Pantheist Prayer Place

[cheddarsox]

I'm starting this virtual altar for pantheists to play their praise, prayers, thoughts, problems, etc.

[airmist]

In Winter a small hard bud forms, hardly visible;
In Spring a small delicate green leaf grows;
In Summer the full, green leaf is feeding its tree, providing shade to others,
and helping turn CO2 into O2;
In Autumn, the leaf is through, beautiful as its real color is displayed, it dies, drifts
down in a magnificent display of finish to go back to its roots, fertilizing its tree.

Step back and see not one leaf, but many on its branch;
Step back and see not one branch, but a full tree of many branches and leaves;
Step back and see not one tree, but a forest of many;
Step back and see a world of trees and leaves.

May I live my life as fully and completely as that leaf.

[Earthy]

Water wash over me,
Cleanse me and make me anew,
Wash away my fears and doubts,
Take my sadness away with the tide.
Let the oceans power surge through me,
And help me to find the power within myself.

[cheddarsox]

Things are what they are,
sharp or soft,
dark or light,
weak or strong.
Sometimes they are both at once.
But the opposites do not cancel out one another.
We do not live in a tepid universe,
but one rich with intensity.
Balance is a point we swing through,
As we whirl through spacetime.
But like a top we tumble,
when we slow down or stop.

[cheddarsox]

I'm missing the forest for the tree.
The one tree.
Who is missing the sunshine,
for flirting with the lumberjack,
And I need to be struck by lightening,
so I will stop my obsessive focus,
and open myself up to the forest,
and take part once again.

[cheddarsox]

pantheism is the petal soft protest that surges in the heart, when I declare "I am alone" and the swell of the universe suggests otherwise.

[cheddarsox]

"Hurry! it's changing every minute!" she called, not wanting me to miss a moment of the sunset.
And it was, each second more beautiful than the next.
Breathless we watched for several minutes,
till it faded into lilac bliss.
I turned. The very air was alive with light.
The very air.
I walked through the watery magic of it,
watching the rabbits nibble grass,
Until it faded into aqua,
I turned, the moon was rising,
A ruby grapefruit pushing it's way into the sky...
30 minutes later, it was bright white on blue black,
shrunken to more conservative proportions,
I turned,
Mars winked at me, red, white, blinking...
The constellations wheeled overhead,
Bats hunted near the yard light,
coons chittered under the persimmon tree.
Hurry! It's changing every minute.
The universe calls for us to take time to notice,
before we fade into bliss.

[airmist]

We shall not cease from exploration
and the end of all our exploring
shall be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time.
--T. S. Eliot

The more I seek, the less I know,
the more I connect, the safer I feel.

[peggyelizabeth]

In a moment
the pulse quickens;
the wind picks up;
a child laughs;
lightning strikes;
everything changes.

In a moment
everything will change again, and yet...

[airmist]

Days and seasons, waters and winds, planets, moons, solar systems and galaxies
circles and cycles-as atoms and cells-so tell me
am I but an anomaly living a straight line from birth to death-an asteroid of humanity?

The reality of all tells me no-I do not understand-but I believe and part of that is I simply don’t understand you-and that is comfortable. I need to be.

So I will watch, be, participate and accept, not always with understanding, circles, cycles, pains, joys, life.

[cheddarsox]

I didn't set the alarm
but it went off
I crawled out of bed
thought I may as well see the end of the meteor shower
it was cold and damp out
I found a dark corner of the yard
Orion was mostly blocked by trees
grumble, grumble
I only saw three meteors
but while I lay there shivering
I heard the owls calling to one another in the wood
finding each other in the darkness
moving as a pair through the trees
ensuring the next generation of owls
it doesn't matter what wakes me up
only that I am willing to be wakened

[airmist]

The moon is now waning
the light is at its least
the temperature cools
the leaves are almost gone.

The season of harvest is at an end
the season of quiet/death/germination is here
and will engender life.

The embers of a love still glow
enough to burn
but provide no heat
and seem to be taking long to die.

It is all the same but
much easier to know than to feel-
so I will sit with the seasons and know,
if not feel, it will return.

[cheddarsox]

I don't believe in spirits.
And yet....
I rose again to a burning candle
after I had blown them out.
And I feel them hovering around me,
when I light the copal.
And I feel them asking for sustenance,
and thanking me for remembering.
And since I have opened my home,
I will try to open my heart.
To the message that they bring me,
to the puzzlement.
I believe in What Is,
and if they are, they are.
and if they are, they are.

[cheddarsox]

Today I viewed where Midas walked,
Woods afire with gold and sun.
And every tree he brushed by,
glinted and shone and spangled.
Others were red with the blood of martyrs,
shed so the full splendor of their Lord might show.
So royal were the woods this day,
So flaming, pulsing, many hued.

