Mother Of The Moon

20/06/2026

Solstice blessings everyone ♥️

04/06/2026

A special midsummer online gathering for women with CAROLYN HILLYER...

21/05/2026

Highly recommended!

Please share 💖

13/05/2026

Six priestesses are set to open a new goddess temple after transforming part of an old office block.
They're hoping to welcome people from all backgrounds and beliefs.
➡️ https://bbc.in/4d3yf5v

13/05/2026

A boundary stone (kudurru) depicting a seated goddess, dated ca 1300 BC. It was found at Susa (Shush), Iran. The goddess is portrayed as divine physician and midwife known as Gula, meaning The Great.

The Louvre Museum, Paris, France

10/05/2026

Beneath the Tor where ley lines meet,
And stars align on sacred feet,
A zodiac carved in earth and dream—
The Green Man wakes, the land’s heartbeat.

Born of soil and stellar fire,
His roots drink deep from Arthur’s pyre.
At Beltane’s breath, when flames climb high,
He greets the sun in Taurus’ eye.

Not carved from myth, nor stone alone,
But shaped from seeds the cosmos sown:
The Flower Moon in Scorpio fills the well,
Where Chalice waters rise and swell.

He is the verdant face of Spring,
When Aries the lamb is born and birds take wing.
His crown—a wreath of oak and thorn,
Lit by the dawn of Sol reborn.

In Leo’s August blaze he claims his throne,
The King of Green, the Wild, the Known—
No god with name, yet felt in all:
The rustle, pulse, the forest’s call.

Through Virgo’s reeds the whispers thread,
Of Cernunnos walking where shadows tread.
The harvest hums, John Barleycorn falls,
As Mars ignites in Scorpio’s halls.

He dies with leaves in autumn’s grasp,
When Scorpio seals the twilight clasp.
Yet in the dark, beneath the sod,
Jupiter stirs the seed of God.

At winter’s hush, beneath the stone,
His breath still moves in roots unknown.
Aquarius pours the healing rain,
And Saturn turns the cosmic clock again.

Then Pisces dreams—the flood, the dove—
The Green Man rises, cloaked in love.
With Osiris green and Khidr’s grace,
He walks through time, through every place.

In Glastonbury’s mystic round,
Where stars and spirits merge in sound,
He wears the face of Christ, the Tree—
From Adam’s tomb, the Cross shall be.

The foliate head, once pagan sign,
Now speaks the Word, once more divine:
As Christ once rose from death’s domain,
So green leaves burst from stone and pain.

“I am the Vine,” the Rood once said,
And from His mouth, life’s branches spread.
In every church where Green Men stare,
They guard the truth: He’s risen there.

So seek him where the galaxies spin,
In every leaf, in every skin.
For we are dust, and star, and tree—
And he is us, and we are he.

01/05/2026