Sophia Bonnie Wodin

I was packing to leave my daughter’s home.   We had arrived the evening before having dodged two blizzards.  It’s a drive of about 10 - 12 hours. But soon after we arrived one of us felt ill. And then tested positive for COVID.  (FYI: We had blessedly mild cases.) As I re-packed, hoping to leave before we infected the household, a thought appeared: “This is what love looks like today…” Since then I have been looking at my life and actions from the point of view of: What does love look like now? Picture this….. It’s the holiday season. Your preparations are complete. The larder is filled to overflowing (who knew a fridge could hold so much?). Friends and relatives come and go. Like the tides.  Now.  Drop a snowstorm into the scene. Everyone’s plans have gone poof! Dissolved as Naomi Shahib Nye said, “like salt in a weakened broth…” But not ours. We had planned to stay home. A beloved arrived by train and Uber, the only methods of transportatio...

  I was whirling around the house the other week, both focused and madly whizzing through my To Do list in preparation for leaving on a greatly hoped-for vacation. Oh! The to-do list was long.  But it was still November and here in SW Ontario while we had had a few hard frosts, in our protected micro-climate of a yard, there were still a few snapdragons and strawflowers and a splendid out-of-season blue iris.  I allowed myself to become distracted. The flowers had called and heeding their call, I cut and arranged them to grace the many household altars and honour our household deities. As I cut and arranged and placed, I thought about each altar honouring a deity or an aspect of our lives. Here’s Lakshmi , the Hindu Goddess of abundance in Her place of honour over the fireplace. A small statue of Her stands near one of the doors. Tara , shows up in both the Buddhist and Hindu pantheon. Another version of Her shows up in Irish stories. She of the Seat of Power...

Recently, I was struggling to write about an incident, a pivotal incident, in my life. I had already offered up a (very) rough version to one of my Writer’s Circles. It had been decisively rejected. “Sophia, you can write better than this! If this is a ‘magical’ piece, use magical language! Let your lyrical style to amaze us!”” Was the response. I had to admit that it was a very rough draft. Just get the main points down on the page. Get the flow of events. You’ll fill it in later, I had told myself. But when later came, I continued to struggle, not with the memory, but with the language.  As I wrote, filling in the details of my, admittedly sketchy draft, my mind continued to stray into the mundane character of each aspect of the story. Humph, I thought, this wants ordinary language. Grandiose language won’t make it any more important, it’ll just distract from the actual magic of the story. Describe it simply and the story will amaze by itself… ‘Sometimes magic done well l...

  Once we were young each of us  in the cradle of becoming fresh from Source we began a journey of forming Perhaps your cradle offered comfort, confidence Perhaps your cradle offered confusion, conflict Wherever you found yourself There was a seed a seed of a thread a thread that connects you with the Eternal And thus you began walking that life path forming beneath your feet as you went. Nurtured by the Rivers of Life you brought with you a sense of knowing And that sense fed you, bolstered you when the way because overgrown, when the path became tough. Look around you  in this space of Early Days Notice the path beneath your feet Notice the scent perfuming the air Notice the sounds arising and passing away Notice what remains Notice Notice Notice… Then recognize where you are what you are who you are In this Cycle of Becoming. If you are interested in expl...

Who is this Inanna? And why do we work with Her? The stories that have collected around Inanna’s name are many. They were originally chiselled in stone in ancient Sumer, the first recorded stories that we have recognized and translated into modern language. This all by itself, is remarkable. Here we have a beginning of the transition between Oral Traditions and the Written Word. A major changing point in history. It begs many questions,  ‘What happens when we begin to write down our stories?  Do they become frozen in time, ‘set in stone’?  Can they continue to evolve? And, perhaps most important, ‘Who gets to write them?’ But back to Inanna Herself. The cast of characters is fascinating, it includes Godds, notably Inanna and Erishkegal.  The stories are filled with trickery. Inanna tricks Enki into giving away His powers. He thought that he could hold His beer better than that sweet young thing sitting before him? HAH! They offer us love. The love betwee...

 “This is your show… “You make it up as you go along… “You are doing the best you can! Always.” As I have stepped into being a new grandmother, this has become my mantra. Oh, I have been a grandmother for some dozen or more years, but this time around I am invited into the intimacy of the multi-generational show. It has been a gorgeous, heart rending, respectful time filled with admiration and growth. And it has been filled with differences, dismay and questioning, hopefully internal! Whenever we step into life’s mysteries we are forced by circumstance to reach within ourselves and find out what we are made of. In short, we grow. And in growing, of necessity, we change. But what is our relationship with change? This is a question that I frequently pose to students at the beginning of our work together. Some of us change only when our back is to the wall, when there appear to be no other options. Others of us sort of blow where the winds of change take us. Then we look...

In 1976 a friend gifted me with a deck of Tarot cards along with a book and the statement, “you will be needing these…” Thus, a journey began.   For a few years I studied the book she had given me. I studied the cards. I loved some of them. I feared others. I wrapped them in a special piece of silk and found a box to be their home. I carried them everywhere I traveled. And I traveled extensively in those days. I did readings for myself. I did readings for friends. We became allies, the cards and I. I wondered about my Eastern European bloodlines. Perhaps I had some Romany blood somewhere back there, back then.   I remembered my mother reading tea leaves for us, for friends, when I was small. I remember her stopping. Refusing when asked, dismissing it as a ‘party game’. I remember her talking about her Grandmother who she claimed was truly a witch. I remember when she stopped saying that.   As it turns out, that friend all of those years ago, was on to something. She has s...