To walk there was to trod on a splendid carpet,
woven in every shade of red,
threaded with gold,
scrolled in saffron, ochre and scarlet.

And I was humbled, because I know their show is not put on for me.
They are just as stunning when I am not there to view them.
And though I am not an invited guest,
They are gracious hosts,
and welcome me to their buffet of splendor,
They know that my pleasure does not rob them of their glory.
And though they take my breath away, I cannot steal their soul.

Something inside me was turned to gold,
but molten.
It leaked from my eye,
perhaps mistaken for a tear,
brought by the strength of the sunshine
playing off every golden leaf.

[cheddarsox]

Under the mourning moon

Full bright
I watched it set blue and cool as the sun warmed the opposite horizon orange and pink.
And I considered if I have griefs that it is time to put to rest with that moon, and hopes that I can let rise with that sun.
Or do I need to hang on, and hold back a little longer...till the next full moon,
or for another trip around the sun.
Am I ready to open my heart again?
Am I ready to dry my eyes?
And I felt very much caught between those two breathtaking possibilities,
paralyzed, and awestruck and breathless.
I could not decide, I could only marvel.
And I went into work, and night became day, and the opportunity was missed...but I may try again, tonight...or tomorrow morning.
And I might take a deep in breath, and let it all out.
And I might be braver than I dare to hope.
Or I may set up camp, and pray...
under this mourning moon.

[cheddarsox]

Talking about it never fixes anything
We hold the solutions inside ourselves,
something in us knows,
but is scared, or selfish, or hoarding it for a rainy day.
And we won't release the passion and softness inside us,
and let it flow.
The collected passions and fluidity in all of us,
could surely move every boulder out of the path,
or easily flow around them.
But that little bit of power we can manifest in holding back is ours,
and the gush or power in a group is shared,
and sometimes...sometimes,
we cannot bear to be just another face in the crowd.

[cheddarsox]

It isn't just the sun...
That lets me know the season.
The pattern of the night sky cries Winter!
The scent of the ground when I walk in the yard.
Wood smoke on chill air,
the sudden sweet breath of the autumn olive that hasn't relinquished it's blooms.
Tangerine oil on my hands, the silence of the night,
that is only broken by hooting owls, and deer walking ankle deep in leaves.
My entire being knows that winter is approaching,
I grab a few minutes of sun during lunch break,
I pull the blanket higher at night.
And inside me something akin to panic awakens,
as the rest of me seeks hibernation.
Will I make it this year?
did I lay enough aside to carry me through..
this season when my soul, like the earth, is laid bare.

[cheddarsox]

What I was told...was that life is supposed to feel better than this.
But this is the way it feels.
If I refuse to feel this way,
I miss out on life,
the only life I have.
Sometimes it feels awesome, sometimes scary, sometimes uncomfortable.
But all these things are life.
Are what it is.
If I insulate myself I miss it,
the only life I have.
Something in me cries "it's not supposed to be this way!"
But it is not my voice, it is voices of things I have swallowed, too easily,
pills that promised to make me feel better, or make me not feel at all.
Something in me cries, "it's not supposed to be this way."
But this is the way it is.
And when I let myself experience it...
it is amazing, in spite of my fear, in spite of my discomfort.
And my faith is reconfirmed.
It is what it is.

[cheddarsox]

Each annum is punctuated by "New Years"
No matter what the calendar says,
we choose our own start and end dates,
Some anniversaries are thrust upon us,
of moments we will always remember,
of horrors we can never forget.
How many times have I made resolutions
in this past orbit round the sun,
How many mornings have I "started over",
Or woken in the night and vowed "never again"?
but the calendar will make it official,
by giving the year a new name.
A name is harder to break than a resolution,
because we are reminded, each time it is used,
that we are not who we were,
that we are someone different.
Rather than a resolution,
I will choose a name,
and each moment,
I will live up to it.

[cheddarsox]

Between, Betwixt.
A threshold of sorts,
Not a celestial event,
but a pause.
An invitation
to look in, rather than up.

This is a bleak time of year,
even the last brown leaves
that clung in January,
have been blown away by a savage wind
washed away by a deluge of rain.
The yard is more mud, than hope.

Only the maples are brave enough to flower,
to unpack the treasures they wrapped up tight
in the abundance of summer,
they throw them to the wind,
and expose them to the rain.

I feel my own angst swelling,
forcing its way throught the layers I've protected myself in.
It is time to break out,
An act of faith.
That the sun will return,
that the soil will nourish.

A branch was broken in last weeks storm,
My daughter noticed that it was wet and sticky.
The sap is rising,
in the maple,
and in me.

Last month I was frozen in place,
But today I am moving in a new direction,
Because I alter with the seasons,
and respond to the pulse of nature within and without,
I stretch toward the springtime,
I branch where I've been broken.

