Full moon weekend, weekend of Veils, Come~

Mabon is Wednesday, Sept 22 in the Northern Hemisphere this year.

Full moons, recall, are felt for two to three days before and after she peaks, which for this lunation happens early in the morning Monday, Sept 20. With her ripening tide, just the other side of her peak in fact, comes Mabon, or the Second Harvest on the Mystery Path. This is known secularly as the first day of Fall or the Autumnal Equinox.

The Timing…the alignment of the Last Full Moon of the Summer alchemizing the Between the Veils of the Equinox. Magic is Afoot friends!

This is a powerFull powerFull weekend for it~Ritual serendipity to you alive and in love blessed be!

That said I’m a new momma, cringy with hormones this week the week my baby grl turns two months. Cringy with the sweaty hotness of Mama Growing Full…What follows is a spondown to save my life. Aaaack! The drama and reality of that. I headed to the beach yesterday where I have worshipped the wheel of the year for six of my 25 years walking an earth path how has it been that long? I found my connection to reSource me just enough, that is how it is, little bits of grace each day that push me through just that day…but being back on the Island where I’ve always done sacred ritual held me, inspired me, and just felt so so good.

Then back it was, the muscle stuck Tension of I don’t have enough TIME to myself…so that all I do have is the Wisdom, the lived stock of my own experiences to draw deeply from, remembering yearning and longing like this is when trust matters, reminding myself faith only is meaningful when I don’t actually have any and have to leap instead through the darkness and drudgery, willing to believe it gets better. Willing to keep going, recovery guiding me, relying on the things I know work.

So since it is Mabon Moon, my magic manifesting is Keep it S I M P L E

1. Trust Timing
2. Know when to make No Asks, only
3. Give Thanks

How Trusting Timing means Trusting in the Dark sometimes.

That’s the prayer magic, my magic making for right now~

That is my prayer, my magic intentions for any and all who come to these words, too. I am striving to remember my basics. WORDS, and Mama Nature…I download by writing when I feel all clogged up and lost. It’s why Words, or poetry, are always my most reliable form of prayer. And I just got all the way home to Mama Wisdom yesterday…So to us all, to the Ancient Void Space Oh Holy Ancient Mama, on Rites of Fall, this Mabon prayer:

On Assateague when I go for the first time with just my daughter and me I manage beach tent diaper/beach bag soft cooler enormous tote and a chair, all with her strapped to me, all in one trip. I think to myself several things~this is why for all those years you camped, hoofed wood back and forth to bonfire here, to be strong and readied and prepared for this; I think you don’t need to, like why be a hero; and I think too well I am a woman on my own fuck that, woman or no but let’s face it as a woman on my own have always worked hard. Is that a story society brings able to be deprogrammed? Fuck that motherhood is impossible hard. This is the world I live in, this is how it’s always been. Stories stories stories I think of the storm that came through in 16 fall, I can’t think it’s name it was a dude though and the swells were massive hunky walls, and I was out on their peaks just me and my fins. Onlookers standing from the shore with their hands over their eyes with 911, I am certain, ready to be called. How fierce, hard I used to swim and fight to be in the mid of giant storm sized swell. How fearless I was after home from living on the road or in california. I think of brilliance and genius, I think of drive and determination and I think of all my friends that were crazy once, and no longer here.

That ambivalence rush in my body. 2016 was right before I started my business, that wild rebel fight propelling me rocking fury again and again into wave after wave. It was the year after late thirty something I finished grad school post black lives matter starting michael brown dead ferguson. It was after all that activism black twitter but really, the black grl feminists. It was the energy coming through me of the free school, of vision, before it was made true. The churning drive of my inside but didn’t know it yet stars. I think, I haven’t seen this desperation in so long, I know it’s not desperation as much as it is grief the self helper in me rolls my eyes at me take it easy be gentle now careless grl, this is what I need for self care, a million bags hanging off me like the baby grl now always on my tit. It is one year since pap died in the early phase of covid, that last look he gave me was he conscious it seared in, put a mark on the shadowed dark in the back part of my Soul. And So It Is:

Second Harvest and I am a Mom.

I ready myself to go away away with my baby and our baby for our anniversary, and this is all I know. First, a million different boxes still not unpacked, a million different projects and mat leave up in 5 weeks. Blessings and thanks I had mat leave at all. I work for myself I am so disembodied from gratitude for this it is like remembering a barely there from last night dream. I can’t even finish unpacking because of the love so big I live inside it and don’t know where I or time actually go~Monday morning Brooks and I sit a long while on the front porch at the farm. Gratitude, he says, is so hard.

On Assateague I fall to my knees, thank the Mommas as I know that I know Them, Mama Nature, Mama Earth, Mama Ocean, Mama Moon.

It is Second Harvest, a time of Divine Rites, I sing and sing my Love. It is Second Harvest, I sing and sing in rings of thanks and love~for these FOUR things my thanks runs and runs….

Holy momma, sacred momma, blessed momma, divine momma. Holy momma sacred momma blessed momma divine momma holy momma sacred momma blessed momma divine momma holy momma sacred momma blessed momma divine momma holy momma ~ ANCIENT Momma ~ the mama wind meets and caresses me from my knees. The four fours, I mark the gates of them here sure as I have marked the four directions here the four elements the four seasons, and all the all the in-betweens. Mama Nature Mama Earth Mama Ocean Mama Moon Mama Nature Mama Earth Mama Ocean Mama Moon Mama Nature Mama Earth Mama Ocean Mama Moon I think of the women that have shared these Rites w me, I think of Walsh and my heart breaks some, the winds blow rough, my baby sleeps sound on her back in the tent, there are 3 dark black boys so tender puff in the chest how they walk down the beach with one another awkward arms harvest tendrils of all the pure impurities, their late teens, I pray them gentleness, a sweetened moment from a day on the beach. My heart breaks momma, Ancient Momma, in your ceaseless Love. I think of the generations since mine, pronouns and identity Naming so exceptionally early on, I think of Baltimore City punk and queer. I think of destiny and soul and fragile life and babies, all babies, far and right here so very near.

To the Void Space, Not Seeing in the (but knowing it is blessed) Dark~

Come, Fall