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.
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

"It's a gift..."


"From her to you to me to you ..."

http://theopengyre.tumblr.com/post/108442926870/nox-mandala-4mf-jr-04-02-15
Nox Mandala, a gift of gratitude from The Open Gyre, 2015.














A gift of gratitude, added today to the Devotional Gallery dedicated to Nyx.

It's interesting. 

The most beautiful, exotic & unusual gifts I have received in the last months have all been for Nyx. 

A bracelet of Venetian glass, hand-picked & carried back from Italy, 
A black medicine pouch of suede & dentalium shells, made by an Alaskan Native artist, 
A shimmering mandala of teeth, coins & poppies, 
A brilliant, pink, chunk of salt excavated from the Salar de Uyuni... 
All of them, so beautiful. 
All of them, for Her.

Humans married to their rational skepticism or religious dogmas dismiss the Old Ones, but those of us who have been touched, cherish Their Wonder. 
And it shows.



Thursday, September 25, 2014

Leaf Ceremony: Autumn Equinox 2014, The Tradition Continues


Autumn Equinox Leaf Ceremony: Gratitudes printed on the leaves,  spoken on the breeze, floated on the water.
Autumn Equinox Leaf Ceremony: Gratitudes printed on the leaves,
spoken on the breeze, floated on the water.


On September 26, 2012, I wrote the following about our first Leaf Ceremony at the Equinox:

"...One by one, the leaves & their messages flitted to the water & meandered down the stream. One by one, we gave thanks & shared our hopes for the future. Our voices carried over the stream & blended with the humming voices of many -- many who undoubtedly also carry hopes, dreams, wishes & thanks of their own..." -- For the Files: Autumn Equinox 2012, Family Style

It is now 2014 & the ceremony continues, thus qualifying it as a tradition I suppose. 

We missed documenting last year's Leaf Ceremony because of the technological breakdown, but perhaps I can take a moment to reflect upon that one too, maybe using it to explain how it is we actually do this thing. Later, of course. For now, this year's recollections.

This year we saw the return of many familiar gratitudes...


Gratitude of a devoted partner.

Thanks of a devoted young scholar.


plus some new & very novel wishes...


Be careful what you hope for little one...

Always some for the greater good, as well as the more personal...


A wish for all creatures.


A more personal sense of gratitude.

Wishes & gratitudes spoken from the same small bridge, into the drifting, chill breeze, onto the swiftly passing water. A tradition continues...









And of course, the libation as offering. This year the last bottle of Black Currant mead from the Ring of Fire Meadery -- this bottle, the last of its kind as this meadery has closed its doors & sold off their equipment. 


Autumn Equinox 2014: Leaves & Libations.
Autumn Equinox 2014: Leaves & Libations.


Into the water, into our bellies. From the gods to the Earth to us. From us to the Earth to the gods. We are deeply thankful, to be such blessed creatures. May our words be heard on the Waters & beyond.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

On Spontaneous or "Organic" Initiation (An Anniversary)



"We are each initiates, one by one." -- Janet Adler, Arching Backward


I. Initiation, Proper

At the utterance of the word "initiation" there is a tendency for our minds to summon images of blindfolded oaths made at swordpoint, or secretive, incense-laden temple rites. Perhaps we imagine branding, scarification or ritualistic poisoning by alcohol & other intoxicants. We understand that the structured ordeal is a necessary sacrifice in the process of becoming. With these types of initiations, there is a sense that the initiate is trained or prepared in advance, possibly over many years, for this dramatic eventuality. All of these ceremonies confer a special status or inclusion within a culture, sect or social group -- be it large or small, public or private -- upon the initiate. All of these ritual transformations are endowed with a cultural symbology & all are conducted by a human person or persons on behalf of another human. 

