Daily Stuff 8-6-18 Hiroshima Day

Hi, folks!

Featured photo by Ken Gagne.

It’s overcast at 300 feet with an aggressive mist. 58F and no wind. The fog was thick in the Throat. There are 5 small fishing boats down there and a dozen up closer to the Port Docks. This is all supposed to burn off this afternoon.

Yesterday I was just so tired! Class went well and we got 1/2-way through Lesson 3 with Rayna there, too. After class I just collapsed, had to sleep for a couple of hours and even by 5pm was still not accomplishing much. Part of that was the number of customers…. somewhere in the upper 60’s, if I’m counting right. No, that’s a *good* thing! …and the main reason why we don’t get much else done during the summer.

The sun was lovely for awhile, but by 3pm the clouds had rolled in. It made it nice and cool, even with little wind, but the sunshine was pretty while it lasted.

Tempus did some clean-up trying to get some of the junk out of the main aisles. I really didn’t get much done for the rest of the day other than writing. The House Capuchin newsletter for the week got finished and published and then I pulled out a couple of embroidery articles to figure out what pictures I need for those.

We headed home around 9pm and went to sleep pretty soon. Here it’s just past 8:30 and we’re already at the shop.

We have inventory to work on between customers today and a lot of phone calls and such to make.

A Ken Gagne pic from 7/31/15 of the Yaquina Bay Bridge

073115 Ken Gagne Yaquina Bay Bridge

折鶴_WUXGAToday’s Feast is Hiroshima Day, the anniversary of the day the US dropped a nuclear bomb on this city. Sadako did not live to finish her 1000 cranes, but ever since, people fold them for her intent for life and peace. May we each fold 1000 cranes in our intentions, not for our own blessing, but that of our people and our world.


The Peace Memorial with strings of cranes.


motif plant flower red poppySo, the Flanders Poppy Papaver rhoeas is today’s plant. It is an agricultural weed, also called “corn flower”, associated with crops since the earliest beginnings of agriculture, since it flowers abundantly in disturbed ground, such as at plowing, and then will flower and seed before the crops are harvested. This is how the poppies sprang up so quickly in the cemeteries of Flanders, as the dead soldiers were interred. These are not the same as the opium poppy Papaver somniferum. The Flanders Poppy and the White Poppy are the two associated with war and worn as symbols, the red poppy meaning the honoring of the dead soldiers and the white, the hope for peace. It is also associated with headaches, both from inhaling the scent and from the headaches from too much crying, from which the folk name, “Head Waak” (pronounced “whack”) comes. –plant poppy wheatFeminine, Moon, Water, Hypnos & Demeter – Poppies have been associated with sleep far more than death up until this past century and also with wealth. They are often used in magics to aid sleep. as an ingredient of dream pillows. In wealth & fertility magicks, the abundant seeds are eaten and carried to attract luck and money. A gilded poppypod can be worn as a necklace for the same purpose. They can be added to love foods and added to love sachets. The seeds are not the source of the addictive medicines, so are safe to carry. In more recent times, the associations with blood and death have started cropping up in spellbooks, so be careful. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Papaveraceae


The shop opens at 11am. 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 ancientlight@peak.org 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,


Today’s Astro & Calendar

Waning Moon Magick – From the Full Moon to the New is a time for study, meditation, and magic designed to banish harmful energies and habits, for ridding oneself of addictions, illness or negativity. Remember: what goes up must come down. Phase ends at the Tide Change on 8/11 at 2:58am. Waning Crescent Moon –Best time for beginning introspective magicks that are more long term (full year cycle) A good time for beginning knot magicks to “bind up” addictions and illness (finish just before the Tide Change of Dark to New) and “tying up loose ends” God/dess aspects – Demeter weeping for her Daughter, Mabon, Arachne Tyr. Phase ends on 8/6 at 2:58pm. Hecate’s Brooch 3-5 days before New Moon – Best time for Releasing Rituals. It’s the last few days before the new moon, the time of Hecate’s Brooch. This is the time that if you’re going to throw something out, or sweep the floors, or take stuff to Good Will, do it! Rid yourself of negativity and work on the letting go process. Release the old, removing unwanted negative energies, addictions, or illness. Do physical and psychic cleansings. Good for wisdom & psychic ability. Goddess Aspect: Crone – Associated God/desses: Callieach, Banshee, Hecate, Baba Yaga, Ereshkigal, Thoth. Phase ends at the Dark on 8/9 at 2:58pm. 

