There is no destruction like this, none
other than this. I hear the mom call, the
mother talk, the feather tongue of her ink
the swirl of water in the canal
black as blood of newborn
birth, she is talking, she is
harvesting the sky
she is the wind. GO from here, I tell
you. I tell you again. I will never see you again.
Be brave. I wish you this as you set off
in to the wind. You are all I see, all I
can ever see. And to the me that sees
this: that I see me seeing only you is Thou,
the holy You, the me and him we were was silly
even if eloquently we lingered and called on it
love. We were religulous, born to the city
the excess of brick and wealth that bore the filth
and stink, the poached poverty death-rot out back
of alleys, the ruined food in garbage cans.
We were religulous, raised by rigorous, godly hands.
The eyeless infants in the streets, in the alley ways,
dripping fetid meat in their fat skeleton hands.
We were rigored infants, stinking as they come.
She is working it out, she is working at this.
I am working hard, always, to get away. I don’t
have to work at you, you come no matter what
you humm you sing stink I smell you in the sky.
You were Him once; and true this is yours to you,
man that smelled of smoke and cold clean, of black
and flesh of salt and sounded bare as the wounds I thought
were only mine. You are Him now, man that
on his knees worshiped at the liquid gates of me.
You will be every Him that ever is and yet will
never make a difference.
The mother takes Mary’s hand.
Mary’s hand is brave I tell her this and so she
sinks too when finally she comes. She listens
the mother tongue
is feather in your hands. The feathers are gone
the angel wings, I talked sullen, I talked gently
I spoke again and again. I gave you my crazy
I gave you my opus tongue, you were fit
you were fitted to me, you were fitted for me
fitted by me, around me. You laid down for my death
I never forgot that, drew you to my chest, even now
as though you cant find breath or don’t have
or don’t want, I feather you
antique grave sacred as archetype
of falling diva diving in exile sky
the matter you create, the placenta you
left behind. When did this start? It started way back
when we were twins. Twin towers I gave
you, mother’s love, mother’s knowledge
mother’s hands. What you do, what you found
to do with it since then I can hardly blame you
for you are only man. She is one, I other.
We were holy, twins, twin cities
flames shooting mother hopes
between the funny flecks of skyborn
invisible eyes. Your eyes, you were you
you planned on it, this is what you do
to die. I cant help that. I chant. This
these chants. Anyway. This be my birth.
She is my twin,
my partner now. We helplessly flail
in these spiral voids we try to temper
and leave ever-created.
City streets rubble at the sound of first breath.
I take up shovel. I will dig again.
I will pray and take shelter in the prayer
words I know you still and always will sing.
2/2011 op md
May 17, 2011
May 14, 2011
More on Lunar Beltane. Divine Feminine Aspect.
So Beltane comes to us from the peasants, or country folk, all over Europe.
Pagan, or peasant or folk (of the people) religions centuries ago meant worshiping polytheistic, or worship of more than one God. I think the reason I was drawn in my teens to learn more about Paganism was specific: Pagans also worship female divinities or Godesses. Mary, though present in my Catholic upbringing (if I tried hard I could still remember the words to her prayer) was never a female godhead to whom I, as a grl in the eighties and nineties, could readily relate.
Depending on the culture, and in this application we can span the whole world, folk religions in every single country as far back as anthropologists have dated venerate or make holy all kinds of Gods and Godesses.
There are corn gods, fire goddesses, snake gods, bird goddesses, elephant gods. For every god there's a goddess you can find and likewise. It goes on and on and on and is a beautiful, traditional example of the everything is holy approach, that ever-present basic tenant of all great dogmas: how you treat life is how you get treated...do unto others...etc. Joe Campbell, the pre-eminent mythologist of the last century, normalized the idea that the world was far more encompassing than Judeo-Christian myths or beliefs, and in his many books and interviews put it this way. (I am paraphrasing.) Iindigenous, folk cultures of old applied their religions as if everything in the world was a Thou.
Beltane was celebrated traditionally all over old Europe as May Day, time when the female aspect (the Lady, the Moon, or any one of many different Goddesses,) and the Male (the Great God, the Green Man, the Sun or any one of several Gods) came together to make life. It was a celebration of the fecundity, or ever-re-creating fertility of the earth. In those days the earth, and the food and fruit it provided, was holy because of the integrated relationship the peasant people had with their environment. Literally, the earth and its harvests were how they lived and sustained. Beltane was when the first crops started to put forth, and it was this Thou which was celebrated.
