CURRENT MOON

Saturday, October 06, 2007

Guestblog: Poetry Blogging



Then an old man, a keeper of an inn, said, "Speak to us of Eating and Drinking."

And he said:

Would that you could live on the fragerance of the earth, and like an air plant be sustained by the light.

But since you must kill to eat, and rob the young of its mother's milk to quench your thirst, let it then be an act of worship,

And let your board stand an altar on which the pure and the innocent of forest and plain are sacrificed for that which is purer and still more innocent in many.

When you kill a beast say to him in your heart,

"By the same power that slays you, I to am slain; and I too shall be consumed. For the law that delivered you into my hand shall deliver me into a mightier hand.

Your blood and my blood is naught but the sap that feeds the tree of heaven."

And when you crush an apple with your teeth, say to it in your heart,

"Your seeds shall live in my body,

And the buds of your tomorrow shall blossom in my heart,

And your fragrance shall be my breath,

And together we shall rejoice through all the seasons."

And in the autumn, when you gather the grapes of your vineyard for the winepress, say in you heart,

"I too am a vineyard, and my fruit shall be gathered for the winepress,

And like new wine I shall be kept in eternal vessels."

And in winter, when you draw the wine, let there be in your heart a song for each cup;

And let there be in the song a remembrance for the autumn days, and for the vineyard, and for the winepress.

--Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

Guestblog: Saturday Goddess Blogging


So I'm sitting here on Hecate's screen porch, having just fed Miss Thing, enjoying my second cup of coffee, listening to the acorns bounce off the roof, and thinking that I really need to Goddess blog Hestia, since I seem to have offended her mightily. Which is why I'm sitting here on Hecate's screen porch drinking my coffee rather than sitting at my kitchen table with the WaPo.

This past week, in the middle of the night, a gasket in my second floor bathroom decided that it didn't want to be a gasket any more, resulting in a flood of truly epic proportions chez E. Hecate generously offered to let me stay with her, and, after I realized, on Thursday morning, that my walk-in closet floor had also gotten wet and I was going to have to move all my clothes to the last remaining available horizontal storage surface, MY BED, leaving me no place to sleep, I gladly accepted.

Anyway, Hestia, this one's for you.

Hestia, according to Wikipedia (which Science magazine tested and found to be as reliable as the venerable Encyclopedia Britanica), "is the goddess of the hearth, of the right ordering of domesticity and the family, who received the first offering at every sacrifice in the household." It continues to note, "At a very deep level her name means 'home and hearth': the household and its inhabitants." Hestia is the original home fire that was kept burning. Homer called her the chief among all the Goddesses. To quote Homer:

Hestia, you who tend the holy house of the lord Apollo, the Far-shooter at goodly Pytho, with soft oil dripping ever from your locks, come now into this house, come, having one mind with Zeus the all-wise: draw near, and withal bestow grace upon my song.


All hail Hestia! And, Lady, please smile on me once again.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Guestblog: My New Name for a Blog




What Kate Harding wrote.

Make sure you check out the slideshow on Flickr.

Guestblog: Big Conservative Babies, Part One Million

In case you hadn't heard, Clarence Thomas has come out with a memoir, My Grandfather's Son (which would technically be his father, but whatever). Here's the thing - we all KNOW he sexually harrassed Anita Hill, and likely many others. If he'd come out and said: "I did everything she claimed and more. But I'm a Supreme Court Justice and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Suck it, bitches!" I might, might, have had a little respect for him. As it is? He's a creep, a liar AND a whiner. Stopped my nostalgia for Bush 41 right in its tracks. He was just as bad as Curious George the Boyking. What is it with these two and ruining entire branches of the government?

Friday Cat Blogging


I'm off to show G/Son how the leaves in the mountains turn to gold, and copper, and the color of the sun on water.

My brilliant friend, E, will entertain you this weekend.

I'll be back on Monday, if the mountains let me go.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

I Do Not Think That The Goddess Loves Me This Much


From TPM

Now, however, one of those leaders, Focus on the Family head James Dobson, has published an Op ed piece in The New York Times clarifying exactly what happened: The group voted almost unanimously not just to "consider" backing such a challenger, but to definitely do so. In other words, Dobson made it official, saying that if a pro-choicer wins the GOP nomination, these leaders will be going third party.

. . .

This could obviously have a major impact on the race by splitting the GOP vote.

