“At around age six, perhaps, I was standing by myself in our front yard waiting for supper, just at that hour in a late summer day when the sun is already below the horizon and the risen full moon in the visible sky stops being chalky and begins to take on light. There comes the moment, and I saw it ten, when the moon goes from flat to round. For the first time it met my eyes as a globe. The word ‘moon’ came into my mouth as though fed to me out of a silver spoon. Held in my mouth the moon became a word. It had the roundness of a Concord grape Grandpa took off his vine and gave me to suck out of its skin and swallow whole, in Ohio.”
–Eudora Welty, One Writer’s Beginnings
A pale golden flame illuminates the suspended
billows of the forest. Star after star emerges,
where the moongold laps the velvet-soft shores
of dusk. Slowly the yellowing flame arises
like smoke among dark-blue depths. The
white rays of the stars wander over the move-
less, over the shadowless and breathless green
lawns of the tree-tops. Oh, would that I were
a star lost deep within the paling yellow flame
that illumes the suspended billows of the forest.”
— by “Fiona Macleod” (William Sharp), The Silence of Amor, Where the Forest Murmurs
Ideas ideas how they move when one is making kitchen magic and regains ground. Ok so maybe not one, maybe me.
New things to put into the Chicken Stock popped into my head and so after a google, in the case of a ‘real’ recipe, I created. A lot of the ingredients added in were again items relating or that could relate to banishing. It IS the full moon after all! I forgot how good it feels to create and to trust and then to eat in this manner YUM!
While following the moon, I was tapped gently and attention was directed to the moon goddesses prancing about for my attention. Specifically the one that led me to the J. Hoare glass container at the antique shop. She continued her introduction to me in the symbols cut into the jar itself and in those twined on the sterling lid. The jar had a sliver cracked out of the rim which then for price and for the slight imperfection sealed the deal for me as the shop owner and new friend laughed and smiled as I stated that I was going to put my witchy things into it. I am not a witch, it’s just somewhat simpler to state what I am as witchy than to explain for hours and days on end what I am. I got the jar at the new moon and then I felt let down as nothing specific came to me to do with it on that day.
Today as I plucked rosemary and thyme for in the soup I thought to weave some rosemary around it and then thought about getting moon water. I don’t do ‘spells’ or look for them usually but I searched the idea. Yes! Gathering rain water in the jar complete with silver and rosemary at the full moon! Uh huh it’s raining! Now dance! I shall have to do the nakey part in my head and in spirit–I’m in the city limits with an elderly highrise looking down at my front door. lol giggling at the thought of how stimulating and yet socially unacceptable that would be. Also found several home blessing craftings which are similar to the ones that I make up from my head. Spent time looking for two ingredients that I do not have and their uses and origins. Right back to that goddess. I don’t worship goddesses mutter mutter to self. Enjoy sound, I need to request a bit stronger rain to fill the jar now. 😉
I see or hear
that more or less
that leaves me
like a needle
in the haystack
It was what I was born for –
to look, to listen,
to lose myself
inside this soft world –
to instruct myself
over and over
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,
the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant –
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,
the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help
but grow wise
with such teachings
as these –
the untrimmable light
of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?”
– Mary Oliver
“From birth to death time surrounds us with its intangible walls. We fall with the centuries, the years, the minutes.
Is time only a falling, only a wall?
For a moment, sometimes, we see
not with our eyes but with our thoughts
time resting in a pause.
The world half-opens and we glimpse
the immaculate kingdom,
the pure forms, presences
on the hour, a river stopped:
truth, beauty, numbers, ideas
and goodness, a word buried
in our century.
A moment without weight or duration,
a moment outside the moment:
thought sees, our eyes think.”
– Octavio Paz
The Vessel is continuously in movement, fluid. A cup can only hold a limited and coveted amount. A vessel, like our human blood reminds us of the gift of constant fullness combined with constant motion, renewal and grace. Be Full!