The ancient world over, this earth holiday was celebrated in different and various forms. You find history of it in Native American, Chinese, Roman and Grecian traditions as just a few examples.
Religious applications, as far as how the individual practices, vary and are as different as footwear is from person to person in one single pew at church on Sunday. That said, a tenant of Paganism that I have always intimately enjoyed is the enlivening of the female aspect within Life. I've never, personally, worshipped many different Gods or Godesses, though I do pray periodically to everything from trees to the ocean to Marilyn Monroe to Jesus to Kali-Ma, depending on how my spirit and heart move me. Afterall, I believe in Thou. But that said, as a poet who speaks in the first language of metaphor, or symbol, my studies of Paganism continue to inform me of a rich and ancient heritage that specifically embodies and empowers the feminine aspect of the Divine. The moon often is a symbol of this energy.
Folk wisdom teaches us that the earth lives and dies and lives again in cycles (what the Old Sun-God did, every year. As later the Son of God did, dying and being re-born right around Beltane, she wrote with an ironic wink...)
Personally, I just really like having a significant tide to tie my own inner-life processes, and outer-life growth and changes, to. The parts of me that live and die and come back to life, too. The moon cycles work really well for me to watch myself, it's an active, hands-on way for me to feel connected to this great, wide and holy Life as a whole. The full moon is a time that life peaks, we are fertile, abundant, shiny. You cut crops then, both because the moon helped the field workers see AND because the grow cycle, as all is connected, is at its peak. Just google farmers almanac and full moon for more on these old folk ideas. It's really beautiful and will undoubtedly connect you to someone in your family (we all come from agricultural roots in this country) maybe only a generation or two back.
The full moon in May, known as Flower Moon or Taurus Moon, is also known as Lunar Beltane. It's time to celebrate the growth aspect--union of man and woman and the converging fertility as result--but with the moon as your starting point. The moon lights up the dark. The feminine aspect, as the Chinese teach with Yin, is the flow aspect inside every person, it is that which cant be contained. It is the dark or pureness of void-potential, or to my liking, where the light of gnosis or Knowledge makes its entry point. Yang, the male energy in each person, is solid, concrete, manifesting. To this one person's way of thinking, this application is how to capture just some of the celebration of Life using old folk holidays as a guide. We use our consciousness or doing-aspect of Yang to find the Stillness in there, the moving beating constant of presence which is Yin. At the conjuct of Yin-Yang is your own Holy Thou in the center. My intention from there is to be happpppyyyy about Life, and that all of Life may Beee Happpyyy, too. As within. So without. Amen amen amen.
Pagan, or peasant or folk (of the people) religions centuries ago meant worshiping polytheistic, or worship of more than one God. I think the reason I was drawn in my teens to learn more about Paganism was specific: Pagans also worship female divinities or Godesses. Mary, though present in my Catholic upbringing (if I tried hard I could still remember the words to her prayer) was never a female godhead to whom I, as a grl in the eighties and nineties, could readily relate.
Depending on the culture, and in this application we can span the whole world, folk religions in every single country as far back as anthropologists have dated venerate or make holy all kinds of Gods and Godesses.
There are corn gods, fire goddesses, snake gods, bird goddesses, elephant gods. For every god there's a goddess you can find and likewise. It goes on and on and on and is a beautiful, traditional example of the everything is holy approach, that ever-present basic tenant of all great dogmas: how you treat life is how you get treated...do unto others...etc. Joe Campbell, the pre-eminent mythologist of the last century, normalized the idea that the world was far more encompassing than Judeo-Christian myths or beliefs, and in his many books and interviews put it this way. (I am paraphrasing.) Iindigenous, folk cultures of old applied their religions as if everything in the world was a Thou.
Beltane was celebrated traditionally all over old Europe as May Day, time when the female aspect (the Lady, the Moon, or any one of many different Goddesses,) and the Male (the Great God, the Green Man, the Sun or any one of several Gods) came together to make life. It was a celebration of the fecundity, or ever-re-creating fertility of the earth. In those days the earth, and the food and fruit it provided, was holy because of the integrated relationship the peasant people had with their environment. Literally, the earth and its harvests were how they lived and sustained. Beltane was when the first crops started to put forth, and it was this Thou which was celebrated.
