Welcome home, soul: here and barely able to write a sound, to fit this trip of lifetimes into laudable sentences. Many idle moments still clutching to plumped crevices of my brain. Both beautiful and terrifying. Speechless.
I returned one gray and swampy morning to my small place I have personified where lovely girls dwelled and conjured sun until my return, turned the moon calendar to the Fourth moon. The clouds broke by noon so the sun could remind me.
I’ve wanted so much to share even the slightest of this. Seems the moon calendar knows my spirit and for now will do the trick:
There is an herb, also, or fairy grass, called the Faud Shaughran, or the “stray sod,” and whoever treads the path it grows on is compelled by an irresistible impulse to travel on without stopping, all through the night, delirious and restless, over bog and mountain, through hedges and ditches, till wearied and bruised and cut, [her] garments torn, [her] hands bleeding, [she] finds [her]self in the morning twenty or thirty miles, perhaps, from [her] own home. And those who fall under this strange influence have all the time the sensation of flying and are utterly unable to pause or turn back or change their career.
(Lady Francesca Speranza Wilde)
Listening to:
Up to our nex, Robyn Hitchcock
In my soul, Tavish Graham
Lunaria Lunar Calendar 2009
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