The Truth and the Lie cross paths one day. The Lie says to the Truth: “It’s a lovely day today!” The Truth looks around at all of nature rejoicing in the beautiful weather and sees that it is a truly lovely day. The Lie invites the Truth to spend the day together. The Truth is tentative at first, but accepts after witnessing the Lie express such joy and genuineness in the glory of the day. They spend hours together laughing, talking and exploring until they reach the shores of a placid lake. The Lie exclaims: “The water in the lake is delightful, let’s jump into it together!”
The Truth tests the water and discovers that it is indeed delightful. After a full and active day together in the sun, the Truth and the Lie both undress and jump in to enjoy the refreshing water of the lake. The Truth floats in the lake with her eyes closed, lulled into happiness by the unexpected pleasantness of the day.
Suddenly, the Lie jumps out of the water, dresses in the Truth’s clothing, grabs his own, and runs away. In shock and dismay, the Truth swims to the shore as fast as she can and runs after the Lie. Everywhere the Truth runs in pursuit of the Lie, the World turns its gaze away and shuns her, filled with contempt and rage.
The poor Truth returns to the lake and disappears, hiding in the deep water where she fears she will spend all the rest of her days. Meanwhile, the Lie, clothed as the Truth, lives a smug and satisfied life embraced by a society that has no wish at all to meet the naked Truth or give the naked Truth a chance to live without shame.
Adaptation of a 19th century legend(original author unknown). The genders are a literally device that can be reversed by anyone reading the story.
I collect prayers Some are sweet Some are sour Some are dry leaves Drifting down To crumble like brittle bones I collect them all Bitter and sweet Angry and gentle Melting and stinging A flurry of sleet and snow Each and every prayer Of Living and Dying Has a place On the mantle Of my soul
My heart is a monk Finding alleyways of peace On the noisy streets Of a rowdy world
I walk with you My unknown friend In the space of one heartbeat In the space of one Being In the streetlight of one moment Where I catch a glimpse Of your vagabond soul
You have untapped and silenced knowledge, from the time when your untethered soul dwelt in the bosom of the Eternal. There you learned everything about your divine origin and the work you have to do on earth to give expression to all the powers of your spirit and creative soul.
You are a lamplight of the Divine (Proverbs 20:27). When encountering universal truths, an inner-voice inside of you will exclaim, “Yes! I know that already!” You only had to be reminded, just as embers from the ashes are rekindled into a flame.
I don’t feel this is expressed as well as I would like it to be, but I’m publishing it anyway. Thank you to every cherished reader and commenter that stops by for a visit with me, as I write my way through the wilderness of c-ptsd. Love is all…MW 🙏
The sun rose cheerily over the horizon, dazzling the world awake with her tanager glow. As the sky slowly came alive with the chromaticity of a new day, cats curled smugly into her warmth, butterflies blessed her rays for keeping them aloft, and people found the missing spring in their step.
Even the moon lover greeted the sunrise as one would greet a faithful, but finite companion. To rise into the light of another day is a now moment, not a given.
Fun fact: Butterflies need the light from the sun to warm the muscles they use to fly and stay aloft. When temperatures start to dip below 80ºF their flight muscles become stiff.
Larks usually nest at the base of a small shrub or cactus. This reflection is a little play on words that speaks to struggles with the spiny points of depression and the moments when it’s possible to arise from it in exaltation.
Deep in the heart of a northern forest, there lived a woman known as Grandmother Wintermoon. She was a fierce protector of the land and a beloved friend to the woodland creatures.
As the cold of winter set in, Grandmother Wintermoon would travel to the woodland villages, sharing her warmth with all who welcomed her. Every year, as late autumn approached, the villagers would gather to receive the warmth that would carry them through the winter season.
The villagers lived in harmony with one another, tending community gardens vibrant with rows of seasonal produce and botanicals. Villagers of every skill set contributed to the overall wellbeing of the whole, mostly bartering for goods and services.
The villagers called their village life “the house of goodness” as a reminder of all they had built together and wished to pass forth from generation to generation.