I am grateful for sap that rises, for buds that burst,
for the irresistible thrust of life,
for the gentle tilt of the planet that brings me round again,
to a season in which to grow.

[Windsmith]

I am child of the stars
There's part of me that comes from Mars
I am a child of the sunlight
And of the silver moon with darkness bright
And I am wondering
How to say "Thank you" for everything.

I am a child of the Earth
The egg and sperm that gave me birth
I am a sister of the four winds
And of the spark that coaxes all life to begin.
And I am learning
How to say "Thank you" for everything.

I am a child in the rain
I have known pleasure and known pain
I have friends and a family
But I have known alone and so lonely
And I am ready
To say "Thank you" for everything.

No need for deities have I
When I have Earth and sea and sky
My celebration is for All That Is
Although it never asks for anything
And this is my song
That says "Thank you" for everything.
For everything
For everything

[cheddarsox]

Spring hesitates...
And so do I.
Not yet sure if it is our time to arrive,
to take control of the situation and color it our way.
Spring gives...and takes away.
Coaxes the fruit trees to blossom,
so she can freeze them bitter brown in a night.
Calls the frogs out of hiding,
yet witholds the life bringing rain.
I am such a Spring,
of contradictions.
I run hot, cold, sunny, cloudy, windy, calm
all in a day.
I put forth my hopeful sprouts,
only to have my blooms frozen in the night.
I make promises
that I do not keep.
Tonight the hopeful frogs are singing,
while the winter owl calls fretfully in the wood.
Tonight my aching bones beg for sleep,
while my racing brain resists the peace of slumber.
What I love in the morning, I am tired of by noon.
My blooms bring joy, and hayfever.
It is early yet for Spring, she is not due for another week.
I feel overdue, burdened with the weight of what was once longed for,
just wanting to be done with it.
Spring will come,
there will be a last frost,
the world will erupt in countless shades of green.
I will arrive as well,
surprised by my own glory.
wondering what I was waiting for.
Yet tonight, still...I wait.

[Windsmith]

Today is so blah I
can't even work up the energy
to be depressed.

This, too, is part of All That Is
But it sucks.

[cheddarsox]

Some things are subtle,
but their effect is not insignificant.
Though I may not see you,
still you are there.
My ability to perceive
does not alter the truth,
it alters my behavior,
it alters my mood.
I may shout at the sky,
"something has eaten the moon, stolen it! Is nothing sacred?"
but the swell of the tide tells me you are there.
Nothing has eaten the moon,
you are rolling over in your orb,
making a necessary adjustment,
Everything is sacred.
Even when I cannot see,
Even when I cannot perceive,
Even my doubt,
it is sacred.
It alters my behavior and mood,
just as surely as the moon.

[cheddarsox]

"What is the point of living?" they ask me, "if there is no afterlife?"
"Why don't you kill, steal, rape?" they ask, "since you don't think you'll be punished for eternity."

I don't understand their way of thinking.
Maybe there is no point to life, other than living! That's a pretty big motivator for me...all the possibilities, all the things to do, experience, and see.
"Why do you love your dog?" I ask, "since you know you won't have it forever."

Is not a thing MORE precious because it is limited, rare?

I don't kill, steal and rape, because I am not inclined to, because I enjoy living in community, because I think that things are better for everyone if we don't act that way. I can't control the behavior of others, but I can control my own.

Today...I did her work while she "Praised the Lord!" out loud...talking about church with her friends, about the upcoming Gospel concert. I was asked to give to a church fund raiser. She came in late in the morning, late from break...I covered for her. The one who wouldn't talk to me for weeks, bows her head over her lunch each day. I was invited to the Gospel concert. I listen to them sing hymns.

They pity me because I have no God, no reason to live, no reason to behave.

"We're not perfect, we're forgiven!" they share a high five, then bend their heads close to whisper about their neighbor.

I guess when you are saved, it doesn't matter how you live now, you have all of eternity to look forward to.

They feel sorry for me because I am not saved, because I will not share eternity with them and their curious God.

I am not sorry, a life well lived is enough for me.

[cheddarsox]

Pantheism embraces the whole enchilada, including the heartburn.

[LadyCelt]

I don't consider myself to be an all out pantheist but.....

Thank you to the seasons and what they bring. The changes around me and within who I am. The challenges and the inspiration they bring. And, thank you to the elements for doing this and your work within the seasons as well.

~LadyCelt

[cheddarsox]

Dear Universe,

Yesterday I was listening to the radio.
Some people said that because some things were too complicated for them to understand, that meant the Universe wasn't capable of manifesting them, therefore, their God must be real, because only their God is powerful enough.

That made me really mad.

Because everyday, there you are, doing amazing things, showing yourself, and instead, they refuse to accept you on your terms and instead give credit for all you are to their God.

And I was shocked and horrified by the audacity of those people, to assume that because they don't understand you, you must not be as magnificent as you are.

