It’s 59F and only a breaths of breeze wanders in the window occasionally…. very occasionally. Most of the air movement in my study is from the air purifier. It’s quite clouded over, but the forecast says it will burn off this afternoon.
Yesterday started awfully late for me and catching up on mail kept me until after 3pm. At that point I finally got started on the week’s newsletters. I’m going to have to do more on Friday, along with setting up the House Capuchin 2nd edition blog. I did get eveyrthing byt the Today’s Feast/Today’s Plant done, but it took until past 6pm, by which time we were getting ready for esbat. Tempus worked out in his shop, cleaning. Things like laundry should have happened, but didn’t.
We had a good, but short, esbat, then went across the street for supper. When we were finished we went back to the shop and worked on some of the projects that we’re trying to get finished before the weekend so that Sewing doesn’t have to run into the evening, which means that Marius doesn’t have to make another trip down.
Today’s Sewing is going to be short. It’s going to stop when we close unless someone that we don’t expect shows up. Otherwise it’s a normal shop day. I’ll be there pretty much by myself, but Tempus will be available if someone wants a reading.
Today’s Feast is the anniversary date of theHijri Calendar, the main religious calendar for Islam. Year 1 is our 622CE. It’s a lunar calendar, which means that the dates for the hajj and Ramadan and other celebrations shift around, compared to the solar-based calendars. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Islamic_calendar
Today’s plant is Western Red Cedar, Arborvitae plicata, which is not a cedar at all, but an Arborvitae. Arborvitae comes from the Latin for “tree of life” and coincidentally, native Americans of the West coast also address the species as “long life maker”. “Western Redcedar has an extensive history of use by the indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast, from Oregon to southeast Alaska. Some northwest coast tribes refer to themselves as “people of the redcedar” because of their extensive dependence on the tree for basic materials. The wood has been used for constructing housing, totem poles, and crafted into many objects, including masks, utensils, boxes, boards, instruments, canoes, vessels, and ceremonial objects. Roots and bark were used for baskets, ropes, clothing, blankets and rings.” Wiki article http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thuja_plicata – Masculine, Sun. Fire, – to enhance banishing of ill health and bad dreams. Burn for this purpose and purification and psychic power. Make a sachet for love or courage.
The shop opens at 11! Summer hours are 11am-7pm Thursday through Monday. Need something off hours? Give us a call at 541-563-7154 or Facebook or email at email@example.com If we’re supposed to be closed, but it looks like we’re there, try the door. If it’s open, the shop’s open! In case of bad weather, check here at the blog for updates, on our Facebook as Ancient Light, or call the shop.
Love & Light,
New Moon – The beginning of a new cycle. Keywords for the New phase are: beginning, birth, emergence, projection, clarity. It is the time in a cycle that you are stimulated to take a new action. During this phase the new cycle is being seeded by your vision, inner and outer. Engage in physical activity. Spend time alone. VISUALIZE your goals for the 29.6-day cycle ahead. The new moon is for starting new ventures, new beginnings. Also love and romance, health or job hunting. God/dess aspect: Infancy, the Cosmic Egg, Eyes-Wide-Open – Associated God/dess: Inanna who was Ereshkigal. Phase ends on 7/17 at 6:24am. Waxing Moon Magick – The waxing moon is for constructive magick, such as love, wealth, success, courage, friendship, luck or healthy, protection, divination. Any working that needs extra power, such as help finding a new job or healings for serious conditions, can be done now. Also, love, knowledge, legal undertakings, money and dreams. Phase ends at the Tide Change on 7/31 at 3:43am.
This evening, the faint asteroid 679 Pax should black out an 8th-magnitude star near the Sagittarius Teaspoon, as seen from a ground track from northern Idaho through Northern California, for up to 4 seconds. Track map, times, finder charts.
>>>>>> Don’t miss the waxing crescent Moon pairing up with Venus in bright twilight on Saturday evening, July 18th. The Moon here is positioned for the middle of North America. It’s drawn three times its actual apparent size.
Goddess Month of Kerea runs from 7/11 – 8/8
Celtic Tree Month of Tinne/Holly, Jul 8 – Aug 4
Runic half-month of Uruz/ Ur, 7/14-28 According to Pennick Ur represents primal strength, a time of collective action. A good time for beginnings! Pennick, Nigel, The Pagan Book of Days, Destiny Books, Rochester, Vermont, USA, 1992
©2015 M. Bartlett, Some parts separately copyright.
Celtic Tree Month of Tinne/Holly, Jul 8 – Aug 4, Tinne (CHIN-yuh), holly – The holly (Ilex aquifolium L.) is a shrub growing to 10 m (35 feet) in open woodlands and along clearings in forests. Hollies are evergreen, and stand out in winter among the bare branches of the deciduous forest trees that surround them. Hollies form red berries before Samhain which last until the birds finish eating them, often after Imbolc. The typical “holly leaf” is found on smaller plants, but toward the tops of taller plants the leaves have fewer spiny teeth. Hollies are members of the Holly family (Aquifoliaceae). The common holly is often cultivated in North America, as are hybrids between it and Asiatic holly species.
