Super Buck Moon: Just Me & My Boys.

Preparing for the Buck Super Moon.
Drying goose eggs. Just the usual weirdness.

We spent much of the afternoon preparing for this Super Buck Moon to rise. Drying eggs, polishing elm branches (Ulmus pumila), shaving manzanita tips (Arctostaphylos patula), trimming black locust thorns (Robinia pseudoacacia)...

It's all part of the weird-work we do.

When Her Time was Right, She rose up, over the rocky crest, into the clouds...

Buck Moon Offerings.

Offerings this time seemed to demand volumes of liquid-fire -- a bowl of vodka with a splash of Chambord. (What is it about Spirits & spirits?) Italian hazelnut chocolates & four sticks of that strange Chinese incense. Not the usual protocols... make it all strong. Very strong. (Like Her namesake?)

Buck Moon Reading.

The children & I paused on the steps under the Moony cloud cover to draw cards by candlelight. No supplemental light would have been necessary had that sky cooperated with Ms. Moon. But clouds are fickle creatures, particularly in the High Desert.

One card each, right out of the satin & velvet bag, no spreads -- just keep it simple. Auspicious messages all around. I read them each a short interpretation in the heady mantle of incense which hovered about us -- where went the Wind?

Finally, to the tent, to spend our second Night under the great gaze of the Moon & the starry cloak of beauteous Nyx. 

In the thick of the night, when silence falls over everyone, even the crickets, sometimes the Coyotes (Canis latrans) "howl." If you have ever heard this, you know that "howl" is an inadequate word because their voices do not resemble dogs or wolves in the slightest. They shriek & cry like ghosts. Every time I hear their haunting songs I have a moment of confusion -- what IS that? This night I wake to the deafening silence, only a single errant cricket can be heard. What is wrong with him? Then, from the North, an otherworldly shriek. A rejoinder comes from the South, then another from the East. They are playing at call & response across this corner of the Valley, here at the mouth of the canyon. I feel both blessed & haunted.

We wake early, ensconced in our tent-turned-roaster, baking in the Morning Sun, unzip the tent to greet Breakfast Canyon, the Bovini & a new Day.  

Moon watching from our tent.

Poetry for the Esbat: Blue Moon 2012

"Blue Moon" by Moma.

"I am part of a cult of remembrance, it is the habit I share with many. I can't help but reflect upon what has passed, marveling at how it connects and relates to now. Or not."  -- Bryan Perrin, personal correspondence

The Blue Moon can mean a great many things to a great many people. However, I am growing weary of the monthly nomenclature exercises & I am taking this "Blue Moon" as my "Get Out of Jail Free" card. Besides, a Blue Moon is (for the most part) an artifact of a human constructs & confusions. This leaves me uninspired. However, if you are still wondering about the history & mechanics of the Blue Moon, the Wikipedia has a pretty reasonable walkthru on the various interpretations of the "Blue Moon." I also recommend the article over at EarthSky (there's a podcast too). 

For this Esbat, I will be employing the Blue Moon's colloquial meaning: 

"The phrase 'blue moon' has become a metaphor for a rare event. The earliest English record of the expression dates back to a 1528 pamphlet which, in criticising the English clergy, read: 'If they say the moon is blue, we must believe that it is true.'" -- The Age

This is my opportunity to recognize some "rare events" with which I have been graced during this past year. They are all, directly or indirectly, results of my relationship to our Lady Moon. Thus, this is my moment to give thanks for the gifts of Inspiration, Love & Friendship born as a result of my dedication to Her. 

I must begin by emphasizing that my relationship is with the Moon, not with the Moon as a symbol or aspect of something or someone else. I do not speak to Her, or honor Her as a representation of a lunar-oriented deity like Diana or Aradia. I speak to Her as She is; that great, luminous, parthenogenic orb whose Light is both a reflection of ourselves & of something much greater than ourselves. I speak to Her alone, directly, intimately, candidly. I have done so since I was a child. 

It is to Her that I give thanks this night.


For Friendship & the Gifts Thereof

Once in a Blue Moon, we meet a kindred Spirit, one who speaks directly to our soul. The author of the quote at the beginning of this post is just such a kindred. His friendship is a gift, a "rare event." We came to find one another by way of a slime mould -- one of my precious rockstars -- whose habit is to form diminutive orbs... not unlike our Lady Moon. We came to know one another under Her gentle glow.

As I grow older, I become less & less convinced that coincidence is a common occurrence.

Bryan's words have inspired me like few other's. They reverberate my experience & expand upon it in ways I had not considered. I too am part of this cult of remembrance. Each of us lives it differently. My deep desire is to recognize, recall, respect, understand, foster & honor our relationships in the Great Web. Connections, associations, sacred dynamics. Then & now. I believe I can accomplish this, at least in part, by understanding our relationship to Her -- the rhythmic Lady of the Light & Dark Skies -- remembering & honouring Her place, Her role in our world, our Web. 


