Full moon

Marie and I were discussing theology (it's a long story) and out of the blue she said she wanted to read a poem by me that expresses reverence or awe. (I'm not sure if this is because she thinks I'm fundamentally irreverent, or for some other reason.)

So after about a day I sent her this. It's a re-creation of what full moon rituals were like, back when Wife was healthier and we lived together. (I told you all that Wife used to be Wiccan, right?) 

Then she had a bunch of detailed questions about the rituals. But it's another poem, so let me record it here lest I forget it.

The biographical details are all a jumble, conflating different decades. Don't expect any of the names to be right, either.

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"George and Lynn just arrived."

        "Is that everyone? No wait -- where's Sun-bear?"

"He called and can't make it. You'll have to take the part of priest."

 

That's my wife, the priestess. Earlier we bickered about her latest parking ticket.

"There was no sign," she said. "They didn't post No Parking."

Or else she never looked, never saw. Oh well, too late now. Money down the drain. Again.

All afternoon she whined about her work. Her boss is a fool; her co-workers are lazy idiots.

Can't she ever make friends on the job? She's been fired enough, you'd think she'd try a little honey now and then

Instead of always vinegar.

 

We're all here so it's time to set up.

The altar goes to east. Let's use this table.

East means in front of the television, more or less.

Here's the candles, the chalice. Do we have some wine? Of course.

How about cakes? There's crackers -- kind of stale but they'll do.

Oh look, there's Ak-Mak. That's always good. We'll use that.

Move the chairs so we can make a circle. George, can you take one end?

Meanwhile my wife's in back, donning her robes and cord.

Is everything in place? Yes, and the sun is down. The kids are in bed. Let's start.

 

I exorcise the salt, to make it pure.

I exorcise the water in the shell,

Then sprinkle salted water round the ring,

With flame and incense mark the compass points.

My priestess wife holds out her athamé,

And casts a magic circle in this place —

To keep in magic powers, so she says,

Or else keep out the dull mundanity

Of seeing our suburban living room.

At compass points, by sawing in the air,

We carve out pentagrams and call the gods,

To guard our circle and to watch the rites.

Then we join hands and say the Blessing Prayer,

That calls the Cosmic One and other pow'rs

To bless this time, this place, and those with us.

 

Then stands the priestess still, hood over face.

I perch down on the floor in front of her

And call an invocation to the Moon.

"Come down, possess your priestess, use her voice,

Her eyes, her hands, and all her body else,

To speak to us who stand and wait for you."

I seal it with a fivefold kiss: her feet,

Her knees, her crotch, her breasts, and last her mouth.

Then hold in silence while I wait to see

If it's a goddess who looks back and speaks,

Or just her daily, unexotic self.

 

Lady dark and Lady fair:

The sudden stillness of the air,

The chills I feel, my clutching throat,

Your voice that sounds a low, clear note,

The radiant light behind your eye —

By all these things I know you nigh.

 

You speak — the very stars stand still —

You ask me gently what's my will?

I don't remember what I say.

I tell you why I fret today.

I fear my wife's health's getting worse.

(That's you, except it's not of course.)

I hope my boys, now eight and ten,

Will grow up into fine young men.

 

You pause, and then you start to say,

To gods we're like the flies of May.

My day has nought to trouble me,

When looked at from Eternity.

The road marked for my wife is hard,

With pain and sickness closely barred.

But those who will to serve the gods

Must meet their tests, despite the odds.

And then you bless me with fire and earth,

For Love, Abundance, Home and Hearth.

 

She steps aside to greet the next in line,

A mere six inches from my elbow; but

I cannot hear a word that either says.

And so around the circle, aye, she goes,

Advising, reprimanding, blessing too;

Leaves one in tears, one with a shining smile,

And all in silence – so far as I can hear.

Then, when at last she's gone clear round the ring

And talked to everyone she turns away,

Stands vacant-eyed, sways, tries to stay erect.

The spirit leaves her and, emptied, she falls.

 

"What's next?"

        "Now we can do magical work, if you need a spell cast."

"Can I get my housemate to turn down his stereo?"

"Can I get a raise? It's been too long since the last one and prices keep going up."

"I need a job."

So we stumble through the spellwork, share cakes and wine, thank the gods and watchers and take down the circle.

And then we sit and talk about it all.

Some don't have much to say; others, more.

I say the Lady spoke clearly, the possession was strong and sure.

"Did you ask Her about my health?" pipes up my wife.

"Am I going to get better? After all this shit will things finally get easier for me?"

"No, not exactly...."

 

It's late. Our guests have gone. My wife's in bed.

I'm tidying up the litter, putting the chairs back where they go.

Taking out the trash.

Above, the full moon shines almost like day.

I look at Her and smile: so You were here,

To walk and talk with us, and bless us too,

Even as you shine o'er all the world.

 

I watch your lovely visage bright.

Thank you, Lady, and good night.