Poetry for the Esbat: Quiet Moon, 2016

XVII: The Moon.
From Tarot Illuminati by Lo Scarabeo.

"Most Witches are in fact elemental vampires who, according to legend, gain their powers from the moon..." -- The Demoniacal

Several Moons ago, he said to me: "Your recent communications about your relationship to energy made me ponder your Luna devotions as she is traditionally yin and cool, and a perfect ground... so I wonder where she is in your current moment.  You missed your full moon post I think for the first time in a long old ... Not a thing for self-recrimination but perhaps significant..."

Ah, you.

It's so annoying how you know me.

☿☿☿

Throat Chakra Elemental Activator
By Ashnandoah of DeviantArt.

Since I returned from the High Desert, I have suffered from a case of severe communication paralysis, neglecting everyone who doesn't come at me like a freight train or a crying baby.

But the lapse in exercising my fifth chakra began long before...

And I blame most of it on the drought & heat & fires for the lack of fungi because I can see from the record that this is where it all began. Or ended.

(And no, this is not the "Snow Moon," because we don't have any.)

But the Moon, She doesn't bow to climate change, so I have no explanation for the disconnect save for... what? My spiritual web -- is it that sensitive to changes from one end to the other?

Perhaps a spiritual lifeway, as it becomes truly organic -- that is, of the organism -- also becomes much like any other living system itself. As with our ecosystems, our energetic fields, our planetary wellness, etc. -- alter the balance of one thing & watch the mayhem begin. 

It is worth some thought, anyway. 

And so the poetry for this Esbat illustrates my personal bond with the Moon as silent confidant. She is for me, a little bit like a Star to follow, but also a bit of a recent reflection as well. The model Role Model, in so many ways.



Moonchild, by Christopher Poindexter


There was a reason 
that she was so 
romantic about the moon.

It never asked her 
questions or begged 
for the answers, nor 
did she ever have 
to prove herself to it.

It was always just 
there – breathing, 
shining, 
and in ways most 
humans can’t understand: 
listening.



Blessings to you this Esbat, my friends.

Muditā or "Facilitating Bliss"

A Witch "Queen" & her tools. 

"Muditā (Pāli and Sanskrit: मुदिता) means joy; especially sympathetic or vicarious joy. Also: the pleasure that comes from delighting in other people's well-being..." -- Wikipedia

A kindred spirit recently mentioned the Japanese concept of jiri rita enman, or the harmony of self-benefitting & benefitting others. In his correspondence, he mentioned this concept from an act of 'doing for the sake of doing' which may or not be quite the same as a practice I call "Facilitating Bliss." Where this behavior may differ from jiri rita enman is that I engage in certain activities quite consciously -- with premeditation -- knowing that I will benefit from the experience of Muditā, or gaining joy from the joy, growth, advantage or bliss (& sometimes recovery) of others. 

Facilitating Bliss is a relationship style, a "practice," "tradition" or "Lifeway" (to use a specifically animistic term). It is a way of engaging, relating & cultivating. It is a supporting role, sometimes essential, but rarely central to the stage. I do this for the benefit of my persons (particularly the human ones) & for the experience or sensation of Muditā. It happens that this practice has additional benefits -- if the persons in my world are being enriched, our world in general is enriched -- everyone & everything becomes increasingly juicy.

I also do it because I believe that anything I can do to honour the Old Ones, the spirits of place, or my kindreds is worth my energy & dedication. 

This means that sometimes I assist & participate in things that may or may not be my "thing" in an aesthetic or ceremonial way but still serve to Facilitate Bliss. And as Graham Harvey so eloquently stated,

"It isn't about (me) you. It isn't without (me) you. 

There is only one world. We live in it together."

A ceremonial or mock hazing of sorts: returning to the tweenage years.

Poetry for the Esbat: Witch Moon 2015

View of a very special place, from a very special place
near the ocean, in Alaska.

Which Moon is this?

