Tuesday, September 30, 2014


"Weavers" (2014)
Stories are not abstractions from life but how we engage with it.  We make stories and those stories make us human.  We awaken into stories as we awaken into language, which is there before and after us.  The question is not so much "What do I learn from stories" as "What stories do I want to live?"   Insofar as I'm non-dual with my narratives, that question is just as much, 

"What stories want to come to life through me?"

David R. Loy, "The World is Made of Stories" 

Sometimes I become overwhelmed with the events of the world, and have to refuse to watch the news, even the worthy information that colleagues send me.  At such a crucial time in the evolution of humanity,  such a long awaited and brief window, the old and ugly stories of war, of greed, of old patriarchal tribal war gods endlessly demanding blood and supremacy, and endless consumer economies that can lead only to collapse........... and both leading to the end of hope.   No, you can't live with that.  So I stop, and walk into the garden, and remember the stories that are sacred, the myths that renew and sustain.  
It seems to me that we are every day planting and weaving the World Stories as tell our own stories in so many ways.  And, whether we realize it or not, we are doing so in collaboration with many others.  As  the generative  incubation of  winter quietly approaches, may we remember how important our task really is, how little time we really have:  to  plant seeds for the future that ever grow,  ever green, into  stories of the Sacred Earth and our true community with All Beings. 

"Midwives" (2014)

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Zoe's Camino de Santiago

All photos are copyright Zoe d'Ay (2014)

Camino de SantiagoThis summer my friend Zoe d'Ay, who lives in southern England, walked the Camino de Santiago in Spain at the age of 68.  It's been my delight to make a Blog for her and share vicariously her stories of "The Way", along with her beautiful photos of her Pilgrimage.  

The blog is still being developed, but I wanted to invite others to visit her Blog,  and walk with her a bit of the Way.  The posts go backward, with the beginning of her journey at the beginning of the Blog. 





Monday, September 22, 2014

400,000 Strong Marching for Climate in N.Y.C.!


Think about it - 400,000 people marching through the canyons of New York City, one of the worlds great centers of commerce, marching for a Global Civilization to save our planet from climate devastation.  This is reality, not a novel.

These, as Paul Simon sang, are the Days of Miracles and Wonders.  Truly, a historical event.

Thanks to Joyce for this! 

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Mabon! And The Circle Has No End

I want to wish the Blessings of Mabon, The Autumn Equinox, the Second Harvest Festival to all my friends.  An auspicious, a sacred day, and I remember well when I lived back East and celebrated with honey mead and fallen apples, gathered  brilliant red on the brilliant green grass.

Being a person from the dry west, I found it miraculous, amazing, this overwhelming generosity of  Gaia.  Given and given.  I remember in 1990 my friend Rose organized an event in NYC around the Equinox, and I brought a basket of apples I had found  on the ground.  I felt moved to share them, telling the audience  my sense of how sacred that was, these apples,  how important to remember. 

And at the end of the evening I was touched when those tough, sophisticated  New Yorkers took every single one. I sometimes think that was one of the best things I've ever done as a Priestess. 

This morning I woke up singing "The Circle Has No End".  It's not exactly a Mabon Song, but I wanted to share it today, as the Circle Turns.

Raising a glass of cider to all!

The Minds of Trees...................


I move among the ankles 
of forest Elders, tread
their moist rugs of moss,
duff of their soft brown carpets.
Far above, their arms are held
open wide to each other, or waving
what they know, what
perplexities and wisdoms they exchange,
unknown to me as were the thoughts

of grownups when in infancy I wandered
into a roofed clearing amidst
human feet and legs and the massive
carved legs of the table,
the minds of people, the minds of trees
equally remote, my attention then
filled with sensations, my attention now
caught by leaf and bark at eye level
and by thoughts of my own, but sometimes
drawn to upgazing-up and up: to wonder
about what rises so far above me into the light. 

