Category Archives: Grandmother

You are not alone

There is no such thing as stillness.
We run and run and try to get away and still our heart is beating.
The wind is blowing. Everything is in motion, always. This is life.

There is no such thing as silence. We try to get away.
We try to shut it out but blood is rushing through our veins.
The wind is blowing. The birds are singing.

We could make a room that is pitch dark and sound proof
but still outside, the sun would rise and then at the end of the day
it would set, again and again.

We are living creatures, born into motion and sound,
on a trajectory that does not stop until death,
and even then our bodies, our beings would transform, ever in motion.

The galaxies are filled with motion, traveling particles of light and orchestral music.

So don’t be afraid to join in the songs around you.
Don’t be afraid to let go in the flow.
As humans our survival has always been relational.

There is no being alone.
Your food, your blankets, every tool you use was prepared and brought to you by other humans.
There is no being alone.

Yes, keep your discernment, for there are many songs and some of them are poison. Make your wisest choice and put both feet in it, keeping your eyes open, keeping your eyes shielded too, if necessary.

But be in your life. Enjoy it. Be it. Living is connection.

This is in response to decades of spiritual training how to remove unhealthy attachments and none in how to nurture healthy ones.

Blessings on your path.

Tasara

Pandemic Mabon

We have entered the land of the She
and the sun, she has slipped past and is making her way into the darkness.
She is taking with her
our dreams
our dead
our ideas of who we think we are
and what we think would have happened.

Now in the second harvest, we see the truth
what we have gained
what we have lost
and what has never been all along.
Illusions.

Mourn for those and that we have lost.
Let it be easy, like the cool river.
She moves silently in the darkness.

Let fly free with the crows
your plans and visions which are not so.

There is much to allow in the darkness.
We must be prepared, so
empty yourself.
There is time.
Empty yourself.
There is a shining within you.
Empty yourself
for the new dream that is coming.

Blessed be.

Sweet rain during the pandemic

Shh, shh, shh, shhhh.. she says
Go deeper.
But, bu, bu, co, corona-
She says go deeper, now.
Breathe.

Earthen cool rain
Quite flame
What you left on the loom
From the past, comes the pain
Go deeper.

Who am I?, again.
What have I done?
Where was I headed
before we
let the rest of nature out of quarantine?

Making do
Discoveries anew
Can you hear the calling?
Why do I not hear the calling?

Shh, shh, shh, shhhh.. she says
Go deeper.
But, bu, bu, co, corona-
She says go deeper, now.
Breathe.

The Hag

When the hag invites you to tea, beware, because she is going to eat you for dinner. You will go down to her cave beneath the oldest oak tree and hang your hat on her door. It will start off nice, but everything you thought you wanted or needed will be stripped away with her look from across the table. Her gaze will stop time, it will, as the blood rushes from your veins.

She will say without saying it, “I have seen you and I see you, bones.”

and if you quake she will not care.

“Truth is truth”, she says. “It is what is.”

You will not be able to charm her. You will not be foolish enough to lie to her. As she mixes the tea, her frozen look will whisper to you without speaking,

“I have been hurt more than I could ever be. I have lost it all to the very last, my children, my pride, my plans and my hide. I am alone and no one can touch me now, because I want nothing. In wanting nothing, there are no ears for illusion’s siren songs. And having lost all of this, I have lost my own fear.

You will look back at her, and drown in your foibles. And she will watch you in your drowning.

If you survive yourself over tea, then she will dance for you, her wretched dance of pain and broken clattering. Will you withstand, as her body shakes in terrible jerks, a show, a vessel of power for a raging volcano? Her eyes host lightening bolts and her frame surges. With every gesture, she has become matter of fact, and in that rawness, her sex will have awakened without her knowing it – because it has become something else. Something not found in moving pictures and magazines. It has become something normal and personal. In her rawness, her scorched throat will have been quenched, and the air will feel authentic.

And after she has cooled, if you can sit with the rock in her heart and look back her gaze with love of your own, then you will be laughing at the night and she will laugh with you as the moon blisters bright and the owl howls at the river.


When Spring comes, the hag will go outside and fall into the earth as the Sun begins to warm her. She will lie there, rotting, waiting to die, wishing to die. She will even leave her body a ways but then she will be driven home, because in her belly will be new life and she will be drawn to it’s light. She will rock and hold herself. She will hide her baby as long as she can. But the Winter will be over and she’ll be drawn to rise, uncontrollably, to surrender herself once more to the labor of love, a love everlasting and relentless.

by Tasara