Pray to the Moon when She is round,
Luck with you will then abound,
What you seek for shall be found
On the sea or solid ground.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Poetry for the Esbat: Darkness Moon, 2016

Almost there, sister.  Waxing Moon, June 2016.
Almost there, sister.
Waxing Moon, June 2016.

There are no words. No words to explain my delight in this Sky, this sprawling, Dark, Night, Sky...

Tonight I receive many, many messages & images from friends & my beloved. Tonight they are celebrating the Summer Solstice in that typically modern Pagan way -- on the most convenient weekend. They are also celebrating the Solstice Alaska-Style: in the endless daylight. 

here in the yawning Desert,
under the sable cloak of Night,
I find myself not missing it.
Not at all.

Tonight, in the company of crickets, I photographed the Moon. But first, I sat on the porch of the house (the one that stole my heart so many years ago) & waited. It took awhile. She had been playing coy behind the clouds. It doesn't matter really. I am patient. Besides, the Darkness is enough for me. Had She never left Her coverlets, I still would have left satisfied. 

Yesterday, while washing dishes to avoid the heat, I was reflecting on the raw thrill of the Darkness; the vulnerability & the opening of the imagination which only being doused & disoriented by the Dark can introduce. So I was very pleased to recover this Esbat's poem from my lengthy favorites list on my phone's Poetry Foundation App (yes, I recognize this app thing is cliché) this evening. Things always seem to fall together just as they should, no?

I know there are a variety of rich & thoughtful literary interpretations for the following piece. But, I personally like to take it at face value -- with a very uncomplicated ear & heart. I like to think it's really just about the Darkness & being a goofy human, completely & hopelessly maladapted to nocturnal living & literally smacking your face into a tree. Then, perhaps, with practice, patience & some caution, finding your bat's wings. I find that interpretation most satisfying actually.

We grow accustomed to the Dark - (428) by Emily Dickinson

We grow accustomed to the Dark - 
When light is put away - 
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye - 

A Moment - We uncertain step
For newness of the night - 
Then - fit our Vision to the Dark - 
And meet the Road - erect - 

And so of larger - Darknesses - 
Those Evenings of the Brain - 
When not a Moon disclose a sign - 
Or Star - come out - within - 

The Bravest - grope a little - 
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead - 
But as they learn to see - 

Either the Darkness alters - 
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight - 
And Life steps almost straight. 

Blessings to you this Esbat, my friends. 


theopengyre said...

Blessings to you too.

Endless rain and thunder here of late and haven't seen her face in ages.

Your reflections on darkness are typically apposite for me as I've been in a sort of apophatic phase. How do you always do that? ;-)


Moma Fauna said...

Amoebas. We are creepy like that. ;)

Moma Fauna said...

Amoebas. We are creepy like that. ;)

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