Thursday, 3 February 2011
Perfect dark and unfettered wandering.
The world sleeps.
Night workers and Hedgeriders are all who move within the perfect dark, the cloud clears to reveal the celestial splendour of the heavens while the candles of my compass illuminate the shadows of this sacred liminal space.
The fire springs into life and I enter the realms that to some appear separate from their own, across the bridge and into the round I walk, I stand on sodden turf , Watchers beckon from the quarters, the old ones gather near my oss and the marker is set, this hallowed ground prepared for the work ahead.
Upon my wrists are the fetters of my own failing, upon my ankles the chains of restriction, this prisoner has the keys to freedom within his fingers, wyrd woven and gold in colour, shining, ready to give flight to this wing clipped bird.
Around the circle bright this mill is trod, the sound of Hecate sharpening her sickle ready to greet the coming month is almost audible, yet her weapon is not to be seen on this night, though there is a death of sorts upon the breeze.
The grinding stops and the fetters are thrown into the fire, this charm chokes the flames as smoke pours skyward, panic sets into the heart of this one until the realisation that this is a pact kicks in, I need to do my part, it is not for she alone and I must prove my worth, together we work and in a short time the fire returns to it's radiant beauty, the bounds of my own captivity are consumed by the fire, Sins eaten by flame, chains become ash.
In the distance a Cock crows, not usual for this time of night, the blade must be sharp as this maiden moon steps into the world renewed, work turns to celebration, the mill moves again yet now she turns with the sun, small lights of many colours flash within the trees and hedges, sparks of inspiration to bring in the year at the time when the seeds are returned to the brown earth of this land, for love ,life and knowledge, for family, friends and future the tiny jewels are placed back within the womb, John Barleycorn will be reborn once again.
This rite is complete, though there is far to go, as unfettered I walk the few miles up into the hills and dwellings of the ancestors, accompanied by my oss and those others who would care to join me.
The walk is but a short one, trees and bushes take strange shapes within this black shadowless realm, while night creatures call to each other, I can see why this world could scare those who were perhaps a lesser part of it than I, yet this is my way, a blanket to bring comfort to this traveller, the realm of the dark wanderer is my home.
I stop at the crossroads and make a prayer to our lady, then up the hill to my destination, within the dark the steep sides of this small summit do not seem a chore and it is not long before I see the walled enclosure that was once home to a happy band of folk, stopping at the entrance I seek permission for my vigil, the wind blows at my back and the ancient place welcomes me in.
I take my position to the east of this village, upon the rampart and above the ditch, climbing into the confines of my bedroll I make my rest and await the coming of the candlemass sun.
Sleep takes me to wondrous places and I am reminded of those who slept upon the fairy mounds of our blessed Isle, although the place I now lie is not a place of death but very much one of life.
I am awoken at the sight of Venus, bright herald, the morning star and know that Lucjfer's own rising will not be far behind, cold morning air bites at my face as I raise a glass to one who remains with me, together in this place of ancient wonder the light of day creeps slowly across the waking world Stirring all the seeds I planted earlier to life.
The year is complete, blessed we are indeed.
Blessings of the season to all you and all yours.
Flax,Flags and Fodder.. Tony.