Still and serene the night, the face of Cain gazes down upon the souls of his beloved children, Lilith's divine light within his eyes bright to accompany his ever watching vigil.
Peace descends with great abundance to this waiting soul, as another reflection continues to dance among the myriad thoughts within his head, separation brings sadness and pain, yet great joy at the meeting of minds, the exchange of view and the very joy at meeting one who is dearest of kin once more, a knowing, a recognition of another who dares to swim the chthonic waters of this world, a friend and brother of the Arte, family is reunited and great distance becomes a mere fly within the ointment, a chasm that perhaps is easier to traverse than one might imagine.
In my siblings own words, we are but sparks of the fire, gratefully gathered home by the great smith to refuel the furnace, each spark a smaller fire in our own right journeying back to the source, yet when two flames are united that part of the furnace becomes hotter, there is greater heat, brighter light and the voyage does not seem that is is so hard to make.
My own perception of family has grown in this way over the year, when times are hard I feel the warmth of our collective spirit, protecting, lifting, comforting, as the armorers shield and the fur and feathered cloaks of our ancestors brought warmth and strength to their own beloved, connections continue to run deep.
My Craft continues to take on the face of Steel, tempered further by the flames, each stroke upon the stone to hone the essence to razor like quality, yet just at that point when one might feel that the blade is as sharp as it could be another stroke sharpens it further still.
I see for the first time that, through the honing of this tool it shall become such as that it shall act without normal thought, it will recognise it's friend or foe before the one who wields it has even become aware upon the mundane level of existence, autonomous, swift and just.
A warm welcome awaited my brother and I at the museum of our craft, a foray into the world of our past and the ghosts of those who walked upon and built the crooked road (together with those who insisted it should be straighter), all was as it should be, there was not need to create any mischief on this occasion, the hounds came armed with teeth a plenty yet the fox had made safe his lair.
A further journey, high upon the Cornish moor, where Hugin and Mugin once again act as heralds to meet favoured kin of the Cunning man, a place of ancient wisdom and ancestral knowledge, inspiration through the beauty of this hallowed land, blood bonds are made as they should and wisdom further shared in the presence of our beloved Sophia.
It is over the steel roads of Albion we travel, those wayward sons and daughters of the wanderer, we are not known to others who would hide behind screens and paper and long may that continue, as some of those we met upon our travels were strange in the least.
So, with those who are not of the faith continuing to perpetuate stereotypes I must add that this fate also belies those who might "think" they are, the sons and daughters of Mr G that openly discussed the tools of another Arte in public hearing, tools that conceal batteries and are generally made of rubber, all well and good but these two cunning folk nearly passed out with laughter at this unceremonious public display, a wiccan shop in the birthplace of king Arthur. Well if they were true to their own methods they should perhaps sell a different kind of wand to the one on display, perhaps a feather duster or two as well!!
Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.
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