I expected something much darker from the Oracle this morning but she knows I’ve been watching the moon.
be full of this
always moon
never let dawn
fall through air unwalked
every path comes and leaves
between earthlight songs–
deep ancient nights rooted in following
the seasons of birdgrown afterdays
ask why and
if
Photos taken from midnight to this morning.
I was looking at this High Priestess collage the other day. I did it awhile ago, as part of my Egyptian-themed tarot collages, and it’s been hanging in my office since then. But I’ve never had the right poem to pair it with. Of course the Oracle is always attuned to what I’m thinking.
I’ve also been thinking–how could I not be?–about the current attempts of our government to once again deprive women of equal standing with men. Which are of course intimately tied to the destruction of Mother Earth. The High Priestess represents all the parts of women that many men fear–“what lies beyond the veil”. As Rachel Pollack states in her tarot commentary: “Our society, based completely on outer achievement, fosters a terror of the unconscious….The High Priestess represents all these qualities: darkness, mystery, psychic forces, the power of the moon to stir the unconscious, passivity, and the wisdom gained from it.”
As always, the Oracle knows.
as if
I could rest between the moon
and this long wandering path
listened
with rootforest rainlight
songs seeding the wind
why
do we grow only quiet
as our seasons leave us?
come she said–
follow my secrets
breathe into always
The Oracle is pensive this morning.
flowers are another always
that open and
then must be remembered–
they need love to bloom
like life itself
the language of a child
is a song filled
with wishspiritdreaming–
voices of belonging and finding home
I’m going to be taking a few weeks off–if we can all avoid the latest Covid wave, visiting with family, and taking care of some things I need to do. I’ll be back sometime in August.
My message today from the Oracle.
beneath the still shadowskin
sleep recalls the ache of summer skies
shot through with black tongues
I cannot sing now
in the music of moontime–
nor do I dream
in the language of the shining sun
how I ask and why?
if whispers the bloodwind
inside this mad motherless storm
The Oracle knows where to look and how to listen.
we are all sailing
the same starry skies
in ghostflower oceans of eternity
ask how breath heals
the broken rhythm of the heart
remember to listen
to the foolish magic of children
lingering in this long night–
as if life is born again
dancing awake each morning
The Oracle clearly wakes before dawn with my local robin, who continues singing all day, and only takes a short break after sunset before beginning again around 4 am.
here is earth
to wander through my nightforest
to walk with me listening
the air is a garden
of always
of moons shining wild
above rosewater
as if rest were rooted
deep inbetween spirit and treewind
singing with the almost dawn
My nights are troubled. What must it be like for the families in Uvalde? Although our politicians don’t seem to be losing any sleep.
rain shows up sad
like the ache beneath the shadow
of my black moon dreams
sleep runs away
who are you I ask
as tongues fiddle
in a language that worships death
the day begins
with bloodshot eyes
K. 