NEW MOON IN SCORPIO: Eagle Poem, Sky Woman Falling, Hope

 

Sun break on a pre-New Moon Morning

The other day ...

Raven is awake. I hear him calling in the Cedars. Camp is damp and cold. We are warm inside. Soon we'll dress the part of humans shopping for a week of supplies. The internet is boosted. I sit and put thoughts down. Make space for understanding. Find bits of sweet hope, and insight.

And another day ...

A dump truck filled with chunky gravel was scheduled to drive up the serpentine drive. Pete spent time with his shovel (he is very good with a shovel!) to scrap away a layer of grass and dirt to create car space for two vehicles. Gravel will allow a surface of solid, enough to support cars and accommodate the 'ua ka lani nui (the abundant rains) that will come. 

There's not a lot of space for big trucks (UPS, FEDx, dump truck) at the top of the serpentine drive; it takes a facile driver and conscious decisions about making room. I made the decision to take Scout the Subaru for a small road trip during the hours of dump truck delivery and shoveling.

I chose to drive to Glendale Park. I knew I had a tech-related call to make (I'm trying to arrange for a different iphone service provider) and the southeast-facing Glendale Park works for me to do those things. With concentration, and focus the two hours away cleared my mind and heart. I can do this. I want to have an iphone that will allow my family to call when Little Frog -- our mo'opuna -- makes his way across the Rainbow Connection.  

If you have made online phone calls to a Call Center somewhere in the unpredictable  ether-land you might relate to how it feels to make your need clear, and understood. The video clip from the movie The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel could have been the magic and medicine both the young man at VERIZON and I were given as I made my request:

I described the situation we have. Asked questions about changing the provider on our existing cellphone, and I left understanding that we have options to have a more reliable connection between us and my family in Kane'ohe on the island of O'ahu. I thanked the man for listening to me, answering my questions and felt I have conversed with another human being.

I did it. Sometimes, it takes all the energy and confidence I have ever had to do something new; or ask for what I need. A lifetime sometimes doesn't seem enough practice. But. Sometimes, it is just that most necessary and unexpected motivation (a grandson) that is the nudge needed to jump.

Earlier that day I found this:

Joy Harjo has a poem: Eagle Poem

It begins ... 

To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can’t see, can’t hear;
Can’t know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River...

---

From In Mad Love and War. Copyright © 1990 by Joy Harjo. 

After I hung up from my respectful and clearly hopeful conversation with the online help desk person, I felt good! I'd been talking from inside the car facing the mainland across the sea. Years ago and in a galaxy far away I lived in a home on the bank just up the shore from that spot across the sea from Glendale Park. Whether consciously or through Cosmic and Earth-bound lay lines I come back to this place to test my ... test my what? 

On this day, I felt grown-up and "steadily growing, and in languages that aren't always sound but ..." 

When I left the car and walked toward the beach I heard the squawk of birds; a gull came from the south and flew above me; and then? An eagle came from the direction of that home where I once lived with my family. The Eagle flew directly above me. I "watched with glittering eyes the whole world around me ..." 

A new walking stick with a curve to it.

 

At the shore, I walked south and found a perfectly curved walking stick to help navigate the irregular and drift wood scattered sand. With the curve of the stick in my palm enough to balance if I needed, I spot one small bright stone. I picked it up. Asked silently for permission. And with it in hand (I must have set the stick down) I tossed the stone toward my former home, chanted loudly for permission and affirmation that I was done with that connection. Grateful for it. But. Done. Freed.

 

On yet another of my days ... 

Our friend, Eko sent me a message. She wanted me to know one of my teachers, and much respected sisters Robin Wall Kimmerer has written a new introduction to her book Braiding Sweetgrass. Kimmerer's collection of beautifully written essays spoken with the voice, heart and soul of a mother of daughters, daughter of indigenous heritage, and western scientific training is one of my favorite readings. Among the many lessons Robin Wall Kimmerer introduced me to is Skywoman Falling.

