Category Archives: Sabbats and the Great Wheel

Beloved. Us. Shadow divine.

When this light comes in, it comes like a radiant star,
massive crystal, inviting embrace,
Warmth, glints, then crazy streaks all around us
to clap for, to raise our our hands for..

It presses on the vibration of our skin,
presses those frequencies to sing in a new way.

This light has been invoked by the thousands that gather, pray, seek,
concern themselves with the future of our planet and our relations with it’s peoples.
Peoples of the soil, the winged air, the forests and lakes, of the city buildings.
Millions. Millions praying, millions responding.

I have felt it reverberate like a cosmic shockwave during the Earthdance prayer for peace, sink into the deep lands of the power animals at the shamanic gatherings, resonate with highest of beings and portals at the devotions of Beloved. Where-ever people have gathered in love I have felt it. You have felt it too, I know.

This light, is light of light,
brought gently down for us to come into.
It is what it is and we glow in its presence,
the seed of star inside us invoked.

We see each other and we see the divine. We bask, we smile big. We cry.
We see the light in each other’s eyes, hearts, flame ignited.
We do not understand what it is but we want more.

We look to each other and then looking deeper, we can find shadow.
We find dankness – and then we are down.
We want the light to be everywhere, we want this bliss to remain.
We forget ourselves.
We are down.

We forget the light’s purpose to clear darkness. To distill from the shadow, divine.

Beautiful, beautiful darkness.
It will always be darkness but the things it carries in its soft folds can turn.
It can be shadows of wonder, hidden treasures of healing, deep knowing of the listen and the love.
Needed secrets we unearth for the sharing.
Dark womb, a place of comfort and rest.

But the light warms and the light pulls. It insists,
That which does not belong in the dark be drawn out!
unhealed bruises, shameful secrets, cyclical stories of loss, forgotten grief.
Fruitless communication patterns. Fear without reason.

— Beautiful – yearning  – never – replied – to —

The radiant star coos to the darkness.
Tugs. Comforts. Finds the edge of weeping, brings us joy.

It calls these misplaced things, so the synesthesia begins
it is a blessing, a relieving, a feather breeze, a reconfiguration
for some, a crushing – for then

I must remember, remember myself before a time when I do not remember.
A way when the earth beneath my feet cooled my skin and my wholeness spread out and touched the tree roots.

In the eyes of our kin, we see the pain, we see the drawing.
We see the divine. We join in on the drawing With the power of our seeing, we draw out that hidden strength and we sing.

‘It’s ok. YOU are ok. You are or you would not be here. You are Beloved. You know the way.
I see you. I know you. For I know myself. You are part of me.
We are all there with you. We are one.’

Coo, coo. Come into the light. And come.

A storm of emotion is merely a storm.
Connect with sky and strike the ground,
where I am, why this happened, who I want to be.
Love myself through the dismembering,
resonate with the grist, open old pains to the wind.

I want compassion,
I want to flower the world with it from my heart and then I am bounced out.
I must try or I am not myself.

Learn, harmonize, love, new imbalance pulled from the shadows.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
The path of love is the path of love is the path of love.
Steady, rocky, sure. Committed, confusing, clear.

If we were meant to control mystery, mystery would not be.
Our hardest constructs crack to allow new being.
Our energies resolve to allow access to new planes.
We do not reign. We join.
There are other forces there and then there is trust. Devotion.

When this light comes, we rise again
we can hold more than before
a new shadow falls away
a new love is born

We only have to align and pray.

And try, and love.

Again and again.

by Tasara

I Give you the Sun

Sometimes a person’s heart breaks because there is not enough room for the love that wants to flow through it. The heart breaks. Fresh cracks become fissures and into the fissures pour a molten elixir of fire. This burning salve drops deep into a space called the Will and cools – and here, we decide to live. But from the shape of the curved rock walls around us, we know that we cannot live the same way we did before.

Form explodes into nothingness. Fear springs up but there is no cliff to leap from. The cliff is gone too, leaving fear to dissipate in the wind. We grasp to nothing. No walls, no fear, no one else, only silence.

Such is the season of darkness, one survived through death, transformation and back into life. It is not destiny, however. Roads do not all have to be mottled with hardship. Not all dark seasons are conducted like the forge.

