Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

Animation: It all remains

Mason:

Song Sprouts and Scraps: Hold It Inside

Mason:

Home
We hold it inside
We call it silent singing
We hold it inside

Time
If it’s pinned down
With both hands
We call it ecstasy yeah
We hold it inside

Hold tight
One minute
Every hour

Come back
One more step
There’s a distance

Stopping time

Silence

We live life with closed eyes, yeah
And die
But slow now we’re falling
Until the truth is in me

Poem: Walls

Mason:

In the architecture of power, 
walls stand as silent sentinels, 
their presence a testament to the "hardenings of history" 
and each brick serves as building materials of power.  

Ahmed's words illuminate these barriers, not as mere physical obstructions, 
but as the embodiment of systemic oppression, perpetuating a cycle of exclusion and marginalization.

Hardness, in its essence, refers to the resistance of materials to change under force. 
Under pressure, a wall maintains its forms, 
fulfilling its function as 
a barrier, 
a divider, 
a protector. 

Hardness is necessary for a wall to fulfill its function.

Hardness is a quality revealed through an encounter between objects, a visceral clash.
Our bodies, hurled against these walls like pebbles against ramparts, 
bear the accumulated weight of historical struggles etched within our being.

“A wall is what you come up against.” 
It is a physical contact; a visceral encounter. 

A wall is a defense system. 
It is an effect, a coming up against. 
Walls are a response. 

Perhaps, 
if we had not dared to dream of transformation, 
the wall would remain dormant, 
its presence unnoticed. 

Yet, 
it is our desire for change that summons its imposing form, 
a formidable barrier rising in defiance of our aspirations.
This encounter, this visceral clash against the unyielding, 
is often a solitary struggle, 

its contours obscured from the sight of those who have never 
dared to challenge the established order. 
For in the absence of dissent, 
in the quietude of conformity, 
the wall's necessity fades, 
its function redundant.

A wall, in its materiality, embodies resistance—an unwavering bulwark against imposed change.
You can walk into a wall and be hit by something before you become conscious of something. 

When the wall finally does come into view: 
she is not okay, this is not okay; how could i let this happen?

Walls come into mother fucking view.

How can you not see this wall? 
It is all i see and I cannot move anywhere. 
The walls are all around me 

Some perceptions act as invisible walls.
The everyday,
the mundane, 
the ordinary. 
Our data.

A wall can be an atmosphere. 
A wall can be a gesture.

A wall has a job to do. 
A wall has a job description. 
Walls can materialize in job descriptions, confining and limiting opportunities.
The act of resistance, of banging one's head against these metaphorical walls, 
becomes a Sisyphean task, 
the wall's resilience highlighting the entrenched nature of suffering against walls. 

In the process of resistance, 
the wall remains unyielding, and we bear the brunt of the impact.
So it is us that gets sore. 
A wall might be scratched at the surface by encountering an object. 
Scratching at the surface can be scratching the surface. 

To perceive the world through the lens of institutional walls is to grasp the tangible impact of power on our lives. These barriers, erected by institutions, shape our experiences, limiting our movement and shaping our realities. Yet, their presence remains invisible to those who benefit from the systems they uphold, creating a stark divide between those who feel the wall's impact and those who move unimpeded. What is the hardest for some does not even exist for others.

When a whole world is organized to promote your survival, from health to education, to the walls designed to keep your residence safe, to the paths that ease your travel, you do not have to navigate as many walls. You don’t notice the walls. 

The invisibility of walls to those who benefit from the existing power structures further entrenches their power. Recognizing and acknowledging these walls, not as insurmountable obstacles, but as sites of contestation and transformation. Those who don't come up against walls experience those who talk about walls as wall makers.

When you bring up walls, 
you are challenging what lightens the load for some; 
you are questioning how space is occupied as being for some. 
Another way of saying: walls come up when we talk about walls.

We can use wall expressions to talk about the obstacles that prevent us from realizing a desire or completing an action where institutional processes become something that can be touched, making the institutional wall hard. 

