PaganSquare
PaganSquare is a community blog space where Pagans can discuss topics relevant to the life and spiritual practice of all Pagans.
Years ago I dreamed
I was walking around
holding a large sign
that said: “path to awakening”
upon it.
I couldn’t decide
where to hang it
and finally settled
on placing it above
my own bed,
pointing at my own head,
where I then,
woke up.
Disappointingly literal,
or simplistically profound,
I was not sure,
but I think of this dream
and about the things we seek
and how we wander
and what we crave.
Perhaps we already carry
what we need to awaken.
Perhaps we already hold
our own signs
Perhaps we need only
to open our eyes,
to be awake,
right here.
This was written as part of my current month of #30DaysofGoddess.
...-
Molly, Wonderful as usual, and food for thought. I've had the same kind of dream in the past. It's as if our Higher Self (or pe
-
Thanks!
Settle in with Desire,
have a cup of tea,
dialogue about decisions
and destiny
and what makes your heart sing.
Listen to her wisdom,
she knows of what she speaks,
the path is before you,
the sun is shining
and she's ready to guide your way.
Set forth,
hand in hand,
a story of trust nestled in your chest
a soulsong on your lips,
and purpose in your stride.
Take all that you feel
and use it to create.
Here we are in this liminal space
in which old chapters close
and things are laid aside,
set down,
put to rest.
We exhale into the stillness,
into the waiting time
between times
So, too, we may feel
newness and promise
coiled and pulsing,
sometimes whispering,
sometimes shouting,
sometimes singing
of the new and beautiful,
the exciting and inspiring.
May we have the courage
to sit between these two calls
listening.
May we allow ourselves
to settle for a spell
right here
between the tight and tender.
May we know both brave action
and brave stillness
as we allow the old and new
to steep together
in peace and trust
inside the crucible of change.
The mulberries are now bare
while the oaks are still cloaked
in shades of yellow, orange,
and brown,
maples and dogwoods
still clad in scraps of red.
Puffs of woodsmoke
catch the morning light
and hang like mist
in the cedars,
my breath too,
a fine cloud
trailing away into the trees.
There is something in the air
that speaks of satisfaction,
of change,
of cycles complete and renewing.
There is an invitation
to pause and witness
and to mindfully choose
next steps and new directions.
Our lives can hold
what we want them to hold.
Be present,
stay open,
attend to what is.
Be in the world,
in your life.
Return to center
again and again.
We have come from beyond the garden,
stories both old and new in our hands.
Our breasts are bare our hips are heavy,
and we are willing to show our incisors.
Centuries of silencing and suppression
have been unable to stick to our skins,
our lapis beads rest easy across our throats,
and red crescent moons shine upon our brows.
No longer willing to settle for giving birth
to demons or destroyers,
we bleed all over the pages of history,
eat all the apples we please,
carve stone into shapes that tell our hearts
to remember,
and sing of the forgotten things,
untamed, unbound.
Our most reliable sacred text
is the one we write each day,
shard by shard,
step by step,
bone by bone,
breath by breath,
side by side.
Priestessing during a pandemic has not been easy! The past nearly two years have forced a serious assessment of where I currently am in my work and my willingness to offer what I can offer and to withdraw from what I cannot.