In the middle of lunch, my father looked into my eyes and asked who I was. This question stopped me in my tracks. For a moment, I forgot my father’s illness. Instead, I remembered that he was responsible for naming me.
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As I sit here, writing this, the rain taps at the window, the wind howling down the street, carrying with it the scent of winter and the first of the autumn leaves. The sky is fast moving and furious – low dark grey clouds set amidst a backdrop of pure white/grey. The central heating has been turned on. The apples are juicy on the trees. The starlings are flocking together. Welcome, Autumn.
My favourite season – as you may have guessed. From bright, sunny days where the sun shows the last of its strength, to watery, wind-filled days like these, it is a season of change like no other. Quick, altogether too quickly, it is over, at least the Fall is, when the leaves change and drop to the ground. After that, it seems Winter is here – only allowing Autumn a brief time of grace to shine in her beauty before all is blanketed under the dreamy cold slumber of Winter.
It is third week of October – and the hectic days of summer leading to the Equinox have long passed. I feel I can almost catch my breath – almost. The main bulk of the harvest is done – both agriculturally and in a personal sense. I have worked hard this year, and the rewards have been great. There are always disappointments – from the tomatoes that didn’t do well to the vagaries of life. But Autumn, with her beauty, captures our hearts and our minds, our attention, and causes us to stop, to listen and watch Her before She is gone....
On to Something
I am the letter and you are the hot wax.
I am the needle and you, the dancing midget.
We stuff our mouths – breadcrumbs and magpies.
I am the girl in the blue gown
Who has lost her eyes to the prick of a needle
She thought was a jewel.
I tend towards a type of Goddess-oriented, panentheistic, spiritual naturalism. I've written a lot about my experiences with "theapoetics"--spontaneous, spoken aloud poetry that brings me into direct connection with that which I term Goddess. I previously explored the ontological existence of this Goddess in an essay for Feminism and Religion:
To me, Goddess is found in the act of specifically naming that ineffable sense of the sacred that we all, universally, experience or perceive at some point during our lives. Whether it be in gazing at the ocean or in climbing a mountain, in the births of our children or the hatching of a baby chick, almost all humans experience transcendent moments of mystery, meaning, wonder, and awe. We can call these experiences by different names and I feel that the Goddess arises when we have the courage and capacity to name Her as such, rather than stay hazy, generic, or afraid. In my own life, I call these numinous experiences Goddess and through this I know She exists in, of, around, and through the world that I live in. It is in these experiences that I touch Her directly...