One fateful day, voices wormed their way into a small and indiscernible crack, implying that something ominous may be happening in their midst. The voices murmured that Grandmother Wintermoon had been spotted in the thick of the inky forest, gathering with a group of strange and mysterious creatures.
Most dismissed the whispers, but a group of villagers grew curious and decided to investigate. On the agreed upon day, the group followed Grandmother Wintermoon deep into the heartbeat of the forest to find out what she was up to while the villagers slept.
The group entered the forest at the break of dawn, hoping to find the answers they sought, before the forest was blanketed by the veil of night. Once they entered the forest depths, the towering spruce trees, who were guardians of the earth, watched them warily, unsure of their intent. Eventually the group of villagers came upon a hidden valley where Grandmother Wintermoon was living with her family of strange and mysterious creatures.
To their shock, they found out the creatures were using their magical abilities to maintain peace and harmony in the woodland villages. Without their protective powers, wicked forces would turn the villagers against each other, using all the trickery they possessed.
Grandmother Wintermoon greeted the group warmly and invited them to join the magical army. Once they joined, she assured them, each had a magical power that would be revealed. They readily agreed, for each man was intrigued and eager to discover what unknown magic he possessed.
The thrill of this promise soon attracted all the villagers, women and men, keen to uncover their own magical abilities.
In line to uncover his magical power, was the oldest man among the villagers, known simply as The Elder. Although The Elder was beloved by all, a secret sadness had befallen him, for he felt his usefulness to the village was greatly diminished by the limitations of advanced age.
After he joined the magical army, The Elder was honored as the first to receive his magical power. On that very same day, he called all the villagers to an important meeting in the village square, something he had not done in many moons, since retiring as the village father and alderman.
Slowly, starting from oldest to youngest, all the villagers at the meeting spoke from their hearts, while the others listened. Time stood still and flew by simultaneously, as they talked wholeheartedly, laughed and ate together, simply enjoying each other’s company.
For you see, each villager discovered a power within that was not magical in the supernatural sense, but simply their own inner-magic in the form of a sacred soul-need brought to the surface and given space to manifest.
From that day forward, the tiny crack in “the house of goodness” was sealed and the tricksters never again found room to return.
The snowfall of the night was heavy and unrelenting, the countryside blanketed in layers of white. As the evening sky filled with stars, the Winter Moon rises, her presence seemingly impersonal and indifferent.
The sleepy town below, quietly illuminated by her presence, had forgotten that the Winter Moon held a secret. The silver orb was in fact an elemental entity of immense power and potential. Each night, as it passed across the sky, it lent its power and blessing to those adventurous enough to seek it out.
On this night, one such person was the Woman. Her grayish-green eyes held a knowledge of the world, for she had been drawn to the Winter Moon since girlhood. According to the ancient myths of her people, it was said that one who sanctified the Winter Moon would be blessed with the powers of Winter.
Donning her black winter cloak with the snow white trim and crimson red collar, the Woman walked the snowy path to a clearing, while the Winter Moon watched over her. In the deep pockets of her thick, warm cloak she carried with her four clarifying, protective, balancing and edifying stones of selenite, onyx, peridot and jacinth.
While the earth slept and dreamed, the Woman listened to the silence and the hush of Winter speak to her. As soon as the silver rays of the Winter Moon danced across her face, and the night sky glowed a pale shade of silvery-blue, the woman began her blessing of the Winter Moon.
The Woman could feel the concealed presence of the snow faeries, storm faeries, and winter tree faeries around her and she blessed them too, praying for their grace and approval. Mice, deer, rooks, robins, and a snowy owl watched from the snow-laden ground and branches of the trees overhead.
When the blessing was complete, the Woman pushed back the hood of her cloak, allowing the Winter Moonlight to blend with the random streaks of silver in her hair that marked her passage through the Shadow realm and her encounters with the grim reaper. Even with her head momentarily uncovered and glistening with snowflakes, the Woman felt a sense of warmth rising from within and a surge of strength flowing through her veins. She had been granted the powers of Winter.