I have called it the Blessing Moon... or was it the Corn Moon?
And I have called it the Wyrt (Wort) Moon.
I have called it the Isn't She Lovely Moon.
I have also called it either the Buck Moon or the Night Life Moon or Beetle Moon, but I am not prepared to count...

I may also have mentioned it as a Blue Moon, which it is, once again.

But this time, I shall call it the "Witch Moon." 

☽○☾

Tomorrow we shall embark upon an unusual adventure. We will travel several hours to a quiet location, nestled upon the shore of the Cook Inlet. We are traveling there for a beachside gathering of Witches.

I do not consider myself a Witch. Some Witches do. Perhaps this is why I was offered the invitation, or maybe somehow I have charmed them, or something. 

But I got to thinking about the Witch: The Witch as a representation of all that is untamed, unruly & not easily contained. The Witch as something that offends the moderate senses & confuses the tractable mind.  The Witch, who more often than not, represents (Woman's, in particular) noncompliance, paired with primitive intuition. This last point, for me, reaches right into the heart of the Feral Self. 

The Witch operates independently of the rules, or at least those held dear by a social majority. She explores & operates past the boundaries of what is familiar. Her life ways, imagination, sense of self, aesthetic, relationship, power, etc. do not correspond to those of persons who stand outside her. Despite the scorn of her rebellion & unorthodox ways, she retains a inextinguishable allure.

I think it is her freedom, her independence & her willingness to consider hidden possibilities which cause people to wax romantic -- despite their disapproval -- when they consider the Witch. Were all the Witches to disappear from the Earth, they would leave a gaping hole behind, a yearning which could never be satisfied.  

There are many kinds of Witches. Some are classic, easy to identify. Others may come as a complete surprise. In the end I suppose, they are perhaps, as simple as all of us who are not entirely domesticated… 

For this Witches' Full Moon, I offer two poems which speak to me of precisely this paradoxical pair of sentiments: Rejection & Romance. Both poems are not exactly about Witches & yet they are  entirely about Witches. 


Witchgrass by Louise Gluck
Published in THE WILD IRIS (The Ecco Press, 1992)
(Text from The Poetry Center at Smith College)

Something
comes into the world unwelcome
calling disorder, disorder—

If you hate me so much
don’t bother to give me
a name: do you need
one more slur
in your language, another
way to blame
one tribe for everything—

as we both know,
if you worship
one god, you only need
one enemy—

I’m not the enemy.
Only a ruse to ignore
what you see happening
right here in this bed,
a little paradigm
of failure.  One of your precious flowers
dies here almost every day
and you can’t rest until
you attack the cause, meaning
whatever is left, whatever
happens to be sturdier
than your personal passion—

It was not meant
to last forever in the real world.
But why admit that, when you can go on
doing what you always do,
mourning and laying blame,
always the two together.

I don’t need your praise
to survive.  I was here first,
before you were here, before
you ever planted a garden.
And I’ll be here when only the sun and moon
are left, and the sea, and the wide field.

I will constitute the field.



15. Lines written in Dejection by W.B. Yeats
(From The Wild Swans at Coole, 1919.)

WHEN have I last looked on  
The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies  
Of the dark leopards of the moon?  
All the wild witches, those most noble ladies,  
For all their broom-sticks and their tears,         
Their angry tears, are gone.  
The holy centaurs of the hills are banished;  
I have nothing but the harsh sun;  
Heroic mother moon has vanished,  
And now that I have come to fifty years  
I must endure the timid sun.

Blessings to you this Esbat, my friends.

"I Miss the Moon."

Midnight or rather, 10:00 pm Sun. 

What she said.

The local Wiccan/Witch cohort (or one of them anyway) has a monthly gathering they call a "Wine & Cheese Moot." What "moot" means to them exactly I am not sure as it seems to vary. But, as the caretaker of the community center I sometimes take advantage of the opportunity join them for wine & cheese & something.

At the most recent Wine & Cheese Moot, there were three new visitors. All of them were women (not really surprising) & all of them were incredible talkers (which is a bit surprising). Because of this, there was much talk & talk & talk. I am not sure how much of that long & vocal evening I could recall with any real accuracy, but I can remember when one of these new, unfamiliar voices lamented:

"I miss the Moon."

