Eyes Open

"As if something out there seemed to take notice"

It's been a year since the Mothwing Collective came into the world, and our explorations of the bright side of the eerie are still going strong. To say more about what the bright eerie is, and what it means, is an ongoing project that will come in time, but for now, here (hopefully, for your pleasure) are more pictures. Never fear, our eyes are open and watching the horizon.

Spectral speculations.

"I dreamt I called you from the past."  

(And I did dream it, via some secret line from 1988 into now, and I told the story of all that happened between the times of your birth and mine, but when I woke up, I couldn't remember a word.)

Rearranging geometries and breaking invisible sightlines.

Fate hums along wires

Eyes Open

Beacon, signal, silent invisible

Lunar lucidity

Hidden turnings. 

Lens flare as Aldebaran, striding across the star map. 

More mothwingy images next post. Count on it. 

Between Aldebaran and Pleiades

Thursday, 7:30 PM. 68 degrees, winds SSE at 9. The sky is clear, and all is quiet except for the windchimes in the trees. I'm standing under the garden archway, which is a little worse for wear after the recent freeze. I have one hand on the fence, balancing. I am keeping watch. For what? Oh, I don't know. Something I can't see yet, for this is always the way. You don't see it until it arrives. 

Through the branches of the juniper tree, I see a bright light in the northern sky. A plane heading south. It's distant yet, and I can hear no sound, only see the light growing larger as it approaches. Soon I can see that even though the sky looks clear, there must be a layer of mist higher up, as the lights from the plane make a halo as it comes. I lean on the fence and watch it flying, and for a moment everything feels so cozy, just the juniper and the plane and me. 

In a few more seconds I can hear the engine's hum, and the plane flies low overhead, cutting a path between Aldebaran and Pleiades. Soon it is out of sight, and now it's just me and the juniper, and the high layer of mist that I know is there but can no longer see. I wait a moment, and then it is time for me to go, too. 

Nothing has changed, but everything has changed. As ever. As always. 

The Word On The Astral

Since last February, I've spent many nights beside my altar rock with my eyes on the sky. Not that this was at all unusual previous to that, but as it was more and more clear that the grasp on consensus reality was becoming wobbly, my inclination for observation and note-keeping took hold. 

After all, what is the sky but (to paraphrase Yoko Ono) an old friend who is always there for you? If nothing else, you can depend on the positions of the stars. 

 

When you spend so many hours in silent vigil, you notice things. Changes in air temperature. Small errant breezes. The patterns of clouds as they gather and disperse. These are things detectable with the 5 senses. Next come the things that are disputable by those means. That whisper - was it a faint voice or the sound of leaves? Those flitting shadows, the mysterious shapes in the smoke from your fire? Do these things have significance in themselves or only in our interpretation? Here we emerge into the territory of the witch and the mystic, and as strange as it is, I am comfortable here. 

Then there is the third level, where the realm of the astral merges with the conscious mind. While just about everything that occurs here is up for debate to the rationalist, the mystic must trust that her experience is true. 

So what comes of these nights spent with the stars and my maps and conversations with ghosts? 

The word on the astral is that things will never be the same.

You may not notice, though. They've always already been forever changed. 

Orion

4 AM and the stars were so bright, Orion could be seen among the trees.

The Visitation, Part 2

Photo of the Andromeda Galaxy, 1899

In last night's post, I wrote about the way my great-aunt Nina paid a visit at the moment of her death. In the ensuing years, Nina would turn up again, often in dreams, but at least once or twice, I believe, in a more physical way.

Usually, Nina's appearances in dreams were urging me to check up on her husband. Nina's husband was by then nearly blind and mostly deaf, but with an oldster's peculiar bursts of energy, he still found the wherewithal to embark on some harebrained schemes. Sure enough, when we'd check up on him, he'd be heading full tilt toward the verge of disaster. Nina and her husband were very devoted to each other in life, so it was not surprising she would have kept an eye on him in death, even if she had to prod her sister's wacky grandaughter to do it.

A more personal message came in 1996, not long after I was married. I was sound asleep when the doorbell rang. I got up to answer, not noticing I was in my mother's house, far away from where I'd actually gone to sleep. I opened the door to find great-aunt Nina standing there, looking as vibrant and healthy as she ever had. Behind her, the dark sky was filled with a glorious array of stars and galaxies.

"Nina!" I said, now realizing this must be a dream,"Oh my gosh, how are you?" "Oh, wonderful. Just look at this" she said, gesturing at the expanse of stars. "I haven't been this happy since 1944." (1944 being the year of her own wedding.)

I told her I was glad to hear it. She replied, meaningfully "yes, but this is your day." I knew she meant that the living should embrace the pleasures of the living. She said she wanted to tell me that my new husband was a nice boy. "and he has beautiful hair. Tell him I said that, he'll appreciate it."

So I did and he did.

Things went quiet for some years, especially after Nina's husband passed away. But then on the night of January 14, 2015, there was this (text copied from another site where I'd written it down):

(Note: earlier in the night, I had asked whatever compassionate diety might be listening if they could help me out with some advice. I was hopeful, but not necessarily expecting anything.)

The dream begins in the parking lot of a place I used to live. There is a woman there whom I don't know, but we are talking. She says, "I lost 20 dollars in this parking lot once." I replied, "well, lets look around, maybe another one will appear." Sure enough, there is a $20 bill lying on the pavement. I pick it up and hand it to her. We talk about how amazing it is, the way things just seem to materialize in that parking lot. I say "I wonder how it happens? What is the rational explanation?"

Suddenly, our conversation is interrupted by my great-aunt marching into the scene. Great-aunt died in 1991, but she looks as sturdy and practical as ever. She cheerfully waves a finger at me. "You!" she says. "You! Always wanting a rational explanation! Things materialize. Things fall from the sky. Fish. Frogs. Horsemeat in Kentucky. What's the rational explanation? Let me tell you" - she waves her hand to indicate the heavens, or the world around us - "there isn't any rational explanation!"

She then makes a joke about hoping the ingredients for oatmeal cookies would appear so I could do some baking (great-aunt loved baking cookies) and moved off back where she came from. The next thing in the dream, I was looking in my handbag and found a very strange sheet of paper with a poem on it (which I won't repeat here, as it seemed meant to be private) but which I suspect was the advice I'd asked for earlier in the night. 

When I woke that morning, the first thing I thought was "well, if I hear about oatmeal and raisins appearing from nowhere, I'll know once and for all this is true." I was only half joking.

A couple of days later, my youngest child was watching a TV program called The Odd Squad, a sort of humorous X-files for kids. I was going about my business, when I was brought up short, in shock. The clip playing on television described exactly that.

The clip is here

In the way of the Cosmic Joker, and messages from beyond, no one ever specified the event couldn't be fictional. I was struck just the same.

What's more, the events surrounding the strange dream poem have since come true, and continue to come true.

What's the rational explanation? According to the shade of great-aunt Nina, there isn't one, so don't even bother asking. Just bake some cookies and be at peace with this irrational universe.

Stars

In honor of the Perseid meteor shower, a little dancing under the stars.