Sensing the Pulse

There are many times I find I must sleep with the lights on, or with gentle Irish folk playing, or next to another warm body–if I even desire sleep at all. Tonight is one of those nights, as I still twitter about at 4:30 AM, reading and spellweaving, messing with the puppy and wildcrafting, getting warm under layers of quilts and handstitched blankets as the room is filled with the hum of Irish jigs and reels and a cat dreams on the windowsill using an orange as a pillow, alongside a jar of eucalyptus pods and a scattering of buckeye pods that were apparently regarded as talismans for luck by the native tribes of this area. A seven-foot forked fir branch hooks over the round brass door knob of the dark wood door to my balcony, a piece of wood I am hoping will go from a giant stick to my newly-crafted stang, once I’m finished with it. On the far side of the door from the dreaming cat and her curios by an old-fashioned cast iron heater is my altar, two upturned boxes covered by a hand-crocheted throw whose colors evoke images of autumn, the sunset, and the changing of the seasons. On it rests a bushel of lavender and other plant-stems, two small pumpkins, several seed-pods, my symbols for the Three Realms of Earth, Sea, and Sky (though with my simple black Awen tattoo at the top of my spine I like to think that I am a conduit for the Awen and don’t truly need such symbols except to more deeply attune myself with them), a freshly-collected jar of ivy and crossroads dirt, and several little Tarot spreads. On the windowsill above this sits a little collection of antique books, gems, and handcarved boxes, my mala chain and my little altar to Quan Yin/Avalokitesvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion who gave us the Heart Sutra; I still cannot shake my reverence for him from my Buddhist days, and so I don’t think I should try.

I wonder as I wait for the sunrise if my desire not to sleep, or my need for little comforts like my Irish trad songs or another body (absent, as my girlfriend the Siofra is spending Thanksgiving with her aunts; the animals are the only reason I am here all alone) or the lights or a book or simply not to sleep at all is because I can feel the buzzing of the world around me, I can feel the hum from the center of the Earth, can feel the pulse of the Moon’s journey right into my womb (and can also feel the painful pulse of my own moontides for this reason), get jittery from the excitement of it all. Excitement to me is always laced with a heavy dose of fear, but as I plant the seeds of things to come and grow through the magic I’ve wrought tonight, through the mood with which I enter this new lunar month, through the paths I pick at this seemingly endless series of crossroads that is my life at the moment, I give myself freely, naked and willing, over to the Pulse, the Dance, the River and the Flow of all things, the Goddess as Web of Life, the Crone weaving her Tapestry, the Spiral Goddess performing her neverending dance of Night and Day–knowing as my skin tingles from that mess of excitement and fear, that there are so many guides and omens Out There to ensure I can always know how to follow my True Will; and knowing, too, that every step I take in realizing it, in realizing my place like a drop of dew on the Web, is one step closer towards achieving unity with the Godhead.

Moon: New Moon in Sagittarius; New Moon solar eclipse early this morning
Weather: Cold and crisp after a storm cleared this afternoon
Heavens: Mercury in Retrograde until December 13


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