Poem: The Caves

Feb 23  /// Pisces New Moon Poem

 

There are no boundaries here.  The tide rises
to permeate these caves and I welcome the drowning,
like mountain honey on a starved tongue.


Salted ocean is a cold and wet woman, awake
to the billions of stars in her waters. She:
an expanse, cosmic and unknowable, charged
with the holding of things,
people, memory. I breathe her in
like a ship resigned to wreckage
and revealed treasure.


There are no boundaries with Her.
When the cave is full I can see
through time, like the cuckoo who eats by the sun
but calls out in the night, everything is
attainable.


Below, I see the distant glow of Atlantis.
High above, I see Her hellbent on erosion
reaching for and crashing against cliffs.
And there, on the rocks – the lamb of God-
dess


Brigantia, Laima, Hera –        No. My own Mother;
divine and dressed, as she always is, in black and white;
planting flowers, as she always is, in her garden by the water.


There are no boundaries here. The tide rises
to permeate these caves and I welcome my drowning
with offerings of honeysuckle and violets.


I don’t believe in death or in poison.


 

There is
only Her, only the tide. The cosmic mother,
my own mother, memory.


 

 

The infinite.

Winter Magic and the Elemental Spirit of Ice 

Ten inches fell in 24 hours. Ten inches that weigh down the cedar trees, coat the mossy earth, and bury the dead. Even the hemlocks look heavy, more than they used to. 

 

Curiously, in Western culture we celebrate the birth of a new year just ten days into this season of darkness and survival. I wondered about this from a young age dabbling in astrology. My elder sister is a solstice-portal Aries, making her birthday one of welcoming spring and a new, warm world.  She, like many other Aries folks, lives her life like each day is a fresh start and an exciting new challenge. That springtime energy is echoed in the depths of winter with December 31st; New Year’s Eve resolutions and diet plans. It’s an energy so out of place with nature that something else – some other energy – must be missing from the equation.

 

Shortly into my magical studies I read that winter was the power season of the water witches. Winter, too, was the domain of the water zodiac signs (and, to some extent, their mutable companions). Intrigued, I swam in a very Piscean way through this concept and aimed to consciously experience this affinity. Year after year, I’ve found that my most consistent days and weeks of physical confidence, optimum mental health, general self esteem, and desire to be creative reside in the winter months. Of the water zodiac signs or not, anyone with a particular pull towards the water – holy wells, deep oceans, long seashores, river deltas, lotus ponds, thunderous rain – may find a deep sense of comfort and companionship with the waters of winter. 

 

In some ways, the anticipation of spring pulls our hearts too quickly over this cold, dark sea, and our Oneness with winter – and all the opportunities hidden therein – are put aside for next year. And the next. 

 

What are those lessons, anyway? Patience, for one, I’d guess. Winter feels long because it is deeply still. When temperatures are low, there is less energy on the move – less room for mistakes. Stripped bare down to her most basic of energy needs, the earth mother holds us in deep silence and witnesses the cycle of life and death. Water, an element essential to that life, also drowns, erodes, cascades, and evaporates. Water can leave a desert to die, or be present in such abundance as to create the inconceivable biodiversity of the trench. 

 

This leads to the other lesson: presence in what is witnessed. In our case, that simply means presence in the tale of life – and it’s counterpart. 

 

Outside are ten inches of snow and a cold wind of 26 degrees. Trees have fallen, trapping people on the highway, closing off neighborhoods, and leaving others without power. This is the third time in my lifetime of living here that we have had a weather event like this. In the beauty of this snowstorm there is danger, suffering, and material loss. Yet, where there is death there is life. 

 

Washington State in recent years has seen a dramatic increase in wildfires in our forests caused, in major part, by the lack of snowpack from winter, high up in the mountains. In our short but hot summers, that snow from autumn through spring melts. This slow melt is what has nourished our creek beds and forests while dampening the landscape, protecting it from fires. This year, we may see a less wildfire devastation here – that is, less crazed, uncontrollable heat and energy due to the nourishment of a cold, dark winter. 