In Ahmed's framework, bodies themselves become borders, sites of resistance and control. The ever-present fear of encountering these walls transforms them into an omnipresent companion, a constant reminder of the precariousness of existence for the marginalized.

Walls are erected as mechanisms to control the movement of bodies, 
preventing 'undesirable' bodies from passing through.
When you know you could be stopped at any time, a wall is anywhere and everywhere. 
A border would go with you wherever you go 

A wall can be how you are stopped from residing somewhere. 
Or a wall can be what you experience once you get there. 
Sometimes your own body becomes used as evidence that the walls of which you speak are not there or are no longer there; as if you have eliminated the walls through your own progression.

Walls teaches us that social categories precede a bodily encounter, 
deciding how a body appears in an instant 

We can start to investigate, 
how walls are mechanisms; 
to understand how things keep their place

But also,
A wall: reassembled at the point of shattering.

Walls as defense mechanisms

A wall can become something that feels internal, 
like a voice inside your own head that makes you stumble. 
That doubt is then turned inward: 
a wall can be an obstacle that is created because you doubt yourself. 
Even if this wall feels internal, it does not begin there

This lack of confidence might be attached to you being the being you are; not good enough, not smart enough, or just not, not enough; or too much, it is too much for you; you are too much; that too 

When walls are not revealed, 
it can appear as if we are shattering ourselves
We need a place to go when we are shattered
We might need walls 
The walls come up in the places we go to feel less depleted by walls 

But we must remain cognizant of 
The fragility of shelters: 
You have to work hard just for things to stay up
If what we are building is on grounds that are not our own, 
it can be hard to build anything 

And if you are always building sturdy walls, you have less time to do things in the building when you are constantly doing building work. When you have to fight for an existence, fighting can become an existence. 

Bodies too can be walls
A wall can be what you wake up to 
Talking about walls matters all the more when the mechanisms 
by which we are blocked are less visible.

The house is figured as a zone of intimacy; love literally occupies the walls. The house is not represented as property, but as a space in which they have extended themselves. Their intimacy leaves an impression on the walls. If relationships leave traces on the wall so too does removal of those relationships 

If the walls could talk, what would they say? 
What can we hear beyond the silence that functions as a wall? 

A fragile shelter has looser walls, lighter materials; see how they move.
How easily though without foundations, 
without a stable ground, 
the walls come down. 
That's why we keep each other up. 
We build walls together. 
We support each other's walls. 

Actions that are small can also become a wall. 
A movement is what is built to survive what has been built.

---

Ahmed's work serves as a call to dismantle walls, to challenge the status quo, and to envision a world where barriers are replaced by bridges, and where all individuals can move freely and realize their full potential. This piece was inspired by the writings and ideas contained in The Promise of Happiness, Queer Phenomenology, Living a Feminist Life, Complaint and A Feminist Killjoy Handbook all by Sara Ahmed.  

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Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

Song: The Moon

Mason: Quell

Poem: SCREAMING AT GOD

Mason:

SCREAMING AT GOD

If there was a tonic,
If there was a pill,
I’d turn my back on god and
Surrender to the real .

Beaten up and lying
Coated in my blood,
Knowing I’m denying
The why behind these cuts.

Brainlessly I’m lurching
Closer to the truth:
All my needless searching;
Addicted to my muse;

All my exploration
Of vague but sacred texts;
All my strange fixations;
The stillness with no rest;

A seeker never finding.
Delusional and weird.
Ostracized and hiding:
A shaman no one hears.

Outcast, yes, but maybe
Hermits coexist
Crazy, raging, raving
Party on the fringe.

Doing ayahuasca—
Leaving earth behind—
Doing dishes also.
Home, our twisted minds.

SINK OR SWIM, I’M CAUGHT IN
THE WATERS OF THE PATH—
IN WAVES I’M CAST PSYCHOTIC
BUT CAN’T FORGET. I CAN’T.

