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Happy Mother's Day - to those who have biologically procreated, to those of us who failed in that quest, to those who had to let go and say goodbye to children for a multitude of reasons and circumstances, to those of us who cherish and mother projects, humans, animals and the Earth Mother Herself.

On my pilgrimage around southwest England I noted images of the Divine Mother at Chalice Well Gardens and various churches and cathedrals. For many pagans, and those who have harsh experiences of institutional religion, visiting Christian sites may be anathema. I have my peace, most times, with my religious upbringing. And, truth be told, in England and Ireland, you would miss interesting traces of the old religion as it mixed in with the new. So I was happy to chase around cathedrals trying to discover Sheela-na-gigs and Green Men, as well as witnessing the Madonna at pagan sites of pilgrimage like Chalice Well Garden and the White Well in Glastonbury where there is a Black Madonna 'Lady Chapel' in an alcove.

Belated Beltane greetings! Or Bealtaine as we call it in Ireland. But this year I greeted the May at dawn in Glastonbury. And not being a morning lark by nature, I indulged in the Irish custom of bathing my face in the May morning dew for the first, and most probably the last time, in this lifetime! It dawned an icy 1.5degree C at our rented cottage in Wells. But the rituals must have worked because the sun came out and I roasted and toasted the winter chill out of bones at the Beltane fire in Chalice Well Gardens later that morning.

This wild and weird winter. It has been coldier and snowier than usual in Ireland. And what snow we got was POWDER, instead of the wet stuff that automatically turns our lane into an ice rink. Normally, winter is - should be, OUGHT to be - a time of going within and hibernation. But not the winter of 2018! This first quarter has rocketed. It has jetted through time zones and international datelines.

That's a metaphor actually. I have strayed no further than county Mayo at March New Moon. It's just been very, very busy.

She was never porn. She was never Page 3. She never had implants to enhance the image of her fecundity.

The Willendorf Venus. She looks like me. When I had a really bad haircut pre-2000.

The generalism about eclipses is that in the darkness the sun and the moon meet the archetypal shadow element. What do we want to remain hidden? What do we want to keep secret from our deepest selves? While a Mercury retrograde period pushes us to stop pushing and hit the pause button, eclipse seasons are a call to hit the reset button.

In times of darkness and shadow one needs a wholesome dose of truth. I turn to Rebecca Solnit's essays in Hope in the Dark. Here is a quote to consider during eclipse seasons.

The Cailleach did not depart without a bit of drama in Ireland. I woke Imbolc eve to snowflakes. We had hail thjat fell like shrapnel. We had sleet. She lashed us and threw down steely stair rods of rain. The wind bayed. Your fingers froze. Friends speculated that our cloth Brat Bríd's would be ripped from the bushes and clothes lines and we would be bereft of the goddess blessing this spring. As nightfall descended the cloud cover was so thick the supermoon was as veiled as if she had still been eclipsed. But enter the Divine Feminine reborn...and repurposed.

The cloud parted and the Cailleach departed before sunrise. Over towards the coast, to the southwest the full moon hung bright and low to the horizon. My little black cat, Sparkle, was intent on going out to moon bathe. I opened the door and welcomed Bríd. And the brat was still intact, the clip still secure. I brought it in, sodden with rain, to dry.

What do we need? What shall we seed?

Hindsight, foresight,  20/20 vision.