 

Ice and snow is water in solid form. Like water, it carries the energetics of remembrance, but more like an archive or library rather than the flow of memory. Ice is water’s way of standing still. The elemental spirit of ice simply asks us to do the same. 

 

In winter,  the stillness makes us vulnerable. Though we’ve adapted to physical stillness from our evolutionary legacy of migratory hunting and gathering, it would be disingenuous to imply that our mental and spiritual experience is anything but still. This is why working with the seasons in the Wheel of the Year can be such a revitalizing practice pathwalkers, as the seasons offer the most present experience we have in modern life to the natural world. Of course our ancestors venerated this cycle and presence too, but they also regularly faced the other aspects of nature on an intimate plane, like the buffalo hunt, collective grief, large predators, natural birth, poisonous snakes, and sleeping under the stars.  

 

Especially sleeping under the stars on cold winter nights.

I Met Arianrhod in the Pisces Full Moon

Two weeks ago, I began my schooling in druidry through the British Druid Order. The decision had been on my mind for a long while, tempting me further with every gust of wind through the trees overhead. After a year of sitting with it as a desire, I figured it was genuine and enrolled.

Being of a Goddess-oriented persuasion, though, I think what held me off from beginning the druid path earlier was my desire to have a close connection with a God or Goddess while walking the path. My altar is already quite full. I’m a polytheist and, though I’ve worked with and worshiped the Divine in other pantheons, the Kemetic god/desses are where I’ve settled. I kept wondering to myself how on earth I could mix these Divine Beings of the Nile River Valley, the desert, and the primary resource-rich past with the the Divine Beings of the rainy British Isles, of whom very few pagan records exist.

During my year of casual research into druidry, I gave a lot of attention to learning about the Gaelic, Brythonic, and Celtic gods. Brighid seemed like an obvious choice and I tried to connect with her, but it didn’t take. Then Cerridwen. All the while, the name Arianrhod tempted me – much like the wind in the trees. I think I resist Divine Beings who have little information available about them, like Atum. It’s very frustrating for me to build from scratch. I’m by no means a reconstructionist, but I do prefer to know what archaeological and historical foundations I’m building from. With Arianrhod, there wasn’t much – just a story and name etymology.

Last night with the aid of the Full Moon in Pisces, my favorite full moon of the year, I set my altar and lit a candle for Arianrhod, surrounded by a few stones I associated with her as a representation of a small henge. I did my usual Full Moon routine: drank some booze, made some sacred music, painted, and divined.

I also meditated. I’ve been under a lot of stress recently, and I wanted to project my spirit away from this world and into my happiest, safest place. Within moments, I found myself at home. Not here in Japan, but in the woods by my parent’s house, seated on the mossy fallen tree I used to meditate on, right off the path in the cedars. I was listening to the trees while keeping one eye on the candle flickering in the distance at my outdoor altar.

I felt so deeply, completely at peace. I realized that the place I missed most in the world (home) was accessible within my own mind. My heart was full. Then, on the path, a woman appeared – as if she had been standing there all along and I hadn’t noticed her. It was Arianrhod.

She was looking at me with a soft, almost curious expression. She wore a white dress with silver embroidery, and had thick white fur around her neck. Her face gave me the impression of a woman in her forties, and her hair was shining in highlights and lowlights of white and silver-grey. Jewelry made from small beads and shells hung in her hair and from her dress. Her eyes, too, were grey – and piercingly clear, as if nothing physical could obstruct them, or as if she could see another dimension simultaneously to the one within which we met.

I was so shocked at the clarity of this appearance, the sudden tangible realness, that I opened my eyes and was back on the floor in front of my altar. The moment was gone.

There is so much gratitude in my heart this morning for such a clear connection to have been made, and I’m hoping to repeat the exercise soon. Until then, I’ll simply read the Mabinogi.