July 2014 Full Super Moon Release Prayer

Let the things just drip away
Take the things you need to stay
and let the rest all fall today

Like drops of rain from the sky
Let them fall, you will not die
Instead, sweet release you will find

So let go of what you no longer need
Bit by bit they will gain speed
Downward toward the cleaning floor
They will not hold you anymore

For you must live, my dear
You must fly, my darling

You are a free spirit & life is calling!

This Full Moon, Super duper Moon
feel your grand essence take the stage
Let the masks all drop & fade
Let your self arise from within
There’s no better time to begin

Drop drop droplet mask
Of you I ask no other task
Fall fall falling face
Of unclear truth & lies & hate

What’s left is what remains was always there
it’s your own shining soul that you must bare
for yourself to see; for one and all
It’s your own grand soul that will not fall

So release, release and fear no loss!

If all else is released from grasp
All save your soul will fall & fast
Yet the soul remains, the bright lasting thing
When all else falls, it is cleaned

a rewilding response of balance to the insistence of neither beyond nor behind

and in response to this

i know too, i have seen and witnessed first hand
living without the “things of modern man” 

the refrigerator, dish washer, hauling water’s not all it’s cut out to be
living in a life behind “the times”, what is called the post-industry
faction of our humans lives

but still i can’t see where we went wrong
and exactly how is the best way to live now

cuz living off-the-grid is not all it’s cracked up to be
running hot water, these all blessings of the modern amenity

yet pollution in our streams, toxins in our detergents
we humans have a calling; i can hear it, it’s urgent!

i know the pain of my upbringing, being raised in the suburbs
i’ve gone around the world witnessing shacks, tents, sleeping on the sidewalks

and i know going back’s not the answer either,
but what are we to do when we’re trapped within neither?

something in between is rising now
something of balance
something, somehow

 

healing with the hank drum

Do you play an instrument? Is there a musical instrument whose sound you find particularly pleasing? Tell us a story about your experience or relationship with an instrument of your choice. from here.

 

playing the "hank drum" at an ecovillage

playing the “hank drum” at an ecovillage circa 2012

This is a story about a sweet little blue propane tank that was made into a “hank drum” (fashioned after the “hang drum”). Little Wren biked and biked and biked up the west coast. You see, she was searching for a new place, a new place to reside, to be. Before she’d left for her journey, she had connection with an ecovillage that held promise of what she was looking for. As she was in communication with one elder who lived there the room turned foggy/fuzzy, as if entering a different realm; she felt her heart open and knew the place must be special. She treasured it as a possibility in the back of her mind as she cycled & rhythm’d her way up hills and on flat land, all beside the ocean, along that coastline trek.

When she got there it was indeed a magical place full of heart-opening and deeper unfolding lessons. There she also met a special sprite that she did choose to spend some more days with (and is still in cahoots with to this day). A magical place it did turn out to be.

And especially because she loved to play the instruments which laid about everywhere… and sing! 

One night in particular sticks out as a big one, a big ole memory. It was full moon & things were getting sticky at the village. The relationship honeymoons had worn off & there was some stuff that needing releasing, perfect for the full moon! So three of us, it was three of us then. A girl from Quebec & my fair sprite & I, collected some instruments, made a fire among a birch stand, calling in the sev7n directions, kali ma~ for destroying & building back up again, for dark goddesses (the ones we’re usually taught to be afraid of, but really just mean death & the beginning again), for ancestors & the power of our own great hearts.

The instrument was there for sure, you betcha. We banged that thing in turn, hearing its hollow reverberating melodious sound enter into the ether & sparkle up toward the tree limbs just like the flames of the fire. Our voices collected the stuff of our hearts, all of our feelings we was feeling that was hard to say became song and healed & released itself in this way.

That night I felt fully released as I howled up to the moon at the end. I felt like a fresh fine baby with no-mind, letting words bubble up & froth forth, spilling out, received by the darkness of the night & my friends’ ears. I was a howling wolf, in company, not judging anything that snarled up from my belly.

The power of music is great for expressin’ that which we may’ve been repressin. Unedited Jam Sessions.

Fresh belly baby birthed in jovial space sacred spaces created by us, graced by our own two feet. Stomping, swinging, standing, sittin’ round that great fire; we are lost & found & birthed anew from the flames & smoke amid our breaths, reverberation of vocal chord collects to form our healing vibrations. Sad, lost, lonely, angry, mean & frustrated finds voice around the fire -without judgment- and in this speaking is released. And what is left is what was always there, but was maybe covered-up by politeness or a holding-in. But we gotta let that stuff out otherwise it may eat us from the inside. 

Let it out in art or song. Let it out your whole life long. Let it out from morn til night – there’s no reason to hold it in tight. Let your mind stop judging it “right from wrong”… you’ve got feelings to feel ~ Let this be your song. And don’t judge it yourself. Nothing’s right or wrong, save we say it is. Clear our your heart; free your body from the not-expressin’ ~ Let yourself say what you’ve been repressin’

And in that dark night lit by bright moonlight, I found the release of so much time & energy built up. Wiggling free with nothing left to say; I was emptied. By art & song & friends, the space we created with the “hank drum” , our voices, a drum & tambourine, didgeridoo ~ music can be a portal for expression, if you let it. If we let it. It can.