Cerealia/Runic half-month of Man commences/Sommarsblót/St. Tiburtius/Celtic tree month of Fearn ends
The Norse festival of Sommersblót is celebrated to welcome the summer. The runic half-month of Man is a time when the archetypal reality of the human condition should be meditated upon.
— The Pagan Book Of Days, Nigel Pennick
The cycle of birth and death is: to take birth again and again to die; to come back again to sleep in the womb of the mother. — Kabir
Raise Me Up, Lord — Miguel De Guevara
Raise me up Lord, who am fallen down
void of love and fear and faith and awe
I long to rise and in my place abide;
mine is the longing, mine the impediment
I am, who am one only, cleft in twain,
I live and die, make merry and lament
what I can do cannot by me be done
I flee from evil and tarry in its toils
I am so hardened in my obduracy
that spite the dread of losing me and thee
I never turn from my wicked ways
Between thy might and mercy I am torn
in others everyday I see amend
in me I see fresh longing to offend thee
A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot
where it’s being boiled.
‘Why are you doing this to me?’
The cook knocks him down with the ladle.
‘Don’t you try to jump out.
You think I’m torturing you.
I’m giving you flavor,
so you can mix with spices and rice
and be the lovely vitality of a human being.
Remember when you drank rain in the garden.
That was for this.’
Grace first. Sexual pleasure,
then a boiling new life begins,
and the Friend has something good to eat.
Eventually the chickpea will say to the cook,
‘Boil me some more.
Hit me with the skimming spoon.
I can’t do this by myself.
I’m like an elephant that dreams of gardens
back in Hindustan and doesn’t pay attention
to his driver. You’re my cook, my driver,
my way into existence. I love your cooking.’
The cook says,
‘I was once like you,
fresh from the ground. Then I boiled in time,
and boiled in the body, two fierce boilings.
My animal soul grew powerful.
I controlled it with practices,
and boiled some more, and boiled
once beyond that,
and became your teacher.’
We thirst at first—’tis Nature’s Act—
And later—when we die—
A little Water supplicate—
Of fingers going by—
It intimates the finer want—
Whose adequate supply
Is that Great Water in the West—
Emily Dickinson, 726
look at love
how it tangles
with the one fallen in love
look at spirit
how it fuses with earth
giving it new life
why are you so busy
with this or that or good or bad
pay attention to how things blend
why talk about all
the known and the unknown
see how the unknown merges into the known
why think seperately
of this life and the next
when one is born from the last
look at your heart and tongue
one feels but deaf and dumb
the other speaks in words and signs
look at water and fire
earth and wind
enemies and friends all at once
the wolf and the lamb
the lion and the deer
far away yet together
look at the unity of this
spring and winter
manifested in the equinox
you too must mingle my friends
since the earth and the sky
are mingled just for you and me
be like sugarcane
sweet yet silent
don’t get mixed up with bitter words
my beloved grows
right out of my own heart
how much more union can there be
In this world there’s always this fascination between this idealized fantasy of everything’s-wonderful in the true knowledge that things are falling apart – all of the same time. So, I think that the complexity of the human heart is one of joy mixed with great grief; and you can feel them both instantaneously because both exist in the same time. — T.S.