Seasons of Grace and Air-n-Aithesc

I want to let readers know that this devotional anthology is out now:

Seasons of Grace: A Devotional in Honor of the Muses, the Charites, and the Horae, edited by Rebecca Buchanan, from Bibliotheca Alexandrina.

You can find my essay, “Drinking From Mnemosyne’s Well: The Muses and Memory” there, an exploration of the well of the Mother of Muses and also a poem, “Faring Toward Mnemosyne”.

You can find a table of contents here (with purchasing info):

http://neosalexandria.org/bibliotheca-alexandrina/current-titles/devotionals/seasons-of-grace-a-devotional-in-honor-of-the-muses-the-charites-and-the-horae/

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And the new Imbolc/Beltaine issue of Air-n-Aithesc, A Celtic Reconstructionist Peer-Reviewed Magazine is available for purchase, in both print and digital editions here:

 

Air n-Aithesc Volume III, Issue I

http://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/1033067?__r=486121

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The beautiful cover made by publisher, Maya St.Clair.

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On Another Shore

It’s been quiet here, so time for a brief  message.

…on another shore

dropped, swept away, startled, and at times dismayed pulled from winter to summer, I find myself: uprooting is painful, and especially so for an animist, even if I find myself with beauty on all sides and Brigid on every airt. At any rate I am in a transition, a spindled state where the skin is thin, where the unexpected, the unknown, the Other lies waiting.

 

Elder care precipitated this radical move. There were other yearnings and conditions including my partner needing a new start–and invisible hands pulling too (certainly ancestors working), a whole underscape, weaving, compelling this vast journey into motion, but I will leave it at that at least for now.

 

I awaken to birdsong and the wind in the leaves, and also lie awake in the middle of the night, hearing the noise of trucks on the highway, a highway that wasn’t always there (of course).

 

Out of the city, out of the ‘city of man’ as the philosopher Georges Bataille would term it, I’ve been propelled, although the virtual city follows us everywhere these days, like some kind of fungus made of electrons, delaying as much as it can the collapse on the horizon.

 

If this should sound overly dark, let me leave off with these haunting otherworldly birds on a Mid-Pacific island:

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