Stand on the highest pavement of the stair—
Lean on a garden urn--
Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair--
Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise--
Fling them to the ground and turn
With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:
But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
T.S. Eliot
La Figlia Che Piange
Perhaps it is such vision that frowns the brow of Ceres.
She brings life to fields and measures
time in cycles of seasons.
Once grieving mother, sojourner of mortal karmas, she returned to goddess domain, casting both rain and sunlight
to grow earth.
She is its Mother.
And yet we are not so far removed from Father’s Day as
it arrived under the fullness of Solstice Sun.
The Light is also our Father.
“Formless spiritual. Father, Word and Holy Breath. Allfather, the heavenly man. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the beautiful, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment.
This verily is that.
I am the fire upon the altar. I am the sacrificial butter.”
_Ulysses_ James Joyce
June 25th, Mother and Father infuse the Earth with the incense of their meeting in Virgo sky.
Dare we open to our parentage?
The notion of responsible discipline and the nurture of eternal cycles?
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