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

There’s No Such Thing as A Muggle

There is no such thing as a Muggle. It’s a plot device created by a woman who wanted to create an us/them dynamic in her book to make one group seem more special than another.

But it’s a lie. There is no such thing as a Muggle.

We are all so magic.
It is in our blood, this ancient blood that has been passed from womb to womb for thousands of years. There is no muggle, only gorgeous, magical people unfolding to various degrees all around us, all in their own good time.

To be around a rose brings the emanation of rose into our beings.
To be around a moonflower…. around a pixie…. a saint… a lover…a passionate craftsperson.
We are affected by the forces around us and not all of us are living in uplifting environments.

We all have passion whether flowing freely or locked within. We all have love.
We all have the power to make things happen in the world around us.

There is no such thing as a muggle and the word being used in the way I have heard is used is not any better to me than other names people have been called over the centuries in this country. Names that most of us would not stand to hear our friends use.

May we all learn to see the brilliant, beautiful souls of others. May it become it easy to hold others with love and light. To see the barriers, the fear, the anger and not take it on, but rather soften the air around those who are lost in stress…. and beam a little.

I love it when people can do that for me on the days that I need it.

There is no such thing as a Muggle.

by Tasara

What Goddess Would I Invoke?

goddessWhat goddess shall I invoke to heighten the goddess in me?
Will I pick a temptress or fine lady like Persephone?
Will I call on a mother to keep me safe and strong?
Will it be the Great Isis who’s led my path for so long?

What if I sing to the water nymphs who love to laugh and play
just like I do when I am in the river for the whole day?
Or the wild tree one with the smile of fun, whose glimpse has become so rare
that no one knows her story or how she came to be at the fair.

No, I think I’ll call on the one I know that has been here since I was born
I’ll call on the Goddess of Me with my silver horn.
She is no aspect of anything, she’s the whole package for sure.
From dark to light, fair to blight, the one that will always endure.

She was born from a human named Judith, who rode horses across the plain
and a Pa named David who could think of nothing but flying his next airplane.
She came from the woods of the great northeast and traveled across to the sea
where the mountains are high, the ravens do fly and there she threw out her TV.

That’s who I will call, it’s nothing at all and bigger than I could expect.
To honor myself, (not a book on the shelf), a mystery too deep to inspect.

by Tasara

Bees imagine

**Bee Imagine**

Imagine you are a bee.

You buzz in airy ocean
of the most delicious smells,
waves and ribbons of them
some pungent and full,
some like narrow streams of gladness.

In low places there is found lace, heaven.
Further on, grace.
Along the fences is rosy rose,
burst of rose,
sweet rose,
cool rose.

But there is one scent,
a ravenously dizzy scent
that calls soft through airy jungle
as you madly fly its trail

all high and too hither.

by Tasara

May you break free from the patterns that bind you.