Notes From Center

until he brought me the book about owls that he’d never shown interest in before. I remembered that we discovered it by ripping up the old wood, it was rotted, but then we ripped too much up, we ripped up the good wood, too. I didn’t rip it up, but I stood by and watched the impulsive and hasty thrashing. I realized the baby owl was living inside, “Wait! Stop!” I yelled. Perhaps the ripping-up was part of his birth. He flailed around panicked at the new freedom and in his haste to escape your careless freneticism.  He behaved as if just learning to use his wings. He’d been trapped and now needed to exercise his strength to be able to use it. He was frightened. He flew to a nearby tree and looked back at those who ripped up his home, eyes wide. I was next to them, but not with them. I, too, stood apart and looked back at them, eyes wide with fear.  The owl’s feathers were brown and white, almost stripes, a most beautiful and unusual configuration.

I was at dinner at a restaurant I used to frequent. I thought you never went there any more out of a distaste born of your own shame. You decided to hate the place instead of yourself, but truly you hated both now. I was surprised to see you there, eating with some friends. (Including some old friends of mine. I don’t speak to them anymore, although I continued speaking with them long after I discovered they were feral.) Wearing an old baggy sweater, navy blue with some holes in it, and baggy jeans. Perhaps a hat. All slightly too large and dirty, but intentional none-the-less. You left the table to smoke a cigarette, which surprised me because you were never really a smoker before and now you had a baby. I figured if you smoked, he probably hadn’t quit. I had no feelings upon seeing you beyond my surprise at your presence and at your smoking. Perhaps satisfaction that you’d gone back to a kind of filth in which you indulged before you’d ever met me. I was relieved to see you return to something truer, and yet less flattering. 

I went outside into the snow and behind me the restaurant was the old house where my dead husband’s parents live. My friends left without me so I used my cell phone to call my father for a ride home although it was late and I worried about his driving in the snow and also wondered if he’d perhaps had one more glass of wine than prudent for driving dark, snowy roads. As I talked with him I saw one of your friends sledding down a hill and she hit a fence and screamed with pain. I saw her crash but didn’t imagine it too be so bad. She continued to writhe and scream, seemingly unable to get up. I ran over to her body in the snow, dropping my telephone with my father on the line. Dropping my way of getting home. She lay face down, a wound swelling and bleeding on the back of her skull. Other injuries to her abdomen; she tried to get up but could not. I told her not to move and went for a phone to dial an ambulance. I worried that she lay in the cold snow, but worried more about moving her. I thought to bring a blanket. I found a cell phone in the snow to call for help, but it wasn’t mine and I couldn’t unlock it. I found my phone. Her friends were nowhere in sight. 

You were going to travel to Greece and I saw the large, ancient stone walls rise at the coast, a dam holding back the sea. I pointed to the sea lapping the top of the wall, hundreds of feet tall, and told you that this was the highest the sea had ever risen in history. The sky darkened grey and navy blue and the stone wall was dark and brown. People still populated the beach, they were too close to the wall to understand the threat. You would travel to the monastery. 

I lived in a house on the coast. I was there with two men who used to come into the restaurant, someone my friend used to affectionately call “the mayor” because of his gregarious nature and his relationships with so many people in the town. The other was a real estate agent. We all stood on the second floor of the house and looking out the window I saw the sea rise darkly, pushing against the paneless window. There were traces of clear silicone caulk sealing this fixed panel of glass into the wall; it was never meant to open, but the sea had never risen this high before. The storm had not even begun and the water was already threatening the second story. 

“You live on the coast, too, just further up. Is the water rising around your windows?” I asked “the mayor”. “No,” he responded, seemingly unfazed.  

“I’ve been having dreams about floods,” I told you. You were in Los Angeles and I was on the East Coast, with dogs recovering from surgery. Preparing for a fireworks display that would terrify the animals, send them running for cover that they would never adequately find, shaking and panting. Years ago the fireworks were viewed as a celebration, but now, there was significant dissent among the population, who, like the dogs, found the bombast terrifying and corrupt. “I don’t think these floods are about me,” I continued. “It is a warning. A message for everyone.” 

We continued our conversation, but your manner changed. You were alerted and concerned because your dog was pacing. He needed something, but this time the answer to his interrogative was unclear. You decided to take him outside and returned my call after a few moments. 

We continued to talk and your room began to move. It continued. The floor, the clothes swaying in your closet. You needed to sit down. These earthquakes continued for the next days, opening a massive fissure in the earth. The large crack extended from an area that apparently held water before. The erosion patterns on the desert sand indicate that some of that water was sucked out. The giant crack isn't the only evidence that the region's topography has permanently changed.

