The moon is waxing
The air is hanging in a Samhain suspense.
The wind is quickening
all energies condensing invisibly,
An eerie glow twinkles from the last golden leaves,
decending like a flock of lifeless butterflies.
The trees brace themselves,
sinking down into gravity,
Humming with flexible resin.
There is a hurricane headed.
A real one in the air, from the ocean,
and one inside many of our souls.
The days of the dead,
with a full moon,
Our ancestors are pissed. We have ravaged the land
and each other
Without much care.
We have ignored ancient laws and common decency.
And when the veil thins, they can speak to us again.
Throwing branches, flooding our plains,
thrashing with bolts of lightning.
If I were an ancestor I'd be ready
to yell too. I'd call down to Earth daughters
and all hearts:
Our storms are the same.
We cry in tears of grief and loss
We sob - flooded and drenched
for wholeness and reclamation
dying to bring back our limbs, our roots,
our loved ones.
Our lovers and our bees,
our waters and our wombs,
our milk and our breasts wrought with poisons
We are dying to be one again, or separately together.
What are our ancestors asking of us?
What, by their massive tantrum,
are we asked to mother.
Have we let ourselves be the storm, enough?
Grief is a turbulent, cold river
winding and leading to forever
but different in temperature as it flows.
Tears, our human tears,
are filled with hormones and pain relief
Just as the sea is filled with kelp and stingers and teeth
and magnificent depth.
My ancestors are asking me to be both gentle and fierce
To ask the plants for help at the same time I give seeds and tears to the soil.
They are asking me to share my gifts of healing and sensuality and connection,
and to ask others the hard questions, too.
To be a role model for a new/old way.
They ask me to be a devoted mother,
and to prepare bone broths and root brews and oil medicines.
And pray to the trees.
What would your ancestors ask of you today,
if he or she,
were sipping mugwort and sweet fern tea
Offering gratitude for my beloveds today, in honor of the coming storm, the coming sacred day of the dead. To my teachers, mentors, changemakers, mothers, cross dressers, beauty-dancers.
I offer sage, osha, copal, cedar, lavender to you.
Grandfather, you made sweet wine and a family of hearts.
Grandmother, your fingers danced with music and you asked nothing less than excellence
Grandfather, you were trapped in a bad time to be such a feeling man, when you could have better served as a Shakespeare actor.
Grandmother, you raised powerful women from your caring. You passed down your golden heart.
Grandmother, you danced a wild edge of wellness and crazy, and with your flagrant beauty, you taught us, too.
Ancestors before my Grandparents, I hear your pulse in my blood, I see your glory in the land.
Blessed be your wisdom and gifts, newly understood, newly ignited, newly creative in this precarious, auspicious world.
Offerings for honoring our lineage....
Balm of Gilead
ocean or river water
herbs for grief/heart:
Rose of Sharon
essential oils for grief/heart
May you know peace in your heart, may you know wholeness underneath grief, may you know love as the center.
Enrollment for Lady's Slipper Ring Ends October 31.
Come home to yourself on a journey of sacred self care and pleasure medicine.