INITIATION: ini·ti·a·tion noun \i-ˌni-shē-ˈā-shən\
1
a : the act or an instance of initiating
b : the process of being initiated
c : the rites, ceremonies, ordeals, or instructions with which one is made a member of a sect or society or is invested with a particular function or status
2
: the condition of being initiated into some experience or sphere of activity : knowledgeableness
First known use: 1583 -- Merriam-Webster Dictionary

But what of the initiation which originates from something outside the human domain? 

"initiation" by fijalkowski of deviantART.
"initiation" by fijalkowski of deviantART.
Some of us will be taken unwittingly, unawares. We will experience an initiatory process at the instigation or direction of something other-than-human. Be it precipitated by the Universe, a deity or deities, spirits, Nature, Fate, entanglement, natural phenomena, coincidence or any other known or unknown catalyst, this initiation will result in the same outcome as our more familiar & predictable human rites -- something described by religious historian Mircea Eliade as, "a basic change in existential condition." However harrowing or glorious the process, a spark of knowledge is conferred & transferred. We will walk away from this experience with our text forever & fundamentally amended. 


II. Initiation, Irregular

I call these precipitated-by-an-Other initiations, "spontaneous" or "organic." Whether they are sublime or traumatic, they fall into the "shit happens" classification. In all likelihood, the initiate will be taken relatively unsuspecting & unprepared. Initiation in this manner can leave the initiate feeling shell-shocked, estranged, isolated & misunderstood. Most of Western society is not prepared to validate this type of experience. We may grapple with unmanageable emotions, post-traumatic stress, cognitive dissonance, doubt regarding our mental faculties & countless other after-effects of the ordeal. With energies & attentions focused on the healing, integration &/or social re-entry processes, it may take time -- possibly a great deal of time -- to actually recognize that an initiatory process has taken place. 

Spontaneous & organic initiations can manifest in countless forms; high or low, fast or slow, euphoric or devastating. They can also fall in-between. 

"Organic" initiations, as I define them, generally relate to highly influential, "natural" or biological events. Childbirth is a perfect example of an organic initiatory process. No matter how we prepare for this event, we will always be taken by surprise in one way or another (or in many). It will not turn out the way we envisioned it. It will leave us a permanent members of a social group: the parents. You can never not be a parent once you become one, although some parents manage to sidestep the responsibilities. For most parents, they will find that after the birth of a child, their lives are profoundly & irreversibly changed -- their existential condition has been reworked.

"Devotee" by RAM75 of DeviantART.
"Devotee" by RAM75 of DeviantART.
Some spontaneous initiations are blissful. Mine, not so much.
Having an unmistakable brush with an unanswerable or overwhelming "force" be it natural phenomena, "otherworldly" influences or internally driven (of course, they could also be externally driven, appearing internal) events such as dreams or visions can precipitate what I like to call a "spontaneous" initiation. These too will leave the initiate permanently changed, but the social groups, for the most part, are not a clear-cut as those belonging to the organic initiations (excepting, say, becoming "born again"). This can cause a great deal of social discomfort if the initiatory experience falls outside the parameters of societal acceptability.

Many non-traditional initiations blur the boundaries of these two categories. For instance, a person who endures the painful process of testing, diagnosis & treatment for a chronic illness may (but not always) find this to be a process which causes a "basic change in existential condition." They also gain the dubious honour of membership in a social group; people with rheumatoid arthritis, diabetes, mental illness, multiple sclerosis, etc. In all likelihood, the process will change their view of themselves, their lives, their behaviour, their relationships, their reality... everything. These are undeniably biological happenings, but they fall outside the "biological norm." Parallels to the above scenario can be drawn for someone who experiences a profound state of euphoric possession, revelation or transcendence, perhaps unexpectedly & even repeatedly during a daily routine. So, are they organic or spontaneous? Probably, a bit of both, but really I think it matters not.

