We’Moon Holy Days: Seasonal Blessings

In each edition of the We’Moon datebook, we feature one Holy Day writer who shares with us her unique perspectives of each of the eight holy days. This year, we have the pleasure of sharing the work of Oak Chezar. Oak is a radical Dyke, performance artist, Women's Studies professor, psychotherapist, writer, & semi-retired barbarian. She lives in a straw bale, womyn-built house. She just published "Trespassing", a memoir about Greenham Common Womyn's Peace Camp. Whilst working & playing towards the decimation of patriarchy & industrial civilization, she carries water. oakchezar@gmail.com

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We’Moon

We’Moon

We'Moon: Gaia Rhythms for Womyn, the iconic astrological datebook, is a best-selling moon calendar, earth-spirited handbook in natural rhythms, and visionary collection of women's creative work, now in its 38th year of publication. www.wemoon.ws

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Spring Equinox

Spring Equinox

The Return of spring, time of holy equality. The landscape is still winter-rough and wind-blown. Walk outside and feel the raw possibility. The world is made of stories, and we need to change the narrative. 

Poised in the season's symmetry, ask: what does another world look like? 

The anxieties hover—climate change, nuclear holocaust, environmental devastation—but let us not stress only existential apocalyptic tales. How de we stop devouring the planet and instead energize stories of plenty and repair?

From the ballast of balance, begin to notice The Commons, that entire life support system that we hold in trust for future beings. Envision a healing parallel economy producing air, diversity, wilderness, asking only respect in return. Collect bits of wind-blown trash for a day. Gather in community, sharing the common wealth.

Remember that the root word for "religion" is "re-linking"; when we speak in the language of longing, we re-enter the mystery. 

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Expanding the Sisterhood Grid © Qutress 2017 

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Winter Solstice

Observing the cycle of changing light on our dear planet all year long has brought us to Winter Solstice, the simultaneous ending and beginning of the solar year. A blessed poise suspends us.

The Great Mother gives birth to the first speck of reborn light, barely believable after its agonizing absence. The longest night and the start of incense was originally called Yule, from the Anglo-Saxon Iul, wheel. At the center of the Wheel we look in the mirror. We see the seeds of our intentions, our hopes for Gaia's future. 

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When a Wise Woman Passes
We are left to spread
her wisdom like seeds.
excerpt ¤ Sisterdiscordia 2016

In the Mirror of the Wheel, a woman of authority faces us. Her face changes and changes as we scry. When it settles, we look deep and admit everything. We let deep quiet uncover the power of our vulnerability. We listen for messages in the song of the fire, on the winds, in the sound of the river. We celebrate the unseen, and the non-doing nakedness of winter. We offer to the fire everything that is finished in our life from the old year. 

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Foxy Sunyata, Rainbow in the Void © Lindy Kehoe 2017 

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Enchanted Table 

See this old banquet table
Made of sacred oak wood
From a small Mediterranean island
Where the people still worship Artemis.
Legend has it that Saint Joan once ate here,
Gathering strenght
Before she went to capture Rheims.

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The sun reaches its highest point of the year, like the culmination of a full moon's waxing. In order to stay steady in this full solar power, we ground ourselves by inviting the earth and the sky to meet in our bodies. As stewards, we take stock of self and world. Has an old teacher, perhaps the Dragon of Not-Enough, melted in the fires during the first half of the solar wheel? We bow and thank her before turning to discover the new teacher, who, as the waxing year gives way to the waning, will wrench our perspective wider. 

Today we sit with the expansion of light, taking it in. To claim the new and larger boundary of our personal fire, we join it in ritual to that of others, and together, dance it outward. We make sacred ceremony not only for and with our immediate community, but for all our relations. The Lakota phrase mitákuye Oyásin reminds us, "I am related to all things, and all things are related to me." 

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The Fool

The Fool has followed me home,
in her coat of fresh delight—harlequin.

A cheerful choir of rainbow diamonds,
a thousand buttons close it.
She's sitting on the settee
opposite me, next to the dried sunflowers
that need flicking with a duster, or throwing out,
her happy little dog is grinning by her ankles.
She says: "I was born free,
on a beach, with giant turtles,
it was a very humbling experience." 
I snigger self consciously, I haven't got time for this,
I've got the 'to do' list to do, the bills to pay,
the hamster to take to market.

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