I’m Being Followed by a Moon Shadow

ImageMoon shadow? Moon shadow.

She’s almost Full again, our beloved satellite. I posted a little thing on Facebook about today being Moon-day and I remembered how–on the long drive up here–the Moon seemed to be waxing even as we watched. A little bigger every time the cloud-cover shifted.

What is it about the Moon that seems so cool but also friendly?  Babies and little children love to wave at the Moon–that big Face in the sky that follows them wherever they travel.

My best friend in college used to blow a kiss to the Full Moon–for luck and love. I started doing that, too, and when my daughter came along we always looked for the Moon and Her phase and Her splendid face.

Those of you who have visited me table at festivals or come to one of my workshops know that my Village Witch self loves to give away miniature Moon Pies as park of my mountain witchery theme.

We know now that it isn’t made of green cheese after all but we still see a Man there, or a person with a bundle of sticks or a hare. We imbue this closest of planets with the power of myth and the lure of magic.

When I do my Deep Grounding workshop–which is coming up in September– one of the exercises I teach is a technique for capturing lunar energies for magical work. In my interfaith work, I met a woman from a California Indian tribe who explained that in her tribe –and others–the women didn’t work on the Full Moon but gathered in the sacred energy and recharged their batteries for the month to come.

I like the idea of recharging. After a month on the road, grounding and recharging seems like it is definitely in order.

Perfectly Beautiful Weather

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It has been cool and sunny here today–perfect weather for a gathering. There were elders here and a new baby and all of us who fall on the in-between of that spectrum of good life.

Food was eaten and enjoyed and stories were shared and tales that everyone already knew were retold and enjoyed again. Blurry photos of people who are now Ancestors were peered at and small children who are now grandparents themselves were identified by their peers.

There was sadness and near-new grief. There was joy and the sort of ferocity that only an almost 3 year old can produce. Patient dogs were made over and then ignored, their toys borrowed by little humans.

Spiderman football happened in the backyard with running and shouting and the occasional tackle. When it came time to do the Photo, there was an army of plastic superheroes at the bottom of the steps reminding us of who we really are.

Who you really are, too.  As we face uncertain futures–but futures we know will be chockful of glad tidings as well as heartbreak–we need to remember that we are superheroes, too. Those people who feed their families and mow the grass. Who work hard and play hard and find ways to finally forgive.

Even if you aren’t wearing a bright cape or tights, you are doing yeoman’s work in your world. Bit by bit, story by story and life by life.

Well done, you.

On the Road Again

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No sooner had I landed here in the Homeland–avec chest cold and jetlag–when it was time to add some conditioner to my toiletries kit and hit the road again.

I’ll bet Willie uses conditioner.  I didn’t for three weeks because I got a shampoo with conditioner built in. Hahahahahaha.

First, let me boldly proclaim that I rarely get jetlag. The reason is I always sleep through long flights, waking long enough to eat the meal or snack and drink water so I don’t shrivel into a tiny Andean mummy.  But this trip was different and this flight was different.

My seat-mate was a cheery young man from Nebraska who is applying for medical schools and had been in London for a couple of months doing quair things like create glowing viruses. His family was from Nepal and we discussed folk magic and being Asian and the pressures of being an only child. And movies and books and…

You get my point. We talked a lot.

Then we watched movies. On a flight from London, you can watch approximately four of them. I watched “Oz” and “Jane Eyre” and Jack the Giant Slayer” and “Lincoln.”

So I didn’t sleep. I got back stateside with a chest cold and a monster case of jetlag. Not my perfect ending to a wonderful trip but still okay.

The evening after I arrived home–after delayed flights from Atlanta because of the weather–my daughter was coming home to see me and get her car inspected. She had a side-swipe accident on I-40. She’s okay, the other car is okay and everything is going to be fine. It wasn’t her fault–she was swerving to avoid an 18 wheeler that moved into her lane, apparently having not seen she was there.

So we spent some time on Friday getting that organized. We finished it up on Monday and she returned to her place to continue job-hunting. All was well until her phone died on Wednesday night, after she’d used that number for all the job applications she’d filled out.  So, Thursday morning, I got her a new phone, delivered it to Boone and continued from there to New York.

Where I am now. 

The house above is in Tennessee, not far from Laurel Bloomery, a sweet little town. I made some “through the hills” photos to remind myself of the beauty of this place that is my homeplace.

Helpful since I’m longing to return to either Scotland or northwest England (Cumbria) and live forever and ever and join the WI.

The Lights in the Valley Below

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Many evenings I have returned to my B&B before nightfall and have had the pleasure of watching the lights coming on in the houses below the Tor. This B&B sets on the foot of the Tor and overlooks the Chalice Well Gardens. The house was built on the site of Dion Fortune’s temple–one of the reasons I chose this spot.

Below the front garden is the White Spring and people are there all the time collecting water. Some of them are very matter-of-fact and some of them are as high as kites–and then there is everything in between.

Across the lane from the White Spring is a stone wall that holds a run-off pipe for the Red Spring–which lies inside the walled enclosure that is Chalice Well Gardens.

Towards the edge of the macadam lane there is a steady rivulet of water that rises up through the blacktop, finding its way to freedom down the edge of the road. Is it neither Red nor White, I wonder? Is that irrepressible bubbling forth the sign from Nature that water’s essence can’t be contained in myth or story but has to be experienced viscerally?

During my workshop today there was thunder and a wild few minutes of rain–this was repeated a few times. The room would cool and then warm up again and then cool. We even went outside at one point and enjoyed the fresh breeze from the walkway.

I leave here Monday for some time at the beach. I’ve really enjoyed Glasto, as they call it, more than I have at any other visit. I’ve had time to settle in, to get to know shopkeepers and the lay of the land.

And to enjoy those small golden lights stretched out like stars in the pastures and along the roads below my window.