Denise Levertov, From Below

Monday, September 15, 2014

More travels on the Coast..........

Just to be with the Pacific Ocean, north and south.  The strange knarled trees right out of Tolkien that line the edge of the world at Casper.  I notice that I always seem to find them as entranceways to somewhere else, perhaps some strange door to the world of Faery............

When I emerged to the overlook of Jughandle Beach, I was just in time to see a wedding in progress, just in time, in fact, to snap "the kiss".

This solitary  tree, clinging so tenatiously to the edge of the cliff, is an old friend of mine.

And here is South, way south of Casper, at La Jolla down by San Diego.  I am eternally fascinated by pelicans, graceless birds on land, but when they fly they are as precise and elegant as any air show imaginable.  Might like to come back as a pelican next lifetime, living above the ocean and fishing when I'm not preening my wings.  Seems very pleasurable.

Not to mention the seals, basking in the sun when they're not barking at each other.  Swimming dogs, fascinating to watch them play with each other in the water.

And schools of brightly colored  rainbow kayaks, ignored by the bored looking pelicans.

It's been so healing to be on the ocean, to visit Mother Ocean.  Thank you and great praise, Yemaya.

One last hibiscus...........................

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Venus Synchronicities.........

I'm still here in California. And strangely, I seem to be in the middle of a Syncronicity Cluster based on the Goddess of Love, Aphrodite/Venus.  I think, when this kind of thing keeps going on, one must pay attention.  

"Venus" by Lorraine Capparell 

I received a notice from artist Lorraine Capparell  about her beautiful sculpture Venus.  Oddly, I used another of her sculptures to illustrate the previous entry. 

I received a day later an order for an Aphrodite mask.  And a notice about a Circle Work workshop with Jalaja Bonheim, who wrote Aphrodite's Daughters, a wonderful book I revisited a few weeks ago when visiting my friend Joanne, who had it on her kitchen table because she is doing research with the book. (I also posted about her a month or so back)

 Then I received a notice about an Aphrodite Workshop occurring this coming weekend, sponsored by two women I know from Reclaiming - one is an acquaintance, Laurie Lovecraft (an appropriate name for a priestess of the Goddess of Love).  I'm tempted to brave the truly horrendous L.A. traffic to attend - Laurie and Tami's description of working with the heart to open the path to creativity, and to create beauty.......is  just the healing affirmation I may need.

And how terribly wounded Aphrodite is in our world.  As I write this, I reflect on how, a few days ago, I was lying on the bed in a motel room, flipping through the TV channels.  There were no less than 5 programs within that hour about young women, girlfriends,  wives  and an exotic dancer murdered by men.  A stranger from another culture would think that raping and killing young women was the national sport. 

In fact, now that I think about it, the need to destroy Aphrodite in every way is at the very heart of patriarchal culture.  Because a culture that values love, beauty, and Eros............is a culture that would not be able to make war, or guns, because it would be a culture with great reverence for life.

Here is a poem I wrote for Aphrodite in 1999:


Please allow me to take off my shoes,
this faux marble pose 
this modern, pragmatic mask.
Permit me my ruin.

Let us not consider this therapy
  or revolution
do not ask me to give you space
let us not discuss those who came before
and those who might follow.
Let us not talk of past lives.

I have fallen on hard times.
If you come to my temple
let me make for you an ocean.

Half seen in the darkness
your body, a mystery
true, tangible, radiant,
lined with the rings of your life.

You are beautiful,
beautiful to be a man.

Darling, even in this era, I will not believe
that love is disposable,
that sex is safe
that lovers are trains, rolling past each other
to some certain station 

  I remember,
  I almost remember my river source

My skin forms the word anew,

  enter me

  as if you were coming home

Image result for seashell

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Telling the World With the Stories We Tell

"Story Teller"  by Lorraine Capparell

Lately I've felt at a loss for words.  So I felt like pulling up some worthy words by a few people I admire about how to manage life, art, and creating reality.  Spider Woman in Pueblo traditions is also called "Thought Woman", because she makes the world with the stories she tells about the world.   So do we...........

