- Green Investments are a minefield, and for brokers out there- you are missing out on a huge opportunity to reach a generation seeking different outcomes and asking different questions). In the relationship section, it also meant phoning some friends who I hadn’t spoken to in a while, and in the Spirit section, it meant getting back to some art practice. I don’t always get the balance in the week right, but asking the question brings me closer.

So, for you, ’30 years from now, what will be most important about the week head, for yourself and for the planet’?

Happy planning!

clare mulvany writer ireland — **Hello. I'm Clare**

I'm a writer, educator and facilitator, living in beautiful West Cork, Ireland. I love to share resources and learning to help harness the regenerative power of words, place and story. I hope my work offers nourishment for mind and soul. Thank you for being here. Clare x

Coming Soon

Clare Mulvany 11/11/2022 Clare Mulvany 11/11/2022

Sustainable Gift Guide 2023

A seasonal sustainable gift guide from Ireland. Christmas 2022 all wrapped up

It’s that time of year when we are thinking about gifting.

There are a wealth of small, creative and sustainable businesses and art makers who need extra support this year just to keep the physical lights on. All ship internationally.

Here are few friends of mine doing some beautiful work, which makes for wonderful gifts.

Native Circles- Emily Archer

Native Circles : Led by artist (and one of the best human beings there can be) Emily Robyn Archer. Her seasonal wheels are creative reminders of the circularity of life, both big and small- from the night sky to the kitchen garden. She has some new prints coming soon too. I’ve one right by my front door, my threshold adorned with her talent.

Liadain Aiken Knitwear

Liadain Aiken Knitwear: Friend, swim buddy and fellow west cork resident, Liadain Aiken, creates beautiful knits from Irish yarns. From cardigans to kerchief, lots of colour and choice on offer, each made with loving care, guaranteed.

Cora Murphy - Paintings and Art Prints

Cora Murphy Artist. Cora is a long time mentee and has become a great friend too. Every exploring her own creative edges, she creates stunning paintings, from which her print range and cards evolve. Her new collection, Threshold, was recently released, alongside a new size of print.

Jiminy Eco Toys

Jiminy Eco Toys. Founded by the wonderful Sharon Keilthy, Jiminy offers sustainable eco-toys as an alternative to plastic and disposable toy waste. She’s on a mission to ‘inspire a playfully sustainable world’. If you are on the hunt for toys this year, Jiminy is a great place to start…

Mari Kennedy- The Celtic Wheel

Mari Kennedy- Self Led Wheel of the Year- Mari leads an annual Wheel of the Year programme. While the doors to the live group version have closed, the self-led option is still open- weave some Celtic wisdom throughout your days.

EEDI Studio

My former housemate, and dear friend, Eavan English, is an extremely talented interior designer and runs an online shop, with exquisite homeware, furniture and lighting over at EEDI Studio. Quality to last a lifetime.

And a nod to a couple of organisations

Green Sod Ireland

Green Sod Ireland - Save a Sod. Rewilding and protecting lands in trust, your contribution to Green Sod is a goes towards protecting biodiversity in Ireland. I’ve sponsored some sods in Cork, home turf after all.

Kiva.org

Kiva.org. A few years ago, rather than send out Christmas cards, I made a loan to Kiva, a global micro-lending site. I’ve added to that original loan, and now have several circulating to entrepreneurs and learning projects around the world. It’s like a gift that just keep giving.

And some recommendations from Readers.

Contact me to add your suggestions. If it is a good fit, I’ll add to the list.

A note from Pam in The Netherlands:

The Burren Perfumery. ‘Since I visited their shop in The Burren I have never bought a perfume from a large fashion brand again. Spring and summer flowers are my favourite. But there is much more, also fitting autumn and winter moods’.

Coming Soon

**An Intentional Year**
Focus on what matters most, and create an intentional 2023. Guidebook and an Intentional Year course coming soon. Sign up to my newsletter for launch.

Clare Mulvany 10/11/2022 Clare Mulvany 10/11/2022

Nightowl, COP and Constellating

What does it mean to offer our gift in these dark times?

From COP27, to nightowl inspirations, on learning to follow, and write, a new narrative for this age.

You can listen to this post here. 9 mins. I hope enjoy.

The light has been pared back now, almost brittle in the sky. I watch it linger for moments on the crest of waves, then dance into the long night. In its absence, I seek to create my own.

