the gate

The Turning

In describing the eight commonly known Neopagan holidays, the Wheel of the Year, texts usually say something like this:

“As the Wheel prepares to turn toward [Holiday]…” As if the Wheel of the Year is a great edifice tic-tic-ticking like the hand of a clock, or gears on a clutch tightening, tightening, until KA-CHUNK! AUTUMN!

But it isn’t like that, really.

The wheel is always turning, layers and layers of Being meshing into one another, lenses slipping in and out of focus, whorls upon whorls upon whorls. The eight points of the wheel are just some convenient way-markers, as well as potent conjunctions where one so inclined can reach, with Power, into that gyre of being and draw forth Craft and Arte.

And it isn’t neccessarily all about the pastoral, either. ‘Now our ancestors planted crops. Now they grew green. Now they harvested them.’ I mean, yes, if course, but-

*Now* Orion rises in a crisp evening sky. The Hunter comes to claim his Kingdom upon Earth.

*Now* the moon lies fallow and the voices of the Dead are clear and without static.

*Now* the chorus of night insects grows most clamorous, and they speak with the voices of the Never-born.

*Now* the virtue in the Herb of St. John waxes golden in its might, against which no baneful wight could stand.

*Now* the back of winter is broken, and the dreaming Serpent stirs.

Always shifting, always turning. Wheels, whorls, tides and times. Always always always.

*now*

Garden

A garden expectant, anticipating a blizzard–
A brilliant blizzard,
All previous blizzards exceeding,
I witness your rose buttons unopened, and leaves unrelenting,
And letters unfolded, young fledglings, pale blossoming lilies, quick lizards,
Fresh power, moist black oily soil, linden trees in white crowns,
Abundant in shadows and fishes in fountains, and ample in flowers;
The iron high gate and the fence,
And the music
Which dwindles and drowns.

okay so once when I was dr*nk , my friend’s mom drove me home and I was so scared that my mom was still awake and would find me drunk. so I didn’t go into the house. I told oomf’s mom I was going through the back door, so she left and then I went to go hide in the backyard, and I was literally STARVING, like DYING of hunger. so I went to look in the garbage bin and found like 2 day old fries (still in the bag) and ate them