I could prattle on about a variety of potentially person-changing experiences -- the imagination could run wild all day considering the permutations (believe me, it has) -- but since I have been writing this entry for 12 days now, I think I will let it rest with this: initiation in its spontaneous & organic forms covers a wide spectrum of possibilities & crosses many boundaries. This, partnered with a lack of formality & preparation (possibly) is what makes it both surprising, compelling & exceedingly difficult. 


❍❍❍❍❍

Just over two years ago I was cast into an organo-spontaneous initiatory journey which lasted many months. It changed everything, utterly & completely. It also bestowed upon me many diverse gifts; some which were initially very painful, some which caused me to doubt my sanity, some which restructured my values, habits & priorities, some which shaped my relationships & all of which brought me closer to others, Others & to myself.

It also is what prompted, or rather, urged, the creation of this journal.
"I write because of a persistent 'knowing' that I must... Perhaps I do this to simply bring into form that which originates in formlessness. Perhaps I write words in an effort to help me contain the experience. Perhaps the writing is an expression of hope, hope of communicating, and therefore reducing the loneliness that such experiences create." -- Janet Adler, Arching Backward
At this anniversary, I am able to reflect back upon the journey with less discomfort & more gratitude. With hindsight, I see how radically my being has changed. I am not the same animal I was before I cast doubt* at the Moon & walked through the Fire.

During this anniversary period, I have reflected a great deal on the events preceding the ordeal. With hindsight, I am of the opinion, that I was being prepared, unknowingly -- whether by the strings of our tangled Web, or the gentle pressure of a subtle force -- to survive, to endure what I can only characterize as "hell." I don't subscribe to hell in the Judeo-Christian sense of the word, but if we use the following definition: 
hell |hel|noun• a state or place of great suffering; an unbearable experience : I've been through hell |he made her life hell.
2 he made her life hell: a misery, torture, agony, a torment, a nightmare, an ordeal;anguish, wretchedness, woe. ANTONYMS paradise. -- Apple Dictionary
I can honestly say that I have been there... & lingered. I also came out the other side & the gifts have been epic. Some of them have also been strange.

"The Dance of Spiritual Transcendence"  by ryan432 of DeviantArt
"The Dance of Spiritual Transcendence"
by ryan432 of DeviantArt
Before reentering the "real world," the social worker warned us that other people would not have the ability to understand what we had been through. No amount of explanation would suffice & we would simply have to understand this, accepting that the events of the previous months & the events of the months to follow were incomprehensible to the greater part of humanity. She also told me -- after a wee bout of PTSD -- that the only effective way to deal with it would be to find a way to communicate, to process the experience with language; talk, sing, draw... write.

So here I am, two years later. I recognize the gift manifested in my insatiable desire to write (even if it results in great struggle since my time for it is so limited) & also the uncharacteristic aspirations to sing & dance (really?). But there are many other gifts; deepened relationships, new connections, a marked ability to "listen," a mysterious openness, a rekindled craving to learn, greater chutzpah & confidence paired with a fresh vulnerability. I also have a compulsion not to dally or delay, not to linger in the doldrums, but to "make it so," to embrace life, right now: 
"Ennui is the death of the only soul worth having." -- Patrica Geary 
"That is my favourite quote. It is my personal motto," I used to say. Now, instead of saying it, I live it.

There is also weirdness which laughs at my rational self & teases my sensibility mercilessly. I am driven by instincts & inspiration, the sources of which are uncertain. I commit irrational acts of Love, Reverence & Freedom. I converse with the taboo. I manifest weirdness. Somewhere along the journey, the conduit was opened. I am conduit. But, not at my own expense -- I have not sacrificed self-expression or self-actualisation for this gift. I simply live it.

Living it. This brings me to a question I have been considering: Once the process of initiation has commenced, does it ever really ever end, or is true initiation just the genesis of endless unfoldment, evolution & growth? 

If so, I had better get some sleep.



*"Suspicion" might be more accurate.

Monday, February 18, 2013

PICU: What a Visit Taught Me About Polytheism, Prayer & Pragmatism


PICU: looks like a party, but it's not.