November affords the creative hours with a strange sense of abundance. As a natural night owl, much of my imagination comes alive at around 6pm and peaks at around 10. This week, on a few occasions, I found myself wide awake at 3am, still writing, painting; ideas and plans swirling. My mornings, I let my body linger in sleep. My mother tells me I’ve been like this since I was a child. Getting to school on time was a perpetual challenge (Why does school have to start so early anyway?). The evening hours. Time stretches. Email beeps, door knocks, daily obligations, these seem like distant relatives to the rising stillness. It’s taken me a long time to allow myself to trust my own circadian tides, at times feeling like I am trying to swim against the dominant current. I am still learning to trust it; my nocturnal ways, and the light I find there. But what if I flip that narrative too. What if swimming against is also, in a sense, swimming towards. And what if that’s exactly what is needed.

Finding, and trusting our own rhythms is anathema to the race, of course. The race to produce faster, more, then more. It is part of what has got us into such a mess, careful of how I use ‘us’. It is a small ‘us’ that has caused the larger body of ‘us’ to find ourselves where we are; in a different kind of race now, literally to turn the tides.

I watched the images and narrative coming from Cop27 this week. Here we have the regular cast of decision makers. Mostly male. Mostly the dominant political elite. Like others, I found myself asking; ‘Where are all the women?’,’Where are the indigenous voices? Where are those who will advocate for voices of the future, human and more-than-human, not just the profits of the future? Then quickly, my own internal critic chimed in, ‘And where are you Clare. What are do actually doing’? It is a voice that frequently rattles me. And rattles me loud. Am I making the right choices? Am I doing enough?’

I was asked to run for local political office once. My ego toyed with the idea for a while, but it was a brief while, because a part in me knew myself well enough- that active political office would be running against my own tide too. It is easy to mistake public profile with importance, with success. The lure is real, but at what cost? To our own callings be true.

Real too is our need to express our ideas, our own marks to make, to honour our own particular gifts in our own particular ways. For some, importantly so, that means running for office, for some it is setting up schools or teaching in them, for others it is holding a child’s hand and helping them to grow into their particular gifts. Notice I am deliberately using the plural here- callings, gifts, longings. We are plural beings, layered with complexity, multiplicities, shadows, and equally with gifts, talents, capacities. We are constellations, and when we allow ourselves, we too can be bright lights in dark times, for dark times indeed need their north stars.

I’m looking into the future now, the not too distant future, seeing the ways humanity needs to adapt and respond to the times we are in. This is monumental change on scales we have never experienced before. The need for us to bring our gifts, our unique contribution, is real too. And as vital as breath is. We need the engineers, scientists, political negotiators, mediators, meditators. We need accountants and financial planners, city planners, marine stewards, stewards in general. We need the nurturers, the storytellers, the media makers, the healers. Space-makers, movers and shakers. We need every gift and talent there is, yours, mine. The table is large, and we can create even more space for everyone. I want to pull up more chairs.

The dominant narrative, of course, is counter to this. It is of fear, apocalypse, permacrisis. But that’s part of the problem- the dominance of this narrative, the singularity of it, when, in reality, in parallel to the dominance, there is always plurality, there are other possibilities taking shape, already taking shape. I look around as see these new stories growing in momentum. Some are organisations doing such interesting and important work. I am inspired by The Presencing Institute, initiating and co-creating transformative educational models across the globe. Or The Bio-Leadership Project, offering alternative business models and networks. Some are movements, a rising up of a new narrative, as the women in Iran have, cutting their hair in acts of symbolic resistance to the hegemonic norms of expectations and control. I turn to writers like Robin Wall Kimmerer, or Robert McFarlane, who are sharing their exquisite craft of language to write new landscapes of awareness and possibility into being. I am enthralled with artists such as Jackie Morris, and musician Cosmo Sheldrake, who, through visual and auditory expression bring the voices of the natural world into the hearts and minds of thousands. From that one woman on a protest march in Iran, to the millions and millions of others around the world who are working on regenerative energy projects, new architectural designs, sustainable policy work, circular economy business operations, and on and on. Yes, there is so so much work to do, which also means there is so much possibility, for all of us. I think of all these people, each expressing their gifts, each part of an evolving narrative, each offering their own light in these dark and troubled times. Suddenly November is constellated.

I’m up late again, drawing. A little Wren has arrived, a tiny tiny creature, so small and so seemingly insignificant. But only a few hours ago, that drawing didn’t exist, and now the world has expanded in the tiniest of ways. Yes, tiny, but even that is expansion, part of the unfolding, and it makes the light in my own heart shine that little bit brighter. I’m turning inwards for the season now, into my own creative cave, seeking what stories I can find there, and offering them to the wider narrative, hoping to join other lights there, yours, theirs. I too am constellating. The dark may not be that dark after all.