"Writing is no answer but when you feel deeply there is little else to do." -- James Baker Hall

Friday, February 20, 2015

Meditation #1

February 19, 2015      29 h

Oh, darkened moon, shadow-veiled and cold,

Reveal to us the ancestral spirits, those infinite stars above

The comity of our storied being, long ago and now

Reflected in the glittering snow about our feet.

Remind us of the secret we’ve forgotten –                                                                                                                                              
We are as much Nephthys’ abandoned hound-child

As we are among the Dogon tribe of Isis/Nuit.


Children, gather about the fire like stars

Turning in the sacred wheel of sky. Lean close

And press your cheek to the black skin of heaven.

May the Sisters whisper the ways of becoming.

May they sing in your ears the old songs, and

Blow their breath of life upon you that you may glow

And flare and rise up like sparks of fire at night.


May we take our places in heaven and on earth, and

Among the creatures and things to whom we belong—

Care-tenders, encouragers, visionary priestesses and

Priests, builders, birthers of the art of potentiality.

Before dawn, the cardinal trills, singing in darkness.

What is it your own soul wants so desperately?


While it is still night, let us celebrate our waiting

As much as our doing, our emptiness as much as

Our abundance. Soon enough light comes

The trees will stand outlined against the hill.

The breath of laboring cattle blows steamily

Across the frozen grass. There is work to do.

Never forget how it feels to sing to the dark.

Never forget your own starlight. The very thing

That makes you shine uniquely in the world,

Makes you the same as everyone else.


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