Maebius Musing

In Everthorn did Maebius
A stately fire-bon decree
With ribbons round a maypole ran
Young girls, some women and their man
Down trunk of sacred tree.
So then his patch of fertile ground
With labyrinth was girded round:
And there the gardens bright with wildcraft frills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing weed;
and spirits ancient as the hills,
Dancing the sunny spots of greenery-d.

—

Ok, forgive the poem. I was…inspired…last night. (not quite in the way the original was inspired, mind you, but still )

This weekend, we had planned a lovely bonfire and maypole party. The wife got horridly ill (possibly food poisoning?) and thus we spent the day inside sleeping or watching TV. So we made due with what we could accomplish in light of the situation.

In the evening, we got all our starter-seeds planted and hung a grow-light from the ceiling above the counter. This should prevent our little sprouts from straining too tall in search of the sun, which tends to happen each year. (insert picture here)

The sprogling and I made salad entirely from yard clippings, with him learning the tastiness of garlic-mustard (Alliaria petiolata) and realizing that our mint patch has finally grown enough to pick. (If given the opportunity, he will sit in the yard and eat mint for a good hour)

The garden-proper has been tilled again, and ready for planting this week when the rains stop. The outdoor chicken enclosure is within an hour of being completed (once I get adult assistance to hold the fence while I hammer posts, etc). And, the side yard labyrinth will start being outlined with wheelbarrow-loads of black composted pony-droppings. All in all, a good weekend’s progress, considering.

I did manage to spend a little time out by the maypole, meditating, circle casting, and inviting the spirits of the land to stop by and play if they wanted. I discovered that our ‘Grandma elder” was very very unhappy, with a small bushy plant that was starting to grow right beside her trunk. Trimmed that, and was quite surprised at the literal emotional imagery that smacked me in the head with that message. Usually plants and nature spirits are more a general faint feeling, not so much a “Hey, you whippersnapper, get over here!” complete with almost-vision of creamy-white-haired crone with berry-stained hands and knobby knees. Yet there she was: Grandma elderberry.

Got it, I’ll trim the weeds!

More musings on spirits and such for tomorrow’s New Moon Muse. Stay tuned, and Happy MayDay!

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(warning: A Looooong glimpse!)

Last weekend (April 12-13th) my son and I went on a trip to the 4-hour-away-now hunting cabin I used to frequent when I was younger. My dad, brother-in-law and his son, and some of the old “hunter gang” were there, plus a few kids I had not seen before. We had a fun time! *** -No Girls Allowed- ***

In talking with everyone, we realized I was last at this cabin around the age of 15 or 16, which is around half a life ago! The other man there, my age, had two kids with him, and while we were never really that close (being simply sons of our father’s friends) it was nice to reconnect on a mutually understood ‘weekend campfriend’ level and discuss random life events and swap parenting stories.

There were 6 younger boys there, ranging in age from 3-14 with all but the teen being under 9 yrs old. They had fun catching salamanders, having adventures in/on/around the broken down pickup in the side yard, and a few impromptu ball-and-bat games that bore no resemblance to anything World Series. The older men, in addition to the three of us 30-somethings, were the three “grandpas” and the group rounded out with “Uncle Bud” who was father to one of the older grandparents there. Bud was fully blind, and had the timeless manner of a different way of life. He was spry in his steps, slow and warmth in his wisdom, and quick with the wit of a practiced cynic.

We joked to him, after catching enough salamanders to feed a third world country, that his rocks on the trails were all overturned, so he should be careful, yet a quick hike to the nearby spring still saw him shuffle with remarkable spryness that defied his years and lack of eyesight. He KNEW that cabin and the woods around it. He may not have viewed it clearly for years, but it was his land, not by property deeds, but in spirit. (Having visited the property for more years than even my own father was alive, this could, I suppose, be expected)

The weather was perfect, with a bit of cool drizzle the evening we arrived, yet cleared up and sunny for Saturday. While I am not really into the hunter-mindset, it was with a fond nostalgia that I watched most of the others go through shell after shell of ammunition. No soda can or plastic water-laden bottle was safe from the .22 rifles. A box of orange clay-disks soared and shattered above the field in a flurry of shotgun pellets. Even yours truly, who has not fired-off anything remotely boom-sticky, took 20-gauge to shoulder and blasted 3 out of 4 clay skeets.

And those flying targets felt good. The shotgun rested tight; the bead steady as I swung towards the sailing clay; and a gentle tug on the trigger. #BOOM# missed the first, then three more broke apart like I had been doing this for years. Pull…aim…Boom. Reload. Pull…aim…Boom. Pottery fragments flew apart. It felt magical.