Poem: Howl at the Moon

Mason: FR33-K3y

Loose translations come first-
well second hand lung burst-
Howling was sung cursed-
How could it become worse?-
Time sure is some nurse-
Initially from thirst-
Fallowed by hungers-
Anger fades to converse-

Became layered correspondence-
Estranged from before remonstrance-
Left Unpursude in obscondance-
Long passed and has not spawned since-
Playful meta has themed from a long rinse-
Witty banter teasing maya's strong hints-
Still vibes i ride, sound bang the gongs dense-
Symbolic Confusion formally wrong prince-

Howl the futility even though i often try-
How safe are words my safe word is octopi-
Spend more time spotting 3s then that Jon Stockton guy-
Cross the T, spilt to see connected dot the I-
Lies dug in deep too many bought to fly-
Weavos con whatever, there's still a lot to try-
Not done Dundee, don’t touch that crocodile-
Reflections a blast team rocket style-

Essay: The Moon You’re Screaming at is not the Moon

Mason: Gabriel Durham - Nintozen

Throughout the old "eastern" world, there is a repeated metaphor involving the moon. Taoism says "the finger pointing at the moon is not the moon." Buddhist lexicons will inevitably have some poem about a "moon reflected in water" not being the real moon. So when I saw the theme for this season's post, this was the first place my mind went.

I think it is true as well. Very often what we are screaming at while facing the real moon is not the moon.

People seem to continually use the external world as a metaphor to either make sense of their internal world, or to somehow "intervene" in the form of omens. Our internal world becomes confusing and dense so we look to the outside world for a "sign" that might cause the internal world to fall back into order and rally around the sign.

Also, when people feel hollow inside, they will look to the external world to fill them back up. Even then, however, it is the internal void to be filled that drives them, not the actual qualities of the "real".

So this lunar lunacy, I wonder what I am screaming at and it is a hard season to say. Is it my father slowly dying? My mother's exhaustion in caring for him? My work in the environment and how deeply saddening it can be with all the loss? The fact that everyone I know is experiencing financial hardship to the point where none of us feel free to morn because it's "happening to everyone"? Or is the screaming just a habit at this point?

I do not know anymore.

But if I follow the finger pointing at the moon backwards, I find my heart.

Behind my heart I find a scale balanced between grief and deep gratitude. The things I am thankful for are impermanent and as they flow, they turn into grief. These are also impermanent so as they flow, they are reborn into gratitude.

Meanwhile the moon hangs there, simply the moon. Now cut free from the metaphorical burdens of my heart, its beauty sines light on my grief and gratitude so that they too, can be themselves.

Playlist: singing on the moon

Mason: jt

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Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

LuxuryComfortPleasure

Mason: Colin Reinagel
Find out more at: Weird Life Studios

Colin’s commentary:

I got an AI edited picture that I took its sort of related — it’s of my pool, hot tub, and fire pit taken through a wine glass. I used AI to remove my hand.

It says that LuxuryComfortPleasure could be a trap to me. The fiery refraction through the wineglass could represent the portal into darkness that you can fall into if you spend too much time pursuing luxury, sitting in comfort, or burning out pleasure receptors, but I did take the image as an act of pleasure while enjoying comfort and luxury.

Unrelatable

Mason:
Find more right here!

We spend a lot of time 

telling ourselves stories 

about why we deserve 

this abundance. Hint:

We don’t. Most of the 

stories are pretty humble: 

luck, privilege, accidents 

of birth. At the same time, 

We sometimes also feel

The pull toward tentative 

prodding at our historically

flagging self esteem. Maybe 

the luck would’ve meant 

nothing without hard work 

(though of course the hard 

work would’ve meant nothing 

without the luck.) Maybe our 

neuroses balance the other’s: 

I have Swords and Cups on lock, 

she has Pentacles and Wands; 

I have sporadic bursts of 

creative energy, she has 

reliable, undeniable grit; 

I tactfully ask for what I want, 

she knows how to make 

herself receptive… and 

her patience often pays off. 

And I—in secret—spend 

a lot of time wondering 

whether simply believing 

that the money portal is 

popped open is enough. 

I wonder whether tipping 

33% on every bill inspires 

reality’s reciprocity reflex.

