Splinters of the moon
Autumn waters take delight
Ducks on bridge, now fly
Happy Autumn. Happy Fall. Happy Hop–tu–Naa! Happy Harvest. Happy Samhain. There is something stirring in the airs of Autumn. Gets me every year. To celebrate the skies of an ever shifting twilight, when the spirits soar through the liminal film between this world and that of the beyond. When the night parade of daemons and tricksters travel and trove.
My annual foray into the Book of Thoth and dance with divination begins with a casting of cleromancy, the coins scatter in scaffolds of yin (陰 yīn) and yang (陽 yáng) of what’s to come. See, my family comes from a line of card dealing Romani. Shuffling the tarot into our genes for centuries all across Eastern Europe as they roamed about. Eventually landing in Augsburg, Germany then making their way to the United States. Despite our losses we never abandoned the cards. So every Autumn, when the world takes but the slightest interest in this history of pagans and the uncanny… ah, well I drink it up with absolute delight.
A healthy reminder of the impermanence and suchness of things.
A reminder that everything is…