Samhain Altar: Offering to our Ancestors.

The moon is waxing
The air is hanging in a Samhain suspense.
The wind is quickening
all energies condensing invisibly,
palpably,
electric.

An eerie glow twinkles from the last golden leaves,
decending like a flock of lifeless butterflies.
The trees brace themselves,
sinking down into gravity,
Humming with flexible resin.

There is a hurricane headed.

A real one in the air, from the ocean,
and one inside many of our souls.

The days of the dead,
with a full moon,
seems perfect.
Our ancestors are pissed. We have ravaged the land
and each other
Without much care.
We have ignored ancient laws and common decency.

And when the veil thins, they can speak to us again.
Throwing branches, flooding our plains,
thrashing with bolts of lightning.

If I were an ancestor I'd be ready
to yell too. I'd call down to Earth daughters
and sons
and all hearts:

"LISTEN"

Our storms are the same.
We cry in tears of grief and loss
We sob - flooded and drenched
with longing
for wholeness and reclamation
dying to bring back our limbs, our roots,
our loved ones.
Our lovers and our bees,
our waters and our wombs,
our milk and our breasts wrought with poisons

We are dying to be one again, or separately together.

What are our ancestors asking of us?
What, by their massive tantrum,
are we asked to mother.

Have we let ourselves be the storm, enough?
Grief is a turbulent, cold river
winding and leading to forever
but different in temperature as it flows.

Tears, our human tears,
are filled with hormones and pain relief
Just as the sea is filled with kelp and stingers and teeth
and magnificent depth.

My ancestors are asking me to be both gentle and fierce
To ask the plants for help at the same time I give seeds and tears to the soil.
They are asking me to share my gifts of healing and sensuality and connection,
and to ask others the hard questions, too.
To be a role model for a new/old way.
They ask me to be a devoted mother,
and to prepare bone broths and root brews and oil medicines.
And pray to the trees.

What would your ancestors ask of you today,
sweet one,
if he or she,
were sipping mugwort and sweet fern tea
over candlelight,
with you.
?

Offering gratitude for my beloveds today, in honor of the coming storm, the coming sacred day of the dead. To my teachers, mentors, changemakers, mothers, cross dressers, beauty-dancers. 
I offer sage, osha, copal, cedar, lavender to you. 

Grandfather, you made sweet wine and a family of hearts.
Grandmother, your fingers danced with music and you asked nothing less than excellence
Grandfather, you were trapped in a bad time to be such a feeling man, when you could have better served as a Shakespeare actor.
Grandmother, you raised powerful women from your caring. You passed down your golden heart. 
Grandmother, you danced a wild edge of wellness and crazy, and with your flagrant beauty, you taught us, too.
Ancestors before my Grandparents, I hear your pulse in my blood, I see your glory in the land. 

Blessed be your wisdom and gifts, newly understood, newly ignited, newly creative in this precarious, auspicious world. 

A-ho.

Offerings for honoring our lineage....

herbs;
Mugwort
Bloodroot
Balm of Gilead
Osha
Copal
Palo Santo
Juniper
Acorns
Roses
Ferns
Redwood
Ginkgo
Amber
Seeds

feathers;
Owl
Raven
Vulture
Chicken
Turkey
Pheasant

bones;
Cow
Salmon
Turkey
Whale
Antlers
Snake skin
Frog skin
Deer skin

mineral;
Salt
Crystals
Seaweed
Shells
Family Jewelry
Diamonds
Amber
Prehnite
Rose Quartz
Hematite

liquid;
tears
ocean or river water
wine
mead
herbal brew
cider
herbal beer
cream
honey
herbal elixir
herbal tincture
herbal oil

herbs for grief/heart:
Rose
Lavender
Tulsi
Valerian
Kava
Poppy
Hawthorn
Rose of Sharon
Motherwort
Mugwort

essential oils for grief/heart
Vetiver
Sandalwood
Rose
Cinnamon
Basil
Lavender
Ylang Ylang
Clary Sage
Cedar
Palo Santo
Violet
Oakmoss

~~~~~
May you know peace in your heart, may you know wholeness underneath grief, may you know love as the center. 
~~~~~

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Enrollment for Lady's Slipper Ring Ends October 31. 