She has been here since before we began, 
tugging at our waters as a petulant child tugs at a sleeve. 
She will still be pulling, 
pulling, 
pulling, 
long after we are gone.

She careens through space, 
arm in arm with our planet Earth.
Their wild dance is but one in a boundless celestial masquerade...
Such a handsome couple.

She gazes down, 
watching us, 
watching Her, 
watching us. 
Echoes of the ages. Echoes of now.

I speak, 
She listens, 
her luminous face impassive. 
The subtlety of Her magick is revealed over time as it unfolds -- 
petals of gentle change 
& fine adjustments. 

Patience, longevity & trust are the keys to this relationship. 
(Are they not the keys to every worthwhile relationship?)

Tonight I give thanks to the Lady for the gift of kindreds & their words which guide me.

Moon XVIII, from The New York Tarot, by Giani Siri.
Once in a Blue Moon, we encounter a rare opportunity.
My gratitude goes out to Heather Awen for allowing
us the rare opportunity to become the caretakers of her
beloved & truly spectacular tarot deck. We are still in awe.

For Poetry & Its Gifts of Inspiration

Once in a Blue Moon, we encounter an author, a poet, a bard… one who speaks directly to our soul. The author of the following poem, is just such a poet. John Siddique's vision, his insights, his words are a gift, a "rare event." I came to find his work by way of the 'cult of remembrance.' I came to know his work by a gentle nudge of the Moon.

As I grow older, I become less & less convinced that coincidence is a common occurrence.

I have shared Siddique's works before, but there is a special serendipity to the piece I chose for this Esbat. This poem was written for the Hazel Moon -- a name is based on the Celtic Tree Calendar -- which fortuitously coincides with this month's Blue Moon. However, Hazel Moon is also the single piece of Siddique's work which I first chose to share with Bryan & his equally inspiring wife Susan. It speaks to the interconnectedness, the relationships, the remembering of our oneness... Were I a wordsmith, I would have written this poem for them. I would also have written it for the Moon, the Great Web & our cult of remembrance. But since I am not, I am thankful to John Siddique for writing it for us all.

Hazel Moon, by John Siddique

Hazel Moon from John Siddique on Vimeo.

Tonight I give thanks to the Lady for the gift of poets & their words which guide me. May you find your guides too. 

Blessings to you this Esbat, my friends.

When the Land Greets You Back. Part 1

Remains of 2011 Autumn Harvest Circle offerings.

As I grow older, I become less & less convinced that coincidence is a common occurrence.

Several weeks ago now, as part of my efforts to greet the Land, I visited the site where I had attended a women's circle last Autumn. There, I had left an offering on behalf of my entire family, the remains of which I suspected might still be lingering about on the forest floor. I am not entirely sure what drew me there, but I think I was hoping to recapture some of the magic of that evening & to reconnect with a familiar space & a fond memory.

When the Land greets you back, more often than not, It catches you unawares. This is the joy of it, is it not?

Rambling over the slight drop & descending into the cluster of trees where our rite had been held, our feet crunched in the dried leaves that carpeted the ground about us. It had been very dry those first weeks after we arrived. Advancing closer, I could see bits of our offering peeking from the undergrowth at the base of the old birch tree. We stopped short however, because a few feet from our goal, my eyes fell upon this vision in white:

The glamour slime (Fuligo spp.?). 

A luscious, flawless, wet beauty, making her way across the parched & crispy litter -- litter which was more akin to bran flakes than last year's leaves. What the helvella? 

I wondered where she was going in this forbidding, desiccated place, but then decided that was her business. My business was to revel in her sheer awesomeness. Slime moulds are rockstars. You don't bother with the how's & the why's, you just revel in their glamour because it will most likely be lost to you tomorrow. We gushed & played paparazzi for the beauty queen, then we left her to her travels... 

The perfect greeting. The perfect gift. Few things can make me feel so welcome, so celebrated, so at home. The Land knows these things, but how?

For the Files: His Own Cosmology

I wanted to write about a dream I had last night, but the Little Lad who claimed he was "so tiiiired" stayed up very, very late. This led to a conversation which I do not want to forget. It caused me to have one of those curious, child-inspired moments where surprise & a touch of awe blend together to make you cock your head & flash them a crooked smile while you stall-out in wonderment. It made me think & think again. So, the dream discussion will have to wait. This is one "for the files."

I read to the Little Lad from "A Little Book of Fairy Tales, Rhymes & Riddles," a small book which arrived in this special package: In the Drip of an Eave (something I intend to discuss further if life ever permits). He has been very enamored with the various rhymes & stories in this book. In fact, he startled me today by unexpectedly reciting one of the rhymes verbatim -- I had no idea he had memorized it. I did not think I had even read it enough times for him to have learned it.