The ancient world over, this earth holiday was celebrated in different and various forms. You find history of it in Native American, Chinese, Roman and Grecian traditions as just a few examples.
Religious applications, as far as how the individual practices, vary and are as different as footwear is from person to person in one single pew at church on Sunday. That said, a tenant of Paganism that I have always intimately enjoyed is the enlivening of the female aspect within Life. I've never, personally, worshipped many different Gods or Godesses, though I do pray periodically to everything from trees to the ocean to Marilyn Monroe to Jesus to Kali-Ma, depending on how my spirit and heart move me. Afterall, I believe in Thou. But that said, as a poet who speaks in the first language of metaphor, or symbol, my studies of Paganism continue to inform me of a rich and ancient heritage that specifically embodies and empowers the feminine aspect of the Divine. The moon often is a symbol of this energy.
Folk wisdom teaches us that the earth lives and dies and lives again in cycles (what the Old Sun-God did, every year. As later the Son of God did, dying and being re-born right around Beltane, she wrote with an ironic wink...)
Personally, I just really like having a significant tide to tie my own inner-life processes, and outer-life growth and changes, to. The parts of me that live and die and come back to life, too. The moon cycles work really well for me to watch myself, it's an active, hands-on way for me to feel connected to this great, wide and holy Life as a whole. The full moon is a time that life peaks, we are fertile, abundant, shiny. You cut crops then, both because the moon helped the field workers see AND because the grow cycle, as all is connected, is at its peak. Just google farmers almanac and full moon for more on these old folk ideas. It's really beautiful and will undoubtedly connect you to someone in your family (we all come from agricultural roots in this country) maybe only a generation or two back.
The full moon in May, known as Flower Moon or Taurus Moon, is also known as Lunar Beltane. It's time to celebrate the growth aspect--union of man and woman and the converging fertility as result--but with the moon as your starting point. The moon lights up the dark. The feminine aspect, as the Chinese teach with Yin, is the flow aspect inside every person, it is that which cant be contained. It is the dark or pureness of void-potential, or to my liking, where the light of gnosis or Knowledge makes its entry point. Yang, the male energy in each person, is solid, concrete, manifesting. To this one person's way of thinking, this application is how to capture just some of the celebration of Life using old folk holidays as a guide. We use our consciousness or doing-aspect of Yang to find the Stillness in there, the moving beating constant of presence which is Yin. At the conjuct of Yin-Yang is your own Holy Thou in the center. My intention from there is to be happpppyyyy about Life, and that all of Life may Beee Happpyyy, too. As within. So without. Amen amen amen.
May 12, 2011
A pause in our path.
I surprised Erika on Tuesday.
I surprised myself even, driving 97 southbound on my way towards Annapolis, route 50, and eventually the Bay Bridge. The hour and forty minute straight shot that follows once I'm over the Chesapeake Bay--route 50, Ocean Gateway--of Maryland's Eastern Shore, its farmland expanse that finally levels out at the Atlantic Ocean and the beach.
Instead of straight and eager to get home, without even thinking about it I found myself easing in to the exit lane off 97, same one I used to take when I was in high school and lived with Sean and my mom. Less than three minutes from where I grew up there I stood, knocking at my writing partner's front door, sure she was home because the overhead light was on in the kitchen and a sippy cup was on the table. Erika's hair was wet from the shower, her nose stuffed from a cold and still her signature bright-face and grin opened the door.
It was a good visit. We moonbounced with two of her kids and one of her nephews. We shared lunch and breif conversation with her husband's parents. And we shared the quiet, the skinny hungry quiet behind our shiny eyes. That specific straggled desperation only a writer knows, the secret look that says I've been too long away from the words.
The soul has a funny way of talking, and for regular readers of this blog I dont need to say that it is soul speak I pay most close attention to. A few weeks ago my spirit spoke with a language so palpable that it moved me and my heart the way music or the ocean flow does, a surge so strong and real I had to listen. Why go, it said, when the sun is back again? I called Erika before I even thought it all the way through--this automatic yes my heart had instantly sung. And so it was Yes, we agreed, pushing back my departure for the road until August, and following the warmth and the sun west at the end of our high season here. It only seemed to make good sense.