Graves (1966) and others are of the opinion that the original tinne was not the holly, but rather the holm oak, or holly oak (Quercus ilex L.). This is an evergreen oak of southern Europe that grows as a shrub, or as a tree to 25 m (80 feet). Like the holly, the holm oak has spiny-edged leaves on young growth. It does not have red berries, but it does have red leaf “galls” caused by the kermes scale insect; these are the source of natural scarlet dye. Holm oaks are occasionally cultivated in North America.
Tinne – Holly Ogam letter correspondences
Color: Dark Grey
Meaning: Energy and guidance for problems to come
to study this month – Ioho – Yew Ogam letter correspondences
Color: Dark Green
Letter: I, J, Y
Meaning: Complete change in life-direction or attitude.
Tides for Alsea Bay
Day High Tide Height Sunrise Moon Time % Moon
~ /Low Time Feet Sunset Visible
Th 16 High 12:47 AM 8.0 5:47 AM Rise 6:40 AM 0
~ 16 Low 7:44 AM -1.2 8:58 PM Set 9:10 PM
~ 16 High 2:13 PM 6.6
~ 16 Low 7:42 PM 2.1
Affirmation/Thought for the Day – I donate a portion of my time to helping others. It is good for my own health.
~ He had not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones, and leanness goes a great way towards gentility. – Elizabeth Gaskell (1810-1865) English writer
~ Failure to prepare is preparing to fail. – John Wooden
~ A hunch is a conclusion based on data that you didn’t know you had. – Robert A Heinlein.
~ Things work out for the best for people who make the best out of the way things turn out. – John R. Wooden
Looking out the window, into the chilly night;
I see the moonlight shining on the snow.
I look for my lover and hope he will come;
The moon goddess guiding him with Her light.
It’s frosty outside and I hope he dresses warmly,
I have hot apple cider and have made little cakes;
If he would prefer, I will give him Irish coffee.
I long to wrap my arms around him and warm him,
Lying together on the hearth rug in front of the fire,
Naked under the blankets; my lab will curl next to us.
There he is, standing under my window, waving.
He has a big smile but I can see his breath, so
It is getting colder and colder outside. The wind
Has started to howl, I must hurry and unlock the door.
Come in love, get warm in front of the fire.
I have been doing some baking, muffins and cakes;
But first hot soup and hot cider or coffee,
Laced with brandy or whiskey, your choice, my dear!
Here, get off your wet clothes. I have an old sweatsuit
Of yours that you can put on, freshly laundered.
Here are some towels to dry off, and your sweatsuit.
Change in front of the fire, while I ladle up your soup.
I made several kinds, it was too cold to go anywhere,
So I was feeling domestic, it kept me busy.
If we get snowed in…well! Another excuse to be here.
Here are the blankets, the fire is warm, music is on…
Let us toast the beginning of winter, and seal it
With a kiss, a cuddle, some tickling, and lots of laughter. © Copyright 10/05/05, Beth Johnson (Mystic Amazon)
Full Moon, August, Matagorda Beach
for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea. –e.e. cummings
The surf crashed against the shore, tumbling haphazardly over itself in its haste to steal a kiss from the sand. Overhead, the Full Moon’s radiance smudged the stars from the sky. The air had that salt-fish-sweatsocks smell that I remembered from childhood outings to this same beach, the Saturdays when my family would have an unofficial contest to see who could turn the most fetching shade of beet red.
A half-dozen women in various stages of undress formed a ragged circle in the water, drenched to the hips, hands joined. They swayed back and forth between the dual rhythms of drum and surf. Some were topless, the moonlight softening the outline of breast and hip. One woman wore a lovely crinkled cotton shift, having apparently forgotten that it would be see-through when wet, showing off her metallic magenta underwear.
“Ancient Mother, I hear you calling
Ancient Mother, I hear your song…”
Somehow a chorus of untrained, unremarkable voices blended into an ethereal harmony. Several yards inland the drummer, a woman decked in about four pounds of pendants and a beatific smile, was lost in the pattern her hands wove on the instrument.
The chant soared higher into the sky, gaining momentum, rising above waves and sand and Moon into the heart of Creation. At that precise moment, poised between worlds and in a time that was not time, I had the strangest urge to yell, “SHARK!”
Nothing like a little sarcasm to kill a mystical mood.
Thankfully I kept my mouth shut, but the damage was done. Suddenly the ritual-induced euphoria vanished, leaving me shivering and soaked to the skin, wondering what on Earth I was doing in a sarong on a beach in the middle of the night dancing with a bunch of half-naked crazy Witches. My Mom would have a stroke.
