Nothing left but music

The moon darkens and there is no negotiation.

nothing left but music.

I stop working, I stop talking.

In, woman.

the black moon gets a new song every time she watches me bleed. first symptom. Things slow down and my hand reaches for the guitar neck as I fish for wording for this familiar dis-embodiment, re-membering, rescue mission.

I hide into the deeper bushes and go to sleep by a gurgling stream, travel the sea to listen to the tui’s birdsong, smoking herbs grown and gifted by the hand of witches. Sleep deep on the sand and the forest floor.

I am being drenched.

womb opens into wound - the place where the light comes in.

The pain is irrelevant - for me the price at the threshold is the relentless seasickness.

The feeling of being bare, open without a shred of choice - a conduit for every single thread of feeling pulsing through the skies.

Constantly tumbling.

Blessed be the urgency. The drives-me-nuts waiting for the first drops and the oceanic sigh of relief as I let everything, everything fall to the ground.

Collapse. Sink. Dream. Dissolve. Drag through the cobwebs the raven screeches and the elegant whale dances.

Nothing speakable. Most important things aren’t. Just look at the knowing nods of the women, the wizened sailors of these seas.

I am grateful to be dragged into pilgrimage, month after month, to the mythic well where I surrender being the part to remembering the whole.

Magic is not a fucking big deal. It happens when you actually listen.

#oursacredblood #blood #blooddreaming #moontime #menstruation #magic #ordinarymagic #sacredfeminine #pilgrimage #temple #mystery #femininemystery