As dawn gets under way on the morning of Saturday August 5th, the Moon forms a nearly right triangle with the Pleiades and Aldebaran. Look for the waning crescent Moon this morning as it hovers just west of the Hyades star cluster in Taurus the Bull. The two objects clear the horizon by 2 a.m. local daylight time and climb one-third of the way to the zenith in the eastern sky by the time morning twilight begins. The Moon appears about 30 percent lit and easily outshines the stars of the V-shaped Hyades. First-magnitude Aldebaran, which marks one tip of the V, appears brighter than the rest of the cluster’s stars because it actually lies in the foreground.
The tail of Scorpius, rich in binocular sights, is low in the south right after dark, well to the lower right of Saturn. How low it is depends on how far north or south you live: the farther south, the higher.
Look for the two stars especially close together in the tail. These are Lambda and fainter Upsilon Scorpii, known as the Cat’s Eyes. They’re canted at an angle; the cat is tilting his head and winking.The Cat’s Eyes point west (right) by nearly a fist-width toward Mu Scorpii, a much tighter pair known as the Little Cat’s Eyes. They’re oriented almost exactly the same way as the big Cat’s Eyes. Can you resolve the Mu pair without using binoculars?
Mercury is hidden in conjunction with the Sun.

Old Farmer’s Almanac Sky Map for August 2018 – https://www.almanac.com/content/sky-map-star-chart-august-2018
Goddess Month of Kerea runs from 7/11 – 8/8
Goddess Month of Hesperus runs from 8/9 – 9/5
Celtic Tree Month of Coll/Hazel, Aug 5 – Sep 1, Coll 
Runic half-month of Thurisaz/ Thorn/Thunor, 7/29-8/12 – Northern Tradition honors the god known to the Anglo-Saxons as Thunor and to the Norse as Thor. The time of Thorn is one of ascendant powers and orderliness. This day also honors the sainted Norwegian king, Olaf, slain around Lammas Day. Its traditional calendar symbol is an axe. Runic half-month of Ansuz/ As /Os/, 8-13-8/29 – This time is sacred to the god/desses of Asgard and contains the time of the Ordeal of Odin and the festival of the Runes. This time is also referring to Yggdrasil, the Tree that give order to the Worlds. This is a time of stability and divine order visible in the world. 

Sun in Leo
Moon in Gemini
Mercury (8/19), Mars (8/27), Saturn (9/6), Pluto (9/30), Neptune (11/24), Chiron (12/8) Retrograde
Color – Ivory

harvest 8/6-7

©2018 M. Bartlett, Some parts separately copyright


from Wikimedia commons

Celtic Tree Month of Coll/Hazel, Aug 5 – Sep 1, Coll (CULL), hazel – The hazel (Corylus avellana L) is the source of hazelnuts. It forms a shrub up to 6 m (20 feet) tall, inhabiting open woodlands and scrubs, hedgerows, and the edges of forests. The filbert nut in North American groceries is Corylus maxima, a related species. The European hazelnut is cultivated in North America, primarily as an ornamental. Hazelnuts are in the Birch family (Betulaceae).

Coll – Hazel Ogam letter correspondences
Month: July
Color: Brown
Class: Chieftain
Letter: C, K
Meaning: Creative energies for work or projects.


Tides for Alsea Bay

Day        High      Tide  Height   Sunrise    Moon  Time      % Moon
~            /Low      Time    Feet     Sunset                                    Visible
M    6      Low   2:46 AM     0.6   6:09 AM    Rise  1:22 AM      38
~     6     High   9:00 AM     4.9   8:35 PM     Set  4:16 PM
~     6      Low   2:12 PM     2.6
~     6     High   8:32 PM     7.5


Affirmation/Thought for the Day – We fall in love…we fall out of love…we search for new loves..yearn for old loves….we have memories….we make new memories..we live every day of our lives..sometimes not the way that we want to…but we do it anyway…never forget to tell someone you love that you love them..never say never…and laugh it is good for your soul…


Journal Prompt – What would you? – What would you do if you met yourself without knowing it was you?



~  Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools talk because they have to say something. – Plato
~  You can’t catch a cub without going into the tiger’s den. – Chinese Proverb
~  Own up to your mistakes and do something about them. – Kerr Cuhulain
~  Nature is painting for us, day after day, pictures of infinite beauty if only we have the eyes to see them. – John Ruskin

Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom is realising how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go. – Anthony Bourdain


Magick – Hope at Low Tide – An ecologist walking on the beach wonders, worries, and dreams of a better future – by Carl Safina, from The View from Lazy Point – May-June 2011 http://www.utne.com/Environment/Hope-At-Low-Tide-Carl-Safina.aspx    josh keyes / www.joshkeyes.net

We’ve had no ice on the sound this winter, and this morning portends more warmth, well above freezing. By now, late January, the days are already noticeably longer and the light has changed. It’s a little stronger, a little brighter.