Fortunately the rest of the ritual went off without a hitch. The chant peaked, and the women sent the energy they’d raised into the ocean, giving it a little extra strength and protection from the vagaries of humankind. I dragged my focus back into the Circle. Lissa, acting priestess for the rite, bid farewell to the Great Mother and the Elements, and we sloshed back up the shore to dry out around the bonfire and tuck into a cooler full of sandwiches and Kool-Aid (Kaitlyn, who packed the post-ritual munchies, is the mother of six-year-old twins, so the crusts were cut off and there were lots of napkins).
Lissa passed the thermos with a “May you never thirst,” and I settled into the hollow my rear had worn into the sand. There was the usual chatter of an extended family: dates and mortgages, spells cast and recipes found, an ongoing debate between Wiccan purists and fans of Buffy the Vampire Slayer over whether or not Willow was a bad influence on teenage Witchlets.
Sitting on the edge of the circle, I felt a little let down-by myself, mostly, but just a little by the sea. Surely I could have kept my cynicism out of the way; after nearly a decade at this I ought to be better at caging my Monkey Mind. The night was perfect, the ritual perfect, and everyone around me was practically glowing. I felt like the only person in the room who doesn’t know the answer to Final Jeopardy!. To top it all off I had one of those “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to ground?” headaches.
I was especially disappointed because I’ve always had such a strong connection to the sea. When I was a child, before I’d ever set foot on a beach, I had long restful dreams of waves breaking over rocks, of the call of seagulls. Some of my most profound spiritual experiences have come to me while I floated on my back watching the night sky. I collected water from every beach I ever went to, adding them to a special jar on my altar. There were seashells all over my apartment. People used to tell me my eyes were the color of the Gulf of Mexico–they stopped, of course, as the Gulf changed from grey-blue to dirty brown thanks to the wonders of American industry.
I spent the night after my high school graduation on a beach, a little ways away from my friends, sitting in a Circle drawn in the wet sand with a finger. The whole universe had poured down into my body, sending my chakras into orbit. That night had been much like this one, so what did I do wrong this time?
Conversation ebbed and flowed around the group, and I let my attention drift back toward the water. I let the endless stream of memories move past my mind’s eye, thinking of all the times I’d come home and washed sand out of my drawers, and of the time I got stung by a jellyfish, and the dozen times since high school I’d ditched work to drive down to the beach, jump out of my car, and run screaming toward the water like a blue-painted Braveheart extra. I also remembered watching a storm roll in, tongues of twisted lightning flicking against the horizon, black clouds like the hand of a god stretching out to pluck the Moon from the sky.
I leaned back a bit, the sand cupping me, reminding me of being young and holding a baby turtle in my hands. I relaxed conscious hold on the edges of my mind, eroding cell by cell into the ever-turning tide. Wave after wave washed me farther out to sea.
The ocean is never the same twice. Water that formed one wave will explode into a thousand others, taking different paths to distant shores. As I drifted, I felt myself dissolving, carried away, separated into a million parts that were all part of one.
Drops of me landed on the sands of Maui; I flew off the tail of a dolphin jumping for joy alongside the prow of an aircraft carrier. I soaked into the shorts of a toddler who ran away from her mother, laughing hysterically, feet splashing in my warmth before she fell down on her rump. I yielded up the trash that humans had tossed into me. I caught a message in a bottle. I evaporated into the heat of a summer afternoon only to come down again in a thundershower; I filled the lungs of a drowning man.
I roared with elemental rage, towering over a sailboat, spilling onto the deck; I held the continents within the circle of my arms; I glimmered in the sunlight, shone in the moonlight, danced with the wind, and churned under a sea turtle’s feet. I nibbled away at the wreck of the Titanic, then flowed halfway around the world to knock the surfboard out from under a boy who thought he could tame me. I was Arctic blue, tropical green, foaming white, stormy silver.
Finally, finally, I joined into a wave that bore down on a secluded little beach, reaching up beyond the boundaries of the tide to smack full force into a circle of unsuspecting women with purple Kool-Aid moustaches, one of whom knew I was coming and opened my eyes, laughing, sand between my toes.
The fire went out with a spectacular smoking hiss. Tamra yelped and leaped backward to protect her drum from the onslaught. Women squealed, giggled, cursed, and eventually schlepped their gear farther up the shore where maybe, just maybe, Mother wouldn’t join in so theatrically.
I stayed where I was, smiling out at the ocean. “Okay,” I said. “I’m listening.”
Silliness – Late Night Funny – A brewery in Oregon is coming out with a new Sriracha-flavored beer. That’s right, beer that tastes like hot sauce. They said it’s the perfect beverage for finding out if you’re an alcoholic: “There’s only one beer left and it has hot sauce in it — just give it to me!” Jimmy Fallon