And I know you are not a "you", but what word is there in our language, which rose out of a culture that exists in you, yet sees you not, to call you? A culture that cannot imagine anything grander than itself, to be anything except like itself? A culture than thinks it an indignity to accept that the grand force is NOT in their image.


Anyway, that gave me some good food for thought, and I realized that the first step toward understanding, for me, was when I realized that I am not the point of the Universe.

You are awesome.

[cheddarsox]

At the waterfall,
I saw the elements dancing together.
The sunlight warmed the rocks, and turned the spray into gold dust.
The air trembled and thundered, from the water below,
forcing itself through the labyrinth of boulders,
and the water above, burdening the clouds with its weight.
And all around plants sprang forth, from every crack, bowing in the sunlight,
reaching toward the water, drawing up sustenance from the earth.
I dipped my pendants in the rush of water between two boulders,
I hung my feet in the frigid flow.
And it was difficult not to slip off that boulder and go for a ride!
I wanted to be part of it.
Then a sunbeam struck my eye,
and I knew, I already AM part of it.

[cheddarsox]

This, and this, and this too, is life.
I am in the still, waiting for the storm.
That quiet point I pass through.
The quiet that unquiets me,
'get on with it', I think.

I don't see the plants growing,
yet every day there is more green, more shade, more biomass.
They are getting on with it.
Everyday I am more aged, more frail.
I am getting on as well.

"Who made you the pantheist pope?"
I've been asked, because I speak out about my faith.
I am not supposed to say what I believe is true,
because pantheism isn't "like that"
But I think there are truths, not just opinions.

The Minoans succumbed to a tsunami,
30 people at work lost their jobs today,
people are dying under the rubble in China,
washed away in mud in Myanmar.
I don't know what life is,
except this.

It is this.
I make a batch of cookies, that fixes nothing.
I curse my computer because I cannot get it to do what I want it to do.
I wonder why the UPS man didn't bring my roses,
I attend the funeral of a friend's mother.
I have no idea why I do any of this.
It seems pointless.

Then a friend sends a message and I realize I wrote her story in a novel years ago.
I don't know why, or how, but I did.
I wrote the story of a love that drives people.
To madness, fidelity, infidelity, tenderness, and a self knowing that only comes through interacting with others.
I search through my novels, because I expect I've written my story too,
and I want to know what to do next.

I wait in the still before the storm,
Gray straight drizzle has begun to fall.
Tomorrow will be greener, shadier, the plants fuller still.
I am part of this, my CO2 ads to their biomass.
I am someone to come home to.
I am a killer, a thief, a sharer.
Every story is true for someone.
And somedays, yes, I AM the pantheist pope.
I don't know why,
but this is life.

[mrsfoamy]

Spirit of Fire
Thank You for your gifts of strength and courage
though you now are a hungry and demanding spirit
Please accept that which you have consumed and depart
leaving behind your gifts of strength and courage
for those you have left in your wake
and for those of us spared
we give to you our awe and respect
and ask you to return only in our need

[cheddarsox]

Who knew?
That silence can reverberate.
I'm watching the echoes of it now,
forming ripples in every pool of my life.

There is no sound,
just the energy passing through every medium,
the air trembles,
the ground shivers,
my heart stops momentarily.

Everything seems transfixed,
waiting.
On this very ordinary day
You passed through again
in the form of a void that nothing has yet rushed in to fill.
You make yourself known by your absence.

Nothing lasts forever
in a Universe that is at play with itself.
The energy and matter always moving,
converting.
That is my eternity,
the promise that I will forever be in play
without the burden of being me.

[cheddarsox]

The Universe is not merely a thing, static and complete.
It is Process, dynamic and astounding.
Even as we study it, it changes.
Even as we come to know it, there is more to know.

I am not a point in space, but in time, in motion, in flux, in relation to everything around me.
I am a wave, a moment, a concept ever altered by the intelligence that needs no brain to contain or process it.
We are shimmering and flashing like electrons on this screen,
Pulsing.
We are part of Process, engaged in action even when we are still.
Never at rest, never complete,
Always engaged,
in Process.

[cheddarsox]

The sun,
is the most reliable thing I know.
Sometimes the earth quakes,
but the sun never trembles.
Not as far as I can see.

People tell me the sun will not always burn,
that a day will come when it's fire will alter in color and intensity,
that someday, it will collapse on itself.
That is what they say.

Who do I believe?
My experience of the sun as giver of life, sustainer of mood,
lover, heater, that which holds my planet stable it it's path.
Who do I believe?

What I know, or what "they"say?
I mark my hours and years by the sun.
I yearn for it, and it shares with me its riches, unconditionally.
Is that not the very definition of a god?

I am finite, and it is as real a constant as I will ever know.

For a finite creature, perhaps Ultimate Truth is not a necessity, but the sun...I cannot live without.