Though the beach is lovely, the air remains raw, with a damp south wind. The dark shape of my dog, Kenzie, is loping along far ahead, zigzagging the beach. The tide, already low, is still ebbing. Pebbles are mounded at the upper boundary of the wave wash; above them, near the swipe of highest tides, lies a line of slipper shells. Six decades ago, my neighbor J.P. tells me—and he’s got photos—this beach was all sand, no pebbly stretches. A generation ago, the beach was windrowed with jingle shells. Kids, hippies, and young mothers (some people seemed to be all three at once) liked to string them into little driftwood mobiles to hang in windows and breezeways. Now slipper shells reign. It never occurred to anyone that counting shells on a beach could be science, so there’s no data on how jingles have nearly vanished. Only the neighbors speak of it; only the neighbors know.

A large time-blackened oyster shell, newly uncovered by the collusion of wind and water, speaks of when they grew wild in abundance, and big. Every walk is a product of the present and a relic of the past. And on a very recent clamshell I recognize the perfect, tiny borehole of the predatory snail that was its assassin. Three round, translucent pebbles that catch my eye fit snugly across my palm—not that I need more pebbles. Then again, Isaac Newton himself said, “I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, while the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.” Well, exactly. So I’ll grant myself the pretty stones.

The sound reflects both the light of morning and the calls of sea ducks. I cup my ears and hear the long-tailed ducks’ ah—oh-da-leep. Their call means it’s winter—and it means I’m home. When I’m on a different coast, long-tailed ducks often make me feel at home. Among the gifts of the sea is a wonderfully portable sense of place. Portable because one ocean washes all shores. Like these migrants themselves, my sense of home goes where they go.

Scanning with binoculars, I locate those elegantly streamered long-tails. The morning light is falling across their pied heads, putting a gleam on their whites and setting their pink bill tips aglow. I swivel my gaze across the water, past several common loons in their soft-gray winter pajamas. Red-breasted mergansers, heads war-bonneted with ragged crests, sit scattered across the sound. On the shore across the cut, three harbor seals are resting with their bodies gracefully bowed, heads and rear flippers up off the sand, air-cooling themselves

Their beauty alone is inspiring. Each kind is a private invitation posted on an unlocked door. But what in the journey of their ancient lineage led one kind to develop a black-and-white head, another a cap of ragged plumes? That opens to a room bigger than human time. Step inside, and you can easily spend a life.

Mysteries notwithstanding, this daily morning walk is how I take the pulse of the place, and my own. It’s a good spot in which to wake up.

The sun here comes out of the sea and returns to the sea—a trick that’s hard to pull off if you don’t live on an island or some narrow bit of land with its neck stuck out. As Earth revolves around that disc of sun, you can watch dawn and sunset migrate across the horizon a little each day.

On a coast ruled by a wandering sun and 12 moons that pull the tides like the reins on a horse, a year means something. Seasonality here isn’t just a four-season, common-time march. The rhythm of the year here beats to the pulse of a perpetual series of migrations, rivers of life along the leading line of coast. Fishes and birds mainly, but also migrating butterflies, dragon­flies, whales, sea turtles, even tree frogs and toads and salamanders, whose migrations take them merely from woodland to wetland and back. Each kind moves to its own drum. Getting tuned in to the migrants’ urgent energies turns “four seasons” into a much more complex idea of what life does, what life is, of where life begins and goes.

Time has been called an arrow, but here time’s directionality assumes the circularity of the sky, the ocean’s horizon-in-the-round. Circular time. This is perhaps time as an animal perceives it, each day replayed with all the major elements the same and every detail different. Neighborhood families raise children who bring forth their own, as do all creatures here, in an unbroken chain of being. It’s a pinwheel in which each petal creates the one behind it, goes once around and then falls, as all petals eventually do. Time and tide. Ebb and flow. Many a metaphor starts in water. As did life itself.

Life—Earth’s trademark enterprise—continually constructs itself as plants and algae capture energy from sunlight and use it to turn carbon dioxide and water into sugar. Then they use the sugar they’ve created as fuel for turning soil nutrients into cells, and powering growth, reproduction, repair, and defense. Whether at sea or on land, plants, and countless trillions of single-celled algae drifting in the ocean, create the planet’s basic living matter. They’re the world’s “power plants.” Their exhaust gas is the oxygen that animals breathe. About half the oxygen we breathe—say, every other breath—comes from those single-celled ocean drifters. Basically all of life on Earth is the story of plants making and animals taking.