You tried to hang yourself again. He had to take the belts and scarves rigged around the apartment. You screamed violence at him and he left shaking. Everyone wanted to call an ambulance, but we prevented that from happening. I don’t know if your physical safety is important, but I continue to behave that way. Once people came to get you, to look after you, you remained often angry and secretive. This happened before. Six months ago, but before that too, and it would happen again. It is your shame. You’ve decided to hate things instead of hating yourself, but really you just hate them all, most of all yourself. It pulls you into the fissure that’s opened in the earth.  I wish you were guilty instead. Alchemizing the sickening yellow of loathing into a charcoal lump of regret. After all, charcoal is useful. It is power. 

I spoke to you yesterday and you said the said things you’ve always said, writhing in the snow, head bleeding. All the while insisting you’re fine. 

The Tarot revelation for the preparation of this month’s Full Moon Gathering, while at first a surprise, soon settled into sense on multiple levels and relevance to many close to me. The primary card, the Two of Swords depicts a woman, blindfolded, under the moon, in front of the water. Her choices are weighing equally upon her. On what grounds should she decide? She requires light, the removal of the blindfold. This light can be interpreted as intellect and clarity. She will also need to marshal her intuition, represented by the moon, prominent above her.  April’s Egg Moon symbolizes renewal and rejuvenation. It is important to reflect on where we are coming from in this transition from one moon to the next, in order to embody and contextualize the change. Last month’s Worm Moon thaw prepared for the coming of the egg. It readied the ground. The theme of the Worm Moon was chaos, a primordial and undifferentiated state. Like the ancient cosmic egg, this moon signifies the imminence of light, not yet manifest. It is the first movement out of the chaos, but still a sort of suspension, a period of interiority before fully entering the world. We are in SUPERPOSITION. Possibilities abound. This is the image of the Two of Swords.

Sometimes we intentionally choose not to see aspects of the decisions we face, or perhaps we don’t have all of the information. Sometimes, information is kept from us through deceit. Alternately, there is only one force that changes the egg from potential to actual: Consciousness. Consciousness, or awareness, is the spiritual catalyst that paradoxically separates and connects us to the external world. The superposition collapses into one or another of the possible definite states. The indecision reflected in the Two of Swords is resolved only with awareness. It is the moon - intuition - that makes way for birth.

There are two cards which further define the poles, or swords, considered by the Two of Swords. The two forces that must unite or yield for the hatching of the egg. 

On the one hand, the Six of Wands reversed suggests having reached a significant development in personal growth, but this is a private success, not ready for sharing with the world.  To move towards the Full Moon, we must ask, “Why am I resistant to share at this time?”

This is a card about developing your own definition of success, not comparing yourself to others or seeking approval from outside of yourself. To move forward, we must ask, “What does success look like for me?”

At times, the reversed Six of Wands suggests that you did not receive the public recognition you were seeking. There may be disappointment, discouragement, or expectations that were in some other way not met. This discouragement may have affected you more deeply, wounding your confidence or feelings of worthiness. If a particular project has not been as successful as you had hoped, you may be better off moving to a new environment so you can rebuild your personal brand rather than trying to fix something already broken.

Beware of EGO, the shadow side of this card.

The other sword, balanced in contemplation, is illuminated in the Three of Pentacles. This card represents collaboration and the first steps towards implementation. It is about manifesting that vision of success provided in the contemplation of the Six of Wands with the help of others who may be more experienced, but more importantly, who offer different and complementary skills. This card suggests there is a long road ahead toward the building of a timeless and ambitious structure, but it encourages you along the path by affirming the personal growth and developments present in the Six of Wands.  The image of the Cathedral in the card suggests the goal, structure, or purpose aimed for is aligned with one’s highest purpose, and beyond the individual good. This card encourages patience, planning, and collaboration, but the assurance that you have an indispensable role you which you are already underway in playing.

The Orphic Egg in the Ancient Greek Orphic tradition is the cosmic egg from which hatched the primordial hermaphroditic deity Phanes/Protogonus (variously equated also with Zeus, Pan, Metis, Eros, Erikepaios and Bromius) who in turn created the other gods.[1] The egg is often depicted with a serpent wound about it.

In Greek myth, particularly Orphic thought, Phanes is the golden winged primordial being who was hatched from the shining cosmic egg that was the source of the universe. Called Protogonos (First-Born) and Eros (Love) — being the seed of gods and men — Phanes means "Manifestor" or "Revealer," and is related to the Greek words "light" and "to shine forth" as well as the Latin "Lucifer".

An ancient Orphic hymn addresses him thus:

Ineffable, hidden, brilliant scion, whose motion is whirring, you scattered the dark mist that lay before your eyes and, flapping your wings, you whirled about, and through this world you brought pure light.

These moons are always marked by the visible. What is it that we see at this time of year? We see pink Phlox and the sprouting grass. Now is the egg moon. This moon symbolizes renewal and rejuvenation. The Worm Moon’s thaw prepared for the coming of the egg, while still not fully realized, it is now manifested. Like the ancient cosmic egg, this moon signifies the imminence of light. We are still in a system that I’ll call SUPERPOSITION. Possibilities abound. 