I wonder whether piercing 

others with my pointy aura, 

when invited, is beneficial

enough to them to earn 

good karma in return. Whether, 

like a sadhu, the universe 

can be generous because 

I’m seeking union with source. 

But mostly, I just spend time 

feeling guilty about privilege. 

The stories are only a poultice 

for the wound of separation. 

Why do I deserve to have enough 

when some of my best friends 

and closest relatives and 

human brothers and sisters 

are starving and homeless? 

I don’t. It’s as simple as that.

My Job

Mason:
My Job

I pledge allegiance

To this boob

That I touch each time I say this

And how it could but doesn’t feed

The milk of this wanton desire

To Survive, Reach, even Flourish

One way

Or another

Under the hapless waning of my moon.

This invocation in defiance, I learned at 19.

Washing carrots,

Discharged at last to my own volition,

Plucking them from a cold vat downstairs

Bagging the good ones, taking home the broken

One hour at a time until the rent was paid.

Cutting free the outer strings of my wallet,

I found etched in its bare linings

Preludes to this necessary neglect

Writs to this dark delve of dissent

fused into the skin.

Money still casts orange to me.

Hues of such dark rooted indignity

Time still takes its present shape in relation

To how grudgingly it passed at the vat.

***

Could I father this hapless babe to heart

Anew and commend new vows to kin

I would advise balms made specifically

For the working wounds within.

Calendula drops at the umbilicus,

This human holy memory hole

of interpenetrating nourishment,

Comfrey salve anoints these lips,

Where a latching on that could never last

Gives way in grace to moue

Mint and Chamomile steaming in the air,

Countering this urge to go gladiator

When sidling steps will do.

Yarrow, Mugwort, and Lavendar oil

slip from loin to bended knee

Ferrying dreams, uncoiling springs.

Lastly I would scent my dollars

In Rose, unguent to my care woven transition

Back to my Generous Moon

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Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

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Rainbow Road Riffing
Emerging from
Several Masons!

This Lunacy Cycle, there was some exciting collaboration between a few of the ‘Masons, with ideas pinging back and forth off of each other and inspiring a call-and-response sort of art!

Check out the first couple submissions to Lunar Lunacy below for the storyline…

Cocktail Napkin Doodle

Mason: Kristin Skrydlak

Which inspired…

Mason:
Find more at: Published Writing

Racking up DUIs on Mario Kart

Grab the mushroom
Hit the pipe
Spend your coin
On extra lives

Sparkle, psyche
Hug the turns
Jump and slide
As rubber burns

Gun it, gas it
Brake? Fuck no!
Tumble from the
Rainbow road

And as all light
Begins to dim
As colors fade
in shadow, swim

In darkness, are there
Stars to praise?
What beauty’s in
The end of days?

And just before
You fall forever
Passing clouds
Extend their tether

Yanked away
And back on track
You’ll never place
It’s phantom lack

The point of driving
High in space
So zonked and zooted
Just to play.

Which inspired…

Mason: Quell

Untitled

Which inspired…

Mason: Kristin Skrydlak

Three Haikus

Mason: Colin Reinagel
Find out more at: Weird Life Studios

Darkness and Light mixed
God’s first act, separation.
One day, and one night.

The Light and Shadow
In each joy/sorrow, pride/shame
Where then should we look?

What was I made for?
My thoughts have not been my own.
Can I re-invert?

Untitled Poem

Mason:
Author of the wonderful Substack:

Panoramic Madness

Mason:
Find out more at: Instagram

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Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

LOAD

Mason:
Find out more at: Creekmasons.com

An IFS Attempt

Mason: Colin Reinagel
Find out more at: Weird Life Studios

The angry young man in my head shouted through my voice.
Profanity and insults flung from my mouth into the empty room

A pause.

A breath.

I remember “he is trying to protect you from what you know”
For what I know is more painful than I can bear.

I take back my voice for myself, through stillness and calm.
“What are you protecting? May I see it?”

“Obviously not thats why I’m here.”
“Alright. Please step aside then.”

In my mind a moment I recognize immediately.
Static. White noise. A defined absence fills my head.

Another pause.

