A Mood

I have been thinking…

No. I have been feeling about this community of people, the nontheist Pagan community.

I have been feeling because sometimes such appreciation, such gratitude wells up in me to be with you all.

So a wrote a thing.

THIS Community

We’re having none of the bullshit, thank you.

We’ve seen the paths of the lost and confused, and chosen.

We aspire:

To lofty goals and a kinder world,

To sense, sensibility, sensuousness, sexiness, Self-made-Sacred:

Sifted

Through the fine grate of experience, cultivating it, the joy.

And to be better.

We’re having all of the work, thank you,

Because we are stained. None has escaped

The gray of hopelessness, the whisper of bigotry,

The assumptions and biases and blinding dust.

We are having the work to be clean, to be better,

To aspire to the world we know is possible.

We’re having all of the lusciousness, thank you.

The juice of this life drips down our chins.

And though we understand its origins, this in no way

Dilutes its sweetness.

We shave with Occam’s Razor to make our nerve endings shudder

With forbidden nakedness, we run trembling tongues to taste.

We climb to the mountaintop whose name is YES,

Breathing stars

The butterfly glory of a cold breath’s air.

I light this candle now, my people,

Feeling you in your magnificence

In your struggle

Feeling you in your learning

In your leaping and falling short

Feeling you in your glowing hearts

I light this candle now blessed,

So blessed that you are with me

Each one. You strivers and seekers,

Scientists and ritualists and makers of new

Reality.

I light this candle. Welcome, beloveds.

Homily

Sisters and brothers
And genderqueer others, beloveds:
Let us not bow our heads.

No, let us not bow our heads. Instead,
Let us fling them back, arms stretched
Wide to the world, mouths gaping in awe

For there–THERE–is the sky. The simple,
Miraculous sky, blue or gray by day
Dark by night, pale scrim of air

That is breath that is rain
That keeps the radiation out.
The sky’s wide vault, the Temple of Being

Upon this good wide Earth.
Gaze upward, knowing
This is what I am, where I live,

This is the miracle that is me.
Do not despair. Be of stout heart, for surely
Those who live entire lives in a Temple

Must be blessed.
Know your good fortune.
Say aaaahhhhhhhh.

Shadow and Light

The equinox, which I name High Spring, is upon us.

To me, this is a happy time of innocence and play. A time for bright colors and candy and finally—finally—having light in the evenings and a sun warm enough to feel on my skin.

But today, I am so sad. So disturbed.

The white supremacist murder sprees at two mosques in New Zealand are simply sickening. That we have people so damaged, so filled with hatred in this world just breaks my heart.

Half light, half darkness. That’s the equinox.

And the world itself, it seems.

The extraordinary poet W.S. Merwyn died yesterday as well, after a long and productive life. In perhaps his most famous poem, “Thanks”, he reminds us of this, of the gratitude and the horror, better than ever I could.

Listen
with the night falling we are saying thank you
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
we are running out of the glass rooms
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky
and say thank you
we are standing by the water thanking it
standing by the windows looking out

in our directions

 

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
after funerals we are saying thank you
after the news of the dead

whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

 

over telephones we are saying thank you
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
remembering wars and the police at the door
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
in the banks we are saying thank you
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change

we go on saying thank you thank you

 

with the animals dying around us
taking our feelings we are saying thank you
with the forests falling faster than the minutes
of our lives we are saying thank you
with the words going out like cells of a brain
with the cities growing over us
we are saying thank you faster and faster
with nobody listening we are saying thank you
thank you we are saying and waving

dark though it is

 

 

And so I wish you the joy of the season, with the acknowledgement that the darkness comes, as well.

We sit, balanced on the knife edge of the year, before the long fall into light.