I give you the Sun’s rays for your season of darkness. I give you the glowing cup, brimming with gold to remind you that there is warmth even when we are not looking for it. That the natural state of your life as a flesh and bone mammal is heat. Whatever you do, in dance or in hibernation, may you be comforted with this knowledge, which is as constant as your own beating heart.

Dance in love this winter, the dance of wonder or the dance of despair, a dance of confusion or a dance of joy, each dance inherently loved simply by the truth of your expressions. Watch your fingers move, the lines they draw, speaking that which you could not previously say.

Rest sure this winter. Curl into your caves with the ancient mothers and sleep your wonderful sleep. There is time for work and there is time for dreaming and in this season, when we listen, the Mysteries do sing.

There is a Sun for working and there is a Sun for lazy morning stretching. I give you the lazy morning kind. The kind where it’s okay to be alone for gentle thinking, playful thinking, curiosity. The lazy sun dissolves the urgency from life and assures us, smoothing down the bristles.

There is a candle rooted in all of us, a candle which cannot be blown out. It is a fact. We cannot get away from life. Life is relentlessly persistent. It refuses to be ignored. With every step we take, around us life teems. The girl in the cafe. The quiet winter trees, the screech of tires on the highway. There is someone in there. There is life. There is life.

—————————————————————————
SUN

I draw this circle ‘round myself,
around myself,
around myself.

And from the center I send out light,
I send out light,
I send out light.

To east, to south, to west, to north
and four more in-between
I paint the rays in red and gold
for creatures seen, unseen.

I do not need to wander far
for all I need is here.
I am a seeker nevermore
and laud my treasures near.

by Tasara

Angel

angel

When she came into being she was in awe.
She saw everything as luminescent,
gentle, feathery white
with a tinge of angelic blue.
Angels-from-the-stars blue.

Everything was so light she could have been blinded but for the grace of the feathers that held her at bay from the realm of big dreams. Big dreams that held forces too powerful for her vulnerable being.

She thought, “What have I done to deserve being in the wonderful place?

Deserve. Deserve. Deserve.

Deserve reverberated from the high canyon walls that were slowly etching themselves to being across the skyline.  The word became meaningless to her and dropped from the sky, when just a moment ago, it was so packed full of stuff and yearning, of a breaking to understand her badness.

She felt as if she had crawled there. Slithered through dark tunnels. Her body must be aching with pain from all she remembered, but it didn’t. She didn’t remember the coming or even knowing of a here to achieve.

Achieve. Achieve.

Achieve dropped from the sky, meaningless onto the canyon floor, which had become a large pond, silvery, with wisps of white curling above its surface, pearl ripples moving out from the center towards her, beckoning her to the water’s edge.

She stepped forward and her moccasins had gone white. Her dress was unrecognizable as tears sprung from her eyes.

“Who am I?” she thought to herself, feeling foreignness but also a rush of the soundness of home-coming.

Who?

So forward she came, leaving her memories behind and her walking stick at the entrance to the tunnels, which were closing fast.

When she reached the still pond, instead of gazing downwards she was overcome with an urge to fly. It ran through her every fiber, kissed with the surprise of a new feeling, echoing of an old, ancient experience she could not fathom.  She reached her arms upwards and spread her wings.

“I have wings!”

And when she pushed downwards, she was transported immediately to a place of grey. In a trance she stood, her wings gracefully trailing the air around her, her heart an open portal from which the white flowers of spring flowed freely, grey receding into form, form becoming colored and people drawing into smiles. She witnessed relief and joy, the remembering of the wisdom of self and she rang with gratitude for the place in which she stood.

She did not mourn the place of grace that she had been whisked from so quickly for she understood that to know a place is to embody it, that she was always there and that deep knowing of such energies transformed her into the nature they held. She knew the nature of such feathery, gentle white energies was to give. To celebrate, to pour forth and to rest in ease, sleeping in starlight, every worry and woe truly soothed.

She looked back at her life. The worlds shifted again and she was standing there feeling everything, seeing all that had happened. She tremored, afraid that she had to go back and struggle as she had struggled for so much, too much of her life. There were work issues, friendship issues, esoteric and spiritual crises, chaos. But mostly there was disbelief in herself and that was something she could no longer grasp even when she tried, out of a strange combination of habit and duty. She grasped and grasped at all of these old things but it was so much easier to beam. And so much more pleasureable! The beaming made her slippery and disabled her from grasping onto anything at all. She pulled very hard then and lost her footing. Shwoop! into the air, spirals, floating back, returning her gracefully back on her feet.

