Joy is a Mosaic
MOSAIC [n.]
A combination of diverse elements forming a more or less coherent whole.
A colorful and variegated pattern.
From Old Latin musaicum: of the Muses
Nature mosiac art by Jon Foreman, collage art by Amanda Verdery
There’s a 5,000 year old man who sits under a Winter Oak, waiting for me. I’ve come to ask him about Joy in hard times, lonely times, unraveling times.
His name is Fintan, and he’s the One who they say changed from an Eagle to a Hawk to a Salmon and back to human over many centuries. So big was his desire to touch every experience available to him that he defied all life-span logic.
The Oak is glistening with frost, her boughs holding just a few lingering oak leaves, silver in their Otherworldliness. The meadow all around is painted with sparkling snow, soft mist. All is blue, silver, white.
Fintan invites me to sit with him under the tree. A fire appears, the warm red flames a happy contrast to the wintery landscape all around. I start to ask a question but he gently directs my eyes to the fire.
Even here, in the deep consciousness of the world, I can feel this small fire’s warmth against the cold surrounding air. I can see the whole pantheon of orange in the flames. I can taste the snow’s longing to delight me. I hear soothing silence, and sense another nearby.
From behind the Oak comes an old friend, called Elder. Elder is a loving crone in gossamer amaranthine gown, with long fingers, elegant features, and the gentle eyes of Deer. She is always here to help, to calm, to bring us in from the cold. In waking life, she is the Elder Tree, her berries and flowers powerful medicines for enhancing immunity, especially in cold months.
Fintan is ready now to answer my question: What about Joy in hard times, lonely times, unraveling times.
Suddenly, he lifts us up, leaving Elder to tend the Fire for now. We soar like great birds in utter delight, the Sky our wonderland. I notice that the lightness of the winged ones moves from the heart outwards. There is no limitation here. The clouds invite us to choose between visibility and invisibility at will. The Sun laughs with us.
My senses awaken!
Just as suddenly, we dive into a river and then flow with the current out to sea. At the edge of waterways, we’re met by a band of wise and jolly Seals. They take us down to their vast underwater kingdom and there’s a cache of treasure… chests of gold, sparkling jewels, secret longings, hidden soul powers, possibilities, forgotten garments of our truest selves… gems in the deep.
My senses awaken!
Then Fintan takes me to an enchanted wood and shows me two distinct scenes. The first is a Rebirth ceremony, with many wise ones gathered around an enormous egg which in turn is surrounded by wreaths upon wreaths of Spring flowers— Cherry, Magnolia, Tulip, Iris, Daphne.
My senses awaken!
The second stop is a visit to old Baba Yaga’s hut, place of shadow, impossible tasks & tests, initiations & Death. “Does Baba Yaga not always seem delighted in her cauldron of calamity and decay?” Fintan asks, his eyes twinkling. And I have to admit, I’ve always thought her grouchiness just a cover for an enormously loving joie de vive. Sadistic joy, yes. But joy nonetheless. She’s a trickster in this way: the old death hag laughs often at our expense, but for good reason. She knows the value of Joy-Noir.
So many flavors of Joy.
We make one more stop on the Moon, where a deep ancestor greets me. She looks pale, but beneath a silver-branched tree is a circle of women, ready to revive themselves together, as is their tradition. I’m invited to join my ancestors. As we sing louder, their dull skin and tiredness transforms to vivacity, rosey cheeks and joy.
We arrive back at the fire and Fintan passes me over to Elder, who takes me to her lovely, healing cottage. I’ve been here many times. In the old Celtic tradition, such sanctuary was called one’s nemeton. It’s very important to have a place in Nature, a special room, corner or cottage— in waking life or in the Dreamworld, or both!—where all your senses can be met with Beauty and where you can go to be nurtured and soothed. Simply visualize what such a place would look like and let yourself be cared for there.
