In Rememberance - All Souls Day

All Souls

A THIN moon faints in the sky o'erhead,

And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.

Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,

Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,

But forth of the gate and down the road,

Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.

For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,

When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.

Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:

It is only their call that comes on the breeze;

Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:

It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;

Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:

It is only the touch of their hands that grope -

For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,

When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.

And where should a man bring his sweet to woo

But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?

Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,

The empty hands that their fellows miss,

Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,

Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?

For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,

When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.

And now that they rise and walk in the cold,

Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.

Let them see us and hear us, and say: 'Ah, thus

In the prime of the year it went with us!'

Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,

Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!

For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,

When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.

Till they say, as they hear us - poor dead, poor dead! -

'Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed -

Just a thrill of the old remembered pains

To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,

Just a touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,

As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart -

For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,

When the dead can hear, and the dead have sight.'

And where should the living feel alive

But here in this wan white humming hive,

As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,

And one by one they creep back to the fold?

And where should a man hold his mate and say:

'One more, one more, ere we go their way'?

For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,

When the living can learn by the churchyard light.

And how should we break faith who have seen

Those dead lips plight with the mist between,

And how forget, who have seen how soon

They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?

How scorn, how hate, how strive, we too,

Who must do so soon as those others do?

For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,

And behold, with the light the dead are away. . . .

Edith Wharton

Blessed October

October gave a party;

the leaves by hundreds came -

The Chesnuts, Oaks, and Maples,

and leaves of every name.

The Sunshine spread a carpet,

and everything was grand.

Miss Weather led the dancing

Professor Wind the band.

-George Cooper-

Odysseus and Ithaca

 I am a sucker for mythology, esp. Greek/Roman Mythology and this last weekend I watched the modern movie "Clash of the Titans" with Liam Neeson as Zeus and Ralph Fiennes as Voldemort, oh...wrong movie, I mean, Hades. Ever since I heard Neeson as Zeus saying "Release the Kraken!" in this really rich, low-tonal voice, I've been walking around my house saying that over and over  just because I love how he said it. My cats run under the bed every time I'm play acting Zeus. And yes, I know about hubris and how the Gods don't like our egos to get too narcissistic or else we're doomed to all sorts of trouble. Please know, I'm addressing the archetypal Gods/Goddesses here.

"Life While You Wait"

Life While-You-Wait. 

Performance without rehearsal.
Body without alterations.
Head without premeditation.

I know nothing of the role I play.
I only know it's mine. I can't exchange it.

I have to guess on the spot
just what this play's all about.

I know I'm late with my "Lammas" post and that's the story of my life it seems lately but I was really inspired by Luna's post and how authentic she was in her own struggle.  I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who feels like I'm  not doing life "right", if you know what I mean. In the old ways, Lammas was really about celebration of the harvest, but the other half was about counting and acknowledging your regrets of what your harvest failed to bring you . I'm not saying that I have nothing to celebrate. I have so many blessings. It's more of an internal struggle. 

I have this internal voice that's constantly telling me, "I'm not doing this right or that correctly, what's wrong with you, Wendy?!" Where's the spiritual grace that we who are on the path sometimes obtain so effortlessly and then in a turn it disappears? In my twenties, it seemed that I had this magickal touch. Whatever I wished for, manifested on the spot. Synchronicity was my best-friend. I lived as if life was one big miracle. Lately though, I have this "dis-grace" that reminds me my time is limited here.

Ill-prepared for the privilege of living,
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every step over my own ignorance.
I can't conceal my hayseed manners.
My instincts are for happy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which humiliate me more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.

A dear friend told me that sometimes you have to pray for "the willingness to be willing." That's one of my mantras now. I seem to stumble all the time now. I'm not keeping my connections to other people solid and consistent as I'd like to. My friends wonder if I've vanished off the face of the earth. I seclude myself when I could be outside soaking up these perfect Southern California Days that most people dream about. So, what's wrong with me?

Words and impulses you can't take back,
stars you'll never get counted,
your character like a raincoat you button on the run ?
the pitiful results of all this unexpectedness.

If only I could just rehearse one Wednesday in advance,
or repeat a single Thursday that has passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven't seen.
Is it fair, I ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
since I couldn't even clear my throat offstage).

 Part of what keeps me going, is blogging. I can meet people in a safe container, my muse beckons softly and I know somehow in some small way, I may be speaking for those who are voiceless. Or it could be my ego talking. Do any of you struggle with this and does blogging seem to help you to keep going?