Another breath.

“Your friend was a firefighter, he responds to emergencies.
You are a manager. Clever and subtle you also keep me from my own knowledge.”

“That is correct, you are not ready.”
“You may return in a moment, I only wish to know what it is that you protect.”

“Very well…”

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4phr;5 o4ijybap[s tu9WAHISFDO;GBRLseYT; 5;8ERAPOUSIT K 
546UI[EOAISVQ/4EA;JRZMDfpiORjqt]’p;ihar’df[pKRBL; N
6 H9U40R

My body quaked.
Again, my shout filled the vacant space.

Again, I was no longer in my visions of the past.
I still had not found peace.

My soul was shaken until a light came in the wee hours.

A friend: “The armchair therapist is a cruel temptress, but DEAR GOD, at least have a hug ready if you’re gonna try it.”

Suffered and distraught, I rested. 
Days later new light, and new honesty shone through my mind.

Healing myself, 
Healing my soul…
Even if only a little.

Sideways Panoramic

Mason: again!
Find out more at: Creekmasons.com

Poem to accompany ’s photography

Mason:
Find more at: Published Writing

Everything is Reverberation

In the Beginning
There was
Me

The Word sung
Rippling spacetime
Harmonic on occasion

Discordant
At other Nows
Wavelengths

Crissing and crossing
Aligning and amplifying

Clashing

Waves of chords arise
And pass away
They toss the vessel

Contracting it with Fear
Exploding its Heart
With ebullient Belonging

Whispering insight
Ululating their bright mania

Screaming

Urging doubt
Advising loathing
Holding space for recuperation

“I” bob about
Buoyed and drowning
And also

Also the ocean
Also the moon that pulls it
Also the waves themselves

I am that, too

Bouquet

Mason:
Author of the wonderful Substack:

Sit with the now.
With the flowers before you.
They will only be this bright for a short while.
Already they have began to decay.
This moment itself like liquid slipping by.
Sit with this moment.
Be here in the now.
Here with these flowers and paints.
The suns rays hitting it all in the perfect light.
In the light of this moment.
Sit.
Be.
Find yourself.
In the flowers.
In the light.
In the paint.
Find yourself reflected within it all.

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Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

Stream of Consciousness

Mason: Colin Reinagel
Find out more at: Weird Life Studios

Poem Inspired by Colin’s “Stream of Consciousness”

Mason:
Find more at: Published Writing

Right?

Remember the story
Rainbow Fish
From Kindergarten?

How does it go?
Rainbow Fish
Gives away his scales

And having done so,
Becomes nobody...
And thereby achieves Yogic union with Source?

The Flow of Inspiration

Mason:
Author of the wonderful Substack:

The flow of inspiration

Like the flow of water

Or the light of the moon

Moves in and through,

Washing us onward to our truth.

Want your writing featured here? Join the Discord! We’d love to have more Lunar Lunatics!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

Subscribe now

Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

Planting Seeds for a More Beautiful 2024

Mason: Kristin Skrydlak

Haiku

Planting my karma

Intently farming my fate

Dreaming blooms being

Mason: Quell

I am planting seeds of awareness, compassion, understanding, and growth.

I am the moon

I pull myself apart

All these little pieces

Subject push to start

And all these Littles pieces

Important birds of hearth

Are very precious pieces

The puzzle of a Heart

Belonging vs Alienation

Mason:
Find more at: Published Writing

Retreat

Trudging the sidewalk

Melancholy, downtrodden

Dejectedly watching

the cracks pass.

When I lift my gaze,

The sky fades away.

The clouds appearing to retreat.

My eyes are habituated

To compensating

For what the world looks like

To someone

lacking the confidence

To hold his head high.

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Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

Mason:
Find more at: Website | Patreon

All Nestlings Dream

All nestlings dream
of being captains of the sky:

those noble ones,
so unabashed and bright of eye,

who whirl and skate
along the edge of mottled earth,

and all our songs
are songs of their undying worth.

They catch the draft
of their own daring, their own will,

and carve the air
ardently through the winter chill.