“This is….uhh…nice.” she said out loud, with a little bit of remorse.
Nice. echoed back to her, but it was different than before, not so holy.
“Funny.” she said, and laughed with herself and this voice that was just along for the companionship and the fun.

Funny. Ha ha. Funny. Tee hee!!

She was not alone. But she had known that just from her state of being. To know this place of feathery white was to know that she, nor anyone else was ever alone. That we all are nestled in the embrace of all other and that healing is ever present. That she was not something special or unattainable. That she was an extension of who she had been before and that in her state, she could see the angelic state of all beings around her, no matter what they saw of themselves. That to see them in this way brought it out.

She knew also that her angelic light had grown from the peat of the underworld, that she could not possibly be who she was if she had not learned what she learned from her travels in the unseeingness of the dark worlds. Her catalog of pain and confusion was no longer an energetic base but a breadth of energetic attunement that allowed her to resonate with all beings – to see their full spectrum. And enhance the grace which already exists.

“Ahh, I knew that!” she laughed as she thought back to all of her poems and teachings on what makes a healer. A healer is to see someone’s beauty- from a place of beauty.

“And as in all things, this comes in varying degrees.” she thought as she fluttered up into the ethers, the sky, or whatever this stuff was. Sparkles burst from her toes just because she wanted them to.

“Being an angel will be fun.”

by Tasara

Raven

She swims under the ocean, goes where I go.
Pulls canoe through the stars, to where I don’t know.
Her back, steaming mystery, hard-coded resolve.
Jeweled eyes marble black, into which I dissolve
Glints of forge-fire, emerald, yew
Pools in the darkness, deep chasm blue.

She’s lodged in my body, strong, loud and unshown
a monster of chaos, black feathers explode
ca cawing with laughter, “make sense, discard,
make sense, discard, discard, discard, discard”
old friend, my heart, my guide by my side
without whom my life would be calmer but blind.

by Tasara

Moonflower

my heart is open
it is like a lotus reaching out, touch beauty in all directions,
knowing roots into the muck of the underworld

my womb is a moonflower
not luscious red but gorgeous, lily white
teasing and gracious, open for spirit to come in

my soul rings in tune with the stars, today
there is a light that pours forth upon me
and I am grateful

for one day

grateful

by Tasara

The Well

I reached out
far
very far
and I fell.

I fell into myself
back
into
my deep, deep well
and was washed over with relief
to know that I cannot harm myself
with leaving

for I will always be there.
Like a child tottering along the edge of a rail and
the mother who won’t let her -.

Because it is back with myself where all things reside
where the moon is the richest
and I can safely lie on my back
in the summer dewy night
and look up
eyes awonder, up at the stars
private and safe
the sweetness of the night.

It is in the well
where the sacred resounds
with edges and echoes
that reach far beyond its thick moss.

It is here where the dreaming is strong
the mind is at peace
and the churning, more meaning

Chaos reaches high above the sky
order sifts between its heat waves
dust sinks and rises
patterns on the land

I come
and I go,
traveling far within the crevices
the ravaging land, untamed
yet holding wildness only in moments
when the wind turns to look at you
or me or them
and then the storm picks
one of us
and we fall back within
to realize that we
have never left

that the beauty in awe is remembering.

by Tasara

The Old Black Road

I have been through cinder, nettle
Drowned in flood plains all amore
I have walked through, death and barren
valleys, never finding golden ore.

There’ve been chapters, many chapters
Filled with glue and glass and stone
Times when I was living under
surfaces to me unknown.

My traveler’s stick, my hard-earned wit
it kept me sane and safe and sore
My lantern it seemed overwhelmed
but now I know it was much more.

I shunned the sun for what I knew
the dark spark drew me while it grew
it drew the magic all around
but was so intense, those there were few.

Chaos ensued, the years went by
the sparks did come, the sparks did fly
and then one day I met a man
who returned to me my soul, this guy.

The globe of light, it filled my middle
The world became less like a riddle
I lost my friends who were not true
I learned to love to hear a fiddle.

I tracked the source, the gift to give
So I could help some others live
My eyes adjusted to the light
My sorrows melted through the sieve

This joy I find when in the road
come from love and laughter told
but also from my weathered boots
that tell me of my older roots.

