Honoring Brigid

Don't worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn't matter.

We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world's harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting!

They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we can't see.

Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.

~Rumi~


and from my Younger Self, the following:

I never saw a purple cow,
I never hope to see one.
But this I will say anyhow
I'd rather see than be one.

~Gelett Burgess~


Welcome, Brigid!

Poem for Brigid

Here's my offering.


It is I who must begin...

Once I begin, once I try-
here and now,
right where I am,
not excusing myself
by saying that things
would be easier elsewhere,
without grand speeches and
ostentatious gestures,
but all the more persistently
-to live in harmony
with the "voice of Being," as I
understand it within myself
-as soon as I begin that,
I suddenly discover,
to my surprise, that
I am neither the only one,
nor the first,
nor the most important one
to have set out upon that road...

Whether all is really lost
or not depends entirely on
whether or not I am lost...

-Vaclav Havel


Brigid blessings to all!

Poems for Brigid

The Two Trees

BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with metry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Joves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the winged sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile.
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For ill things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.

-William Butler Yeats

The Invitation

Best and brightest, come away,
Fairer far than this fair day,
Which, like thee, to those in sorrow
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring
Through the Winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon morn
To hoar February born;
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs -
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another’s mind,
While the touch of Nature’s art
Harmonizes heart to heart.

Radiant Sister of the Day
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
To the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green, and ivy dun,
Round stems that never kiss the sun,
Where the lawns and pastures be
And the sandhills of the sea,
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets
Which yet join not scent to hue
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dim and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal Sun.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley


Enosis

Thought is deeper than all speech,
Feeling deeper than all thought;
Souls to souls can never teach
What unto themselves was taught.

We are spirits clad in veils;
Man by man was never seen;
All our deep communing fails
To remove the shadowy screen.

Heart to heart was never known;
Mind with mind did never meet;
We are columns left alone,
Of a temple once complete.

Like the stars that gem the sky,
Far apart, though seeming near,
In our light we scattered lie;
All is thus but starlight here.

What is social company
But a babbling summer stream?
What our wise philosophy
But the glancing of a dream?

Only when the sun of love
Melts the scattered stars of thought;
Only when we live above
What the dim-eyed world hath taught,

Only when our souls are fed
By the Fount which gave them birth,
And by inspiration led,
Which they never drew from earth,

We, like parted drops of rain,
Swelling till they meet and run,
Shall be all absorbed again,
Melting, flowing into one.

-Christopher Pearse Cranch

End of the Road

I walked into that hospital room in Sonoma this afternoon and looked at the frail old woman lying in the nearest bed, and I knew at once. I felt that presence immediately. Death was in that room waiting, patiently or perhaps not, but there nonetheless. I saw it in the gray of her papery skin, from which it seemed that all the blood and fluids were slowly draining away. Her breath was shallow and fast as her lungs struggled to take in as much precious air as she was losing with each grunting exhale. Her good hand, tethered to the bed so she would not pull out the tubes and wires that invaded her body, moved restlessly and aimlessly on the bedcovers. Her eyes opened and closed but did not focus. Her mind wandered and could not focus. The son and daughter standing beside the bed realized clearly, for the first time since her devastating stroke a couple of weeks ago, that their mother was not going to win this final struggle, that she was slowly but inexorably slipping away, that Death was coming closer and closer and would soon claim her.

At first there had been encouraging talk. If she started to move her arm or her leg within a few days, maybe the damage would not be permanent. There was talk of convalescent homes, rehabilitation, physical therapy, coming home, hiring a nurse. Her life might pick up almost where it left off that afternoon when the clot suddenly broke away and smashed into her brain, leaving her damaged and helpless. Maybe her swallowing reflex would return with therapy so that she could eat real food, rather that being fed through the tube taped to the side of her nose. Maybe the nurses would be able to get her up so she could go to the bathroom on her own. Maybe she would soon be able to wear the dentures so carefully wrapped and placed in her bedside drawer and marked with her name. Maybe, maybe.

She was 88 this past October when her family gathered in Sonoma for a birthday party and family reunion. Ironically, we received the pictures from the party in the mail only an hour after we got the call informing us of the stroke. She was standing and smiling with her children and grandchildren, full of life, even though troubled by encroaching memory loss and the various aches and pains of advancing age. Now she lies in that hospital room, her failing body tied to life by tubes, waiting to be released from that shell that has become her prison. Her spirit has already retreated inward, preparing itself for flight….soon.