PICU: A pediatric intensive care unit (also paediatric), usually abbreviated to PICU (pron.: /ˈpɪkjuː/), is an area within a hospital specializing in the care of critically ill infants, children, and teenagers. A PICU is typically directed by one or more pediatric intensivists or PICU consultants[1] and staffed by doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists who are specially trained and experienced in pediatric intensive care. -- Wikipedia

Just over a week ago today we were unaware that we would be admitting the Changeling to the PICU for treatment of what would much later be diagnosed as "staphylococcal scalded skin syndrome" (SSSS). When you have SSSS, your skin splits open & sloughs off at the slightest graze of a fingernail or the tug of a band-aid. Rashes bloom, blacken & fall from your body. The entire surface of your being is red, enraged, blistering, on fire, like that of an overeager prom-goer who took too much time at the tanning salon. 

Staphylococcus aureus (in stain): looks pretty, but it's not.
Image courtesy Wikipedia.
All this thanks to a little critter called S. aureus who, if introduced deeply enough into the body, will release exotoxins which cause detachment within the epidermal layer. This skin-sloughing bacteria is a relatively rare breed in the staph family. But still, it is staph & staph is everywhere in this beautifully complex & dangerous world of ours. Once again, no one is special.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, we have already had a very lengthy round with the NICU environment, so we have acquired a solid battery of ICU coping skills. This was not new territory. In fact, the familiarity of it might have been the most immediately traumatizing aspect of our visit. Awash in fluorescent lighting, the smells & sounds of the PICU brought back that little bit of PTSD that I carefully packed away with the hopes of never revisiting. I had to grab my swooning, crumpling, tear-welling self by the horns & say: "Do or die. This is survival time, sister. You know this place. Make-it-work." Less than an ounce of grief, followed by days of make-it-work. 

Setting our Selves aside. Making it work. We do these things because we must. We do these things for Love.

What struck me very clearly the first night while gingerly curled around the Changeling in his bubble-bed was that my personal gods & collaborative spirits aren't so befitting to the crisis situation. I have actually run upon this before, but perhaps I was never lucid enough to see it for what it is. I also think this is where I have always had a wee bit of ambivalence with the whole "prayer" concept. (Yes, I am aware of the irony of this blog's title.) 

Unpopular as it is, I consider myself a polytheist of the more Parmesan variety (as opposed to say, Ricotta). In practice, there have been many times when I would have qualified as henotheistic or perhaps more accurately, kathenotheistic, except that I am never a complete purist or ever entirely exclusive & animism muddles things, so I suppose even in this, I qualify as an In-Between (once again). Lunar & Solar devotions are my most concrete, consistent & ritualized practice, but the Moon & Sun -- as I recognize Them -- are not "gods" per se, but venerable, life-weaving & live-giving beings with corporeal forms. That's animism, as I see it. The gods proper are (generally) incorporeal spiritual entities who carry with Them their own set of skills, interests, personality & agendas. That's polytheism, as I see it. Of course, it's complicated.

"Morpheus" by alexmartinez of deviantART

The pitfall of polytheism within my ICU-prone world is that the small handful of deities with whom I have a regular (or oftentimes irregular) relationship (but generally over many, many years) don't fall into the dulcet, pray-to, caretaker model. There are also no interventionists on my call list. Most of Them came to me in some strange, unexpected & abrupt fashion, while couple of Them I petitioned, stalked, flagged down or otherwise pursued myself. Regardless of how we came into relationship, none of Them are particularly apposite, at least in a conventional way, in an ICU. Oh, & I don't just go barking at gods I don't know when I suddenly need Them. So, how do we make-it-work?

