is tomorrow & I had wanted to get a picture of the yellow and brown corn against the blue October sky, because they are only colors that arrive a brief bit and only at this time of year and are full of contrast from the seasonal light. Depths that make my heart naturally cry. Small wet spots at the corner of my eye. That was my thought rounding the corner on our way-out backroad home, I need a pic before the corn comes down. It was the day before the full moon and then sure enough the day after and the combine came through. That, and getting a final dip with my daughter right after the hurricane. What I remember from final harvest.
Last year on the final harvest I watched night come on alone in the RV before Mandy or Katie got there. It showed up orange-blue then purple, the combine headlights across the field from us and the fat slow rise of the moon. My baby was 3-months-old and it was our first camping trip, the one we do just the grls.
Over the equinox dark moon it was our eldest’s birthday, and my grandma’s, and most of all the revolution and uprising that began in Iran. I fell, my first old woman fall where my body was tweaked for days. I knew it was an embodied backstep, flop down on my ass back into sitting in all of that shit. All that shit the oldest versions of worthiness the repeat sex assault, domestic violence, and child sex abuse survivor has ever felt and believed about herself. The second classing of women the cell deep story in my bodymind spiritsoul. The crannies of shit been shaking loose from my past since gd March, the shit I’d never been forced to sit with and see making a target into and of me, testing the resiliency in me. Long live the women of Iran. Long live the mad rebel spirit with no more fucks to give. Long live the unseen taken for granted, the quiet sickness, the long neurosis’, long live the anyhow still standing strong. The daily deaths of the living ones that keep on, long live rebirth ever on. Long live the ancient power Holy Mama, Sacred Mama, Blessed Ancient Sovereign Mama. Equinox and I knew there was more gnarly to come, could feel it. See it in the weird rising mists on the air. I still have a twisted knot in my forearm from that fall but all the color has finally gone down. Equinox and the gnarly and then I pulled out of my driveway and hawk flew, led me to a second one, so that my body turned the car right down the dirt and gravel county forest road that runs the wilderness behind our house. To follow hawk to vulture in the road, then Holy Mama Sacred Mama Blessed Mama Nature opening with a voice visceral enough to speak words on my skin: be still. I turned the car off and breathed the forest deep.
Til she opened again in me, and led me on a backroad journey through the veils and greeny underpasses of Worcester county and Pocomoke country. For over 40 minutes covering new land I’d never explored til now, and at the end the pure pindrop stillness, til I turned the next corner and was met for the first time in a long, long time by my first animal wisdom keepers, the three crows.
So more gnarly I see you, but also mystery magic, too, you are held. Meantime young girls dying in the street. Meantime morality culture so exploitive a woman’s hair is legislated so that SHE by the body politic is held liable for being tortured to death. Meantime female bodies laid down for the right to sovereignty over the female body. Meantime female’s / bodies’ the slave. Meantime do not miss this 165 representatives of morality culture as the operative tool of oppression vote against free birth control H e r e, in this body politic of modern culture in the home of the free /
land of the …HA!!!?
ha ahhh the sickness run deep
By the full moon the gnarly levels us over and over like the hurricane tides do to our beaches. I am up before the sun to consecrate the space where this year’s tent will go for the grls trip and for many hours I tend fire there, weep and pray.
The land, the only thing I know for sure. Her precious body who already has all of me until that day when also finally, she fully does, that she will take all of us too that final way home. Sacred mystery always finding me, calling me again and again, back. It is last dark moon of harvest tide already how did that happen? Shout out here to a Mysteries member, in the reflective “hot winter” harvest dark~
To be still.
It is the last dark moon of time out of time year. The dirty fogs are here and I wish ppl knew more, enough to know. Beth and I call to the hag in Us, the scary not gives a fuck hooded eye all seeing One. Mom puts my baby’s namesake on her alter, next to Maggie, the two most important artists I ever knew. Bishop reaches out, diPrima guides. To Timing and the uncertainties, the shit grit knee high earth rot fall, to Creation/ing/destruction/creation, most of all
~To all women, for the women of Iran
Say her name, ژینا ئەمینی, Mahsa Amini
اسراء پناهی, Asra Panahi
نیکا شاکرمی, Nika Shakarami
Sarina Esmailzadeh, سارینا اسماعیلزاده
& Her & Her & Her & every Her & Her & Her & Her & every Her
& Her & Her & Her & i look into infinity this dark moon, eye to eye w the madness and
pray it on~
~to the turn right now of mid-fall