[cheddarsox]

When I would rise up and say "It's not supposed to be this way...not for me."
You remind me that this is the way it is.
Quiet power,
gently guiding me toward a richer life experience.
Toward a new understanding,
toward a humility that allows me to see farther and feel more deeply, because my ego is no longer blocking the view.

[airmist]

Talking to a friend outside
her dog lay at our feet in the warmth of the sun
he wagged (well-twitched) his tail if we looked at him
and we wondered how we too could be as comfortable
with who we were with where we were.

[cheddarsox]

Memo to the All and The Manner In Which the All Operates,

Wow!

A friendly reminder from your friendly neighborhood Pantheist,

humbled and grateful,

cheddar

[cheddarsox]

I watched the eclipse this morning,
streaming in real time from the other side of the globe.
The government had spent many millions of dollars to create an observation site.
Thousands had gathered from around the world in a remote part of the desert eight hours from the nearest airport.
They stood in 100+ degree heat and waited,
They oohed, ahhed, cheered and clapped at the event in the sky.
I watched at home, before I had to hurry to work.
I was awestruck, just as they were.
There were tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat.
At the beauty of the universe,
but maybe more so at the unity of the people, all of us gathered,
on site, or at our computers.
All of us gathered in recognition and response to something beyond ourselves.
Called together by something in us, that responds to something beyond us.
"These are my people." I thought.
It felt good to be one of them.
It was heartening to know what a company of people I belong to, who feel the pull so strongly they build, travel, plan, watch, save, work and cheer in unison at a celestial event.

We are not so far gone that we do not know where we come from, that we cannot hear the call.

[Windsmith]

This is one of those moments that makes me realize,
"The Cosmos is not fair." And
"The Cosmos is not about me."
One literal dodged bullet at 15
And now, 17 years and one messy divorce later,
Leukemia.
An undodgeable bullet.
And it just seems so terrible.
It makes me want to ask where I can apply for a redo,
Where I can appeal to cut a guy a break.

Still, I hadn't seen him in 10 years
Probably would've gone on not seeing him for another 10, 20, 30 more
And I wonder if what I'm feeling is grief
Or guilt

I think I'll pass on the "lesson" this time, thanks.
"Life's unfair and you get screwed" is not what I want to learn.
But I'll light a candle for you, James
And make a donation for your son.
I'll find the grief that's really grief;
I'll look around and see who else is missing

It's not about me, after all.

[Windsmith]

Sometimes I think I have the world figured out.
There are rich people, and poor people, and really rich people, and really poor people, and people in Kenya use pit toilets, and people in Wisconsin say "bubbler," and it's Winter in Australia.

And then CONvergence rolls around, and it turns out that people get together every month in Victorian garb for steampunk roleplaying.
And then the Olympics start, and it turns out that people move thousands of miles from home and do nothing but eat, sleep, and train in dorms with other people who do nothing but eat, sleep, and train.

This New Year's Day I saw the Mummers Parade in Philadelphia for the first time.
My friend went to an 8-hour wedding in Ethiopia.
Every Sunday there's a group of firefighters in the grocery store, talking and squabbling and buying beef like a big, hungry family.
At every turn, a window. Through every window, worlds I'd only guessed at. I can't get enough.

I don't know if other worlds have life. I don't know if there are other dimensions.
There are worlds enough and lives enough and dimensions enough on this world to keep me cheering all my life.

[cheddarsox]

The question was asked "who do you trust"
and I responded "I don't trust",
but I recant, because I trust the Universe.

At this hateful time of year, when everything seems stuck in place,
I trust the season will turn.
When I look up at the sky and can't see a star,
I know the haze will pass,
and the sun will rise.

When my body and mind check out on me when I need them,
I can just allow myself to be,
in the scheme of things, my schedules and deadlines mean nothing.
I can melt into the universal timeline and let it sweep me forward.

the plants curl from drought,
the yeast causes the bread to rise,
debris collects in crevices,
we create hiding places.

There is a place for everything,
in this world that brought it forth.
I don't have to find mine,
I am in it.
When I doubt that,
I am reminded.

[cheddarsox]

I don't always know what I am reacting to,
when I fall into a funk, or am walking on air.
This morning when I took the dog out, I looked straight up,
Through a hole in the trees, at the sky.
It's still there!
Cassiopeia was overhead, and my heart leapedt,
I haven't seen a recognizable constellation since we moved.

I used to tell time by the stars, seasons by the stars,
I navigated my life by the stars.
I lay under them on warm nights,
I shivered under them as they fell around me on freezing pre-dawn mornings,
I held rituals beneath them as the years spun by.

Now I live in a woods, and the sky has been snatched from me,
and fires are a liability,
and there is no room to scratch my labyrinth in the earth and trustingly walk its path.
My plants struggle to find enough light to bloom,
and I empathize.
The squirrels laugh at me from the trees, and toss twigs at me.
This is their world.