For if I fall, I do not fear
as much as when in elder year
There is comfort yet to know
that love and light can only grow.

by Tasara

This

Gold - LoveThis stuff,
I could reach up and touch it if I wanted to.
It used to be far away, elusive,
and now.. I can feel it.

If I reached up, my fingers would be in the sticky honey of light.
It would be contagious, shimmering down into my body,
spreading through my everything and out from my eyes
and I would see through honey colored glasses. Yes, I would. I would.

The wise rose permeates my scene. The full rose, the gentle rose.
Speaking of the softer secrets, the land, the sea,
the fragility of innocence, the fullness of the mother.

This pungent rose. And the sight of petals.
Petals, petals, everywhere.
Lily, iris, moonflower, lotus, morning glories
upright, on the ground, in the air, in my mind,
feathering against my cheek as the spring breezes flow in streams of color around me, cherry blossoms.
Flowers dainty, trite, shriill, discarded
as too petty have become my elegant world.

Life’s delight is in the changes.
The turns and the tones, the things revealed by the moon’s pull on the edges of the ocean,
rising out of the deep sand, smiling as if they’ve been there all along, watching.
I walked on a beach with a million starfishes last week.
So many stars, so fragile, so persistent, their tenacity to flourish.
So persistent.

The pleasure of the unexpected, the sudden change, brace, take hold, gasp,
stop a moment and then a slight
bright smile that slips from my lips almost without my noticing.
Oh my, look, look. What next? What fun.
What adventure. What a life when I am noticing.

I am a sandy sand dollar on the beach.
I might be noticed. I might be stepped on by the happy bounding dog.
Either way I am a sand dollar and what I am next will be different.
On someone’s dash board soaking up music from the stereo or disintegrating back to Mother Ocean,
a path is a path, each one continues, flows into another and another
endlessly, a beautiful ribbon of life as the streamers in the breeze
announcing north, east, southwest, fallow. Sync, unsync, hallow.

Sheets of laughter come by with the early wind of summer’s dawn.
Falling on the floor stuff. Puddles of your soup lost on the table as you drop the spoon, stuff.
Lost in glee, the grains shake to merry, slippery, rain-fallen, forgotten dust, return to earth.

I am bones, revealing themselves as the tide washes the sand down around me.
I am old and my time in the dark has intoned my marrow with the ancientness of myself.
I do not need a sparrow to tell me that spring has come.
I do not need my eyes or my teeth or a prowess.

I walk and the world shimmers around me.

by Tasara

Lotus

When the lotus blooms, she brings forth all that she has seen in the underworld. She pulls herself up and up, changing from muck to morning and when she blooms there is heaven there waiting to kiss her, happy kisses with tears of joy and the knowing, the knowing that all who have ascended know from their memories of the deep darkness beneath us. That which scares. That which taunts, which nourishes those who brave to look upon it, who brave to be caught up in it, to risk the terrible risk of not coming back home.

And when it blooms, it blooms in slow motion, sequentially, many times over, overlapping, creating petals of motion which caress, coax joy, sing songs unheard, sweeping in freshness from the sweet world which we live in.

by Tasara

Kachina Starblower

Last night we built a little tipi out of the sticks we found lying in the yard. There were a whole lot of us, this gathering of hope and passion and seeking. We were all very excited. Finally, we sat really, really still and with only whispers, opened an invisible gate above us for the invitation.

Someone said, “Starblower.” and I opened myself up to find out who he was. This Starblower , he came and through me he blew a wind of stars. A wind of stars that blew and blew and blew forever from forever to forever. I gasped. Throughout my body, expanded, every molecule touched, the stars, so blessed, so familiar.

“Where have you been?!” I cried, as the little girl who remembered them, who had longed for them, so long. It was a homecoming. My body swayed back and back in the breeze. I floated, floated above my roots, swaying.

This went. On and on.. and on.

When the people stopped talking and went away there were three or four of us left. We sat in a circle around the candles, this campfire not made of fire but of blue peace. Deep blue peace, so homecoming and so blue and so deep that we wept, immobilized by its beauty, by the stillness, by the stars that were still blowing, blowing through us.

I went to bed full of stars and blowing and I woke up with them still streaming through me. If I close my eyes and draw forth the deep blue peace, the weeping begins all over again.

I know what attunement means, now. I know who I am. I am a gate to the stars.

by Tasara