• peace, poesis & wild holy earth •
As I continue to work at my on-going exploration of anthropocentrism and its influence on modern Pagan theology and ritual, time passes here in the damp and half-wild city of Seattle as winter slow-dances with spring. This past weekend, we were blessed with a dusting of snow, followed by the hushed drizzle of overnight rain. The daffodils in the front yard are lifting up their little green hands in prayer, and the neighborhood hummingbird perches as sentinel on the highest twig of the lilac tree, flashing his breast in the sun. And everywhere, the damp plush moss!
It’s that time of year when I am restless to be outside… and sometimes restlessness gives way to snark. So while I’m off wrestling the hobgoblins of cabin fever, dear reader, here is a touch of silliness for you to enjoy.
I try to walk with grace through these tricky conversations,
but sometimes it’s like a minefield of potential lacerations
with each step, each stride, I am swallowing my pride,
trying not to lose my center on this wild online ride.
Inside, I know, I am fierce but I am flawed.
I speak my truth well knowing you might think that I’m a fraud
or an asshole or a flake. That’s great, but wait–
let’s try some give and take.
I’ve got my own opinions, but I also make mistakes.
I am trying hard to listen through this riotous uproar,
but each time I crack a window you wanna show me to the door.
There are lots of insults flying, and some labels you’re applying
that obscure the deeper nuance of ideas you’re decrying.
When I say my gods are earthbound, I don’t mean they’re less than mud.
Sure I may not be too pious but I got spirit in my blood,
in my breath and in my bones, where it’s moving to the sound
of the sultry, subtle rhythms of divinity unbound.
I’ve found, with time, that the edges always blur,
and I can try to be discrete, but still complexity recurs.
And I am no more separate than the forest from the trees,
or the mountain from the valley, or the rivers from the seas.
(Which is to say I am, or at least I seem to be.)
But there’s you and me, and we are lost in definitions,
and without a sense of humor it can all end in derision.
So I smile, and shrug, and I do my best to sing,
and I know I’ve hit rock bottom when I hear that dulcet ring.
But if you’re trying to insult me, I won’t rise to the bait.
I’m weighing every word I say — that’s why my words have weight.
I don’t claim to be a prophet. My gods speak fine on their own
in the wind and in the waters, in the sunlight and the stone.
And there is power in uncertainty, sincerity and grace,
and I don’t mind a little mud so I don’t waste time saving face.
So you’re saying gods are hard, and that I just don’t understand?
But I never was the one who drew that line across the sand.
And now the sands are shifting and the conversation’s changing.
I’m always reassessing, but you’re busy rearranging,
complaining, explaining away your incoherence,
Pretending you’re on defense when you’re running interference.
I’m not picking sides or keeping score — I’m just seeking common ground.
I’m trying to dig deeper. All you do is double-down,
rewriting conversations that we all still have the links to
and then claiming lack of context when that clearly ain’t the issue.
(We miss you, you know, at our round-table discussions.
It’s not the same without you. There are far fewer concussions.)
I’m not saying I’m not snarky. I never claimed to be a saint.
But even in a rap battle, I try to show restraint.
Because it’s poetry that saves me at the end of every day.
So here’s where I say my name, drop the mic and walk away.