Changes in my life are always accompanied by extra meditation and quiet-time. It's a habit, built on years of practice. I am a firm believer that readying my own well of wisdom and peace--that inner reserve--takes attentive commitment. Like the Buddhists say, it is something which I must always Begin Again, to which I must be always willing to return. To hear my soul speak requires the fine, mysterious alchemy of the present moment. I have a choice, but that choice is minute. It involves the business, merely, of showing up. The readiness to be present .
And so thankfully, everything since my choice to stay has fallen easily in to place.
Everything, that is, except the words. The words, I knew, would take some gentle easing of my self and my sensibilities. Blog about that, Erika said on Monday when we were together. I will, I told her. But it is not me to credit for this idea, the idea of being where we are at, and how actually surrendering to our present position is the precise action necessary to catalyze the energy of change. This is from the Taoists. My old friend Charlotte, from Colchester Farm, is the one who used this metaphor:
Picture a stream gently flowing through the woods. The water moves slowly and peacefully along, according to its own flow. Eventually it encounters a fallen log. Rather than fighting or rushing over it, the water pools. It gains momentum in its state of non-action. Eventually the water gathers so much a reservoir of itself that with no effort whatsoever it simply flows right over its obstacle. It passes the log from the power it generated by merely staying still.
Making even a pause in our path or flow a sacred, mighty thing.
I surprised myself even, driving 97 southbound on my way towards Annapolis, route 50, and eventually the Bay Bridge. The hour and forty minute straight shot that follows once I'm over the Chesapeake Bay--route 50, Ocean Gateway--of Maryland's Eastern Shore, its farmland expanse that finally levels out at the Atlantic Ocean and the beach.
Instead of straight and eager to get home, without even thinking about it I found myself easing in to the exit lane off 97, same one I used to take when I was in high school and lived with Sean and my mom. Less than three minutes from where I grew up there I stood, knocking at my writing partner's front door, sure she was home because the overhead light was on in the kitchen and a sippy cup was on the table. Erika's hair was wet from the shower, her nose stuffed from a cold and still her signature bright-face and grin opened the door.
It was a good visit. We moonbounced with two of her kids and one of her nephews. We shared lunch and breif conversation with her husband's parents. And we shared the quiet, the skinny hungry quiet behind our shiny eyes. That specific straggled desperation only a writer knows, the secret look that says I've been too long away from the words.
The soul has a funny way of talking, and for regular readers of this blog I dont need to say that it is soul speak I pay most close attention to. A few weeks ago my spirit spoke with a language so palpable that it moved me and my heart the way music or the ocean flow does, a surge so strong and real I had to listen. Why go, it said, when the sun is back again? I called Erika before I even thought it all the way through--this automatic yes my heart had instantly sung. And so it was Yes, we agreed, pushing back my departure for the road until August, and following the warmth and the sun west at the end of our high season here. It only seemed to make good sense.
Changes in my life are always accompanied by extra meditation and quiet-time. It's a habit, built on years of practice. I am a firm believer that readying my own well of wisdom and peace--that inner reserve--takes attentive commitment. Like the Buddhists say, it is something which I must always Begin Again, to which I must be always willing to return. To hear my soul speak requires the fine, mysterious alchemy of the present moment. I have a choice, but that choice is minute. It involves the business, merely, of showing up. The readiness to be present .
And so thankfully, everything since my choice to stay has fallen easily in to place.
Everything, that is, except the words. The words, I knew, would take some gentle easing of my self and my sensibilities. Blog about that, Erika said on Monday when we were together. I will, I told her. But it is not me to credit for this idea, the idea of being where we are at, and how actually surrendering to our present position is the precise action necessary to catalyze the energy of change. This is from the Taoists. My old friend Charlotte, from Colchester Farm, is the one who used this metaphor:
Picture a stream gently flowing through the woods. The water moves slowly and peacefully along, according to its own flow. Eventually it encounters a fallen log. Rather than fighting or rushing over it, the water pools. It gains momentum in its state of non-action. Eventually the water gathers so much a reservoir of itself that with no effort whatsoever it simply flows right over its obstacle. It passes the log from the power it generated by merely staying still.
Making even a pause in our path or flow a sacred, mighty thing.
May 5, 2011
May 4, 2011
Lunar Beltane. One Love Perspective.
Google or bing have brought 12 hits to my blog in the past four days via the search words lunar, beltane, or new moon.