“Follow the money” explains a lot in politics and in nature, although nature’s currency is energy. Almost all of it comes streaming to the treasury in gold bars of sunlight (some deep-sea creatures also use volcanic energy from the seafloor). The natural economy is flowing energy. World history is not the story of politics, wars, ideologies, or religions. It’s the story of energy flow, beginning with a fraction of the sun’s radiance falling on a lifeless planet coated with water.

When an unusually fragile ape began using fire to harness the energy in plants it could not eat—such as wood—to initiate digestion (by cooking), ward off predators, and provide warmth, and when it learned that by assisting the reproduction of plants and animals it could garner more food, its radical new ability to channel energy flow changed the story of life on Earth.

Animals eat plants, so, ultimately, we are all grass, pretty much. Now, the astonishing thing is how much of the grass we are. Each time a plant of the land or coastal sea uses the sunlight’s energy to make a sugar molecule or add a cell, chances are about four out of ten that the cell will become food—or be eaten by an animal that will become food—for a human. In other words, we now take roughly 40 percent of the life that the land produces; we take a similar proportion of what the coastal seas produce. For one midsized creature that collectively weighs just half a percent of the animal mass on Earth, that is a staggering proportion. It redefines “dominion.” We dominate.

Maybe it’s time to redefine our goals. If the human population again doubles, as some project, could we commandeer 80 percent of life? More conservatively, the United Nations expects the population to grow to over 9 billion people by the middle of this century. That’s two more Chinas. We’d still probably have to expand agriculture onto new land, and that means using more water—but water supplies are shrinking. Since all growth depends on what plants make using sunlight, continuous growth of the human enterprise for more than a few decades may not be possible. By mid-century it would take about two planet Earths to provide enough to meet projected demand (add another half-Earth if everyone wants to live like Americans). In accounting terms, we’re running a deficit, eating into our principal, running down and liquidating our natural capital assets. Something’s getting ready to break.

Since 1970 populations of fishes, amphibians, mammals, reptiles, and birds have declined about 30 percent worldwide. Species are going extinct about a thousand times faster than the geologically “recent” average; the last extinction wave this severe snuffed the dinosaurs. We’re pumping freshwater faster than rain falls, catching fish faster than they spawn. Roughly 40 percent of tropical coral reefs are rapidly deteriorating; none are considered safe. Forests are shrinking by about an acre per second. Compared to the day when 13 colonies on the sunrise side of a wilderness continent asserted independence as the United States, the planet’s atmosphere is quite different. Ozone: thinner. Carbon dioxide: denser by a third and concentrating further. Synthetic fertilizers have doubled the global nitrogen flow to living systems, washing down rivers and, since the 1970s, creating hundreds of oxygen-starved seafloor “dead zones.” Americans—only 5 percent of the world population—use roughly 30 percent of the world’s nonrenewable energy and minerals. The Convention on Biological Diversity aims—aimed—to protect the diversity of living things, but its own assessment says that “biodiversity is in decline at all levels and geographical scales,” a situation “likely to continue for the foreseeable future.”

Oh, well.

As a new force of nature, humans are changing the world at rates and scales previously matched mainly by geological and cosmic forces like volcanoes, ice-age cycles, and comet strikes. That’s why everything from aardvarks to zooplankton are feeling their world shifting. As are many people, who don’t always know why.

I hope that someday, preferably this week, the enormity of what we’re risking will dawn on us. So far it hasn’t. True, without the environmental groups, much of the world would probably resemble the most polluted parts of Eastern Europe, South Asia, China. Then again, it does. Still, if not for Sisyphus’ efforts, the stone would merely stay at the bottom of the hill.

There are those for whom the dying of the world comes as unwelcome news. Many others seem less concerned. Yet maybe to have hope is to be hope. I hope life—I don’t mean day-to-day living; I mean Life, capital L: bacteria, bugs, birds, baleen whales, and ballerinas—I hope Life will find a way to hold on, keep its shape, persist, ride it out. And I hope we will find our way toward quelling the storm we have become.

We make our lives in a world not of our making. We feel in a world that does not feel. Yet it’s become a world in which our presence is felt.

