Ignorance of others often forces changes within ourselves and our modes of operation, the need for privacy requires this one to change his habits and move his working area to another vicinity, a shame in many ways, yet after a weekend with lunar virtue and followed there on by this shift into the spring tides, once again I am delighted to count my blessings, fortunate as I am to live where I do.
Far to the west of this blessed isle, our home bore the fruit of visitors from the north country, delighted as always to spend time in such wise and esteemed company, yet the path to wisdom often feels much further from my grasp than perhaps it otherwise would, my own ignorance and lack of knowledge becomes as a stone around my neck, yet, renewed vigour and determination is the gift received, together with the three nails that now adorn my coat, this is not an easy path, as the goal is so vast that I could not even touch upon it here, reaching for the stars in both a metaphorical and literal sense we journey onward along the twisting road, for ever the wanderers, the children of Cain.
Strength is born from the virtue of our heavenly mother, splendid as now she appears larger than usual, still the Cornish mist tries in vain to mask her beauty as her own gifts burn their way through the air toward those who would adore her, filling the cups of the families that treasure these moments.
Upon a Dam, twixt two lakes I stand, bright the sky all about me as her love pours down, warmth in the spring air lifts the spirit as I raise my horn vessel toward her dazzling beauty, full to the brim, the lake before me oozes with her divine elegance as her light dances upon the surface beyond the silhouette of my faithful oss, humble me united once more with she.
Complete once more I take the crooked path home, and share with my beloved tribe this gift.
Bright Sun heralds the changing seasons, warmth and light ride roughshod over this land, drying the ground and raising the temperature to suitable heights, where upon in later times the fields of corn shall stand resplendent before the feast of Hecate, that is until their true fate comes.
This world stands on the fulcrum, about to tip into the hazy days of fecundity and easier living, John Barleycorn is awakening and this realm of moorland, woodland, river, field and pasture with him.
My celebratory journey took me to yet another new place, dark night on the cusp of dawn, still she lights the way, a brief glimpse within that gun metal sky is all I am afforded, she knows that distraction is of no aid to this already confused soul.
Across the dew soaked grass I walk to this chosen spot, a wood graces the south and a stream bubbles and chatters along the western edge, to the north and east field and sky fill the vista in this chilled spring air, Stang planted firmly in the ground the choices are made, no fire this time to grace my vigil, only black cauldron filled with still water and a single candle, markers grace the quarters and there is no wind, the flames at the edge stand upright at attention, pillars of my own temple at this sacred time.
The song it comes once again, this time it is different, it rings the change of the moment, finds its pitch until it resonates with the flux, flowing, pulsating, high and low like the seesaw found in the playgrounds of our children, finally settling in that low note that is barely audible through the ear yet vibrates through the being itself.
From the source we come and to the source we go, a repeating journey that echos across the vast expanses of time and space, a road well travelled by many but one that most would never dream to step upon, the motion that springs from the cauldron, ever moving yet this pot must still be stirred.
I become awake, one with my surroundings, the babbling brook can no longer be heard as the dawn chorus fills the sky, a flock of pigeons alight from their slumber within the branches of a tree and take to the air, the sky turns from grey to a warmer ,brighter hues as two deer emerge from the wood to the southeast of my rite, I am done now and must return to the world of men, but not before one final and very personal Rite of Spring .
Twenty four years ago, and as I was wandering head down through the claustrophobic metropolis, I happened on this occasion to find a reason to raise my gaze, to which I met a vision, I saw my own beloved and at that very moment I knew that this girl was the one that I was to spend the rest of my life with, so every spring equinox since, I gather for her a selection of wild flowers and place them near her sleeping form so that when she awakes she too will remember that fateful day.
Catkins, Blackthorn, Daffodils, Periwinkles and the green shoots of the wild rose, were this mornings bounty, for me the privilege of being able to spend my life with the best of souls and the greatest of loves, and may it long continue my Love.
Flags,Flax,Fodder and Frigg.. Tony
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