The bell is ringing for Moonday School! Take off your shoes and walk—slowly—stroll—if that’s comfortable for you, for thirteen minutes, while you listen to this episode of Kinward.
Maybe walk out into your garden. Maybe walk in a circle. Maybe try a little yawn, a wiggle, a hum. These simple practices make literal space in your body, literally toll your body. One of the things we can be is bells. We can be clear as a bell.
“Clear as a bell” is not a binary clarity, not a clarity of the marketplace, not a clarity of deduction. It’s a clarity of resonance. When you hold a tuning fork near a bowl of water, the water will shiver, just as your eardrums are shivering to receive and interpret the sound. This is not magic (unless this is what precisely what magic is, eh?)—it’s just how sound works.
That’s the kind of connection I’m looking for these days—an alive aloud co-shivering, a resonance, with trees, with teachers, with loved ones, with you.
A tiny spider has made a web in the tiny tunnel of my scrying stone. Thank you, tiny spider teacher, for modeling tiny opportunistic weaving. In the spirit of resonance, I’m going to try it, too. Today, I’m trying it with a short, sweet, windblown, leaf-rustling, mostly unedited glimpse into a learning edge of mine, a feeling into the ways I orient my (amateur and effective) divination practice.
I’m naming this glimpse Moonday School, and maybe it’s a tolling, resonant invitation—maybe it’s opening up a space for a new kind of episode, an intimate walk-around-with-me experiment in inquiry. Maybe I’ll let similar experiments fly semi-regularly, on Mondays / Moon Days. A little riddling, a little offering, a tiny curious hum to start the week.
Our seven-day week comes from ancient Babylonian astrologers who named each day for a heavenly body. Monday is “Moon Day.” Let’s say it’s a good day, then, for loony things, moonlit alignments, wave patterns, watery alliances: a good day for resonance, for walking with mysteries, for wide-boundary entangled co-learning.
Kids ask each other, with such simplicity, “do you want to play with me?” Thank you, kid teachers! Come play with me, y’all, if you want to. Listen in, speak back.
Yeah, it feels risky to share something this spontaneous and provisional, but it also feels alive. I’m feeling grateful to
(another spider, another bell) for a sweet invitation to “Work Your Wyrd,” which comes with the essential reminder that we are in this together, trying to see/weave/work/word new worlds. Thank you, Diving Bell Spider.Enjoy this experiment, friends, fellow wyrd and weary walkers. I’m so curious to hear your resonant responses. Is there a note or an image or an organic turn of phrase in this musing that prompts your stretching, your question, your challenge or reflection—our learning together?
If a response stirs in you, while or after you listen, consider emailing me a voice note, an aloud question, an aloud response, a challenge, a hum, and maybe I’ll put it in the next Moon Day episode. Maybe our learning can happen together, in public, aloud.
And of course, you’re always welcome to comment here.
Welcome to Moonday School.
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