What attitude might confront such a world? An attitude of curiosity, for the complex world? An attitude of admiration, for the beautiful world? An attitude of gratitude, for the improbable world? Of respect, for the elder world? Of awe, for the mystery? Of concern, for consequences? If these attitudes guide action, we may not always be certain which choice is right, but we may travel a path that is wise.

Early people, including writers of Scripture, saw in nature an awesome power that demanded respect or took retribution. The operating systems people invented to organize themselves into the defensive circle called civilization originated when we were tribes in the wilderness. Since then, of course, our knowledge-acquisition skills have exploded. Science and medicine change at the rate of discovery; look how far they’ve come at such an accelerating pace. You’d think our religious, moral, and economic institutions would limber up in the face of so much that’s new. But they remain dogmatic, remarkably stuck. Some are just old; others, ancient. Maybe we should have noticed that their “use by” date expired centuries ago.

So, we’re navigating a changing world with concepts that aren’t up to the task, concepts that lack—or reject—modern comprehension of the world.

Consequently, most of civilization remains uninformed about the two great realities of our existence: All life is family, and the world is finite. That is why we keep making choices that threaten our own monetary economy, the economy of nature, and the economy of time; otherwise known as the future of the world. What I’m saying, basically, is that in very consequential ways, our modes of conduct are so out of sync with reality that they’re essentially irrational.

Yet maybe we need just a little more time to catch up. After all, only in the last few decades have we understood anything, really, about how the world actually works. Only since the late 1800s—and mostly since the 1900s—have we understood that all living things are related by ancestry and that sunlight powers life; that things like carbon, water, nitrogen, and nutrients flow in cycles through living systems; and a little of why plants and animals live where they do. We’ve learned that we can eliminate the most abundant herds and birds, and the fishes of even the deepest haunts; take groundwater out faster than it goes in; change the composition of the atmosphere and the chemistry of the ocean. Svante Arrhenius’ 1906 claim that human-caused emissions of carbon dioxide could intensify the greenhouse effect and warm the planet—which he believed would be beneficial—was widely dismissed until about 1960 (and not widely accepted until after the new millennium). Starting just in the mid-20th century, we’ve created chemicals and plastics and nuclear material that will affect living things for centuries.

I hope humanity survives and civilization develops. Just as we look back on the Dark Ages and shudder, people will look back at our time as dirty, crowded, superstitious, dangerous, and primitive. To get onward, we’d need to replace the no-accounting, throwaway, boomeranging, soot-powered economy with a clean, renewable, no-waste, recycling economy. We thank the thinkers and martyrs who gave their lives for Reason, that we might step into a few rays of sunshine. If our children, and most of our nonhuman co-voyagers, can get through the troubles of our time, there will be a brighter day. We can describe and measure what is needed, and show it in graphs and tables. The information is there. We don’t lack information. We lack a new ethical relationship—and the new inspiration that is waiting.

Health, peace, humanity, creativity, life’s grand and thriving journey, its epic enterprise, the miracles that float us, shimmering: These constitute the realm of the sacred. In this realm, the market analyst and the head of state find themselves beneath and behind the child, whose world and adventure it will be. And if, in an attempt to explain how simple it is to arrive at this realization, we must provide some translation harking back to the primitive clutch of market economics, we can say that things have no price and but two values, right and wrong.

The values, called ethics, acted on as morals, answer the age-old question “How ought we live?” No small matter, indeed. We are not just consumers but citizens, not just citizens but members of a living family, miracles of evolution, manifestations of the awesome mystery of creation, singularly able to perceive and consider the universe, our place in it, and our role. Our goal as human beings can be to elevate what is uniquely human; to see that meaning lies in relationships, that satisfaction comes from serving, that the creature who alone can consider and affect the future must alone maintain it; that science and all ethical, moral, and religious traditions that have come this far have converged in agreement: The place is ours to use but not ours to lose. All such traditions say we serve each other, the creation, and our children.

Why don’t we? Can we? When will we?

Carl Safina—winner of the Pew, MacArthur, and Guggenheim fellowships—is an ecologist, marine conservationist, and president of Blue Ocean Institute, which mines science, art, and literature to inspire environmental solutions. Excerpted from The View From Lazy Point: A Natural Year in an Unnatural World, published in January by Henry Holt and Company, LLC. Copyright © 2011 by Carl Safina. All rights reserved.

This article first appeared in the May-June 2011 issue of Utne Reader.

Read more: http://www.utne.com/Environment/Hope-At-Low-Tide-Carl-Safina.aspx?page=6#ixzz1Tt4cwVU8


Silliness – Bumper Snickers – I just got skylights put in my place. The people who live above me are furious.

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