Usually when I’m here, I walk right past the magical little kitchen and go wrap myself in blankets and snuggle up by the glowing wood stove. But today, Elder leads me to the iron stovetop. There are 7 pots a-bubbling, each a vibrant color of the rainbow.
“You’ve got to cook up Joy. Cook it up!”
I ask how we might do this.
“Let yourself simmer in the 7 senses,” she says, and smiles warmly, handing me a golden stirring spoon.
* * * * * *
There is such simple but profound happiness available to us when we surrender into the wonderment of our senses — Tasting a beloved treat as if its the best thing that ever happened to us. Being romanced by the scent of a particularly fragrant rose as if we’re in love. Dancing in abandon to a song that just gets us to the core. Allowing bodily awe in the presence of waves or newborns or funeral rights…
Joy is ever-present, as one of my beloved teachers says. We just have to have the courage enough to take it.
Adventuring with Fintan, we’re shown that Joy is a freedom that must accompany us on our greatest flights in life. Likewise, Fintan shows us that Joy is a requisite companion on the descent into deep personal discovery, the deaths-without-dying that comes to every life. Joy is a gift we can claim through our senses when we find ourselves in deep water, just like the lilting Seal.
When we travel to meet my ancestor on the Moon— my magical lineage— it’s clear that Joy is deeply tied to knowing who we are and staying close to our communities and most beloved traditions. Simple, seasonal rituals~ such as those made at Yule-Time~ facilitate deep belonging to place and an on-going remembering of what matters. The Celts knew that time changes all things and that any belief, ritual, or esoteric knowledge meant nothing if it couldn’t shapeshift with the times.
Finding meaning again in old traditions by shaping them to this epoch is a practice itself in Joy.
The journey ends with Elder cooking up Joy on her stove, reminding us we can do so too by letting ourselves simmer in the senses.
In the ancient, Celtic Yule tradition and more recent Christmas iterations, every act is an intricate interaction with the senses.
The gentle fixing of ornaments upon evergreen needles amidst the twinkling lights and pine scent. The tasting of holiday cookie dough and the smiles of children dotted with flour. The sipping of festive drinks and recipes that only come ‘round once a year. Storytelling and singing by the fire. Unwrapping a gift given from the heart. In each, we’re re-membered and we meet our longing to belong.
The holy Joy of the dark days are resplendent with sensual attentiveness across many traditions. Panculturally and deep in our bones, we know that Darkness is in fact pure, abundant potential. We also know there’s death here— all around, the Earth has died for the year, and every year we lose something precious to us— if only the year itself! The black ashes left behind can be hard to bear. But we know they’re the fodder on which new fires will be built, new gardens grown. We know this time is both sorrowful and joyful.
The closeness of Joy to Sorrow is an ancient knowing, deeply revered at Winter’s Solstice / year’s end. Fintan shows me symbols of rebirth next to symbols of death. Joy is a path through the woods supporting rebirth and death-dealing hollows alike. We are threads being woven into the cloth of twinkling ancestral light-making in the Dark.
Joy is neither here nor there, but in-between and everywhere— a million thresholds meant to piece together the beauty of our lives into a sacred, many-colored image.
A mosaic, built slowly, that we can always rely on until our last day. If we’re tenacious, it can continue to beautify the lives of our descendants too. Just as our ancestors left many traditions as very important clues for finding Joy, we can become good ancestors whose conscious joy-craft can reunite and reweave us across time and great distance.
Joy is a continuous invitation whose dearest soul friends are our senses.
Joy is a rhythmic patterning, passed on and yet wildly intimate to each of us. Joy drops us into the heart of the moment, if we will only allow ourselves to taste, touch, smell, hear, see, intuit and reach for the Soul of the World at our fingertips.
Joy is a mosaic.
It’s Winter Solstice Season~
A Time of Fond Farewells & Shiny New Beginnings, A Time of Wishes & Manifestation Spells, of Giving & Receiving, of Mystery & Magic… a time for mosaics of Joy amidst all the madness of the world! What are you saying YES to this Solstice season?
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