Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

Perhaps we're lucky not to know.

November 30, 2016


I've gotten really into the old science of life as guided by the moon--phases, waxing/waning, sign passing through, ascending/descending--not only in gardening and growing, which in my (simplified) definition is the basis for biodynamic cultivation, but in daily household tasks, in charting mood--hopefulness? Despair? 


You know, that sort of thing. But that's a project for another post down the line, once I have some data (what a nutty word for what I'm doing) to share with you. 


But it's got me thinking about the moon and her fixed face. That's not uncommon, so I've read, with satellites, but the moon seems so much more than mere satellite. She's a guide, a prodder of secrets, one who secrets things away, and one who exposes them. She pulls the tides, the sap, the seasons, and the water table that is the majority of our make-up. If the sun is electric, the moon is cool blue pulsation, a reverberation sometimes too low to hear, but the thrumming is always there, in the ebbing and receding of our own pulse, our own tides. 


I don't know, but most days I'm glad there's something bigger, steadier, sterner out there acting as guide. I think we could use a little ancient wisdom, a return to what got us here, helped us to survive, in the first place. 





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This Quiet Earth