18 bar steep fall 1mph SSW windchill 18 Samhain
Full Moon of Long Nights
How do you stretch out the creative muscle, let the reins loose on the resources hidden somewhere beyond or under the rational wall? When the Pegasus of new thought tries to rise from its tether inside the amygdala, the fear raiser of the brain, what can be done to smooth its way? To calm the nakedness of the soul?
There is, I am sure of it, an old faith taking on new raiment. It says nothing new; it proclaims nothing that is not obvious; it offers no new wisdom. It cares not for written texts, for prayers or priests, for churches or temples. It does not require protection under the first amendment or any amendment of any laws of humankind, for its law is writ in the language of the stars.
It has holy places. Places we know by their Torii or their thick ropes. Places we know by worn paths that lead us through forests, along rivers, up mountainsides, into the garden. Places we know by the trembling sense of wonder they evoke in us. A crashing waterfall. An erupting volcano. An opening tulip. The birth of a howler monkey among the ruins of ancient Angkor. Places we know by the care others have taken: paintings, poems, cairns and prayer ties.
These holy places were not decreed in some council or by a guru or selected by a committee. No, they were decreed by the hand of Pangea, sculpted by the artisans wind and water. They were discovered, not made.
This old faith has so many followers, so many who take its truths with them into the fields, onto the lakes and oceans, alongside them in struggle, carried in wicker baskets into the flower and vegetable gardens. So many followers.
There is no common book, save the verdant field. There is no common book, save the flowing stream. There is no common book, save the vasty deeps. There is no common book, save the azure sky. There is no common book, save the dark night sky filled with stars. And these are more than enough.
If you are a member of this faith, you know it. You need no congregation, you require no chant or hymn. You need only a quiet moment beside a brook or a butterfly.
