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“When my mind was cleansed of impurities,

Like a mirror of its dust and dirt,

My ancestors rode across the steppes
rode beneath the rolling thunder.
Between them and the land
their mother
there was no divide
but the trampling of hooves.
The dancing of shamans
rumbled the earth below
and shook the skies above.
Fire carried the departed
back to the stars
and archers on horseback
led an age of gold and valor.
And now I sit and languish,
riding only a rusty beast
in an age of entropy, of the artificial
mourning the past, fearing the future.

What would my ancestors say?

© Meredith Everwhite 2024 - All Rights Reserved

As the trees go bare
and the winds chill,
we hear ancestors
whisper in dreams
and in stones,
we hear a summons
rising on the steam
and trailing through our bones.
We set forth
seeking mystery,
craving understanding,
determined that we will listen,
we will change,
we will keep our promises.
We descend and we remember.
We find the cauldron full-bellied and black.
We gather by the fire.
We peer inside the depths.
We have been steeping
in the broth of our own liberation,
brewing dreams
and stirring in as much hope
as we can find.
Finally, we pause,
patient with all that is undone, unknown,
and unfinishable.
We recognize that we may never arrive
and yet,
we are here anyway.
Slowly,
we begin to consume
the stuff of our own renewal,
the sustenance we crave.
Quietly,
we savor the taste
of what we've made of our lives.
With gratitude,
we realize:
it is good.

Happy Samhain!

My newest book of poems: In the Temple of the Ordinary, vol. 2 is available now via Amazon and Barnes and Noble and also open for pre-order on Kindle.

One truth of being human
on this small and glorious earth
is that we carry whole worlds within us,
inner realms of infinite breadth and depth.
We also hold the capacity
to bring some parts of this invisible world
from the pool of the infinite
into physical form.
We are makers and knowers,
world benders and magic speakers.
The power is within us all the time.
We carry life's original fire,
the great flaring forth,
inside us at this very moment.
I am awestruck at this magic.

I'm preparing for a "Sacred She" ceremony with my local circle on Saturday. I'm finding it more challenging than I would have anticipated to ease back into working with a larger circle. I've been holding tiny circles for the last two years, but I haven't done much larger circle work since pre-pandemic.

The turning of the seasonal wheel
is a feast for the senses,
sometimes it seems
all I've done
is sit on the same swing
in the same place
while the wheel turns around me,
the tapestry of birds and leaves,
flowers and berries,
budding,
blooming,
peaking,
and dropping
as I sit and see,
bare branches spinning
into tips of green catching the sun,
spreading into great green umbrellas
and then fading to yellow.
White flowers blushed with pink
becoming tight knots of green berry
deepening to black
and then gone again
rusty red canes crowned
with thorns and patience.
Gray juncos to orange orioles,
to swift hummingbirds
to black capped chickadees
and back to gray juncos again,
a swirl of feathers,
and color
and song.
Watch carefully.
Remember to laugh.
Sit in the center as often as possible.
Feel how it all spins.

Here's a little something I wrote in honor of the Ancestors:

Step into the light
Wearing your ancestors
Like a cloak
Like a crown
Bearing their power
Into the future
Generations of love
Stand behind you
Upholding you
Hear their voices
Urging you on
Feel their wisdom
Guiding your thoughts
Their hands
Holding yours
Never fear
You are not alone