I don't know where I am,
I don't know who I am,
I feel cut off from all I knew,
My sky, my pastures, my outcrops.
This is new territory, and I must learn new skills.
I gave up my sunshine for shadows, my wildflowers for leaf litter.

I am a part of Nature,
but I have my own nature as well.
I'm not sure I can thrive here.
I feel I am growing weaker and paler as I stretch toward the light,
my stem falls to the ground and is trampled,
and I have not flowered, nor left seed.
I don't know if I'll rise in the spring.

I thought..."I am intelligent, adaptable. I can make this work"
I didn't know how bound I was to a place,
how the sun and soil caused me to thrive.
I don't know if I can make this work.
I feel something slipping out of me,
I can't seem to take root.

I am hungry for home.

[cheddarsox]

Sometimes
We don't
get
what we
need.

That is
reality
as well.

Sometimes
We crumble
because
there is not
enough
glue
to hold
us together.

Not enough
attraction
authentic will
to keep
us
where we
seek to be.

The sound of
falling
is silence.
It is only
the hit
that makes
a sound.

I feel the wind
rushing
past my ears
but
I cannot
hear
myself
scream

[airmist]

Warm sun, blue sky, cooling air
reflecting moon, star light older than my race now watching it, the milky way, cold air

Less than 48 hours in rural Maine
eased a week of stress, fear, upset
gives me a future week of peace, contentment and gentleness
to share with others

[cheddarsox]

I caught them at their morning prayers,
Wrinkled tonsures exposed to the sun.
They had found the highest point on the property
and turned themselves to the West.
Their wings were raised in praise and need,
Their black feathers soaking in the warmth.
I was startled to find them there,
vulnerable and unashamed,
awkward in their snag of a tree.
As the morning sun climbed,
they flexed their bony shoulders,
waiting for the rays to warm the ground,
that they might ride the columns of rising air,
patient and grateful for its many gifts.
I realized that the worship has never ceased,
these many ages.
There is always something
grateful, needy and sincere,
basking in the sun,
feeding on its gifts,
turning toward it,
or away that they might feel its warmth on their backs.
I am one more link in this chain of unbroken gratitude.
No more or less aware than any other,
of my dependence and delight on sunbeams.
I joined them at their morning prayers,
My arms outstretched,
I stood upon a rock and felt
the warmth sink into my bones
and set my hair afire with tiny rainbows.
Around us the clovers unfolded,
the ants began another busy day,
fueled with the confidence that sunshine brings.

[cheddarsox]

No one had to teach me to see,
to hear, or taste, or smell, or touch.
No one had to introduce me to my intuition,
or show me how to laugh or cry,
or stand in awe, or weep with strong emotion.

They try to teach me magick,
that does not "take".
"you're not doing it right, you don't believe enough"
"you're not allowed to ask for that."
"have you offended the gods?"

They tell me magic is "shy",
that it requires attention, but not too much.
That it works, all the time, sort of, but
sometimes we don't notice the results.
They tell me to have my aura checked.

I have been told I work magick,
when I didn't plan to,
by making something happen,
that otherwise would not.
By doing what comes naturally,
to me.

It seems magick is not only shy, but sly.
Like a seed germinating,
Like summer that takes over,
while you were busy enjoying spring.
Like 10,000 ants that show up out of nowhere.

It's there all along,
doing it's thing, but we don't always notice it,
until it shakes us.
I cannot be taught, but honed.
Like the other senses.
we become more adept,
when we learn to pay attention.

[Windsmith]

So we stood, in the bedroom,
Two Witches with a new committment and a lot of uncertainty,
And we held each other's hands beneath the skylights, with the moonlight pouring in.
And we breathed.
In
Out
In
Out
Any minute now, one of us will say something
But nobody did
Instead we became an amphora of arms
And the space between us and inside us filled with moonlight
And when we were full, our circle was cast
We needed no gods
no spirits
no belief in anything
but four arms
and two heartbeats
And a space filled with moon.

[cheddarsox]

They are here!
It is time!
They come in every rustle of the leaves,
in the tempered "whoosh" of a match lighting,
In the rising of the sun,
and the falling of twilight's silent curtain.
They gather, feast, delight in what's been set for them.
They speak quietly but surely to our hearts.
I want to know what they know,
but they tell me they have forgotten,
forgotten the hardship that is earthly life,
they are busy remembering all that is good,
food, drink, the company of loved ones,
the coolness of water, and the warmth of fire.
It's sensual, this life.
Enjoy every good thing,
they say.
When you die, you will forget the hardships,
but it is the earthy things you will long for,
return for.
The scents, tastes, sounds of life,
everything solid that holds us fast to it.
I see their shapes forming in the smoke of the copal,
then in a breath they dissipate again.

