Rise, rise, the Worm Moon rose this morning
The last full face of Winter, this year before the Equinox.
After, and it’s the first full moon of Spring.

The difference is the ligament between the last and the first.
Between the thaw and the stream.

This full moon has many names: Worm, Crow, and Sap
But all resonate with the stirring new.
That even you, my Sleep-Eyed Bird, can feel between your blanketed breaths,
Time to rise from the cosy unrequiring sleep you use as junk, as proxy death.

Time to uncurdle your slumbering heart from the churning stories of the other time
That kept you safe from the wisdom of monotony.

Time to close the tales of how the wicked winds ripped your flesh ten thousand ways
How the bare trees mocked your paltry offerings.
How the ice curated your memories into exhibitions for all those frozen ghosts.
Time to join the living now; to leave hope and despair to the accountants; to stop being afraid of Nothing.

Rise to the Sap Moon, teasing gravity. That gleaming superfood surging in the veins of bark and leaf.

Rise with the call of the Crow Moon on your lips. Never mind how coarse and dry from seeping hours apart from all your kind.

Rise, rise the Worm Moon has risen.
Leave the castings of your bed behind, and in it all your plans for being good or useful, adventurous or sensible, courageous, wise and loved. Let them rot into fertilizer for the Harvest of the Real.

Step out of that tired old disguise of being someone. It never suited You.

Let the stirring mount your new Spring blood within that fuels the Planless Action, The Not Doing that effortlessly cares for every need.
Soak up the sun like photosynthesis, the offer yourself to the first worm-eaterS
See the Cycle pass again from tiny beaks, to rotting feathers, to worm soil feasts, to the Ever-Changing Changeless Vast Continuum.

Enough with not being Worthy. That’s just the snooze button. Take only Love, and leave the rest.

You don’t need to be Jesus to practice Resurrection.