Apparently I know by instinct. Once the situation settled, like an automaton I contacted the outside world asking for 'petitions, prayers, energy, good vibes, hoodoo, magick, whatever works...' I did this knowing that we would end up on my popular Christian-mystery author aunt's twitter prayer chain. I did this knowing that we would end up in multiple LDS prayer pools. I did this knowing that Wiccans would work us into their workings. I knew my mom would be exercising her Will (Thelemite? Must be something about psychiatrists). I knew that the Catholic, Druid, Jewish, Buddhist, Methodist, Atheist, Born-Again, Humanist folks & all those "Others" that comprise our friend & family network would be giving it their best go, in whatever fashion suits them. And really, if those people have a rapport with an interventionist sky-god like Adonai or JC or a mother-goddess like Toci or Brighid & they want to pray on our behalf, why should I object? Just make-it-work.

Even the 8:00 am prayer over the hospital PA system each morning was making-it-work. Never having stayed in a Catholic hospital before, the first day I awoke to the prayer, dazed & baffled. The priest's deep baritone & thick Spanish accent filtered through the isolation doors in a mostly unintelligible blur of voice, but I took it... & maybe even looked forward to it... a little bit. It came from Love. Make-it-work. 

/begin digression: This amuses me. When I was young & "fundamentalist" I would have balked at the idea -- I always found it offensive when someone else was praying or petitioning for my wellbeing because I interpreted their actions as a surreptitious attempt to impose their belief system upon me... somehow. I believe that inflexible, resistant, exclusive attitude stemmed from a defensive insecurity. Nowadays, I don't find discomfort in the well-intentioned spiritual efforts of others. As long as it comes from Love, I take it. I must be more secure, or getting older, or maybe I am just indiscriminate or something... /end digression

"Female Satyr with House, Child and a Putto" by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo.
My mind's eye vision of Fauna (& quite possibly my ideal body image too).
Image from the Norton Simon Museum.

But enough of other people's gods. After sending out the "Pragmatic Pagan's" smoke signals, I scrunched up, helpless & despondent in that tiny bed -- all the while remaining ever vigilant not to break any more skin on my little baby -- & I talked to my gods. Well, some of Them anyway.

I talked to Morpheus & I asked Him to use His pull with His Oneiroi brothers to give our tiny morphine-filled creature the peaceful, reparative sleep he needed in order to mend his devastated body. I talked to Fauna & Faunus & I said, something like, "I know You are not creatures of these hospital-places. You are creatures of the forests & wild places... We are too. My children are Your children & I want to make sure I can take them back into the bogs & the woodlands & the high deserts & teach them the secrets hidden there. Please, if You find any joy in the beauty of a babe reveling in Your sylvan secrets, if You have any strings to pull, please, please pull them. For him, for us." Then, maybe I asked Thoth (Tahuti, if you prefer) to give the still struggling-to-definitively-diagnose medical staff a leg up as I passed out from exhaustion, but honestly I cannot remember...

Oh, & I talked to the Moon of course. That Lady, our measured guide, the Gradual One. She Who Makes Change by Degrees. I thanked her. Because by then, Her work was already done.

Please do not mistake my words as dismissive of Those that I carry close to my heart, Those I whisper to in the greenwoods & in the Darkness. Theirs are among the greatest of gifts, but so much of that world is left unshared. Mostly, that world is about me. Absolutely none of this situation could be about me. It needed to be 100% about making-it-work.


Setting our Selves aside. Making it work. We do these things because we must. We do these things for Love.

Sometimes this means pragmatism over purism. The Who & the How is irrelevant. When it comes down to it, all that matters to me as a mother, lover, partner is that it works & that Love, something so Good & so big is allowed to triumph over the selfish smalls; like bacteria... & egos. 



Going home.
We made it work.
All of us, together.


Saturday, October 27, 2012

Art That Made My Day

At Rest, by Laura Marmash 2012
At Rest, by Laura Marmash 2012


Mycophilia, Music, Mood, Musing, Meditation. 

Maybe it is just an excuse to alliterate, but I had the best day yesterday & I just really need to take note & thank Art.