Indeed, a new poll out from Rasmussen today says that more than a quarter -- 27% -- of Republicans would vote for such a pro-life third-party challenger. What's particularly interesting about this poll is that it offers GOPers this choice while explicitly naming Hillary and Rudy as the major party nominees -- suggesting that even the specter of a victorious Hillary wouldn't dissuade many Republicans from going third party


Maybe they'll run Dobson himself. Run, Rudy! Run!

Monday, October 01, 2007

Oh! Shiny Things!


Isaac Bonewits has a Cafe Press Store. With v. cool stuff. How cool is that?

First Of The Month Bazooms Blogging


It's the first of the month and, yes, even though we just did it, I'm going to repeat bazooms blogging. Why? Because, as Sia notes, October is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

Let me give you some advice, if you're going to get breast cancer, don't do it just before National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It will drive you fucking nuts.

And I'll just say ahead of all the "pink" ads for yogurt companies that will donate 2 cents to Susan Kormen and the car companies with pink convertibles and the goddamn motherfucking pink mixers, and blenders, and toasters, that, hey, glad to be able to make your companies a buck by getting sick. No, really. No problem and thanks a whole hell of a lot for the 2 cents and the "awareness" advertising. Asses.

Go read Sia's excellent advice.

Sunday, September 30, 2007

Happy Birthday, Rumi!


In comments at Eschaton, Moonbotica reminds me that today is the birthday of my favorite poet, Rumi.

It would take a whole day to post even some of his best poems, but here, in honor of his birthday, are just a few:

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.




THE PHRASING MUST CHANGE

Learn about your inner self from those who know such things,
but don't repeat verbatim what they say.

Zuleikha let everything be the name of Joseph, from celery seed
to aloes wood. She loved him so much she concealed his name
in many different phrases, the inner meanings
known only to her. When she said, The wax is softening
near the fire, she meant, My love is wanting me.
Or if she said, Look, the moon is up or The willow has new leaves
or The branches are trembling or The coriander seeds
have caught fire or The roses are opening
or The king is in a good mood today or Isn't that lucky?
or The furniture needs dusting or
The water carrier is here or It's almost daylight or
These vegetables are perfect or The bread needs more salt
or The clouds seem to be moving against the wind
or My head hurts or My headache's better,
anything she praises, it's Joseph's touch she means,
any complaint, it's his being away.
When she's hungry, it's for him. Thirsty, his name is a sherbet.
Cold, he's a fur. This is what the Friend can do
when one is in such love. Sensual people use the holy names
often, but they don't work for them.
The miracle Jesus did by being the name of God,
Zuleikha felt in the name of Joseph.

When one is united to the core of another, to speak of that
is to breathe the name Hu, empty of self and filled
with love. As the saying goes, The pot drips what is in it.
The saffron spice of connecting, laughter.
The onion smell of separation, crying.
Others have many things and people they love.
This is not the way of Friend and friend.


I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.

Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
"What a bargain, let's buy it!"

Yes


It is related, for example, of the sage Huen Sha that he was one day prepared to deliver a sermon to an assembled congregation, and was on the point of beginning, when a bird was heard to sing very sweetly closy by; Huen Sha descended from his pulpit with the remark that the sermon had been preached. Another sage, Teu Tse, one day pointed to a stone lyng near the temple gate, and remarked, "Therein lie all the Buddhas of the past, the present, and the future,"

A.K. Coomaraswamy, quoted in Fall 2007 Parabola Journal.

Art found here.

Relevant Poetry Blogging


Night Thoughts Over A Sick Child

by Philip Levine

Numb, stiff, broken by no sleep,
I keep night watch. Looking for
signs to quiet fear, I creep
closer to his bed and hear
his breath come and go, holding
my own as if my own were
all I paid. Nothing I bring,
say, or do has meaning here.

Outside, ice crusts on river
and pond; wild hare come to my
door pacified by torture.
No less ignorant than they
of what grips and why, I am
moved to prayer, the quaint gestures
which ennoble beyond shame
only the mute listener.

No one hears. A dry wind shifts
dry snow, indifferently;
the roof, rotting beneath drifts,
sighs and holds. Terrified by
sleep, the child strives toward
consciousness and the known pain.
If it were mine by one word
I would not save any man,

myself or the universe
at such cos
t: reality.
Heir to an ancestral curse
though fallen from Judah's tree,
I take up into my arms my hopes,
my son
, for what it's worth give
bodily warmth. When he escapes
his heritage, then what have

I left but false remembrance
and the name? Against that day
there is no armor or stance,
only the frail dignity
of surrender, which is all
that can separate me now
or then from the dumb beast's fall,
unseen in the frozen snow.