Down near the bottom of the crossed-out list of things you have to do today, between “green thread” and “broccoli,” you find that you have penciled “sunlight.”
Resting on the page, the word is beautiful. It touches you as if you had a friend and sunlight were a present he had sent from someplace distant as this morning—to cheer you up, and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure is a thing that also needs accomplishing.
Do you remember? that time and light are kinds of love, and love is no less practical than a coffee grinder or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly without a clue, but today you get a telegram from the heart in exile, proclaiming that the kingdom still exists, the king and queen alive, still speaking to their children,
—to any one among them who can find the time to sit out in the sun and listen.
“Tell me it is not too late. Tell me the sisters are awakening. Tell me the moonlodge is rebuilt. Tell me that the words of White Buffalo Calf Woman were not in vain. Tell me that Kwan Yin’s heart is not breaking. Tell me that Venus is safe. Tell me that Artemis roams free in the woods. Tell me that Lilith is welcome at your table. Tell me that you remember that pleasure is holy to me. Tell me that you refuse to believe that you delight in pain.”
New moon, New slate. Open to the energies of this dark moon and see what arises. How does this new moon affect you? Where are your thoughts and emotions leading you now? What is your vision for ypur future?
She is the Life/Death/Life force, she is the incubator. She is intuition, she is far-seer, she is deep listener, she is loyal heart. She encourages humans to remain multilingual; fluent in the languages of dreams, passion, and poetry. She whispers from night dreams, she leaves behind on the terrain of a woman’s soul a coarse hair and muddy footprints. These fill women with longing to find her, free her, and love her.”
Gossamer threads of life hold me, Perched between Earth and Sky, Weaving the web, dreaming the dream, Through the two worlds I will fly. With you as my muse, Mother, I create the substance of dreams, Allowing the artist within me To fashion my life with esteem. I mold the clay of experiences Into a sacred Medicine Bowl, Capturing the essence of living As it sings deep in my soul. Your secrets of creation, Mother, Have taught me when to destroy The chains that have bound me, Limiting the expression of my joy. You have taught me how to labor, Giving birth to the visions within, Setting them free like silver arrows, Kindling the fire of Creation again.