It got me to thinking. When I was younger growing up at the beach in the summer there was a certain kind of local beach rat. A morph of Slayer/punk rock kids who got drunk, got in fights, cussed out tourists and in general were rotten menaces as well as some of my favorite people. I started smoking in the alleys off the sand with them at like age 11, and stealing beer before we could drive. No matter how hard core though, regardless the drunk middle of the night piercings at the skate shop downtown or the kids-from-pennsylvania's-house someone stole all that pot from, no matter who you are or were or how you define yourself, the beach makes it so you can't escape the one mighty power bigger than you.
I mean, at the end of the day isn't that what we're doing living here? O holy ocean, where I watch and learn consistancy: all that is rises and falls--every day there is the sameness inside of change.
I was coming off acid, I was 18, I was sitting in the dunes at the surf spot on 48th and the high itchy grass was squiggling up my legs. The sky was grey and big stretching in a way that I could actually feel: there was a pull to it, as if the energy was getting collected for something.
Days later came a hurricane that I first saw written in the sky.
LSD or not, it is a bottom line: all things are connected. This isn't mythical, magical, political or sacrilege. It simply Is. The same as certain foods give the ecology of your body heart burn or make you sleepy or fill you with fuel, this is the same as the ecology of the earth and its cosmos. The house on your street delivers water to you from a local treatment facility, that water came once from the sky, where it was sucked up on the air out of the respiration process of the trees. The trees in your yard, the farm field with feed corn growing a mile from here, they wither or wilt or become buoyant and green from the chemicals that enhance them and the hydrogen and oxygen molecules coming in and out of Your lungs, from the heat and light energy, the mineral and vitamin full fuel our life system calls the sun. The new diner on the block with the sewer grate under the tire where you park and the pigeon picking at the gum wrapper on the cement outside, those runny underdone eggs on your plate and the potatoes with not enough salt--out of the chicken- feed pecked off the earth, the tubers grown in dark dirt, the eggshells full of calcium that will add nutrients back to the land...so you are, so you sustain.
From the oneness amoebic with gills for respiration we rose up, and back to the oneness each and every one of us, regardless our after life beliefs, will go back. And the larger secret: Of the Oneness, we still are. There need be no other truth than this, indeed to this grl it is simply Sacred as it gets. We are one we are one we are one, at the end of the day chemically, molecularly, with skin trained to catch a back draft of spring wind or eyes only set on the tv, we are one.
So to be a wild woman, to be one versed or with inherent or even learned understanding of this oneness is to be of the wise woman ways. It means the ego, that funny neuron-fired lapse of luckiness that makes one aware so deeply of his own belly button hole, really in the grand rapid flash of all things gets no more than a milisecond of say.
That sans the wirey brain's programming, the negotiations with yourself through whatever routines or practices or beliefs required, unnecessary, there is the still place, same as the trees or the earth, the pigeons or the chickens, the farm fields or the ocean, and it is within. It is the same, but different, no more or less an impact though. Each a microscopic sliver of the holy whole.
There is no truth that is single, single truths eliminate every other part.
The ocean teaches this: the way the waves rise high, run in a certain direction, come with a specific wind. She will tell you the weather if you learn to train you nose, your eyes, your skin to be open to such things. How the tides roll so fat and wide, a roll I always feel in my stomach, when the moon is closer and closer to full. The moon with the magnetism so strong she pulls at the water, pulls at the water which is part of the very blood, of the very magnetism you generate inside and outside of you.
There is no truth that is alone, there is only the All, that Is. Our funny human ways of up and down within this process.
It is hailing out right now, ice balls popping like movie popcorn off the green bucket of my front lawn. The air is buoyant in how it sits and lifts, and cool when it shafts in on a breeze. So oneness is: a process. All things are, all that is, Is.
In the middle of the night, Monday into Tuesday May 17, the moon will be at her fullest, right around one in the morning here on the East Coast or four in the morning out West. She will reflect totally the light heat magnetism of the sun, who is in the part of the sky that long ago was named Taurus. This part of the whole, Taurus the Bull, brings to us a fixed but charging energy meant to bring matter in to form. Your deepest yearnings will be about how to manifest--your deepest pangs will come from resisting the building process. Not going, in other words, with the flow.
The light will shine brightly on all that is. Beltane is the conjunction of spirit and flesh: bringing Life in to forms you can see. As the moon readies and reaches her peak (only to diminish and disappear again) what is it, from within, you will see?