I couldn't even tell you which woman said it, but I'm with her.

This Sun. This SUN. I have decided that the most disruptive thing about a Sun which refuses to set is just how much it gets in the way of the Moon... 

However, I decided this week that instead of berating myself for my neglectful Lunar devotionals & general feelings of Lunar Esbat ennui during the highest Summer months (it does seem to be a pattern if I cannot be in the Desert), I need to find something better to do with that energy. 

Not sure what that will look like. But it will look like something. 

In the meantime, I can relish the brief midday peeks at the Lady as she shifts Her shrouding to & fro, & look forward to the tipping of the scales again in Her favour. 

Oh, yes & I will enjoy that Sun, because next thing you know I will be griping again about all the Darkness. 

Poetry for the Esbat: SPROING! Moon. 2015

Tonight's Moon. Placidly watching the SPROING from a distance.

The Sun's sweeping arc shifts rapidly, severely --
it will make mayhem for as long as this lasts.
The Night has taken to dragging her starry cloak elsewhere,
while Lady Moon slides about in the pallid sky, ever patient, 
I like to think she is smoothing creases in her shift,
awaiting her turn...


The days are long, long, long. SPROING! The winding-up of crazed Alaskan summer antics begins NOW (or perhaps yesterday, while you were distracted). Human kind is frenetic. The signs are clear: two neighbor's trucks totaled in as many days. Countless other accidents in the nearby streets. You might think there was snow, but nay, it is Spring! that has sprung in the Last Frontier & the people are already quite mad. The same applies to the rest of the lot -- children of Flora & Fauna -- as well. Everyone clamoring under the Sun.

Now the birds, they continue their songs past the witching hour.
Soon, the plants will grow at night. 

We are thrumming -- a hive, alive!


Which is why I get SO much glee from knowing there is this flower out there somewhere who dances to the beat of the subtler Lunar rhythm... Ephedra foeminia.

"Two researchers from Stockholm University accidentally discovered that pollination in a species of Ephedra – the gymnosperm Ephedra foeminea is correlated with the full moon. The finding is a first for the plant world. No other plant has been found to wait for the full moon to activate pollinators, including Ephedra distachya, a very close relative, which relies on wind to carry its pollen.

The plant is pollinated by nocturnal flies and moths, and these insects may utilize the moon to navigate in the dark. Further, the spectacular reflection of the full moon’s light in the pollination drops glistening at the top of the plant probably attracts the insects to the cones." -- Plant’s pollination synchronized with full moon, EarthSky

Pollination in the Gnetales. E. feminine at right.
Image credit: Rydin & Bolinder,
Moonlight pollination in the gymnosperm Ephedra (Gnetales)

(If you are a source material kind of critter, see their paper in Biology Letters: Moonlight pollination in the gymnosperm Ephedra (Gnetales).)

I prefer this approach -- courting moths & harmonizing with a gentle, nocturnal rhythm. Not that I dismiss the unwavering heat of the summer Sun. Oh, I do relish every moment under those rays! (And if they find me in a yawning desert, even better.) But there is a stillness, a mindfulness that arrives with the Moon & this is the sacred-secret (also the secret-sacred). Quiet, it is much more than the absence of sound. 

This brings me to the poetry for this Esbat, a quiet-flower-Moon poem by performer, writer, director, poet, and artist Bernard Bragg. In the video below, Bragg translates the poem “Flowers and Moonlight on the Spring Water” into what he has coined “Rarefied ASL.” This piece is simply brilliant. It includes an introduction by Mr. Bragg & subtitles, not that one would need them given his unambiguous & sincere rendering. 

To read the original inspiration for this work, an ancient poem by Zhang Ruoxw Chang Jo-Hsü (c. 660-c.720), visit here: "Spring, River, and Flowers on a Moonlit Night." 

Blessings to you this Esbat, my friends.

Minor Rant: That Big Umbrella & the Confusion It Brings...