[airmist]

Sitting in the cool morning watching it snow leaves
as it has done for longer than I can understand
I know it will continue to circle around
my short time be it minute day or life
Thank you for the returning new beginning.

[Windsmith]

The Cosmos
works
Not for those who wait
Not for those who work for themselves
Not in mysterious ways
The Cosmos just
works
in...ways.
Ways I don't understand,
but that surely make sense to somebody.
And this is
sad
When I want it to work in my favor
But mostly just
awesome
When I think about the fact that it works at all.

[cheddarsox]

confessions of an angry pantheist


People have said to me, they feel sorry for atheists on Thanksgiving, because they have no one to offer gratitude to.

That has never bothered me, but when I feel angry, I would like there to be a god to go to with my grievances. Someone to rail at, to rant to, someone who cared if I shook my fist at the sky.

Instead there is only the same earth, accepting my tears of frustration with the same indifference with which it soaks up rain, or piss, or a beer knocked over at a barbacue.

When I yell "this is not fair", I don't even get a shrug, or a "hmph"...just the stars shining in their brilliance, just the unbelievable fragile magic of fog crystallized to frost on each blade of grass and edge of leaf.

No, it is not fair that such misery and such astounding beauty are bursting my heart at the same moment, and I am frazzled, reacting to both at once, or numb, able to react to neither.

It is when I am angry that I miss a god, when I curse the Universe for it's beauty that will not let me give myself totally to misery. And I know that my anger is nothing, just another burst of energy in a storm of energy bursts. It amounts to nothing, and I am tempted to let it go, and that makes me angrier still. Because sometimes it feels like it is all I am...and I want to hang on, but the sunshine tempts me to let it go.

It is damnably hard for me to be angry with the sun.

[Windsmith]

At this very moment,
Someone just died.
Someone else was born
(several someones, from what the statisticians tell us)
Someone learned to ride a bike
Someone threw a plate in anger
Someone--
OK, lots of someones
Are having sex.

And it's not just humans.
Camels and caterpillars
Porcupines and platypi
Probably not throwing plates,
But birthing and deathing and everything betweening.

And probably not just here.
In reaches of the Cosmos that we don't know exist,
Primordial goop turns into lifeforms
Civilizations gasp their last.
A star is born, so far away we'll all be gone before the birth announcement gets here
Another star dies and gives birth to a black hole
And galaxies - well, you know galaxies;
They'll merge with each other at the drop of a hat!

Birth and death and life and transformation,
And the less things look like us
The more we see ourselves reflected in them
Everywhere
At every moment

If I can just hold on to this...
I am never alone.

[cheddarsox]

I have never believed in a humanity based "Grand Plan",
or that the universe has or will single me out for lessons, graces or curses.
I have never believed that everything happens for a reason, other than cause and effect.
I have never.
But today I am quaking in my sneakers because coincidence has caught me off guard.
Because history seems to be repeating itself with uncanny accuracy in my my life.
Because almost to the day, two years ago, I walked this path with another and found my heart ground to dust.
Is it me? In an attempt to heal the past, repeating the pattern, trying to make it turn out differently?
Is it me? hardwired to fumble, feel and fall at this time of year, just as the trees are programmed to bloom and the frogs to fill the ponds with eggs?
Is it me?
It is coincidence that precious things are taken from me on this date?
What is the message here? To move forward, or to stumble back.
There is no back, not really. Just new configurations. I am spiraling through a lesson again, a similar path, not the same path.
Like walking a labyrinth, it sometimes seems you are covering the same ground, but you are one step over and many steps closer to the center.
And even if history repeats itself, and if on Friday someone asks why I look as if I've lost my best friend...must the rest repeat itself as well?
I don't believe in Fate.
But ask me again on Monday.

[airmist]

Ah, it is time.
As a leaf falls, as an animal crawls into its final den,
as the day ends, as the seasons turn,
it is time for my father's spirit to pass over.
He has not gone yet, but it is time.

Spirits of ancestors and others, please welcome him.
Come to him, if you will, now, so that he knows he is welcome,
and that it is time.

[cheddarsox]

Summer Solstice (20009)


I stand beneath a lightening sky,
And the trees, they bend in glory.
Their leaves a flutter,
As they whisper and bob in prayer.
Their arms lifted, they hold their bounty,
their lush, lush bounty of leaves up to you.
They wave their fronds,
and welcome you.

In the distance the cocks, they crow.
Alerting all to the eternal truth.
The sun it rises,
Calls us to follow,
To begin our days.
Assured of it's illumination.

On this day, this longest day.
When summer's bounty feeds body and soul,
When we feel most knit together,
And take time to relax,
to dabble beneath the beauty,
picnic on the grass in the shade of a tree.
bedeck our homes with flowers,
and our table tops with fruit and vegetables fresh and healthy,
(On this day (this year/USA) we honor fathers,
Who's role is to protect, provide, and set the example
of honesty and diligence and strength.)