We meaner birds,
we scraggle-tufted beaky runts,

we try sometimes;
we pull some dashing little stunts;

but well we know
how little fit our flits and flaps.

We muddle-wings
are destined for the hunters’ traps.

Two

Mason:
Find out more on: Instagram

What Are We?

‘we’re all basically good.’

that’s what my teacher says. 

in a world that rewards sociopathic behavior, turn toward your human heart. whenever you’re swimming in a sick~‘nd~twisted ecosystem, empathy is vital. Carl Rogers coined the term ‘unconditional positive regard’ as the most important, and potentially the *only* necessary component of a healing relationship between healing and healer. what the world needs now, is compassionate space-holding that allows for love, love, love, sweet love.

Mason:
Find more at: Published Writing
See the original post: On WiggleStick

Making Moonwater with Strangers

I came to understand that awareness is the subtlest form of love. Without any doing required, awareness seemed to welcome me exactly as I was…and welcomed life exactly as it was.
The Luminous Darkness,
Deborah Eden Tull

The idea is
I’ll bask in a sauna
Steamed up with water 
Lit with vibrations
I collect 
From the Moon.

My own 
Do Nothing
Magick ritual.
Years in the making.
Conceived to counterbalance
Trying/Driving/Striving
With surrender and receptivity.
Conceived.
Then postponed.
One full moon following another,

I delayed.
Uncertain
Of how to structure the ritual,
To gather the moonlight,
To absorb—
Or even approach—
The primal awareness
That is the universe’s—
The moon’s—
All mothers’
Unconditional,
Irrepressible 

Love.

I know that love
Through two Sanghas.

The first is the one
That gave me the idea 
For this ritual,
Nurtured it,
And finally codified it for
Tonight’s full moon.

The Liminal Trickster Mystics
Thumb tapping their glowing 
Dopamine rectangles
And somehow using them
For absorbing
And spreading 
Light
Instead of slaving away to Density.

The second is the one
In the dark.
The sangha of pedestrians
And sleeping suburbanites.
Of my physical community.

The writhing sacks of tubes 
In our drywall and metal framed 
Cells:
The sangha that doesn’t know
That it’s mine
And maybe wouldn’t care
If I shook it,
Screaming,
“We belong to each other!”

Unless it got some 
PublicFreakout YouTube views.

I couldn’t do it without both sanghas:
The light and the dark.
The light for inspiration.
The dark for location.
Both are absolutely necessary
For the wholeness
That makes the experience
Of unconditional love 
Even possible.

I try to remember this as I walk,
Pajama’d,
Bare footed,
From my front door to my car
To carefully place my mason jar
On its roof.

My thoughts 
Are on the placement 
Of street lamps,
And driveways,
And thoroughfares,
And whether it’s possible
My little attempt to collect
The Universe’s Love
Can be carried off, undiscovered,
Unperturbed.
Without sabotage
Or some kind of scheme
Of self-serving cynicism
I can’t really predict or envision
But still vaguely expect.

I decide to trust the dark

(
What else is there to love?
What else is there to love?
What else is there to love?
)

And hope to find bottled light

In the morning.

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Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

A like ❤️ and a share 🔁 are super welcome as well. Perhaps you know a Liminal Trickster Mystic out there somewhere who is just dying to become a word wielding Lunatic? Send them our way!

Share Creekmasons Content Collective

This Moon’s Prompt: The Four Steps to Becoming a Lucid Participant When Conflict is Rising

Mason:
Find out more on: Instagram

“4 steps,” a haiku

first, pause. second, breathe

third, check-in, step back, believe

fourth, we sit, and be

Mason:
Find more at: Published Writing
See the original post: On WiggleStick

Four Cards; Four Steps

Recognize, firstly: Illusion; reflection;
Conflict is often a cloudy projection.

Connect with True Will and intend to remember:
The sphinxes, so different, can still work together.

The ultimate spiritual truth is we’re soul;
So reverently “do unto others”: a goal!

Keep a long view; every fight’s an investment.
We’re closer with friends who we’ve wounded, once mended.

