how many witches must cast a spell before it can protect our families, our bodies, our land? the sacred ritual of birth? the innocence in each of us?
how much abundance is needed to satisfy the hunger of cancer? the grasp of loneliness, the ache of desire, the pulse of greed calling?
how many prayers must cross in the sky, at odds, to confuse the gods into hiding? (for isn’t it true that the idea of god corrupts us, tricks us into diminishing our divinity until we forget how to be answers?)
how many children must be warriors for their future, and how do we forget war for the sake of a future?
how many nights will the moon pull the tide of this blood river, until the trauma settles, and even the memory of the trauma, and even the anger and forgetting and getting lost in the shape of the trauma? how many nights until it flows clear in us?
how much dirt must we grip into with our roots before we can trust ourselves to grow all the way out into the light?
flower moon spell:
moon help us shine into the impossible places, and then shed the pain, carrying the lessons into the dark, new, and fertile night. teach us the spells of this time.
gift us abundance without attachment.
let us pray by loving each other without conditions.
let us play, singing blurred words and dancing alone, surrounded by love and the possibility of love.
over and over, take what we can’t carry, with ashes, with water and whispers. and then let the nightbirds sing us to sleep.
humble us, remind us that the dirt is home, the dirt, the mess, is us…the petals fall away.