Community Mandala: Many individual visions manifesting
(Within distinct boundaries -- not a picture of reality)

I haven't had a good major rant in a long time, but after expressing my irritation to a friend/mentor, she suggested that I consider not expending too much energy pointing out what I do not like as it gives those things more power, draws attention to them & strengthens them all the while wasting my own energy...

Hence, the minor rant.

I signed on to help recruit speakers for, let's call it, a "spiritual symposium." I made a whole bunch of assumptions about what symposium means. I also made a great many assumptions about what "spirituality" & "religion" mean. I really thought I had a grasp of what I needed to do & I became excited, perhaps overly so, about helping make this event happen. I aimed for passion, experience, expertise & diversity. Among the presenters I had approached &/or secured were: 

• A Sifu/Qi Gong & Kung Fu Master, to discuss some of the basics of Qi Gong energy work
• A Master Shibari Artist, to speak about the magickal use of fiber art throughout history
• A Hellenic Devotional Polytheist & published author, to discuss the basics of the Greco-Roman pantheons & modern Hellenic practice
• A Hedgewitch/Herbalist, to present local wortcunning information & demonstrate making tinctures & salves
• A Goddess-centric UU Minister & seasoned women's circle leader, to speak about Modern Goddess worship
• A Wiccan Priestess, to present an introduction to Faery Magick
• The Bodymaster for the local O.T.O. encampment, to give an introduction to the O.T.O. and the A∴A∴: & their relationship to/role in the history of Thelema
• A modern shamanic practitioner & Reiki therapist, to provide instruction about basic meditation or journey work...

And there were several more, but I am going to stop before I get disgusted to this becomes a major rant because all this was ultimately rejected by the event Organizer because:

• "People" (whoever these "people" are) are not interested in learning about things that they don't already recognize & know something about
• "People" also find the "theoretical" topics & lectures (i.e., the spiritual & esoteric subjects) boring or perhaps even intimidating & therefore will not attend an event with too much "intellectual" content
• These same "people" do not have the attention span to tolerate any presentation that approaches or exceeds an hour in length
• And "people" are not interested in lectures anyways, they "want to make stuff they can take home & put on their altars" or really, just anything they can make...

Along with all this was the redundant, tiresome assumption that anything about "green living" = pagan. And, that all people who identify as "pagan" have "altars" they like to fill with stuff.

Since I do not have an altar (there are some assumptions there I don't think I need to point out), I am not into just making (or buying, collecting, accumulating, etc. which is one of my ways of "being green") stuff for the sake of having stuff & I was pointedly accused of being "more intellectual" than the "people," I had to (graciously) withdraw myself from the project (ironically, I had already completed my part which was presenter recruitment) & cancel all but two of the presenters above. 

I had to excuse myself anyway because somewhere in the last meeting I cast aside my muzzle & shared my opinion.

Which made for some awkward moments.

And a follow up apology.

But, such is the Catch 22 of the big "umbrella" where we have people who identify as some form of "neo-pagan" or alternative spirituality, revival religion, or Earth-based whatever... The spectrum is then cast from the Earth-worshipping Eco-hippie, to the Daoist/Vedic/Heathen/Celtic/You-Name-It Druid, to the secretive Trad-Witch, to the most narrowly particular of devotional polytheists to far-flung neo-shaman, to the most eclectic CUUPS member, to the "Crafty Craft-ers" who get their spirit on making crocheted Cthulhu dolls. Oh, & there is everything in-between & un-decided.

And usually I revel in the diversity. But this week, not so much.

Or, maybe it's that I don't appreciate it when other folks cannot appreciate it.

And make assumptions.

Which, admittedly, I did too. But at least I feel good in making my assumptions on the side of diversity, education and not grossly underestimating the "people."

And I could whine about all the wasted time & effort that took me away from more important things (like writing!), but I won't because I received some valuable instruction on the troublesome habit of assuming. (I never seem to nail that one.)