It got me to thinking. When I was younger growing up at the beach in the summer there was a certain kind of local beach rat. A morph of Slayer/punk rock kids who got drunk, got in fights, cussed out tourists and in general were rotten menaces as well as some of my favorite people. I started smoking in the alleys off the sand with them at like age 11, and stealing beer before we could drive. No matter how hard core though, regardless the drunk middle of the night piercings at the skate shop downtown or the kids-from-pennsylvania's-house someone stole all that pot from, no matter who you are or were or how you define yourself, the beach makes it so you can't escape the one mighty power bigger than you.
I mean, at the end of the day isn't that what we're doing living here? O holy ocean, where I watch and learn consistancy: all that is rises and falls--every day there is the sameness inside of change.
I was coming off acid, I was 18, I was sitting in the dunes at the surf spot on 48th and the high itchy grass was squiggling up my legs. The sky was grey and big stretching in a way that I could actually feel: there was a pull to it, as if the energy was getting collected for something.
Days later came a hurricane that I first saw written in the sky.
LSD or not, it is a bottom line: all things are connected. This isn't mythical, magical, political or sacrilege. It simply Is. The same as certain foods give the ecology of your body heart burn or make you sleepy or fill you with fuel, this is the same as the ecology of the earth and its cosmos. The house on your street delivers water to you from a local treatment facility, that water came once from the sky, where it was sucked up on the air out of the respiration process of the trees. The trees in your yard, the farm field with feed corn growing a mile from here, they wither or wilt or become buoyant and green from the chemicals that enhance them and the hydrogen and oxygen molecules coming in and out of Your lungs, from the heat and light energy, the mineral and vitamin full fuel our life system calls the sun. The new diner on the block with the sewer grate under the tire where you park and the pigeon picking at the gum wrapper on the cement outside, those runny underdone eggs on your plate and the potatoes with not enough salt--out of the chicken- feed pecked off the earth, the tubers grown in dark dirt, the eggshells full of calcium that will add nutrients back to the land...so you are, so you sustain.
From the oneness amoebic with gills for respiration we rose up, and back to the oneness each and every one of us, regardless our after life beliefs, will go back. And the larger secret: Of the Oneness, we still are. There need be no other truth than this, indeed to this grl it is simply Sacred as it gets. We are one we are one we are one, at the end of the day chemically, molecularly, with skin trained to catch a back draft of spring wind or eyes only set on the tv, we are one.
So to be a wild woman, to be one versed or with inherent or even learned understanding of this oneness is to be of the wise woman ways. It means the ego, that funny neuron-fired lapse of luckiness that makes one aware so deeply of his own belly button hole, really in the grand rapid flash of all things gets no more than a milisecond of say.
That sans the wirey brain's programming, the negotiations with yourself through whatever routines or practices or beliefs required, unnecessary, there is the still place, same as the trees or the earth, the pigeons or the chickens, the farm fields or the ocean, and it is within. It is the same, but different, no more or less an impact though. Each a microscopic sliver of the holy whole.
There is no truth that is single, single truths eliminate every other part.
The ocean teaches this: the way the waves rise high, run in a certain direction, come with a specific wind. She will tell you the weather if you learn to train you nose, your eyes, your skin to be open to such things. How the tides roll so fat and wide, a roll I always feel in my stomach, when the moon is closer and closer to full. The moon with the magnetism so strong she pulls at the water, pulls at the water which is part of the very blood, of the very magnetism you generate inside and outside of you.
There is no truth that is alone, there is only the All, that Is. Our funny human ways of up and down within this process.
It is hailing out right now, ice balls popping like movie popcorn off the green bucket of my front lawn. The air is buoyant in how it sits and lifts, and cool when it shafts in on a breeze. So oneness is: a process. All things are, all that is, Is.
In the middle of the night, Monday into Tuesday May 17, the moon will be at her fullest, right around one in the morning here on the East Coast or four in the morning out West. She will reflect totally the light heat magnetism of the sun, who is in the part of the sky that long ago was named Taurus. This part of the whole, Taurus the Bull, brings to us a fixed but charging energy meant to bring matter in to form. Your deepest yearnings will be about how to manifest--your deepest pangs will come from resisting the building process. Not going, in other words, with the flow.
The light will shine brightly on all that is. Beltane is the conjunction of spirit and flesh: bringing Life in to forms you can see. As the moon readies and reaches her peak (only to diminish and disappear again) what is it, from within, you will see?
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