Within the silver cup the scarlet liquid turns, full circle we turn with it, except the gifts that it brings as we are reunited with those fibres of the universe.
Wyrd flows back into the body, connections are reestablished once more, becoming the part of the greater whole we become whole ourselves. The sounds of the changing year echo upon the breeze, sparks of change fly up into the night sky as the spectators coo with drunken awe at this spectacle, hopes and dreams are born, the failings of the past hopefully discarded and the modern world attempts to move forward along its path into the new year.
Realisation dawns, there is a dark cloud upon the horizon as this one comes to realise his own place in the new world, there are responsibilities, there is more control than before "what will you do with all you have been given?", it dawns upon me that at last the choices are mine, I stand at the crossroads and it is for this one to decide how and where to go, fate is allowing me to see the way clearly, if I step one way or another I can now see the outcomes of either choice, I am in fate and this is her gift to me.
Disappointment as even I seem to have fallen victim somewhat to that plague that ravishes our society, the sickness that wishes for others to make those important decisions for us, to shun our own responsibilities, passing the blame onto another party for the mistakes we make in our lives, I thought I was above that already, yet rising up through the flames this Phoenix truly hopes to fly above that now.
The decision is made, I choose to wade in the river, no longer to be just carried along in the flow, to be guided by the currents that surround me and no longer become washed up upon the shores of strange and unfamiliar lands that I do not wish to walk upon.
Messages come down the static cables of our waking world, as my own strange brotherhood makes contact, old friends that remind me of my place in time and space, my own beloved kin that for what ever reason has been spread far and wide across this land, all of us on different journeys yet in some way connected, the universal joke that starts with the words" A Boatman, Woodsman, Barrister and a Witch walk into a bar" the punchline is still to be written but I can hear the laughter already.
Grabbing the mood and the moment I ascend the stairs of the house, inviting my dear children and their confused friends into the heart of my choice, to bring the joy and optimism that only the youth can bring to our simple celebration, this is the path, the moment to seize, a simple act of choice that brings the virtue of joy and much laughter into the world, the way to start a new cycle, this is truly the way to bury the detritus and move forward.
My own path spreads out before me as I prepare for my journey to the north of our country and a visit to dear friends, the festivities over, normality returns with renewed vigour, gone is the mundane life, this path is sacred, to be trodden with care, to watch and learn, stopping often to pick of the fruits and gifts that are placed there to aid the weary traveller.
The great loom still sounds in the ether, weaving, creating, a constant beat that is always there, the heartbeat of the world unfolding the rich tapestry of life along which we travel.
Last year was a year of contact, this one also I feel, journeys far and wide within all context, meetings with like minds, with friends old and new, there will be much to celebrate in this coming time as meetings are planned and the union of souls from across the great sea is brought to pass within the hills and levels of my own home county. Like the serpent of my own dark places, this fiend of the shadows is emerging into the light of the great sun, a time to bask within the warmth of all the blessings I have been given.
So expect a visit my friends, because this one is off his leash and running wild, She who walks in the realms of shadow has sent me into this world to taste of the abundance there, I like the taste so don't be surprised when you find this faithful hound standing upon the path of your home.
To finish for the day I would like all who read this to picture the look upon the young face of a teenage boy (my eldest girl's current devotee), as this devious soul cracks Walnuts in a single hand to feed to his daughter while the poor lad observes the various weapons of Arte that clutter my abode, the splintered shells mimicking the sound of the weavers work... Priceless.
Flags, Flax, Fodder and Frigg. Tony....
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