Wednesday, 29 June 2011

Busy Bees, deflated egos and thoughts upon a great man.

Sunshine and showers, colours shine radiant within hedgerow and garden across this strange land, time and idleness have produced a wild nature within the boundaries of my own sweet dwelling place, effulgent in all that this blessed world has to offer, wild and untamed in this time of the turning tide, it brings cheer to the soul and plenty to all the fur and feathered creatures that would share my beautiful home.
The unlikely bumble bees that dart within the sacred chambers of Digitalis serve to remind this one that perhaps he is not of such a solitary nature, at least not as much as perhaps he thought he was, alike to our solitary friends for whom company is not an option, a path I have walked for many a year and one that I have always been accepting of as part of my own fate, the company of others was no more that a dream and like so many put to one side for fear of never coming to fruition. Yet to taste of such fruit is to change the nature of the Lonely bee, to eat of the honey of the hive would make this Cunning one wish to join the waggle dance at some time, if fate and the powers that be allow me that pleasure.
Time in our world does not stand still, so until that grace is bestowed upon my own shoulders, work continues and knowledge will continued to be gathered, a burden that is not so heavy that I am unable to carry it, just one that I would willingly share.

My own search has lead me to the understanding that There are many things that tie our own faith to the other mystery faiths, within and around the confines of this blue sphere which floats within a dark void, not always obvious but they are there for sure, one has only to look to the poetry and art resplendent in lore that relates to us in ways often ignored, my own mentors and my dearest brother would use the term"perennial philosophy" the under pinning current that runs along side all truths, and is absent from so many other corrupted faiths, proof once more that blind faith is no more than delusional thought.

I recently have been urged to read the Bhagavad Gītā together with other mystical poetry from across the cultural, religious and indeed global sources from which thay may eminate. the Bhagavad Gītā itself furnished me with a great deal and left me with many thoughts and realisations. It is Incredible to think, that from another ancient and alien civilisation such words can still be relevant to us today, and within them there are many ideas that touch upon a great many things.

One of the personal goals within Traditional craft is the shedding of the ego, in an occult world that is full to overflowing with egos that itself may seem strange to the uninitated, but it is a prerequisite of no small importance, this truth is found in the Bhagavad Gītā and within texts from all over the world.

The Gita clearly states, that ideas and forms which resound in truth and wisdom are found when the ego is sublimated and we truly allow ourselves to listen to the sound of the world song, this has such revlevance to any who would seek the wisdom or wish to atain knowledge, I personally am glad that having avoided such written wisdom and then to compare to what I have learned through personal acts has very much served to strengthen faith and resolve. what was relevent then is still wholey relevant today to the person who seeks the truth, yet to behold the truth as written in a time beyond living memory is a joy to behold.

Concepts of doubt, fear and uncertainty are washed away when the truth is unveiled, the Ideas of trancending the affairs of the mundane world, which at first may seem hedonistic to the uninitiated, transend this hedonism in turn to bring together all aspects of all worlds and therefor all acts become sacred acts in them selves. The petty discrepences of everyday existance fall away as ash that blows on the wind, in those moments of connectivity there are only those moments, all else seems to become irrelevant. The outsider may well assume that this is a sign of unconcern and perhaps a lack of disapline, yet it is my view that we look at the whole picture and not just the bits we choose, the small vistas are of great beauty yet when we expand to see the whole it is only then that the conciousness awakens truly. To realise that God is not some untoucable entity yet within us and all things.

As one wiser that I once stated "There are no secrets, All knowledge is there upon the wind for those who would listen", and it is to him I give thanks, for within his own tragic passing I have found Family, love strength and so much more, I have only scraped the surface yet owe a great deal to him, possibly even my life, and so the circle continues.

So as we mark the passing of Roy Bowers, I am truly thankful, To you Roy, I give you my love and loyalty, it is only sad that I could not share a beer with you upon a feasting day, yet shall do the same to mark your passing.

Death holds many secrets, so until that time.

Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Tuesday, 21 June 2011

A Midsummer day's awakening....

The Cornish landscape is a Green beyond green, so richly verdant as to send the eyes of the mind spinning, summer rain has persisted somewhat and as a result woven this emerald cloak to cover the land. Within the low lying mists of the morning air. steady precipitation causes all the flora to bow with the weight of heavy moisture upon leaves and petals, as if tired of this aqueous burden.
Roses within the hedgerows of the paths of our home form regal arches to parade beneath at this time of change, even a short walk through the damp fields leaves one as wet as if he had waded through deep water, all the while, the Roebuck with good sense stays dry within the relative shelter of woodland edge.

"Midsummer" I hear the disgruntled call, but midsummer it is and alike to the moon, the sun's own virtue is not truly beheld by the eyes alone, it is the soul that feels the change, although the warmth upon the skin is always a boon, to know and feel beyond the normal senses is of far greater value.
I would imagine that the Great henge is now resembling an impromptu landfill site, still, all will be restored in short time and the multitudes are happy, my own day has been one of simple pleasure and greater connections, as this insane time of chaos now draws to a close communications and plans of travel are once more stabilized, the wheel has now turned, another veil lifted before the eyes.

To think for one moment, that many years of rising before dawn on this day could ever be layed to pass is arrogant in the extreme, a failure to set the alarm would make some miss this vigil, thankfully for this wayward one I found that I was awoken by the tide itself, no surprise really as this observance has always been a favourite, even before I walked the path I now tread and Ignorant of any knowledge I may have gained since first putting a foot upon its stones, it called to me, and calls still, Although as I said to a dear friend, today was rather like having an annoyed parent pulling me from my sleep with the words" is there not something you are supposed to be doing", dragged from slumber by Lucifer's own radiance, hidden behind grey sky's yet there for the enjoyment all the same, I stand watching the sky begin to lighten, naked at the window of my home, thankfully for others we are not overlooked, myself in all my glory, not quite as resplendent a sight as the rising sun for any to behold!

The coal face, not so harsh today, a few hours put in to make up for some early departures, honesty and integrity are kept in check, a shame not all would embrace such discipline, yet we make our own worlds, if we treat another with disdain and dishonesty then we may expect to be treated likewise, it never ceases to amaze that such individuals always assume that it is others who would do them injustice and not justice herself that with good cause wields the sword against them.

Cloud still covers the sky as I prepare for my appointment with the midday sun, as a thought I speak to my dear beloved over the phone and to my surprise she announces that she would love to join me, well, could this day become any better.

Together in purpose, we ascend the hills to a place we hold dear, an ancient village that I have spoken of before, a place invisible to many but not to those who would look, no grand stones only a simple earthwork to mark this happy home, the inhabitants of this special place have given blessing to work their residence many times before and do so also upon this occasion.
The wind blows and there is chill in the air, V does her own thing and I do mine, yet we are together in ritual once more before my oss, exactly upon the stroke of twelve the cloud breaks and we can feel his heat on our bodies, sunlight illuminates the scenery, bright enough to light the incense with a lens, the sting within the wind has departed, as though it were never there, I am warm within my world and V within her own, a song , some runes (joy,wyrd and harvest, how appropriate)and we come together for the houzle, within that moment it is as though we have never worked apart, we are what we are, we do what we do and nothing need be said.
Two souls who have known love for a quarter of a century, together, still in love and enjoying the simple pleasures in life, we share our feast and some simple inspiration , before our return to the world of men.

It is days like this that fill me with joy and remind me why this journey has become such a enjoyable one, I hope others have felt as such today.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Image copright of Patrick Valenza from the Deviant Moon Tarot.

Wednesday, 15 June 2011

The Words of man, returning to form and a Silver star.