By this evening, I had already read everything in the book with the exception of "The Maiden Without Hands" which I specifically avoided because it relies very heavily on certain concepts: "God," the "Devil," evil, piety, angels, etc. I knew this would require much question asking & answering -- not really the attributes of a sleep-inspiring bedtime story. Besides, we work very hard to leave concepts of cosmology open-ended, so concepts such as these require careful, delicate explanation. Honestly, sometimes I am just not in the mood, especially when I must explain belief systems which contain -- in my experience -- a great deal of objectionable content.

Anyway, we came to a part of the story in which the King employs the assistance of a priest who was to speak to a spirit for him. Of course, this precipitated a deluge of questions, beginning with, "What is a priest?" "What do they do?" In the course of this discussion, I tried to make it clear that there are many different names for people who are variously ordained to provide services to many, many different kinds of "churches" & that all those different people believe very different things about how the world works. I even gave him examples of people he knows personally who believe different things, attend various churches, or don't subscribe to any of it at all. All of this, of course, was explained in child-speak. 

Once he seemed satisfied with my overview of human belief systems, he asked me if I knew what he thought about it. "Do you know who my god is?" "No," I answered. "You," was his reply. To this, I said, "I am not a god, I am just a human." Then he said something like, "Well, I believe in a goddess, like the one you sing about." I said, "Oh, like an Earth mother goddess..." He thought about that a moment. Then, his face transformed, like suddenly he remembered something he had long forgotten:

Dreamily, he looked over at me from the pillow, "You know what I think?"
"No, what?"
Smiling, faintly, then mirthfully, "I think there's thousands of gods... thousands of them."
Looking dreamily across the ceiling, he continued, "This whole universe is made up of them. They're all out there in the universe, curled up."
"Curled up?"
Now, with a broad smile & great certainty, "Yes, curled up out there, like in eggs. Like all the solar system is filled with gods all curled up in eggs." 

He went on to elaborate on size & scale & how they can be small & large. Like Jupiter, or Canis Majoris. I confess I failed to absorb a certain amount of the elaboration because my mind was reeling with images of colourful, curled up space gods whirling through the Milky Way in their eggs. Neither did I ask any further questions of him -- to insure that I would remember his words, his vision, just as they were & save them here. When years have passed, long after these entries have been printed & bound, I hope he has a chance to read this & consider how his cosmology has changed. Or hasn't.

Later, I will ask him to tell me more about it.

In the meantime, I wish for dreams with deity-filled eggs of the comos, big & small. All of them, out there, just being... & making up everything.

An egg. What god resides within?
Photo by Little Lad, taken with his own camera.

For the Files: Eostre/Vernal Equinox 2012

Eostre eggs after dark.

After the panic of learning we were a day off schedule (no thanks to that accursed Llewelyn calendar), we had wee bit of a scramble with the eggs, then Hubby had a sudden & unexpected date with a commercial freezer... sigh. 

But by dusk, we made it out to the tree with our eggs, thanks & wishes. 

Eggs, gratitude & dreams for the Equinox.

Twenty-four beautiful Spring eggs, courtesy my mother's hens. Creme, freckled brown, olive green & blue. 
Twenty-four notes, twirling in the breeze. Our messages of gratitude & our wishes, offered to the wind.
Brown (foundation) papers, three a piece, record that for which we give thanks.
Green (growth) papers, three a piece, record wishes for the new season which rushes forth.
Hanging little eggs on tiny brass wires, under the twinkle of the three planets.

• 
  

This morning,

Sunrise, here in the balance, hanging at the midpoint.

Spring has sprung.

Eostre/Vernal Equinox: Curse that Llewellyn Calendar!

Gah!

Well, I really only have my lazy self to blame. Thank all-that-is-good for EarthSky. Without them, I would be missing the Vernal Equinox... or, if I take an optimist's approach, because of them, I can be outside in the Dark, looking to the sky & thinking, "Hey, somewhere out there, the Sun is squatting directly over the equator..."

I am probably the only sucker who does not know this, but the Vernal or Spring Equinox proper is happening this evening for the Western United States (thanks to that pesky thing called time & it's even peskier tables). If you are loitering about in the Mountain Time Zone, you'll be having an equinox at 11:14 p.m. tonight (no, not tomorrow morning). You Alaskans get to party at 9:14 p.m. -- better hurry.

If you don't believe me, go see for yourself: Equinox 2012 comes on March 19 for U.S. West and eastern Pacific. They also have a couple really interesting & informative companion articles entitled, A Chinese perspective on the spring equinox & Everything you need to know: Vernal or spring equinox 2012.  

Less than 12 hours to go... Better get back to the eggs...