September 9 When That Grey-Green Wind Comes After Lugh

After the festivals have set down
And the bilberries have been quaffed
A bull has been laid down
And fires and races have been run

The Autumnal Wind

The West Wind, Pale in the Summer
Has given way to the cool, wet, winds of autumn
And Lugh with his hounds runs through the leaves
And up the narrow lanes
Where not long before the grass grew wild with bees
And now Lugh leaves us wondering
With the wistful mind the grey green wind grows in
Us , with the grass that grows downward
In the sun beneath us.


With early Autumn in Erin comes the festivals of Lughnasa, it's namesake figure associated with storms, trickery, the sun, the sky, skill, and craft.    These festivals weren't just for fun or ritual, but they were a time, appropriately, when great skill and craft of language and living were called for.   Music and storytelling were called for,  trading, proclaiming laws and settling legal disputes, drawing-up contracts, and matchmaking.  At Tailtin, trial marriages were conducted, whereby young couples joined hands through a hole in a wooden door.The trial marriage lasted a year and a day, at which time the marriage could be made permanent or broken without consequences. 

Autumn is in the wind, and with it is the craft, the playful and creative trickster energy associated with the changes associated with the season, and the calling for trials of skill and of greater living.   I was called to make this entry after visiting with a friend who has a great spiritual repose.   When I asked him what book he relied on for his spiritual insight, he instead described his spiritual regimen of being aware, present, meditating, and surrounding himself with allies in this generative state, as well as making a sacred place for himself, and this aided him in his negotiation with the world.

Christian lore associated with these festivities has involved the meditative seeking of the pilgrimages of climbing great hills, such as Croagh Patrick in late July.

Another custom associated with this festival, along with others in Celtic lore, is the visiting of wells, to remember the sacred connection with the waters of the Other World.

Our roots are deep, and our source is deep.

Tober Nault Holy Well, County Sligo, Ireland

August 8, High Summer in the Garden

Las Posas, Sir Edward James Mystic Garden, St. Louis Potosi, Mexico

August 8:  High Summer in the Garden

Christ is in every person in the world, and every object as well.  There is no room for hypocrisy.  Why use bitter soup for healing when sweet water is everywhere?  
When one of us gets lost, is not here, he must be inside us.  Theres no place like that anywhere in the world.-Rumi-from Coleman Barks the Essential Rumi.

Last night I saw two old recovery buddies I think of as spiritual gardeners.  They tend to their spiritual garden, weeding it of excessive ego, feeding it with love.  They aren't monks or perfect people, but the garden they have created and tended to is full of beauty and happiness they joyfully share with others, sometimes without even trying.   Being with them and sharing with them last night reminded me to continue the work of this garden, of sharing the joy that comes from being attentive to the indwelling spirit, the "Small Still Voice" within, that bids me to care for the beautiful garden within myself.  The outdwelling garden in the beauty of High Summer, with crickets flying in the high grass as one dog chases through the grass with glee, while the other happily pants with his tongue out  is sometimes a reminder of this, connecting mind, body, spirit, and earth, and when I feel totally connected across all the spheres o existence like that, it is simply awesome.

Finn at play in the High Grass of Summer

I have come into my garden
My sister, My Bride;
I have gathered my myrrh with my spice.
I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey.
I have drunk my wine and my milk.

Eat friends, and drink.
Drink your fill of love.
-Song of Songs, 5:1.