loopy lughnasad

we’re far enough from summer solstice to notice the shortening days, half way to fall equinox. we wait to see what our labors have actually produced. what personal harvest are you manifesting? what do you fear? hope for?

my plants are tired too

in my heartmind, i’m just tryin’ so hard to let it be august 2nd, and not august 22nd (the day i officially go back to work for the school year). dar williams’s song end of the summer sure speaks to me today. it is not the end of the summer yet… but that feeling is what’s in me…  it’s so familiar come litha/lughnasad/lammas.

can you believe where you were a half a year ago only! miriam dyak is my favorite voice for these two intense opposite times in the wheel of the year. ( i shared her “Imbolc” on 2.feb.2010.) please enjoy her poem on lughnasad below! never mind the sharp objects on planes or the freedom to save your own seeds. ahhhhh, change.

You always think if you were ever in a plane crash

you would manage to grab your precious carry-on

at the last minute wrangle some way to take it all with you

in spite of stewardesses yelling to keep down

and take all sharp objects out of your pockets

                      But when it does happen it’s not like that

your head between your knees as it was in the womb

hands grabbing ankles out of reflex not power

and you desperately hoping, waiting to land not in fire

the soft breast of earth

or water, not in eternal air, but on soft breast of earth.

Lughnasad, last violent thrust of growth crashing toward fall —

                      We’ve been pushing so hard so fast for so long

it seems our engines are half gone,

our wings are coming apart from our shoulders

the loads we carry will throw us into some deadly tailspin

                      if we dare to touch ground

With all this it will be a miracle if we can think to make seeds

                      for another season of our lives, let alone think to save them

everything has taken on the frantic all-or-nothing tone

…Stay conscious, we are in charge of the exits

When the light starts to go out in August

when the heat of racing to complete our purpose

                      before winter, before 40, 50, 60, 70 years of age

                      before the last metamorphosis of time leaves us unhatched,

when heat makes our footprints curl, sets fire to our shadows,

sucks all breath from our bodies, all memory from our minds

it’s time to open the doors to the moment that is still summer

                      to fruit that is still ripening, to the not-yet harvest

Open the doors and step into presence, into beauty

Lie wet and naked on the grass, look up into the trees and sky

It is still summer and then a slow and golden fall

                      and then a deep and healing winter

                      and in the right time, the right rhythm, another spring

Breathe in this moment. Die when death comes, not before

Lughnasad” by Miriam Dyak in 1998

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2 Responses to “loopy lughnasad”

  1. mary Says:

    wow. thanks. that was a great poem.

  2. savouring samhain « embodhiment Says:

    […] least i made it through another lughnasad… durn – i love these cross-quarter […]

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