Spider and Cross, prehistoric Mississippian Culture ornament

"God needs us as much as we need God.  We need God because we are God's stories.  God needs us because we are God's way to make new kinds of stories."
David R. Loy, "The World is Made of Stories" 

 People who deny the existence of dragons are often eaten by dragons.  From within. ”
― Ursula K. Le Guin

"Progress might have been alright once upon a time, but it has gone on for too long."
---Ogden Nash

"Stories are not abstractions from life but how we engage with it.  We make stories and those stories make us human.  We awaken into stories as we awaken into language, which is there before and after us.  The question is not so much "What do I learn from stories" as "What stories do I want to live?"   Insofar as I'm non-dual with my narratives, that question is just as much, 
"What stories want to come to life through me?"
David R. Loy, "The World is Made of Stories" 
"As you read a book word by word and page by page, you participate in its creation, just as a cellist playing a Bach suite participates, note by note, in the creation, the coming-to-be, the existence, of the music. And, as you read and re-read, the book of course participates in the creation of you, your thoughts and feelings, the size and temper of your soul.”
― Ursula K. Le Guin

"Our job was not to just re-tell the ancient  myths, but to re-invent them for today.  Artists are the myth makers."
Katherine Josten, The Global Art Project
"With every passing hour our solar system comes 43 thousand miles closer to Globular Cluster M13 in the Constellation of Hercules. And still there are some misfits who continue to insist that there is no such thing as progress."
---Ransom K. Ferm

"What's a day without a good rationalization?"
---Fred (Bartender at the Crystal Korner Bar, Madison, Wisconsin)

Crop Circle, Wiltshire,England, 2009

Saturday, September 6, 2014

What Did You Do?

It's 3:23 in the morning,
and I'm awake
because my great, great, grandchildren
 won't -let -me -sleep.
My great, great, grandchildren
ask me in dreams
what did you do, while the planet was plundered?
what did you do, when the earth was unravelling?
surely you did something when the seasons started failing
as the mammals, reptiles, and birds were all dying?
did you fill the streets with protest when democracy was stolen?
what did you do

Drew Dellinger

I suppose, because my brother's funeral is immanent, that explains the kind of universal grief I feel on this trip.  And it is shocking to see the drought in Califorina.  Grief  sits in my chest, and follows me up the road, the unwelcome rider.  In my experience,  grief is something we need to say hello to, something you have to open the door to, offer a cup of tea, and listen to the stories Grief has to tell.  One way or another, Grief needs to be grieved out until our hearts break open in the places they need to break open, and we can emotionally "breath" again, have responsive hearts.  I don't mean make a permanent place for grief, to make a state religion of it like Queen Victoria did for her lost Albert.........but I do not believe it is possible to go forward without allowing loss its place.

 I find I am not so much grieving for my brother, but for the loss of so much, the strange experience of not having a family anymore (which is something many elders have to come to terms with),   so many people I've known.  I return to familiar places, expecting to find somehow my former self, and she is gone, not there.   And most of all, I grieve and pray for every precious being, pristine ocean, seaweed, the pink ladies that come up every August, rain or dry, giving us so much generous grace.  Thirsty little deer, seeking a drink at a diminished lake.  The grey fox slipping into the compost pile.  Redwoods, each one  a cathedral, reaching into the sky.  Bees.  Blackberries, growing beside the road.

Drew Dellinger

Thursday, September 4, 2014

A very Old Ocean Poem............

I found this  a while back, a poem I wrote when I was just 18.  I'm surprised at how it still rings true for me.  


Think of this song
this song in you
     what is it?
What is this music you are,
     think of this song in you

standing at the mouth
     mouth of the ocean at dark
into the darkness this song
     the ocean makes

this song 
it passes you, through you
it is not your own

you are a part of it