What is more honest, more diligent and stronger,
Than the sun?
Beaming us it's glory.
Steering our very planet,
Ruling our seasons,
In silent majesty,
It's sovereignty guaranteed,
Not because we recognize and honor it,
But because it is so,
whether we choose to recognize it or not.

I recognize and honor,
What small part of truth my cortex is able to comprehend.
What my body and it's system recognize
and respond to,
Without me choosing,
My primal inner sea an ever churning tumult,
powered by the sun.
My currents flowing in direct response
To the ebb and flow of light.
My skin absorbs the rays,
and they strengthen my bones.
My very bones.

Which allow me to stand straight,
Beneath a lightening sky.
And welcome another day,
The longest day of the year.

[cheddarsox]

As long as I live,
It would seem
My heart is subject to the dance of love.
I thought I was exempt
By age and circumstance.
That I could sit this one dance out
Smitten on the sidelines,
cup of punch and plate of cake balanced on my knees.
But he did come, appeared beside me,
The object of my heart's desire,
To bid me rise and bend and sway
Though I'd forgotten how.

And I did rise,
I found myself not demuring, nor refusing his offer,
but rising, Empty not for cake or punch,
but aching hollow inside for who he is
I rose.
And we were lovely together.
We were as lovely as any sunrise, or sunset.
I forgot about the sunset,
so taken was I with the
brilliance of our dance.

I lost sight of him in a crowded room.
The minstrels tuned,
then played our song,
but I caught only glimpses of him
I wondered where I had discarded my cup and plate
Wanting to return to them
and sit demurely on the fringe

All had been cleared away
while I was dancing
even the chairs themselves were arranged
in new configurations
There was no returning to the
periphery that I knew
THAT I knew.

I twist my hands
and feel shamed
no partner,
nor a chair
and I turn and see that he
is on the other side
the tilt of his shoulders
suggests bravado
Has he forgotten the damp excitement
of our hands meeting
the allure of bodies brushing
the thrill of the not so accidental "bump"?

I am too old for this
I murmur
Too old to feel like a young girl
my heart can't stretch like this
again
And yet it has, indeed stretched larger
than it could in youth
when love was lust, was heat, was dreams, was something to tell our friends
on Monday.

And I have years
to wonder why
he sidled up beside me
catching me off guard
with chocolates and laughter
and a heat
that melted a resolve
I didn't know I'd set in place.

And he is older yet than I,
In the disquiet of my mind
I flatter myself and believe
I roused in him expansive transformation
and that his muscles, if not his heart
are aching too,
for having moved
in ways they had forgotten.

The Universe has many ways of luring us to life.

[cheddarsox]

Before I come to gratitude
I pause to honor other things
this year has brought
for it was fraught
with things I did not choose.

I want to know if it's OK
to bring these other feelings here
to this day
that's set aside
for feast and celebration

It's cold and wintery inside
and out,I have a hollow.
A place inside
I cannot fill
with pumpkin pie
or football

Walk with me a minute
down this path
that I have trodden
through this year
of twists and turns
peppered with confusion

It seems there was no way but this,
or if there was, I did not know.
For there were blinders on my eyes,
my heart, my soul
were blind.

Today I come to table empty,
I bring a dish to pass,
Oh, I have stories I could tell,
but not the heart to share them.
This year gone by
has silenced me.
Itsilenced me,
for once.

This year has shown me
I know nothing
of love or loss or truth.
I rattle
but the sound you hear,
is the wind that blows
around me.

Silenced.
I am silenced.

If they press me I will say
I am thankful my heart's beating
but there were many times
this year
those words, they were not true

I bring myself to table,
my many lamentations
left behind me in my kitchen
in my car
and in my journals

I see no point in gratitude,
that has no heart behind it.
I will not make a mockery of this day
and it's traditions.

And so today I contemplate,
the year and all its chaos
and good runs through it like a thread
of gold
through quartzy matrix.

It took some mining to uncover
that for which I'm grateful.
I needed time to ruminate
and honor loss as well.
to recall terror,
hurt and shock
and contemplate their meaning.

If there is meaning in a year,
or in a moment
I don't know.
I walk bewildered,
yet I walk
They call this day Thanksgiving

In a year full of surprises,
this may be
the greatest of them all
that I approach this table
full of emptiness
yet grateful.

[TygerTyger]

The setting sun combined with the growing clouds to paint the sky with colours beyond and artist's pallette.

Seen between the naked fingers of a leaf-shorn tree, the full sun setting on a distant hill.

Too bright to look directly at, too dull to shine between the trees, the golden disc turned fiery orange could warm no more.

Except the beauty so fleetingly displayed.

[airmist]

Ahh, all that is, of which I am part, there are those I miss here, whose contributions added to my connection and enriched all that is.