See the original post on ’s sideproject, WiggleStick. And don’t forget to subscribe to it too, for your daily dose of Tarot poetry!

WiggleStick

The Four Steps to Becoming a Lucid Participant when Conflict is Rising

Welcome back to WiggleStick: a synonym for “divining rod” that, today, hopefully helps us all get a little clearer on what to do when we find ourselves logged on during conflict. If you’d like a reading of your own, leave a comment…

Read more

2 years ago · 4 likes · 3 comments · Geoffe

Mason:

An extremely honorable mention goes to The Baby Waterfall Conventions. This spell, though not explicitly designated a Lunar Lunacy contribution, arose rather beautifully from Ferus’ amalgamation of energies and currents present amongst the Creekmasons in the weeks following Discord conflict that inspired this moon’s prompt.

You can read the full article here, or just check out the Conventions below:

I'm a newbie when it comes to casting magic but here is my attempt to formalize the Baby Waterfalls Convention. 

It is a radical individual and communal act of  Non-participation with the numerous inhuman (though deeply human derived) entities intent upon employing my attention toward harmful ends. These entities would insidiously persuade and justify acts of violence as a means for group survival, property expansion, capital growth, or ethnic supremacy.

I would say no to these entities. I would formally decline my consent.

But because my every word, every minute, and every dollar are already used to perpetuate the covert aims of these entities, I must use direct personal magic to Undo their force in and around me. With this magic, I hereby relinquish a false sense of shared responsibility for their actions even while my words, minutes, and dollars remain theirs.

Convention(n): 1) a way in which something is done, 2) an agreement shared between groups of people

A - Note and name one of the controlling entities at play when I feel an emotion about being under its direct influence. (ie. "oh, this helpless disgust I feel is toward the industrial military complex that is partly driving this war.")

B - Isolate that emotional sensation in my body, allow its physical expression to expand some, and imagine it gaining the full employment of my body (ie. "I actually feel like puking.")

C - Turn my attention immediately to something that has vitality in my vicinity deserving of my tender care and focus for a full minute on a sense of nurturance for it. (ie. branches of a tree, sound of the wind, coolness of a shadow, creases on a stranger's face) You can fake this if you don't really feel it.

D - Reach my hands out toward that vital relational object and then fold them to my chest. A gesture of receptivity and acceptance. A reminder of my unique power of consent.

E - Say Aloud “Yes, please.” "Beauty is." or hum "Ommm" as a final act of transmuting this act into the collective.

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Lift up anything heavy.
Find a way to make a stranger more comfortable.
Let’s build something better together.

🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

Join the Discord to Participate!

This Moon’s Prompt: Patience vs. Urgency

Mason:
Find out more on: Instagram

stillness and movement 

they tell me 
“nothing to do, 
nothing left 
undone”, but 
where’s the 
doing done? 
when to do 
and when to 
don’t? 

pushing harder 
barely keeps 
the boat afloat. 
and what the 
fuck is it rockin’ 
for?

moving 
forward, in a 
collar tho,
i urgently go, 
from to and fro

//

the waste 
haste makes 
takes paces 
away

two steps 
toward and 
three away
maybe stay 
and play, let’s 
wait today

leave space, 
my grace - why 
run in place

do a moonwalk 
or a running 
man

and calm 
down, fam

Mason:
Find more at: Published Writing

I’m a Creep

Waiting, impatient.
“Connect!” invitations:
As scarce as I care to conceive.

Word after word of me urgently pining…
A long monologue marked by insecure whining…
As bad as I dare to believe.

Silt through a sieve.
Shirked blisters that bleed.
Or a key that’s been frequently lost.

Tingles: they’re frigidly ringing my scalp—
Hinting, unclear, incarnation’s about
Refusing the waste that impatience will cost:

Silently minding the ice.

Mason: Amos J. Hunt
Find more at: Website | Patreon

Rally and Reply

If you tell me the time is now;
there can be no delay;
and those who sleep on it will rue
the loss of this brave day;

my heart, true to the noble course
endowed by its creator
with disciplined, relentless force,
will cry in answer, “Later!”