This blog means so much to me. eWitch was formed with great love and great magic and we who write for eWitch have been through so many transformations and I continue to be amazed at our commitment to each other and this blog. Our readership keeps growing and I want to thank each and everyone of you for whatever reason that is, that you believe in us to keep showing up with support and love. In this blog, we are all strong women who have differences and yet there's a respect that continues to grow and survive no matter what bumps are on  the road. This journey has taught me that maybe I'm not so alone in questioning life and when I read other peoples blogs, I'm most touched by the posts that reveal an intimacy that is usually reserved for only those who are closest to us.

You'd be wrong to think that it's just a slapdash quiz
taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I'm standing on the set and I see how strong it is.
The props are surprisingly precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there's no question, this must be the premiere.
And whatever I do
will become forever what I've done.

It's funny how I start out a post as a skeptic doubting I have the ability to write anything meaningful and then like a stream from a river I somehow manage to breathe a sigh of the grace I so long for. Maybe this is what the Buddhists mean when they say, that "pain is inevitable and suffering is a choice." Growing pains are necessary for the well-being of ourselves and those we touch. Maybe this is what spiritual grace really is. So, really this is a post of gratitude for you readers who don't
 give up on us and for my eWitch sisters who continue to "fight the good fight.". So I wish each of you a spiritual healing and grace in whatever manner you need and may we here at eWitch continue to become part of your journey  Please know you're not alone. And if you feel like commenting, I'd love to know what you struggle with on a spiritual basis or just in general. And if there's anything you'd like to see or here from us at address here on eWitch; we'd all love to hear that too. Namaste. 

(Poem: "Life While-You-Wait" ~ Wislawa Szymborska ~)

Now I Become Myself

Now I become myself. It’s taken Time, many years and places,

                        I have been dissolved and shaken,
                         worn other peoples faces,            

                      

Run madly, as if Time were there,
 Terribly old, crying a warning,
“hurry, you will be dead before ——”
(What? Before you reach the morning?
or before the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)



     Now to stand still, to be here,

      Feel my own weight and density…..
      Now there is time 
       and time is young,
                       

O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move
I, the pursued who madly ran,





  
                   Stand still, stand still and stop the Sun!

                                            ~May Sarton~


I feel like this is the perfect poem for my life now. For so long, I've been tormented by anxiety and depression and I'm not fooling myself that those won't be constant companions on my journey. But, I love the lines  "Now I become myself. It’s taken Time, many years and places."

  

I'm forty-six years old and I sometimes stop believing I was ever a "maiden" in her twenties, excited, always running to something new, and then I was married at age twenty-three, which I shudder to think about, because at that time, I still had dreams of the perfect family. I was going to have one no matter what it took because I was denied my dreams of a fantasy childhood. I mean really, who has had one? I'd like to meet them. But from my marriage I was given the most precious gift I would ever receive . Even though I became divorced three years later I had my son. I became the "Mother." Full of abundance, a new type of sensuality I could never have seen in my twenties and yet full of sorrows being a single mother. Along with the wonders, I also gained a new anxiety for the safety of my son, that most mother's develop when they have a child. 

Whenever I imagined, my son, Alexander hurt in any way, I would be thrown into this deep, dark, dry well of fear and stay stuck until I somehow climbed out. Much like "Cassandra from Troy" I started to "run madly, as if Time were there, Terribly old, crying a warning, hurry you will be dead before...." My son and I struggled together emotionally with him projecting all his anger and sorrow from an alcoholic, unavailable and unstable father onto me. It's only lately within the last few years that I can forgive myself for not being able to provide what he so desperately needed and wanted,  for his idea of a perfect childhood. He also acknowledges that I did the best I could and he told me, I was one of the only constant things in his life and I continue to fulfill that touchstone for him.  I haven't learned to stop the sun, but I'm not burned up with fear and paralyzed that I'm eventually going to be a crone. Being a Crone will bring it's own wise and wonderful rewards. That's why it's so important to have mentors and to be a mentor to others, to remind yourself of all the blessings and lessons it took to be where you are today.

Where are you in your life? Are you running or have you finally been able to catch your breath and know that life is good?

  May Sarton one of my absolute favorite poets, so if you love poetry full of images and magic, check out her works.

And if you have any poets that you like, please let me know as I love poetry!

Blessings to you all....