And I could now go on & on about people who thump on their "green bibles" yet drive the largest vehicles on the American market (with no commercial or practical reason for that size rig) or people who think pagan = Wicca or that magick is only effective if performed "their way," or those who never want to get deeper than the "tools," or, or, or...

But I won't.

Because, as I said, this is a minor rant. 

Poetry for the Esbat: "Unto the Hunter's Moon..." (2014)

Demons with cards under a full Moon,
from Patrick Valenza's "Whispers from an Inkwell." 

We can call it many things; The Blood Moon, Sanguine Moon or in my own previous labelings, the Blood & Bone Moon. In more southerly climes, one may still call this the Harvest Moon, but it's already a little late for us in this bioregion. There is snow on the mountains & we wake in the dark with frost coating most everything outside.

There are those who call it the Hunter's Moon & that makes sense to me because I have noticed that the Moose begin to look both increasingly sexy & decidedly more tasty at this time of year. The bucks begin to resemble long legged sausages & the ladies have such great looking haunches that I struggle with this weird quandary of wondering which I want more -- to have a rump & thighs like that for myself, or to gnaw on said rump & thighs. And thus, the Hunter's Moon.

A plump moose buck lounges on Autumn afternoon.

This is also the time of gearing up for the end of October festivities. I have grappled with Samhain plenty, repeatedly even. And last year's Samhain (which fortunately I had no computer to with which to write about it) was such a colossal misadventure, that I am calling it quits on Samhain. Just give me Hallowe'en, please. 

Cards from Patrick Valenza's
"Whispers from an Inkwell."

This Moon's Poetry for the Esbat reflects this sentiment, an embracing of of the fairy tale, the folklore & festivity that is Halloween. This is not the modern, over commercialized, Hallowe'en box-store caricature of the holiday, but the truly spirited cultural celebration of the unknown, the dark places with the safety & security of a shared venture into the theatre of ambiguity. It is about traditions, about becoming what we are not & using that ruse to enter those places we "shouldn't" go... 

It's also an aesthetic adventure, if you do it well. 

And I am not throwing the baby out with the bathwater, I am simply quite done with other people's versions of this time when the leaves turn & frost nips & strange spirits venture forth to brush elbows with the rest of us. I am done. No more psychodrama, no more tacky materialism, no more reconstructing of the "ancient past," please. I just want to dive into the celebration, swim deep & revel in each moment.

Cards from Patrick Valenza's
"Whispers from an Inkwell."

With this admittedly old fashioned sentiment in mind, I have found a piece submitted to Harper's Weekly in 1910. I suspect the commercialization of Hallowe'en was minimal at that time (at least the vulgar gore was). The poem speaks to the festive aesthetic, the celebration & the mystery. It reminds me of Palmer Cox's Brownie books which I like to read to the children whenever possible. One of the poem's strengths is that it does not neglect the importance of our Lady Moon's influence in all things Hallowe'en & even mentions the monkier "Hunter's Moon" -- perfect for this Esbat. 

I have also included some images of Patrick Valenza's not-exactly-Tarot deck, "Whispers from an Inkwell" which also capture that olde-tyme feeling, albeit a bit less festive than agonized (a mood generally characteristic of Valenza's work).


Hallowe'en, by J . K. Bangs
Published in Harper's Weekly, Nov. 5, 1910


Bring forth the raisins and the nuts--
To-night All Hallows' Spectre struts
Along the moonlit way.
No time is this for tear or sob,
Or other woes our joys to rob,
But time for Pippin and for Bob,
And Jack-o'-lantern gay.

Come forth, ye lass and trousered kid,
From prisoned mischief raise the lid,
And lift it good and high.
Leave grave old Wisdom in the lurch,
Set Folly on a lofty perch,
Nor fear the awesome rod of birch
When dawn illumes the sky.

'Tis night for revel, set apart
To reillume the darkened heart,
And rout the hosts of Dole.
'Tis night when Goblin, Elf, and Fay,
Come dancing in their best array
To prank and royster on the way,
And ease the troubled soul.

