This is the season of Christmas in my home and heart, a time I plunge into and savour deeply – the scent of fresh evergreens, a kitchen overrun by children both adult and teen home from school, nights playing board games where we make up silly words or get to whack each other with inflatable sticks, followed by watching movies we can quote scene by scene, time with my mother, the taste of her shortbreads and fruit cake … the weeks before and after Christmas Day are laden with memories and joy, where the outside world disappears and every moment is like a vacation.  This year, like every year before, has felt like the best Christmas yet. But it also feels different, a vacation, yes, but also a hiding place, a dark realm where not only my external world disappears, but my internal connection as well. Beneath the full stomach and giddy head is my signal, again struggling to be heard but a mere whisper against the thunder of old stories: you’re too busy to write, on vacation so you shouldn’t write, here – have another shot of eggnog and lose yourself in this movie you’ve seen 27 times.  These are all worthy endeavours to celebrate Christmas, but when used to hide from yourself, well, the signal moves in mysterious ways. And this year, my signal quit taking my dismissal lying down and called in reinforcements. Drawing my nightly Mana card, just after midnight and Christmas Eve gave way to Christmas Day, I shuffled my cards, tugged one free, turned it over and in the flicker of candlelight there she was.

I drew Pele for Christmas.

Pele, the volcano goddess of life and Earth, powerful and passionate, famous (and infamous) for both destruction and creation.  Breaking down the old, birthing the new. It is believed that Pele is offended if we disrespect our passion, turning hearts starved of passionate fire into stone. She appears when paths are in need of a major upheaval, clearing the way for a new and better life.

Holy crap. I stare at the card. In the five years I have owned this deck, I have never drawn Pele. I stare at her image, flames in motion, and read the words. A spark of joy, followed by the familiar clenching of terror and as my stomach churned I was tempted to put the card back, drawn another. I didn’t want this one. It felt dangerous, wrong. What was I supposed to do with it?

And for a moment I’m back in Italy, a trip of my dreams, standing paralyzed on a platform, debating whether to board a train. Play with fire and you’ll get burned. I heard that over and over as a child. Flames fascinated me but would hurt me if I got too close. The teaching took root and came to govern my internal flames as well. Dare to dream and you’ll crash. Keep writing and you’ll get to know and own yourself, which means no more hiding, no more ducking choices or avoiding responsibility. Passion means heartbreak. Stay cool and stay quiet, and you’ll be safe.  And paralyzed in a train station, a step away from a dream and too terrified to move. Until something inside takes hold, takes control and pumps fuel into muscles, mind and heart to move forward, seize the moment and savour the journey.

I need to allow that I have everything I need, choose what I want, and give myself permission to go after it.

I am full of fire, every minute of every day, but over the years, I have trained myself carefully to avoid channelling that fire into passion. My fire was being diverted by traditions done automatically rather than mindfully, in projects designed for praise rather than growth, for maintenance rather than creation, for keeping me in place rather than inviting me to soar. And I have become mindful that in the eight days that I silenced my writing with promises of ‘later’ and either/or choices of ‘I want to celebrate today, I’ll write tomorrow’ (without allowing that writing is a form of celebration), my body is now screaming in protest. Back achy and joints stiff, legs swollen and head heavy, tired beyond what sleep will touch – all symptoms of inflammation and yes, the excess sugar and Christmas dinners play a part but the greatest contributor are the words I carry, trapped and agitated and begging for release. Pele is here to help me break my pattern of taking in without giving out, of diverting my fire rather than creating with it. As I sit here, finishing this post I can feel the lightness, not only in my body but in my thoughts. I had started the morning with online banking, paying bills that have arrived way too soon compared to the income needed to cover them. In this moment, that reality has not changed, I have not won the lottery or discovered I am the long-lost heir to a massive fortune, but I know that all will work out. There is always a choice and a solution.

On Christmas night, I drew a new card: Laka, the Hula Goddess of inspiration. She appears as an invitation to deepen my connection to my creative space, internal and external, to spend time exploring this sacred space for inspiration and renewal. A cooling respite from Pele’s upheaval and fire. Balance and flow. I’m sitting with that today. And some eggnog. Inspiration comes from many sources.

Merry Christmas! Thanks for reading.