Meanwhile, her husband waits quietly up at the cemetery where she placed him almost exactly five years ago. Her five children now prepare to endure the loss of their other parent in their own very different ways. One son retreats further into his alcoholic haze. One daughter has yet to visit the hospital although she lives less that 30 minutes away-she claims she has too many responsibilities to "get away." The youngest son, who has spent most of his 50 years running from responsibility, is managing her household, coordinating with his siblings, and watching out for his drunken brother. The eldest daughter visits often, driving two hours each way to hold her mother’s hand and moisten her lips. She cries but keeps helping, doing her best as she has always done. The eldest son, the soon-to-be executor of the estate, gently whispers to his mother, then stands helplessly by her bed, his eyes filled with tears. He agonizes over the decisions he must make for his mother and worries about the family she will leave behind. I stand beside him and hold his hand.

Ritual Sacrifice

I didn't go. The local equinox ritual was held Sunday and I chose not to go. Up until about noon I had every intention of putting on witchy garb and heading for Golden Gate Park, but I kept putting it off and finding other things I "needed" to do and procrastinating until I suddenly realized, "I don't WANT to go." Which brings me to the point--I don't like large public rituals and they don't like me, so why should I continue to torture myself? I don't think the Goddess would approve of that!

My problem with these rituals actually began over a year ago at summer solstice at the beach. I never actually got to participate in the ritual because I lost my footing going down the sandy path leading to the beach and strained my back. I turned around and limped home and was laid up for about four days.

The next ritual I was scheduled to attend was Samhain. However my mom died only five days before and I was in no mood to mourn her death along with over a thousand other people-mostly strangers. Besides, I had spent the entire afternoon at the hairdresser's trying to get the pink and orange streaks from a bad color job corrected.

I finally got to attend a public ritual last year at winter solstice. It was ok. I was able to get down the path to the beach without any difficulty, the actual ritual was sort of fun, and I was fascinated by all the naked pagans splashing in the surf and dancing around the bonfire. However, when it was time to leave, the trouble started. First, I had a hard time finding my stuff that I had left on the beach among all the other piles of stuff because it was pitch dark and I had no flashlight. Then, as I was climbing back up the sandy path, I stubbed my foot on a metal pipe sticking out of sand right in the middle of the walkway. I had avoided it on the way down, but now it was dark AND I HAD NO FLASHLIGHT! I stumbled to my car and as I drove away the unmistakeable smell of fresh dog poop filled my car. When I got home I discovered it on my shoe and of course the car mat. There are lots of dogs on the beach and you can't see poop in the dark and I HAD NO FLASHLIGHT!

Bridgid was great. Loved it. It was held indoors-no sand, no pipes, no poop, and everybody kept their clothes on.

The next ritual, to celebrate the spring equinox, was held in a grassy meadow in the park. As we were moving in a circle, I twisted my foot in one of the many grass-camouflaged holes, probably made by small animals to snare unwary pagans.

Beltaine was distracting. First, people jumped over a flaming cauldron. The only problem with this is the fact that a lot of jumpers were wearing long, flowing garments of one kind or another and I kept waiting for someone to get caught on the cauldron and catch fire! Didn't happen, fortunately. However, as I watched the mosh pit that was the end result of the dance around the maypole, I began to wonder, "What the hell am I doing here?"

Summer solstice was once again held at the beach. I brought a flashlight with me this time so I could negotiate the sandy path in the dark. I left it with my stuff on the beach. The ritual itself was totally lost on me-I couldn't hear most of it because the stiff breeze off the ocean carried the sound away from where I was standing. I tried to move around but kept tripping over other people's stuff left in the sand too close to the circle. Anyway, the ritual finally ended and guess what? I couldn't find my stuff because it was now pitch dark and I HAD LEFT MY FLASHLIGHT WITH MY STUFF! Eventually I found it, twisted my hip walking up the sandy path and tripped over the pipe in spite of the flashlight. When I got home, I went straight upstairs to change, sat on my bed and took off my shoes. I was so pissed off I didn't give a thought to the fact that my shoes were filled with sand, which ended up all over the bedroom carpet!

Lammas ritual was back in the park. It was better than usual in that it was daylight, the group was much smaller than usual, I could hear everything, and I encountered no holes, pipes, sand, poop, etc. However, when I got to the parking lot I found that someone (obviously driving alone) had squeezed their silver PT Cruiser into the space next to mine less than a foot from my driver's side door. It's a wonder that they didn't break off the mirror! Anyway, I tried to squeeze in but couldn't even come close. I really didn't want to climb over the steering column from the passenger seat because of my bad back, but after waiting for about fifteen minutes to see if the driver showed up, I finally managed to crawl into the driver's seat. Of course, I then had the problem of getting my car out without scratching that beautiful PT Cruiser. Actually by then I could not have cared less about that car; I was only concerned about not scratching MY car. My back only took a couple of days to recover.

As the wheel of the year turns, that brings me to yesterday's equinox ritual. Enough is enough!