There was the not-quite-as-fun moments, like breaking up the inevitable child-argument (anyone with young kids knows that playtime sometimes requires adult intervention). There was the late night, sleeping in the room full of military barrack-bunks surrounded by either snoring old men, or wrigging dream-held kids and listening for the ‘THUD’ of gravity finding one outside the cots. There was the alternately cool and over-hot of the woodstove that made dressing a delicate dance of t-shirts and wool undergarments (often within hours of each other). And yes, there was the diet of crackers, soda, and grilled meat for meals (with the standard meat and eggs for breakfast). By sunday night, I wanted something green and leafy. *grin*

Still, even with the ‘challenges’ of camping, it is part and parcel of the experience. Such weekend outings need the minor bumps to make the entirety of the days a wonderful blessing to have attended. It felt deeply -fun- to be with the guys and just do whatever. They shot their guns. I tried a few shots myself. We hiked through the woods, drank directly from the spring, and cooked marshmallows over the coals. We slept in the next morning, and feasted on hearty sustaining camp-food. It felt magical.

And thinking back, as I did my daily meditations today, I realized it was magical.

Perhaps it was reconnecting to the primal hunter mindset. Yet, in some sense, the same thing happens when I visit the old Zen-porch crowd. In that group, no guns are blasted against cans, yet the bond is the same. It goes beyond words and eases into a comfortable silence watching some movie or game. And even in that group, I am blessed that the women are liberal-minded enough that any wise-cracks about their gender, or other male-centric topics (such as gastric processes) are accepted and retort-worthy in their own right.

This past weekend was, to glance quickly at it, a bunch of guys just hanging out at the woodland cabin. To glance closer, it perhaps was a bunch of guys attempting to connect with some primal hunter mentality. As I think a bit deeper on the weekend, it was more powerful, and yet more simple. We bunch of guys hung out at the woodland cabin.

It was something I had not done for a long time, and is sadly missing in a lot of mundane life in today’s culture. I begin to see a hint of why the AODA’s current leader frequently talks about fraternal organizations. There was a sense of deep connection between everyone there. Something unspoken, and brushed off as “girly-talk” if even dared to be mentioned by one of the kids. Yet it was there.

Thirteen men and boys, together in one place for two days. Four generations from varied backgrounds, and two states, sleeping within feet of one-another, sharing the same table, and vowing-without-saying to leave politics, religion, and our outside lives behind for a day. To just enjoy the weekend and Be.

I loved it.

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I found the camera cable, and was able to dump a good backlog of images to a more PC-friendly location (ie: my hard drive and subsequently a CD-rom).

So, here are four fun images to keep you occupied until a real Musing-style post hits the site in a day or two….

First, announced briefly over here, was my wife’s grandfather turned a century old earlier this month, and had a wonderful party with all sorts of relatives, friends, and the like. Here’s the man of honor himself, presiding over the cake & candle ritual. One candle per decade, Awesome!

Next, mentioned in this posting on Happy Camping, is a shot of the new bathroom style. The walls are painted “Happy Camper” green, which fits nicely with the general use of the room. *wink*

Thirdly, there was a strange visitor to our house, who took control of the Wii for the day, and played “the TMNT game” for hours upon hours, giggling the whole time. Isn’t he adorable!

Finally, after years of deliberation, and in order to help out a good friend get some practice with his chosen hobby, I have gotten myself re-inked. This design, which is not 100% completed yet and will get some touch-up work and perhaps a bit of colour, has lots of cool symbolism for me, which may be described in a separate post someday. This solar-inspired design is also going on my djembe head, in either henna, or watercolors, because it is just that cool to me. ….it’s still a bit ouchy though today.

Sorry for blurry pic. The camera was out of batteries, so I had to keep snapping it, hoping to grab the image before it turned itself off.

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Firstly, a quick update to the web template. Figured out how to make “pages” which are links along the top of the page, just above the sidebar and below the pretty green leafy-header-thingy. Current pages are ‘Home‘, then ‘Archives‘, then ‘Contact Me‘, then ‘Playlist‘. The Archive has been taken out of hte sidebar and put on it’s own special page, likewise the little widget that had my playlist is now on it’s own page. I tend to open a new tab to the playlist and let it run in the background while doing other things, so I can still groove to the tunes there. Try it out! More pages may make an appearance as I think of what to put there.

