It is July again, dark moon.

Full she comes who brings the high tide, I float amid on my back watching oh the mists, as they have all year overtake, hold and quake, part and depart. Clear. They dance in relation.  Two cranes make noises upon arrival every morning the swelter of green heat.  The fidelity of odd birds the croak of their cry that is joy, but sounds a terror.

Full she comes, red white and blue.  Colors and Stories.  Seen and Unseen, told and un.  Violence in the Streets, a story that’s always been– if you been watchin.

Seeing.  Listening.

Summer the Medicine of Song.   Bidden or unbidden, the Gods are here.  Singing or not, the Song sings.  Hear?  Will you sing, do you?  Along?

Am I listening?

My exhaustion comes in immobility.  I take off work for two weeks and devote myself to love for the first time in a decade.  As all, my wound the wound of Home.  I work the roots of my own relations. This, too.  To Story.  Family.  Men, love and safety, attachment defense written in my body.  Nervous system hot rage is movement and moving, and disembodiment, and also.  Gentleness, softness, love making and tears.  Fear. What it is to be held, to fight for something, to say no.  And yes.  To be seen.

Begin with what is.  Begin again.

Safety.  Sanctity of Body.  Of the bodies of my body.  The body of my sacred body part of the body of our Home, ours.  Land.  Story.  Soul.

For one to be safe, sacred, all must be~

Trauma training CUES in quarantine I am a walking, unpacking dream.

In all things, waking prayers.  Black women indigenous women women of all color all women, the women inside all men.  KIDS. Safety and Love.  Home. Movement. Fear.  Rage.  Dissent.  Action.  Stillness.  Prayers.

In Wicomico on the street.  In Worcester the tourists flippant arrogant angry everywhere.  Beach City ohhh roots! Oh home oh MasonDixon depository sweet broken crossroads town.

I. Draw.  Down.

Stories. and Place.

In a year of mists, do we get it?  What we get?  The borderlands are here.  Be patient and also, Look. See.  LISTEN.

Speak?  The Old not not Old just because unseen:  the stories in the Land are in the Psyches, family systems are our local municipalities.  and the Ancestors and Elders walk the air, speak the Land, bloodied still.  Lead.  Haunt. Plead.

By our own active or inactive hands.

In Second Sight, you know this.  This long casting of Collective Night.

And so what shall we do? with it?  Us?  Modern story of immodern melting pot experimental Place?  Colonized bodies and minds.

Colonized Land.  Oh Algonquin, by whose hand?

By whose Walking Feet?  Action, and taking Stand.

~

It is Summer, 1st Dark Moon. Medicine of this Tide is the First Harvest, friends.  As you Tend, so shall you See.  As you See, so shall you tend, and intend.

1st Harvest or Lunar Lammas (traditional is Aug 1) arrives as she becomes full, Monday, August 3, 2020.

Consciously or Un.

Who shall you be?

What matters in Intention and Trust.  Trust is a quality of resiliency, and resiliency a story written in the body by safety and the nervous systems of our family, cultures, support circles, collectives.

Towns, counties, communities.

HIS Story~ Ours.  Not them, theirs,
no such thing as OTHER, will we awaken?  How?

Take time out for the Medicine of Summer.  Song.

Listen friends,

with heart ears.  With Grace.  Remember the Power of Clear Sight.  Seeing, and Being Seen.

Remember the Grace of Hearing that Comes in Silence and Stillness.

The Power of Witness.

The Words.  Of instinct, insight, process, Truth or Response.  That arise that connect or destroy. us.

It is dark moon, and quiet, and Listening is our friend.

So too sight, in the dark.  When best we see by sensing and connecting, beginning within~

Connecting within connects to the body to the body of our collective body, ahhhh
L A N D sacred holy bodies of elemental bodies~

As within, so without.  To connection~

And so it is, was
and so shall it be
so.  Amen. amen amen

image Warwick Goble