Tag Archives: winter

THE BIG RHYTHM HOLDS IT ALL

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Winter Solstice blessings!

May we relish deep rest and be nourished by the slow gift of fruitful darkness, wooing and embracing the dark parts of us into the circle of Self ⭕️. May we nurture the inner fire on our darkest nights. May we honor the returning light and bless the gifts we hope to embody in our next season, greeting Sun with a smile and song.

I. Sip the Season Darkly

Darkness has arrived
wrapping its inky cloak
across the season of our lives

long shadows and owls
stand tall and salute
the arc of autumn’s slow song
becoming winter’s long march

asking us not skip too quickly
over the hour

with an eager eye grasping
towards cherry blossoms
awaiting on the other side

Drink deeply from the season,
they say

Drink from the cup overflowing
with the sweet & fruitful darkness

Sip the season darkly
in its slow embrace

Wisdom hidden from summer’s glare
may yet pass our lips
should we have the thirst for it

The bright and busy world goes under:

We go to the cave, the secret one
in the mountain of ourselves
seeking stillness

and listen for it—
the true voices amidst

The Silence.

Can you hear them?

II. Within the Cave Something Pulses

We’ve been here before.

Many times—as far back
as it will be forever forth.

The Big Rhythm holds it all.

Within the cave something pulses.

We hear it, feel it, even now

that which deepest dark cannot smother
and even winter’s hands cannot touch

tender tendrils of a luscious vine
bearing the wine of our heart

Some secret vial
distilled for this very hour
to sip the season brightly

A Remembering—Aha!

Sun too misses its lover earth
and cannot too long stay away.

Like you, Sun was meant for this: to shine.

To not share that big love is a wounding.

So in this darkest hour
the sun knocks on the nearest horizon
and announces The Return with a steady beat:

“Dear Love, I’m Here.”

Which is exactly what we find
written on the walls of our cave:

“Dear Love, I’m Here”

As we open new eyes
like the first breath after coma

and though it’s just a whisper now
it is enough to start it all again
and again…again….again…

SACRED ANCHOR

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For apprenticing to the energies of the season & #HonoringtheDark, slowness, silence, & shadows.


I. Ripe For Descent
All the world long has descent
on its mind

and you with it:

the freckled hands of autumn
and fickle lure of love
pull you down
with the western star.

Who are you to argue
when the trajectory has gravity on its side?

II. Without The Journeyed Dark

There never was a sunrise
without the journeyed dark.

There never was a spring
without the starried night.

There never was a buried treasure
without the sunken ship.

There never was a deepest love
without the sink or swim.

III. Pace of the World

You are of a pace with the world now.

Who are you not to follow the sun,
the leaves & the season’s decadent fragrance
into the dark?

It’s a different kind of allure
at the bottom of things
inside out and beautiful.

Decay is a gift from the soul
of the world
and you will not be caught
being a full-time harvester,
no ever-ascender.

The soil needs rest,
washed with winter rains
from the dark halls of your heart.

IV. Her Depths Now

These are her depths now!

There was a time when light,
any light,
was a buoy or wonderful distraction.

Now it is an atrocity,
a thieving beast
robbing you of Elder Darkness.

These are her depths now,
you scream at the sun.

Have you no thought to buried treasures?

Are you one of the light-brigade,
ever casting gold through your fingers?

Today, with the wind’s decree
and the consent of the moon
you hook yourself willingly, even eagerly
to the Sacred Anchor.

To the Sun-Addicts, you say:

I now follow the moon,
stalking the territory of forbidden night songs
meeting all the beasts born
of the soil.

IV. Dark Mirrors

Yes, the bottom of the season is cruel.

But it is not the first labyrinth,
nor the last.

A song echoes “I know my powers” from the cavernous sky below.

Just the right amount of forgetfulness
and remembering fills the chambers.

Then, from the coldest corner,
the darkest thing grabs you.

V: The End of the Descent

The end of the descent is self-embrace.

The bottom of the well
is the face of love
looking back.

It catapults you to the inside
of a cherry blossom
just this side of spring.

BRYOSENSUAL

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I wanna stain myself moss green
and make meaning with our skin
like my tongue bepurpled from plucking blackberries but
the thickness of winter’s blood
is a distance even sunny seagulls can’t erase

yet I can’t deny it leaves tracks in me 
every time we flirt like this 
spreading spores and spells
under moons and misty moods
dreaming of tides of touch 
shapeshifting each other’s sessile shores.

INSIDE THE GOO #5: DREAM DROPS

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Invocation: Composting empire within us, soil of the new, we bless you.

Can we just for a moment hold the remains in our heart-hands, not to desperately grasp or to push away, but to say an honest goodbye, then letting it pour through our heart-fingers, like the sun’s last rays of the day?

Only then the Dawn. 

Must it be repeated? 

Yes, over and over: only then the Dawn.

New forms emerge. 

Gregarious Green. Sky-baskets of persimmon and pomegranate possibility.

This is as old as death.

Even in the decaying corpse is life—no,

BECAUSE of the Decaying corpse there is Life. BECAUSE there is Life there is decaying corpse. 

Here’s that promiscuous warm worm again— getting it on in the midst of the cold slime. 

No one tells us about the slime being Liquid crystal. Full of pheromones and fun. 

Hermaphroditic heroes all. 

Creation and renewal WITHIN the rot. 

Inside the goo, Dream-drops. 

Imaginal buds with our names on it. With tomorrow written all over. With threads sprouting seeking touch.

Don’t ask how the starlight reaches even here, in putrid pitch black. 

Don’t feign ignorance—You already know if you stretch your memory far enough. 

What happens when one risks connecting to other imago cells, daring to dream drop, courting Life—

Oh what wondrous tendrils the sun will lure from the magnificent muck. 

Can you imagine?

Are you curious? 

DARK GREEN TRUST #3: DIVINE DETRITIVORE

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Ooh how sexy transformation sounds…til we get to that part where everything recognizable disappears. Everything turns to Muck. A rotting mess. We sit amidst debris collapsing around us. 

The “crossing over of form” in Trans-formation at the heart of everything implies continual decay and renewal. 

To get to the renewed form beyond, first the Disintegration. Dissolution. Disillusion. 

Cue the Resistance. Fear. Tantrums. Vomit. 

This is it—What once was is no longer. What was a towering edifice is now rubble.

When we look around many of us know we are living inside the corpse of old forms of civilization. The rotting logs of Overculture. The pillars of empire crumbling & fallen, even if they seem to present residual inertia. 

Those who dare to know this are both Divine Detrivores and Imaginal Buds (Imago Cells) of this glorious goo-ification. Daring dissolution because they Dream Butterfly. 

What if our research project right now is: 

How do we honor the season of breakdown?

Our master’s thesis: How do we be with this delicate destruction? 

Our PhD dissertation: How do we be with each other in this delicate destruction? 

Forbidden inquiry and shadow research not approved by dissertation committee: 

How to be our sacred slutty slug selves?

How do we invoke our inner ghastly ghostly gastropod, joining Mystery with our raspy radulas to metabolize the world?