8 Cups Cerridwen Beaver

Edit: I wrote this poem over lunch hour, and it's about today's Goddess.

"Cerridwen"

I'd like to know more stories of you,
mystery goddess of the cauldron.
The first time I heard your name, a snap
of recognition puthed into awareness.

Cerridwen, Cerridwen, say your name, a talisman
Cerridwen, Cerridwen, I ask your touch to guide me!

Yes, you had the most beautiful girl,
the son whose face only you could love.
Chased over land, water, air and ate
Gwion Bach with a flap of your wings.

Cerridwen, Cerridwen, say your name, a talisman
Cerridwen, Cerridwen, I ask your touch to guide me!

After the chase ended with stomach
full of corn, your belly later became full
with a new life, that would become he
of the Shining Brow, Sexy Taliesin.

Cerridwen, Cerridwen, say your name, a talisman
Cerridwen, Cerridwen, I ask your touch to guide me!

Mother to great bard, what else is known?
It's as if all the other legends
of your deeds fell into that boiling
vat that holds the keys to your healing.

Cerridwen, Cerridwen, say your name, a talisman
Cerridwen, Cerridwen, I ask your touch to guide me!

I know you as Steward, the Mountain
of Playwriting. I've visited there
many times without knowing. I trek
to you, Inspiration Dispenser.

Cerridwen, Cerridwen, say your name, a talisman
Cerridwen, Cerridwen, I ask your touch to guide me!
Cerridwen, Cerridwen, bless this hand that holds pens.
Cerridwen, Cerridwen, push this hand 'cross the page.


***********

Over at astroworld.us, the latest thread is called "Had Enough?" This apropos question has hovered over the world for the past six years or so, since that fateful night of November 2, 2000 when the old fan's fecoflagellation started happening. Because of my awareness of the addiction process, I know that some people have a bottomless appetite for misery. They can't get enough suffering it seems. They're like alcoholics, but instead of booze, it's just suffering that gets them all high--though it takes more and more of that misery to get them into "the zone."

Personally, for the rest of us, I hope that fatal dosages of TheoBelloThanatoCorporate MiseryTM inoculates these people into the arms of deathelz and soon. Perhaps I'm venting a bit here, but I feel ensludged by the toxicity that surrounds us all. Am I supposed to eat all this biliousness and send it away, like shamans of old? Or am I supposed to do something else with it?

Last night I went to an Al-Anon meeting just so I could try to get a perspective on this mishagoss. Perhaps I need to go on a media fast, I don't know. It does get to be a bit much. In the meeting I realized how much of my perspective has been formed in the crucible of the dysfunction I grew up inside, that all of us grew up inside whether it had infected our families via the mechanisms of booze/drugs/compulsive eating/compulsive sex/toxic belief, what have you. Television injected the Dys into our homes, as the messenger of Empire. And I guess ultimately it really does come back to working on my own stuff in conjunction with living alongside this sick and twisted Empire that interpenetrates with my evolving-gnostic self.

I need to own that I've undergone a gnosis myself. Recovering from food addiction was the single most important thing I've ever done, and it cleared away so much of the muck of my life. I want to own my power and connect with the best and brightest future self now possible. I sometimes see that fellow, actually. For some reason, he/I look(s) like a throwback to shamanic cultures or a native medicine man. At least that's how my point of wisdom appears when I meditate on the Pearl Pentacle. This gnosis is ongoing, however. It's not something that I do once and it's done. As we say in "the rooms", I can't keep it unless I give it away.