. . . and without a word, she took flight . . .
special thanks to Cindy Davis for the white pelican spirits above
A communal celebration of Samhain in images and words
The late-autumn sacred time in the North is the cross-quarter day known as Samhain (sah-wen), a portal into the dark time of year where mystery and dreams nourish life.
Welcome into this altar, created by many contributors, mostly unnamed.
Welcome into this altar, created by many contributors, mostly unnamed.
Brenda Hillman
shared this poem in observance
of Samhain
drenching in fog like a frog / delicious beginning to the quiet time
a season-new painting by Nancy Stein
a season-new painting by Nancy Stein
( There follows a slide show of sorts, for you to navigate... and pause... as you wish. )
after the fall storm
a lone monarch butterfly
into deep blue sky
…imagine oaks in full fall glory, apricots, oranges, golden maples, red madrone berries in a mast year... and the breeze taking whirlwinds of leaves and floating them through the air
What rises most into the lowering reach of light now casts longer, closer-looming densities of shade, lined by angelic brightness limned on lifted limbs—shafts summoning us to unsheath memory’s incisive inspiration, thereby to lift and wield more steadily against obscurity, our powers of self-illumination
What
magic
happens
as
energy
is
drawn
in
and
down
into
restorative
repose?
All that is made will be unmade.
All that is unmade will be made again.
At this time the shadows of death and darkness arrive with secret instructions
to those who can become still, listen and see what is invisible to this world.
All that is unmade will be made again.
At this time the shadows of death and darkness arrive with secret instructions
to those who can become still, listen and see what is invisible to this world.
All will come again into its strength:
the fields undivided, the waters undammed,
the trees towering and the walls built low.
And in the valleys, people as strong and varied as the land.
And no churches where God
is imprisoned and lamented
like a trapped and wounded animal.
The houses welcoming all who knock
and a sense of boundless offering
in all relations, and in you and me.
No yearning for an afterlife, no looking beyond,
no belittling of death,
but only longing for what belongs to us
and serving earth, lest we remain unused.
Rainer Maria Rilke
the fields undivided, the waters undammed,
the trees towering and the walls built low.
And in the valleys, people as strong and varied as the land.
And no churches where God
is imprisoned and lamented
like a trapped and wounded animal.
The houses welcoming all who knock
and a sense of boundless offering
in all relations, and in you and me.
No yearning for an afterlife, no looking beyond,
no belittling of death,
but only longing for what belongs to us
and serving earth, lest we remain unused.
Rainer Maria Rilke
thank you
