Nestlings, Moonwater, and Love, Love, Love, Sweet Love.

Lunar Lunacy is back! The Prompt? Holding onto Empathy in a World that Reward Psychopaths

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.

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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AI’s interpretation of the poem to follow

Mason:

Amos J. Hunt

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.

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Two

Mason:

jt

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.

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Mason:

Geoffe

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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