In all seriousness, I don't get much out of large public celebrations. I like my rituals small, intimate, personally meaningful. I feel closer to the Goddess sitting alone looking at a flower or a leaf or a pebble, or celebrating with a small circle of friends, than dancing and chanting among a large group of mostly strangers. I will still go to public rituals from time to time. I'm looking forward to my first Samhain, although I've been told it goes on foreverrrrrrrr. And as for Bridgid, I'll be there!

Beware

Here I am again after a break of over three months. I didn't realize it had been so long, but I have been resting from the kind of self-examination and self-awareness that a blog like mine requires. I realize now that all of the intense inner work I was doing finally caught up with me. I needed time to just "be" without explaining myself to anyone, including myself! Thus, my "summer break."

However, the wheel turns. Autumn is coming, school is starting, and I am waking up like a grouchy old bear coming out of her warm, cozy den because it is time. The other day I came across a poem that seemed to capture my current state of mind. It's called "Hera Alone, on the Mountain" by Patricia Monaghan from her book "Seasons of the Witch."

From this height I can see
everything. I watch the day
recede, I watch the light
fade into red, I watch
the brown leaves fall to earth.
It is time to strip to the bone.
Time to measure the worth
of each moment, to catch
the last ones left before night.
Soon enough red fades to gray.
Soon enough we cease to be.

Look there: An eagle rises
as the first star gleams.
Now listen: Far away
an owl's deep moaning song
cuts through the chilling air.
I am standing here alone.
Standing, head back, breasts bare
to the wind. I belong
to the earth now, the sky,
to myself and to my dreams,
with no masks left, no disguises.

You who would love me now
beware. I am all fire
and blood. I have no time
for those who cannot feel
the way through flesh to soul.
My life is now half-gone.
But each night left is whole.
Each day can now reveal
how life is most sublime
when fastened to desire.
From here, all time is now.

A Beautiful Day

Today the sun was shining brightly and there was a stiff breeze blowing off the ocean, rattling the windows and blowing away all the cobwebs in my house and in my mind. It was a day for enjoying a leisurely breakfast, reading the newspaper, wandering through the house doing a bit of this, a little of that, and a lot of looking out the window trying to spot the mockingbird who was intent on celebrating this beautiful day with a very special spring concert.

So I took the day off, not from work or chores, but from taking any further conscious steps down the path I have been walking for the past year or so, a path of physical renewal and spiritual growth. Traveling that path has been both difficult and rewarding, and I have come such a long way I hardly recognize myself at times.

Last spring I was battling the effects of an autoimmune disease that had taken a long time to diagnose and whose symptoms were baffling and disabling. My joints were often stiff and sore and I had odd pains that suddenly appeared and then equally suddenly disappeared only to pop up someplace else in my body. In the morning I needed a cane until my joints and muscles loosened up, and if something fell on the floor, I had to pick it up with barbeque tongs. I could not bend over far enough to reach the floor. I was becoming physically weaker and more and more depressed, but I was also becoming more and more fed up! So last spring I joined a fitness center and started exercising, slowly at first, using only some of the equipment and for short periods of time. I also started massage therapy. A year later I can see and feel many improvements. I am much stronger, more fit and a lot more flexible. Most of the time I have a lot of energy and I no longer have those feelings of helplessness and depression. However, I still have a lot of work to do, and when my symptoms flare up, as they will always do from time to time, that work can be very hard indeed. But today I took the day off, enjoying the feel of the wind and the sunshine and the fact that my hip wasn't bothering me as much today!

The physical changes I have made over the past year pale, however, in comparison to the internal changes that began to take place when I decided to deepen and expand my knowledge and practice of the Craft. I started taking classes and attending rituals, learning from and sharing with others. The work has been rewarding, exhilarating and, at times, exhausting, and I know that this work, like my physical work, is far from over. However, as I relax and enjoy this beautiful day, I realize that the change has been profound. It's been happening, a little step here, a big leap there, but I've been too involved to see the whole picture.

Where I once honored and respected the elements, I now have a personal relationship with each of them. Where I once startled myself by projecting energy while creating sacred space, I now enjoy running energy through my body. I like the feeling of sharing energy with others and sending it out into the world to do any number of things. Where I once honored the Goddess in formal moon rituals, I now talk to her regularly in the shower and today even asked her, as water was pouring out onto the bathroom floor, to please stop messing with our upstairs toilet pipes! Where I once had moments of sheer terror contemplating my own death, I now walk comfortably and confidently "between the worlds," open to opportunities to explore "all the worlds." Yes, I've come a long way, but I am well aware that this journey and this work will continue throughout this lifetime and beyond.

Today, however, I took the day off. Almost.