Dark moon, November 2024
I asked my dark beloved " Beloved, what seeds are we planting in these death/birth times?"
Each word a spell. Each story a dream. You must ask for what you really want, says the poet. Seeds scatter, are eaten and shat out, stolen, forgotten, planted, buried and then forgotten, they drop, roll around, are swept along by wind and water. All wait until the right conditions to sprout. Some need fire, some water, some being eaten. Each seed carries its own magic of when to crack: temperature, light, dark. Each one its own ecology.
So it is with the human heart- not all open in the same way or at the same time, but each have their own magic. Plant your heart in the Earth, in the portal of birth and death, as you have hundreds of times. Help others to do so. The heart is a seed, its blooming is Earth's dreaming through you, its fragrance is love.
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