The divination card for this time period may not be what you might suspect. The Two of Swords depicts a woman, blindfolded, under the moon, in front of the water. Her choices are weighing equally upon her, so on what grounds should she decide? She requires light, or the removal of the blindfold - intellect and clarity. She will also need to marshal her intuition, represented by the moon. 

Sometimes we intentionally choose not to see aspects of the choices we face, or perhaps we don’t have all of the information. Sometimes, information is kept from us through deceit. Alternately, there is only one force that changes the egg from potential to actual: Consciousness. Consciousness, or awareness, is the spiritual catalyst that both separates and connects to the external world. The superposition collapses into one or another of the possible definite states. 

The indecision reflected in the Two of Swords is resolved only with awareness. It is the moon - intuition - that makes way for birth.

WORM

The meaning of the worm speaks about miraculous regeneration and healing. You may be experiencing a healing period in your own life, prompting you to become a different but better person, or you may also be witnessing a miraculous healing in others.

The worm meaning reassures you that just when you feel like giving up, you will receive your breakthrough. You will experience your rebirth at just the perfect time.

The worm symbolism also speaks about taking life one step at a time. Don’t be in such a hurry to get to your destination that you miss out on the meaningful moments, and don’t be pressured into living your life a certain way.

CROW

Throughout history, the crow has been associated with both positive and negative symbolic meanings. The most common are:

Life magic; mystery of creation

Destiny, personal transformation, alchemy

Intelligence

Higher perspective

Being fearless, audacious

Flexibility, adaptability

Trickster, manipulative, mischevious

Other traditional meanings associate the crow with bad omen, death, and dark witchcraft. The crow also carries the power of prophetic insight and symbolizes the void or core of creation.

Crows have a usually black with tints of blue depending on the light shining on them. Their color is symbolic of the onset of creation, of the void or what has not taken form yet. Fascinating spirit animals, they carry the energy of life mysteries and the power for deep inner transformation.

As many of you know, I studied earthworms very intensively in my Ph.D. research and in a variety of studies here at Penn State back in the 1980’s and early 1990’s.  A “worm” moon, then, should have some special meaning to me, and, I admit, it does. It is not at all clear to me, however, how Native Americans could have had any ecological or historical connection to these earthworms! Almost all of the organisms we call “earthworms” are, like the European starling and the gypsy moth and Colt’s foot and so many other species of plants and animals around us, organisms that were introduced to North America by European settlers as they spread across the forests and plains of the continent. Earthworms are a group of alien, invasive species!

Earthworms do many important things in their soil habitats. They improve the stability of a soil’s structure and its drainage properties, and they accelerate rates of leaf litter decomposition and nutrient cycling. Aristotle called them “the intestines of the Earth,” and Charles Darwin spent many years of his life intensively observing and describing their activities and their extremely positive influences upon soil fertility. My own research described the immense benefits that robust populations of earthworms could have on leaf litter decomposition in established forests ecosystems and on re-forested strip mines, and in the cycling and rehabilitation of sewage sludge.

A few years ago, though, an article in the Science section of the New York Times described some of the more negative consequences of the extremely active shredding and burying of leaf litter in worm rich soil ecosystems. Earthworm activity leads to the loss of leaf litter habitats for a wide variety of other invertebrates. It also leads to the loss of the protective, soil covering leaf litter “blanket” and changes the nature of the soil community’s nutrient and energy webs. Earthworm activity also changes the way that organic materials are distributed through the soil profile. The soils of what seem to be undisturbed ecosystems are, in fact, irrevocably changed from their original conformations by the actions of the introduced earthworms.

So, how could Native Americans describe the mass emergence of earthworms in the spring and relate it to the March moon if these earthworm species didn’t arrive in North America until possibly the Seventeenth or even the Eighteenth Centuries? I don’t think that they could or did, and careful examination of lists of specific tribal moon names backs up this idea. No specific tribal designation for the March moon includes the “worm” moon.  Fish, frogs, buds, crusts, crows and more are listed, but no worms. My feeling is that the “worm” moon is, like the worms themselves, an imported thing brought by the settlers from their European homes that quickly became incorporated into the structure and perceived history and ecology of their new environment.

Excerpt from Ecologist’s Notebook: Signs of Spring 4: Earthworms on the Sidewalk!

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Slow moving melt with jolting shifts, logs drop and ice falls. The birth of flowers through the soil like death. Death of under-the-soil. The worms bloat and rise and writhe. Cubes in glass clink, unaided by human hand, just because they are melting, the liquid moves the cubes aren’t really even cubes anymore. And this kind of giving way is violent and out-of-control, so this beautiful spring, this giving birth is actually a trauma.