As I sit at my desk in my home office to write the last newsletter for this year, the wind is howling, the rain is pelting down, and the trees are bare-. December is upon us, bringing both dark and light—long winter nights and twinkling lights of candles and shop windows spreading the Christmas spirit. The weather invites us to go inside, inside our houses but also deeper into ourselves. To listen.To listen and be still. Although my mind wants to do lots of things, I am gently reminded by my heart, to be still, surrender and just listen.
Once we allow ourselves to listen, we can feel ourselves more. We give ourselves the space to dream, to connect to deeper parts of ourselves and inevitably with our demons of fear. I am reminded of our power to choose love over fear by this poem by Edgar Allen Poe called The Raven.
In the poem, a raven unexpectedly appears to the poet during a moment of immense loss of his beloved Lenore. The poet is caught off guard by its arrival and its only response of “nevermore.” He interprets this as a sign from heaven of his lost love and tries to coax the raven into further dialogue. Despite his attempts to reason with the raven, it doesn’t respond except to repeat “nevermore.” This answer frustrates the poet who is reluctant to accept this reality. His efforts to understand the raven’s purpose are futile until he finally surrenders to the grief symbolized by the “nevermore-ness” of his beloved. To me the Raven also represents the darkness, we refuse to see and its “constant tapping” is the call to embrace it.
The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Copyright Credit: Public domain. First published by Wiley and Putnam, 1845, in The Raven and Other Poems by Edgar Allan Poe.
Nevermore is finite. It means not ever again. And we can apply this to all areas of our lives, where we stand in our truth proclaiming Nevermore
Nevermore to letting our fears control us
Nevermore letting others control us
Nevermore to doubt our worth
Nevermore to be influenced by the opinions of others
Nevermore to put our heart in a bind to please others
Nevermore to not leading our lives from our Truth.
Nevermore!
I invite you to create your own Nevermore Mantra to release all that does not serve you and everything you do not want to take with you into the New Year. The New Year is a blank page, a canvas on which you can create the masterpiece of your life using your truth and your desires as your paintbrush. Take this time to delve into what you truly want to create. Not from the head but from the heart. And how you truly want to contribute your light towards the anchoring of heart-centered consciousness on this planet. It’s time to say ‘Yes’ to all that is in the heart. Yes to all the hidden adventures waiting to be taken, Yes to the life YOU want, and above all, Yes to yourself as a way of honoring yourself for being on the path of Ascension and Truth and sticking to it no matter how hard or difficult the obstacles. Say ‘Yes’ to your Heart every time and ‘No’ to your fears. I am saying yes to buying a camper van and visiting Chartres in France next summer to walk the famous Labyrinth. I am saying yes to being led by the Divine feminine. I am saying yes to my truth and affirm: “Worthiness is my foundation of truth.” I am also saying yes to a new bilingual website so stay tuned for its launch.
I embrace all of you with love and encourage you to honor the beautiful rose you are, cut to withstand any obstacle.
Regardless of where you are on your journey, know that you are loved and supported. Love is the way!
Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and a magical 2025!
I leave you with Coldplay’s Christmas lights to get into the Christmas spirit.