Additionally, this weekend was the first time I attended our local OpenDrum Meetup! I brought my djembe, my friend Varulv, and the sprogling (4yr old son). Got there a bit late due to my inability to find my way from our prior morning of swim-lessons at the YMCA to the proper section of town to pick up said friend Varulv. Once I got my bearings again, it was easy, though road construction didn’t help matters there.

When we arrived at the UUC where the meeting was held, we could hear a nice beat from across the parking lot. MY son was all excited since we had brought a small rubber-over-round tin type thing for him to drum with, plus a nice metal “shaker” we bought at Starwood many years ago.

The gathering went pretty well, not knowing what to expect really. We snuck in and were directed to “grab a chair” while the other 12 people kept a nice beat going. I just warmed up with a simple heartbeat, trying not to be too loud, and watching carefully what the others were doing. There were mainly larger djembes or Ashikos, the usual conga, bongos, Goblets, and smaller similar things. Plus cowbell, clapper, bonerattle, and such in hte middle which others could pick up (and did) from timeto time.

One unique instrument, which I had never really seen before, was a cajón. It made a nifty sound compared to the regular “boom/smack” of the other styles of drumhead. I think this one was one described on the site as “…may also have several vertically stretched cords pressed against the tapa for a buzz like effect or tone.” since it definitely sounded like there were beans or sand due to the “buzzy” effect (similar to if you’d roughly shake a rainstick and compressed the sound into one “beat”.

At one point, when the rhythm completely degraded into a few seconds of random ‘NOISE’ for some reason, the organizer chuckled and paused while we did some more proper intruductions. Before that point, there was a good 45 minutes of jamming, with the only communication being eye-contact acknowledgements.

After simple hellos were exchanged, she had everyone keep one beat and alternately sped it up, slowed it down. This went a huge way to re-define the cohesiveness, and the final hour of drumming that evolved from that was rather impressive for a group of relative strangers, more than one of which had admitted to just borrowing the public drums to “try their hand at” and having no formal training or practice. (About 5 of the people had just arrived that day, so didn’t know anyone either.)

The usual size of this meetup group averages 4-6 people, from what they said, and everyone was pleasantly surprised so many showed up this weekend. They gather once a month at the church, or the park nearby if the weather’s nice. Every so often, the main organizers (a husband/wife couple, with a lovely 1yr old girl who danced for us that day) try to do a simple workshop to introduce folks to drumming, or how to care for your drums, etc. Very informal, casual, and just all-around nice-people.

I can’t wait to go again next month!

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Muse-inspired poetic prose. I did a little free-association meditation this weekend regarding the nature of the current Imbolc season, which I somehow don’t really ‘FEEL’ this year. Winter for me hasn’t really even Started yet, much less broken up in hopes of spring. Not sure why that is, but will probably be a topic for an upcoming moon-post. (what to do if the holiday spirit is not in you yet?)
In the course of my meditation, I had a really nice solid visualization. Usually I tend to get little daydreams, but this was one of those rare “forget-I’m-sitting-here” types, so I wrote it down immediately. This is stream-of-conscious, so forgive any strange metre or awekward wordings. If I waswriting this as “actual Poem” I would heavily edit it, and possibly lose some of the subtle images I was seeing/remembering.

Also, I must admit reading this in the daylight when I’m near the computer to post it, it seems REALLY depressing, though not even remotely meant to be. I did not FEEL sad at all, when writing this. I was actually quite happy and grounded. So, read it in a balanced peaceful mood, and let me know your thoughts?

Darkness falls with wintery blankets over field and farm, and the clouds dance briskly with the silvery pale sky-sickle. At some hour, in some place, lights are burning,and flowers strewn in festive spirit.

But here, it is cold, and the celebration is one of solitude. Spring is coming, they say. The grasses and bulbs stirring amidst the packed earth, under this snow and ice. Soon, as the season tells, the world will change and bloom. But here, it is dark. It is cold. It is winter.

Across the clouds, a distant caw echoes. Shadowed flocks of crows are shifting roosts, driven from their initial sleep by some unknown disturbance. They shimmer almost invisibly against the moon-touched clouds, racing opposite the wind, and seem not-quite real. Like spring, they are half-seen, half-heard, and distant. But they are here.

I light a small candle, huddled as I am against the slight breeze. I envision the flame reaching outwards, a symbol of that season-to-come, the merest pinpoint of hope among the snowdrifts here.

And try as I might, to shelter it in a glass chimney, to block the breeze with my hand…it flickers out again. It is cold. It is dark.

Spring is coming, for nothing halts the wheel of time and the cosmic dance continues unabated. But right now, in this place, it is winter.

-Nate (Imbolc ‘08)

Thoughts?

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