I awakened, not really late or early, but somewhere in between. It was still dark. Before rising, I scrolled thru my reader on the phone to see all the new items I would not have time to read. New news from the The Dark Side of the Shroom caught my eye, prompting me to prop myself up & drag out the laptop. 

"Fruiting Bodies," Sculptural works by Laura Marmash:

lauramarmashsculpture.com
lauramarmash.com
"The inspiration for Fruiting Bodies stems from my fascination with fungi, molds and spores. A mushroom is actually the fruiting body of the fungus, and designed to  emerge or “sprout” when the fungi is ready to reproduce. The mushroom itself is just a small part of the overall fungi, and can often signal the breakdown and eventual decay of the host. 
From this decay new life forms are created, and the cycle begins again."

Yes. 


Offering, by Laura Marmash 2012
Offering, by Laura Marmash 2012
Our gentle friend, DJ PapaLove -- who always feeds us so artfully with good food, music & company -- had just uploaded a new mix entitled "Natural Rhythms" the night before. The mix opens with an intense, edgy, maybe harsh clip of Rocky Balboa bellowing about struggle & survival, but then it releases you into a soft, dreamy dubstep which flows out into downtempo, contemplative rhythms. It made my day. It made my day perfect.

Awaken into darkness. Ease out gingerly, thoughtfully, into the light. Do not dwell.

It seems counterintuitive to begin with endings, decay, difficulty, darkness, struggle & survival, but it works. I stick with the things that work for me. I think the premise was well put by my erudite fleshworld friend Nestis when she commented in the last post, "Contemplating the doom of all that lives is what makes me brave enough to really live my life the way I want to. You spoke of people being flames last night... I think that is absolutely true. Burn bright - all the rest is ash."


Respect the darkness, but do not dwell. We do not belong to the Underworld, yet. Reflect, cherish, celebrate. Be strong. Burn bright.





Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Animism: Not a Comfort "Religion"


It really isn't, either. Nor is it either one.

Mama & baby occupy the path, August 9, 2012
Mama & baby occupy the path, August 9, 2012. 

In reference to a disturbing, ironic twist of fate & weird Wyrd-ness, a friend wrote, "you can build shrines... & write poems... (but) Nature is so impersonal... Animism is not a comforting 'religion.'” And it's true, having that sense of being cared for & attended to as an individual creature-being -- a "self" -- is often absent from my practice. Usually, I am ok with that.

When unexpected & difficult situations arise, I sometimes feel betrayed. Intellectually, I know this is a wasted emotion. For if I truly seek immersion in the other-than-human world, I must accept the risks; the risks of disappointment, dissatisfaction, danger, fear, indifference, repudiation, loneliness. If I need comfort, I cannot not seek it from the dispassionate elder gods; the primal forces that drive this world's engine. I must always remember that no one is special.

Instead, I must endeavour to seek reassurance elsewhere in the Web. I often find I look to the constancy, consistency, rhythms & regularity of Their work. I get my Ease & Hope in knowing that in any given circumstance, some of us will be spared, some things can always be relied upon & every now & again, someone, or something throws us a bone. I also try to remember to always cherish my gifts-in-hand.

I find comfort in the big (& relatively permanent) consistencies:


Seeds: Hope incarnate.
Seeds: Hope incarnate.
The Sun rises & sets. Source stability always.

Lady Moon waxes & wanes. Rhythm incarnate.

The Wheel turns with relentless constancy. Winter withers, Spring sprouts.

Stuff is imagined, built, destroyed, decayed. Life begins anew & Life ends anew. You can bet on it.

All the layers of everything -- the depths to the shallows -- are spinning, whirling, cycling, re-cycling.

'Round & round we go. Ride on.



I find comfort in small dependabilities & gifts-in-hand:


Blissful bluff: New territory.
Blissful bluff: New territory.
The cat will crap on the bathroom floor every night. In the morning I will curse him & amid my irritation, remember my love for him. An old gift-in-hand.

