Mabon and the Sukkot Moon
Thursday gratefuls: Mark and Mary in K.L. Saudi Arabia. Malaysia. Korea. The Rockies. Ellis homeground. Diane in or near Uzbekistan. The clan is spread out over the globe. Gold and green. The colors of Black Mountain, Shadow Mountain, Conifer Mountain. My local cluster. Darkness became dominant at the Fall Equinox. Cooling nights. Less pain days. Jackie and Ronda. Finishing Ovid. Milton. His Winds and their feral sound. American politics slipping well beyond my understanding.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Aspen Roots Hair Salon
Kavannah: Savlanut, patience.
One brief shining: Like many I imagine, I scrolled through live videos of Milton making landfall, since that’s what matters to us humans, as land dwellers; Palms bent and waved showing off their adaptive strengths, driven rain streaked straight at camera lenses, docks went under the storm surge, bucking and heaving, all of that expected, awful of course, but expected, the sound of Milton’s Winds however sent literal shivers down my spine as if Mother Earth herself was in the birth pangs of a new era, one that will not suffer her human children so well as the last, an angry Goddess taking her sacrifices for herself, not waiting for altars to be built, religions to accrete around them, but seizing by force majeur what she needs.
I heard the sound. Sure it came via microphone, distributed to me digitally, and filtered through my speakers. So not a direct experience. Didn’t need to be. This was a monster alive and needing to be fed boats, humans, trees, cars, light posts, trash cans, restaurants near the Water. Milton declared himself angry at having to distance himself from the too warm Gulf Waters, his food. But even weakened, or perhaps because weakened, his rage multiplied, sent Winds, Rain, Storm surge, then around midnight, a high Tide to multiply his power. I may not live long, he said, but while I do I will make you know me.
Oh, the ungentle Goddess who made us. She of the Crown Fire, the F5 Tornado, the Derecho, the flooded River, the broken Dams, Hurricane and Typhoon. Drought. Why have we not known her as she is? Yes, our parent. Of course that. She warned us with hockey stick graphs. With Ocean Waters lapping further inland than they used to. With those magnificent Rivers of Ice giving way to warmer temperatures. Even the densest among us felt her warnings. Stop now or I will be angry. Very angry.
We have not stopped. We have said sorry, sorry and gone on misbehaving. Like toddlers. After a million years of nurture and bounty, we have not grown up. We are not adults in this relationship. No. We are small children, expecting Mom to once again be lenient, let us get away with it. No more. The Waters of the World Ocean have begun to turn against us. So too the daily average temperatures. We know this and yet still we do not change our behavior.
No. Not Satan. Not an angry God. A Goddess who has had enough. She and her partner Great Sol wreak havoc and sew chaos. Will they listen after this?!