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The Creekmason Initiates Discord warmly welcomes shameless plugs.

It’s honorable to be a little proud. It’s admirable to assert that you deserve love and attention. We’re out here trying to make shit. Trying to build a chiller spot to hang out.

Ever since I (maybe too-boldly) defined Who We Are, this has been the quasi-official motto of our community:

So what sorts of things are we lifting? What are we building together?

Let’s talk Lunar Lunacy!

⁠🪨┃🌜┃lunar-lunacy is sort of like a Creekmasons group art project! It’s meant to be a place where anyone who wants to make art can come up with things together. It’s especially geared toward those aspiring to become Adeptus Makers (Creatives who are published by the Content Collective), but we’d love to see you sign up even if you have no desire to ever have your work shared publicly.

This is a mini-oasis in a cultural wasteland where you can earn rep, share and receive feedback, and build connection.

1. It’s a place for creating our own art based on prompts selected each New Moon and for holding each other accountable to consistent creativity!

2. Voting for prompts ends at the First Quarter.

3. Finished work due each Full Moon.

4. Feedback appreciated by the Third Quarter!

Feedback is on a scale from 1 ("Praise for the best bits only") to 5 ("hard hitting constructive criticism") with 0 being “don’t perceive me! I don’t want feedback at all.”

Beginning today, we’re going to be sharing some of the work the Creekmasons come up with on each full moon! This will happen in the Lunar Lunacy section of the Creekmason blog.

Some past examples!

Prompt: Radical Rest

Mason: Gabriel Durham - Nintozen
Find more at: Website

For Sparrowhawk

I am honored that my Creekmason friends have chosen to create around my theme of Radical Rest this lunar cycle. I have to offer a chuckle as well; for, this lunar cycle is the same lunar cycle that Buddha gained enlightenment in, so the topic is fantastic in that context. I sit here poised to write in my half journaling, half academic usual style. But I cannot. It feels hollow and pedantic to me now. And what I wish to convey cannot be conveyed that way. So, I turn to poetry. Maybe? At the very least a different style. 

In trusting my love, I rest.

In trusting my rest, I grow.

Fear says this is not so.

Then what of sleep? That harbinger of health in the night that lies beyond my Will.

What of trees, that grow rooted still?

Should not I, blessed by sun and rain, grow all the same?

Effortless, bold, and ever rising.

Still there is fear. And it must be followed.

Followed to its roots to find its cause.

Again, even here, stillness is my friend.

For only in stillness can the fear be brought to its end.

In stillness is wholeness. Like an appetite sated.

To quest evermore is to fling a part of one’s soul to the end.

No effort will bring it closer. No snare will let you catch it.

Only rest returns what has been spent. Or sent.

In rest, being returns to wholeness. And fear takes the hand of courage.

I am no longer a project with missing parts, and so,

In trusting my love, I rest.

In trusting my rest, I grow.

Prompt: Match made in Heaven

Mason: Amos J. Hunt
Find more at: Website | Patreon

In Heaven

I tried to see the moon, to hold her eye
in mine. But she does not acknowledge me.
She isn’t even there. What’s in the sky
is just a trope, a maudlin simile

at best, repeated like a polished stone,
at worst a cloying, sweet banality.
I’m not here either. Here is just the tone
your voice would take on if you said my name,

a far cry from a man of flesh and bone.
In being long gone, we are both the same.
A match made in heaven, the moon and I:
a ghost of light; the memory of a flame.

Prompt: Making the Mundane Spiritual

Mason: Geoff Gallinger
Find more at: Published Writing

A Prescribed Prayer

Can’t my psych meds act the part
of holy sacrament?

Why’s a wafer sacred when
it’s simply made by men?

What makes a crystal’s vibes superb?
Why spurn the lab-grown chems?

Why do witches worship herbs?
They grow, yet we invent?

May my medication guide me.
Nature made it, building idly
Using humans, toiling blindly,
Birthing means for balance.

Plucking pills from off my altar,
As I drink this glass of water,
Through decline, let me, unbothered,
Calmly find my bliss.

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