Hello hello
Once again, welcome.
On Tuesday I put out a very tentative step into the dark unknown of Substack, not knowing how exactly, but with a clear why within me. And my goodness, what a welcome. Thank you. Already I have a deepening sense of the weave that can bind us. It is an act of wonder. I feel buoyed.
To those new to my work, thank you for opening your inbox. It’s no small feat, in an increasingly noisy world, and I do not take it lightly. Two guiding principles, guised as questions, guide my work: Can this be useful? Can this be nourishing? I always do my best to keep that promise as I create.
Of course, none of us are in control of how our creative work is ever received. It’s so subjective. How someone interprets, engages with, or not, is out of our remit. But what we do have is our capacity to craft the best work we can offer, and flood it with our intention, hope and care. We can give it our love. I am not here to try to trick an algorithm, or worse, trick someone into investing time, attention and resources into something that is not made with the useful or nourishing mantra. I am Ok with the slow and steady.
When I come across a new writer or teacher, it takes me time to trust them. I listen, mooch around their websites, try some of the learnings on for size. I am fussy. Can I sit into and with the presence of this voice? Is this writer/ artist/ teacher a companion to my own questions? Sometimes I am actively seeking provocation to challenge my thinking, sometimes support, sometimes beauty. And then, when I am in, I’m in. My trust is hard won but it is a solid, resilient creature who is willing to go long and far.
So I am putting myself in your shoes and knowing I would want a good rummage. I hope you find something useful and/or nourishing in the mix on The Wild Edge site. My other work can be found on claremulvany.ie and thriveschool.ie. If you want to try on a poetry salon or writing sanctuary for size (which I offer to paid members), send me a message and I’ll set you up with a link.
And to give you further flavour of the kind of writing and reflections you can expect here, below is a piece I wrote this morning as part of my evolving series of writings, reflections and practices, tracking the creative process through the rhythms and rituals of the creative seasons, plus a recording, as I know lots of people out there prefer to listen.
Once again, whether you are new here, or an old friend, thank you.
With love and blessings. May our work and words travel into the hearts & hands those who need them,
Clare
Approaching Winter Solstice.
Creative Practice direction: Inwards, dark, towards pause.
Driving across the southern part of the country last night, the fog was a shroud, descendent in its mystery. The deciduous trees hung their last leaves lower, wet with the urge to fall; branches laid bare so their frame is exposed through the mist, blackened silhouettes like figureheads holding the fort as I make my way home, fog lights on, not knowing when it would clear. The road is sometimes all we have to trust, no matter how far ahead we can see.
For the last few Decembers, as these dark nights swallow the day and the sea mists sit onshore for eternity, I turn to familiarities. Music, food, traditions. The rhythm is ritual, and the ritual is always a threshold into a deeper sense of knowing; being held in the cycle of the year as an embrace. No matter the density, this too shall always pass.
With two hours of a drive to go, as I turned out of Cork city, leaving the noise behind me, heading west, the peninsulas and the call of the Altantic beckoning, I knew it was time for the Raven. Choral, textured, dark, so beautifully dark, Sigur Ros’ Odin’s Raven Magic is an orchestral rendition of Hrafnagaldr Óðins 14th century Islandic poem. Those voices, those voices. Jonsi’s falsetto set against the haunting tenor of Steindór Andersen, interwoven with full orchestral treatment, and marimba, sends electricity down my spine every time I listen, and something ancient in me stirs. Music as lineage, music as a carrier of remembrance; myth and magic, power and force, I do not understand the words, but my body understands the resonance.This is not background, nor backdrop. As I immerse myself in the music, loud and solitary, the deep dark enlivens. Raven wings in me spread. Something wants to fly.
The fog clings lower now, driving with the music on, mystery on, through a dream. Winter clutches the very promise of the dark, and I now don’t want it to loose grip. Here in the tunnel of the night, of just needing to see the next part of the road and of not knowing the next, there is an aloneness written stark on everything: the bare trees, only a faint blur glow of the Christmas lights as I make my way through the string of villages, held together too in their grip along this winding road.
The music gets louder. Inside I can feel the restive stir.
It’s all inside; the ideas, the words, the dream that has been waiting for the fog, so it too can speak through the unknown towards the only stretch of road it knows. As I pull in to where I was heading, the final bar of the album is sounding; applause from the crowd erupts. My timing was impeccable.
I step out into the West Cork night, the fog here wet with the ocean in it, and I walk onto the path, one step at a time. It is all we have sometimes. But it is enough. The path, the road, the way, dark as it is, there to catch us, if we let it. I turn up the music in my head, in my bones, and begin to step into the dream aloud; the trees dripping wet with remembrance, the fog now like a blessing, the night a companion on the long, winding, glistening road ahead.
Reflective Practice
As you finding reading or listening to this, I invite you to reflect on what might be restive with in you, itching to be stirred? What dream still needs to fog in order to be heard? What is your version of the road which might hold you to it, as you take your next step?
Links:
Odin’s Raven Magic by Sigur Ros
Upcoming Events, Workshops
Below are dates and times for upcoming online events. For paid subscribers only, except for ‘The Intentional Year Workshop’.
Paid memebers will be sent a zoom link 24 hours in advance. And the link will be posted in the members area of the main Wild Edge substack site in ‘members only’
December 2024:
8th December: Poetry Salon: 8th December, 6-7pm GMT
(Gold Membership) 20th December: Winter Solstice Salon: An evening of poetry, writing and creative ritual. 7-8.30pm GMT.
January 2025:
7th January: 6.30-8pm Intentional Year workshop (access via Intentional Year Guidebook)
9th January: 8-9pm Owl Hour- Creative Practice.
12th January: Writing Sanctuary, 6-7pm GMT
Thank you
Share this post