Moose will inevitably obstruct the path, especially at this time of year. Forced to explore alternate routes, we will wander into new & blissful territory. A new gift-in-hand.

My family will insure that I have no privacy, no time to myself & never, ever a decent night's sleep. I will have no regrets -- I am their flamekeeper & they walk with my heart in their hands. The most precious gift of all.


Some might call it Pollyanna. I call it survival. Let the chips fall where they may & may we find them to be in our favour. For now I can find comfort in knowing that things will go on until they don't & I will remain thankful for my precious gifts-in-hand. You know who you are.


Mama & baby occupy the same path, October 21, 2012.
Mama & baby occupy the same path, October 21, 2012
& together we celebrated the familiarity.





Wednesday, September 26, 2012

For the Files: Autumn Equinox 2012, Family Style


Autumn Equinox: a child's "Hearthfire Wish."
Autumn Equinox: a child's "Hearthfire Wish."


It seems to me that the Equinoxes are the truest, most acute transitional periods. I personally experience them as abrupt times of change -- arriving at these occasions & finding we must turn a sharp corner on a round wheel -- how is this possible? When I celebrated the traditional Wheel of the Year, the Equinoxes were of secondary importance to the Fire Festivals. These days, I find my orientation changing...

This year we decided to mirror last Spring's Vernal Equinox ceremony with another giving-of-thanks & putting-forth-wishes ritual. We took our cues from our Springtime ceremony:

"Twenty-four beautiful Spring eggs... 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."

For this Equinox, we gathered leaves. Gold leaves we collected to represent our gains, gratitudes, treasures kept in hand & heart. Firey red & orange leaves we collected to represent the forthcoming hearthfires & wishes thereof, be they kindled in the woodstove or ignited in our souls. 

Autumn Equinox: Giving thanks, making wishes.
Autumn Equinox: Giving thanks, making wishes.

We took time to consider our blessings & wishes together, sharing, discussing, reflecting. When all the words were assembled, Hubby carefully stamped them into the leaves, one wish, or one gratitude for each leaf -- every leaf thoughtfully chosen to be the messenger of our heartfelt words.

Autumn Equinox: This year, we send our messages on the leaves.
This year, we send our messages on the leaves.

Instead of sending our messages on the Wind as before, this time we chose to send them by Water. Packing up our leaves & libation (a hard cider courtesy our community Brewer's Guild), we headed up the foothills of the Chugach mountain range to one of our family's most precious & sacred places. Down the murky, saturated trails we trekked. The evening was cold & the Sun was quickly setting, yet despite the waning daylight, we could not resist stopping for lingonberries along the trail. Irresistible! What cheerful, game-playing fruits, they are... 

Autumn Equinox: Leaves & libations.
Autumn Equinox: Leaves & libations.
This was the first time we had been to the streamside & small bridge in a very long time. Things had changed in subtle ways; the patch of wild currants was smaller & moose-trampled, trees had fallen & the local vegetation had changed in other, more obscure ways. Transformed, but still familiar, we found it welcoming, comfortable -- perfect for sharing our messages with each other & with the Web. 

The wolves kept less than a mile from the bridge began to bay, reminding us of the rapid passing of the day. Yet without urgency, we each took turns, speaking aloud the words pressed into our handful of leaves. One by one, the leaves & their messages flitted to the water & meandered down the stream. One by one, we gave thanks & shared our hopes for the future. Our voices carried over the stream & blended with the humming voices of many -- many who undoubtedly also carry hopes, dreams, wishes & thanks of their own. Our libation on a fallen cottonwood tree was a natural echo: From the gods to the Earth to us. From us to the Earth to the gods. We are deeply thankful, to be such blessed creatures. May our words be heard on the Waters & beyond.


Giving thanks for treasures received.
Giving thanks for treasures received.

Friday, August 31, 2012

Poetry for the Esbat: Blue Moon 2012


"Blue Moon" by Moma Fauna.
"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.
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





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.



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