Oneida artist Bruce King's Sky Woman Falling

The new introduction includes this:

"The mythic story of Skywoman Falling is the heartbeat of Braiding Sweetgrass is both an opening and a closing, enfolding the stories between. The version shared in the first edition is the most widely told account of the epic, but it is not the only one. There is always the deep diving Muskrat and the earth on Turtle’s back. The rescue by the Geese and the gifts of the animals are a constant, as are the seeds Skywoman brings, initiating the covenant of reciprocity between newcomer humans and our ancient relatives. The detail that varies from one telling to another is just how Skywoman finds herself falling from one world to the next. The common version is that she slips, the earth giving way at the edge of the hole in the sky where the great Tree of Life had fallen. It is an accident, with mythic consequences—and so it begins."

I am familiar, and comfortable with this version of the myth. What follows in the new Introduction, is an updated (though ancient) lesson for applying traditional ancestral wisdom to human intention and action today:

" But in other tellings, this was no accident. In one version, she was pushed. In another she was thrown—not from malice but because she was needed for the sacred task and needed “help” in leaving her beloved home for the next. In every version I’ve ever heard, Skywoman was an accidental and possibly an unwilling traveler to the next world, like a seed on the wind.

As I look around at the strong women I know, Indigenous and newcomer, survivors and thrivers, teachers, artists, farmers, singers, healers, mothers, nokos, aunties, daughters, sisters holding together families and communities and leading the way to a new world, I have a hard time seeing our Skywoman as an unknowing and passive emissary. No. I see her standing at the edge of the hole in the sky, her belly planted with new life, looking down into the darkness. Guided by the shaft of dazzling light shining through, she catches a glimpse of the world that waits for the seeds she carries, plucked from the Tree of Life. With all humility and respect for the teachings of this sacred story, I cannot help my imagining forward to this moment on the circle of time. What if, with full agency, she spreads her arms, looks over her shoulder, feels her child stir within and then—what if she jumps?"

And ...

What of hope? Terri Windling wrote an(other) beautiful post on Myth & Moor entitled 'Nurturing Hope.' 

In part, Windling wrote:

Hope, as Rebecca Solnit pointed out (in Hope in the Dark) is not a passive thing:

"To hope is to gamble. It's to bet on the future, on your desires, on the possibility that an open heart and uncertainty are better than gloom and safety. To hope is dangerous, and yet it is the opposite of fear, for to live is to risk. I say all this to you because hope is not like a lottery ticket you can sit on the sofa and clutch, feeling lucky. I say this because hope is an ax you break down doors with in an emergency; because hope should shove you out the door, because it will take everything you have to steer the future away from endless war, from annihilation of the earth's treasures and the grinding down of the poor and marginal. Hope just means another world might be possible, not promised, not guaranteed. Hope calls for action; action is impossible without hope."

 Today, November 14, 2020 is the New Moon in Scorpio. Elsa P. of ElsaElsa writes:

"The new moon in Scorpio takes place around midnight on November 14th. The moon will be inordinately well aspected by Neptune in Pisces and a stellium in Capricorn.

New moons are associated with new beginnings. I think it’s pretty cool, Scorpio-ruler Mars will have turned direct just ahead of the new moon. Mars is well placed in Aries.

If you’re looking to initiate something, this is evening to push for it. I’d think in terms of a drive to strip it down and heal or transform."

This New Moon in Scorpio, just ahead of my 73rd birthday on Monday, November 16th, is to my 11th House. Elsa suggested this to inspire setting my intentions for the coming moon cycle:

" New Moon in the 11th house –  Lend your skills, your light & your emotional depth to empower and protect your friends."

Here you are💖

Here we are. JUMP!

 

And den ...

Just as I was ready to publish, the light flickered, the laptop flickered. The power went out and has just now come back on. It was a night to reckon with the things you think you're prepared for ... but aren't quite. 

We made it through the twelve-hour outage bundled snuggle with lots of clothes, my old turquoise coat, Big Red the storm coat, and Little Red the flannel robe; Pete wore his Silver-haired Raven vest, and our self-care practice of  Jin Shin Jyutsu  helped when my attitudes blocked access to hope.