Wolf Month

(a small life stuffed with wonder)

A month of quiet has been and gone. I feel like I’m still hibernating, but with the knowledge that we’re inching towards spring and a seasonal new year.

I recently discovered that January was named after the Roman god Janus, known as the protector of gates and doorways. Janus is depicted with two faces, one looking into the past, the other with the ability to see into the future. He represented beginnings and endings.

The symbolism is apt, but I’m still not a fan of celebrating the new year on December 31st when every cell in my body still wants to rest, hide and protect my headspace after the sensory overload of December’s festivities. I’ll do new year in my own time, when it feels right. And to me what feels right is the start of spring, when nature gently wakes up and starts unfurling. It’s there, guiding us. That makes sense to me.

January brought with it some wide open walks. Spaces looked deep and opaque with muted colours all melded into one. Some mornings were silvered with a thick frost. Puddles looked like they were covered with fractured glass and I couldn’t resist the tiny thrill of crunching through them with boot-clad feet, hoping it wasn’t too deep and toe chilling. One particular day I went for an early wander when it had been minus 6 degrees overnight. My jeans developed a frozen skin of their own, each kink of fabric audibly scrunching with every stride. My legs felt numb. That called for a lot of tea and blankets.

This month’s moon is called the Wolf Moon. The Saxon word for the month was Wulf-monath or “wolf month.” There have been some clear night skies in January; I managed to see the month’s full Wolf Moon, as well as Mars and Jupiter a few times - despite living in an area with light pollution dulling the view. Gazing up, it reminded me of a passage from a letter that Jack Kerouac wrote to his ex wife Edie, on January 28th 1957

“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. 

We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.” 

From: Jack Kerouac: Selected Letters 1957-1969.

This past month I’ve continued working on a couple of new songs. It’s a little bit of a stop start process. I keep wanting to tweak and re-write lyrics and sometimes start from scratch again. I do get quite frustrated with myself! I’m four songs into (what I hope will be) my debut album. I have no idea how long it might take to get there; everything has to be fitted in around work and other commitments.

Creating a cosy mini studio at home has been lovely though. I’m very happy when surrounded by my guitars and woollens and within close proximity to the kettle (and something sweet). If I had to describe January as a taste it would be cardamom and the smell would be warm bread. I’ve had lots of both the past few weeks. The comforts of home come into their own during this month.

Soon enough, I’ll want to throw off the blankets and open myself up to this new year. When I’m ready. Not yet…