The ghosts of all things, past parade,
Emerging from the mist and shade
That hid them from our gaze,
And full of song and ringing mirth,
In one glad moment of rebirth,
Again they walk the ways of earth,
As in the ancient days.

The beason light shines on the hill,
The will-o'-wisps the forests fill
With flashes filched from noon;
And witches on thier broomsticks spry
Speed here and yonder in the sky,
And lift their strident voices high
Unto the Hunter's moon.

The air resounds with tuneful notes
From myriads of straining throats,
All hailing Folly Queen;
So join the swelling choral throng,
Forget your sorrow and your wrong,
In one glad hour of joyous song
To honor Hallowe'en.




Blessings & delight to you this Esbat, my friends.

Mycophilia: The Wild Hunt 2014

Last year's Wild Hunt chronicles came to a screeching halt with the sudden & most disturbing coma-like sleep of the laptop. Let it not happen again this year.

Wee Ones snacking on an Emetic Russula (Russula emetica).
Obviously less troubling to their systems.

Last year I wrote in the never completed, never published entry: 

"When we hunt, we hunt for food,
& non-food supplies,
but even more fervently, we hunt for Beauty. It is so easy to find.
It's the experience of being present that drives us, the excitement of discovery, sharing, learning, knowing. The familiarity & the unknown. The piecing together of connections, relationships..."

And this is all still true, but I discovered something else this year.

Sometimes, when I am out there in the forest, either alone or accompanied by my people, I get high. That is to say, the hunting (or something) gives me a high & unsophisiticated as it sounds, there is no more straightforward was of describing it.

The Hunt makes me high. 

Or something.

And when this happens, my head swims & everything smells in technicolour & I can 'hear' (intuit?) whisperings (or is it that I sense presences, like radar?) & I get a little frenetic & breathe fast & perhaps I get a bit sloppy because this is when I stumble over logs & nearly step on moose & ptarmigans & anyone else who isn't a fungi...

And just to be completely clear (a laughable aim, I admit) it isn't the acquisition that feels good -- it is the discovery, the sensing & the knowing.

With that, some fungi porn from our wanderings during this Wild Hunt 2014. 

❋❋❋❋❋

This year seems to have an abundance of brown. For the humans who like nomenclature, everything below we will just call an "LBM" unless otherwise indicated, partly because I don't know everything & partly because I really would rather be back outside than labeling photographs.

Fried Chicken Mushroom (Lyophyllum decastes).

Brownie Cup (Peziza repanda)?

Grisette hatchling. (Amanita pachycolea)

Also brown, but not a fungi. What?

Pear-shaped Puffballs. Lycoperdon pyriforme.

Lepiota spp.

Gypsy Mushroom. (Rozites caperata)

Polypores, so pretty.

 

Gemmed Puffballs. (Lycoperdon perlatum)

Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), immature.
Also brown. Also not a fungi.

What the helvella? A Gyromitra!

A Funny-Guy. Probably.

But there are other shades of colour too...

Green Russula. (Russula aeruginea)

Belly Button Hedgehog. (Hydnum umbilicatum)

Probably Clavaria pyxidata.

 

Probably Fluted Black Elfin Saddle,
(Helvella lacunosa) but a bit moldy to be sure.

Yellow Earth Tongues. (Spathularia flavida)

Black Cup Fungi nestling in a bed of moss & growing some mold.

My Love. Pom Pom du Blanc.
(Hericium coralloides formerly H. ramosum.)

Sleeping?

Some of us look better with age.

 

Witch's Hats. (Hygrocybe conica)

Probably Fuligo septica.

Bleeding Hydnellum. (Hydnellum peckii) 

Pholiota spp.

Bearded Milk Cap. (Lactarius torminosus)
A new friend.

Russula spp.

Golden Coral. (Ramaria flava)

 

Possibly an omen, G. fallax.

Russula spp.

Saffron Milk Cap. (Lactarius deliciosus)
Also a new friend.

And finally, something truly suggestive (to the human sensibility anyway). Because that is how some fungi roll...

Alaska Gold. (Phaeolepiota aurea)

End fungi porn transmission.

Off to seek more.