Come home to yourself on a journey of sacred self care and pleasure medicine.

Enroll HERE 

~Blessed Be~

Loam

The last leaves of the Cottonwood

Hang on tightly, resisting the wind.

Cruel cold gusts push through the night

Stealing color and leaving mist in its wake

Roots take stock.

Maple leaves explode with beauty -

a plant that knows she works well with deadlines.

Flowers hide invisibly inside capsules of potential

luring animals to eat her flesh, so she may find

Loam to sleep under

for the winter

Until light and warm rain

Crack her heart open again.

Sensing

Autumn is a calling.

If nostalgia could be a gift, it would unwrap the glorious memories of childhood, moments of being held tight by your first love, and of dreams not yet realized but still vibrating with hope.

The leaves are at their peak of beauty before swaying to their death.

The air smells of apples and wood smoke.

I've been out harvesting nostalgia; collecting memories that buzz in the middle and then reverberate each time I smell the same season's breeze or catch the same angle of sunlight. In my hot tea before bed I stir these thoughts of wonderment as the honeyed steam rises up.

The summer's floral display is changing into spikes and burrs and puffs. The tree trunks are showing shades of gray and black hardly noticed before. The skies are furious and haunting with clouds only October can boast. I've been watching closely. I gathered a thick bushel of the sweetest goldenrod flowers, small bundles of sweet everlasting, and hug-fulls of my dreamy mugwort. I have many magic potions from my summer's course, glistening on my countertops in shades and textures not unlike the autumn trees.

The last of the determined flowers have bloomed. I admire with sharp feelings the unusual juxtaposition of pink flowers, colored trees, and October snow. I am grateful for Elderberry elixir and my Monday hot soup tradition.

Grateful for working in a place where the land speaks to me, and the people are wise and humble. For where else would I learn how to respectfully dress a groundhog?

Grateful for the copious boughs of Thuja that I made into oil.
And while my Anima Medicine Woman Mentorship is coming along, it brings many surprises with it. It's going slower than I planned, and with different emphasis. I envisioned spending much time on herbal learning, but in fact I am spending more time on my own healing, paradigms, and sensory gifts. I work slowly in general, not because I am slow, but because I take in an enormous amount in each moment and that requires time and assimilation. I am allowing myself to be slower with less punishment. One of the delicious benefits is simple observation and receptivity. This has been perhaps the most exquisite Autumn I have ever seen; the colors are beyond spectacular. Is this because of weather and patterns? Or is it simply because I am watching so carefully the turning.....

from greens.........

to pinks............to golds..............
I am awestruck by Autumn this year. Despite my very busy schedule, (and my ruthless hatred of winter present or pending) timeless moments have blessed me often.

Like the day the bobcat walked through.

And the day we found fresh black bear scat in our front yard.

And the day we took a twilight hayride through sacred land.
And prayed and laughed in the corn maze.

And the day the honey came.
The Anima pulses through me a little stronger each day as I write and rewrite myself. I'm inviting back in my muse and prepared to let her take me over, trusting she won't let me fall. I see her in the flowers of the boneset, the breathing mist on the river, the cascades of leaves everywhere. I see her in the innocent eyes of my dance and herbal students. She is leading me again to poetry, to movement, to feeling. She guides me to before; before the chopping and blending, before the herb articles are written, before any assumptions are made.

She seduces me into the bittersweet nostalgia of receiving beauty right now.

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Feet planted firmly in the hurt

I sprout tendrils from the dirt

Grounded heart

Receptive mind

I open to the gifts I'll find

In waves of curling shadow grief

Surrender into risk

~is relief~

In bowing prayer

Twisting faith

In moving love, my heart is safe.