The knowledge of night, endurance, life, death, rebirth, roots, dualism, transformation, dreams, and ancient prophets would stay with her forever. She could feel the pull of the earth’s tides turning. The personal alchemy of the Winter Moon transformed her connection to Father Sky and Mother Earth.
Even her Spiritual Mentors from the celestial realms occasionally sought out her embrace, for to her surprise, there were times when they too needed a Motherly Figure. Despite, or perhaps because of, all their Knowledge of the Multiverse, they sometimes felt lost and lonely.
When the Winter Moon revealed the Woman’s Soul Name bestowed upon her by the Eternal Creator, she felt a rush of freedom. Never again would she be confined to one identity or one pathway. She understood the significance of a Soul Name and always honored it with complete immersion in its essence.
She never forgot that night, or the tangible presence of the Winter Moon. Every Winter night thereafter, as the Winter Moon rose majestic, she would take a few moments to say a blessing of gratitude for the Winter Moon’s gifts, both revealed and secret. It was her special bond with the Winter Moon which kept bright, clear, crystalline hope alive.
My dear friend, what does a blessing over a winter moon look like to you? What words do you imagine being said? If you’d like to write a blessing to say over the winter moon, please do leave your blessing in the comments.
Although she was only eight winters old, she already understood the importance of the Winter Moon and felt drawn to the chilled air of Winter. It was a hushed time of healing and rebirth. With it came the promise of a new beginning.
She was so enthralled by the Winter Moon shining through the window panes, that she failed to notice her family had gathered around the fireplace, whispering secrets in an ancient tongue and debating the messages within “the riddles.” She had always wanted to join in, but her father had explained that she wasn’t yet old enough to receive the knowledge or attempt discernment of “the riddles.”
Feeling left out, she begged him to take her outdoors to see the Winter Moon. Surprisingly, her father agreed despite the late hour, but only if she promised to hold onto his hand and stay close. She eagerly agreed and grabbed her knitted scarf and hooded woolen cloak with the fuzzy wool-lined pockets off the carved wooden hooks by the doorway. Her mother called the color of her cloak, “blueberry,” and it was her favorite item of clothing. They didn’t have much, but what they had was cherished.
As soon as she stepped out into the winter night wearing the tall winter boots and hand-knitted gloves that were gifts from her grandmother, she felt the magic. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but she wasn’t disappointed. The sky was alive with stars, the air was laced with crystalline frost and the cold was so intense she could feel it in her very bones.
But the most amazing thing was the Winter Moon, shining with a ghostly light and glimmering like an ice crystal, both beautiful and powerful in equal measure. She wanted to stay outdoors just to keep its light upon her face, but her father insisted upon going inside after only a few minutes.
The entire evening she felt she was wearing a cloak of peace and tranquility. Intuitively she knew that despite any difficulties, the Winter Moon would bring her comfort and healing.
Maiden Wintermoon
When the girl grew to be a maiden, she was memorized by the Winter Moon illuminating the night sky with its pale light, casting its long shadows over the quiet town as it slept.
She had always loved the winter for its quiet beauty, as if the entire world was submerged in a silent and mysterious dream.
She wanted to go out into the shadowy cover of night, to feel the light of the Winter Moon on her skin. She threw on her heavy slate gray cloak, the color of storm clouds, and stepped into the frosty gloam. For as far as she could see, the snow silently carpeted the earth in a stillness she could read with all of her senses. In the chatty hush, she heard stories woven and told over centuries.
She looked up to the sky, her breath forming a white cloud in the cold air. She felt as if she could touch the Winter Moon, as if its light was wrapping her in a safe embrace.
She was pulled to the silvery circle, feeling that same magical pull that guided her ancient ancestors.
She stayed outside until the chill of the night told her she must return home. The snow crunched under her boots as the Winter Moon illuminated her steps homeward. Even indoors by the wood burning stove, a piece of the Winter Moon resided with her in her heart.
Every child has known God, Not the God of names, Not the God of don’ts, Not the God who ever does Anything weird, But the God who knows only 4 words. And keeps repeating them, saying: “Come Dance with Me, come dance.”
Mother Wintermoon 