Journey home by John Caple

It is often quoted that " A picture paints a thousand words", a truth indeed and one that has spoken to mankind since its arrival into the world, in fact, it is a form of communication embraced and used far before words themselves ever made the pilgrimage from the mouths and into the ears of our ancestors.
Privileged we are, those of us who now dwell in a world where the spoken or written word is able to create images of divine beauty in strange symbols upon paper, screen and parchment,that which within past times (not so far away) we may not of understood, either through ignorance upon that level or because of the tyranny and oppression of our overlords and governors, who, in the grasps of power wished to keep us poor and uneducated , enforced intellectual cruelty in order to maintain their status and imposing position within society, leaving many to never to have the understanding of the letters and the knowledge of how to answer to them. Common language and the written word is a blessing to treasure.
There are so many forms of writing, the simple poem to the six volume novel, each and every word has its value, the arrangements of some are so perfect as to paint the most glorious masterpiece upon the canvas of our minds, brush stokes that will tantalise the soul, images that will burn into our very beings , conceived and understood ,perhaps as memories, formula, love and brotherhood.
Barriers of race, religion and Creed are like dust to be blown away between the reader and the author, forever to hold a place within the hearts of both.
The word becomes a rhyme that would teach, a story to give council, or a record of this place and time, just as the scenes that we find roughly drawn on stone would remind the hunter of his place in this world and the tasks he had to perform, the paths we were hopeful to take, gold and turquoise effigies found deep beneath the sand within covered tombs, the words of the past for all to see and understand.
There is sadness in these facts, for many today the word has no value, newspapers are discarded daily and other media is rushing to fill this void, the written word is undervalued in favour of film, photo and poorly educated morons who would also seek to keep the people simple and peddle terrible advise, the picture is becoming the medium for communication of the masses once more, sadly not artistic splendour bought about by love and inspiration, but more throwaway tat, shall we burn the books or make sure that our children continue the devotion to locked in carbon and the wise beauty that languishes in the countries libraries, will it be that one day we shall become the overlords watching over the uneducated ignorant masses, I know the answer- Do you?

It has been an interesting couple of weeks, as I have mentioned the feeling of detachment continued far beyond my own wishes, yet accept it I had to. Acceptance bought about some strange feelings, to voluntarily climb down into the pit of despair, willingly fall into the dark light, a fools mission it might seem, another leap, yet faith has proven that I now have the means to climb out, never now to return wholly to the worlds of man I have been forced to walk in the space between the worlds, not one foot in either, a path none of us would choose, a test of faith upon the crooked path, and one that shall very soon come to a close.
The rising lunar tide brings home those connections and I am very ready to dive back into the stream that awaits, a trip to the wilder aspects of my home, ash and thorn await as beacons within the mist, a glance a tonight's lunar spectacle would be a boon yet unlikely I think, as the sky is almost slate with cloud, yet virtue demands no eyes to behold.

Thirteen years ago there came a storm into the life of the cunning man, my youngest born at the time of shortest night, tempestuous beauty, passionate and caring, my time with her has been a wondrous adventure, perhaps to learn as much about myself as I have learned about her.
As she embarks upon this next stage in her life she will be given a gift among others, a symbol of her own heritage, often maligned and most certainly abused, the silver pentacle I have for her acts purely as a recognition of her own heritage, from father to daughter, to know who we are and to enable her to remember, a gift from one of the old path to one who has yet to find their own, irrespective of whatever road she is to walk upon, it is a symbol that she will be able to look at and remember the spirit in which it was given, a token of our love and a spark that will always be welcome to join the fire at our hearth, bright blessings J and may you continue to teach this dinosaur a thing or two.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Thursday, 9 June 2011

Summer rain, Fate's plan and the drumming of a thousand maniacs..

A gentle sprinkle of summer rain has fallen upon the baked earth of our home, so hard the ground, that most of the tiny droplets run off into the streams and ditches, cracks and crevices, depriving the thirsty plants much needed nutrition, the sun hides behind smothering cloud and warmer clothes are worn into the refreshing air to halt the chill.
On those moments when he does return from imposed exile, his blistering heat scorches the skin , said thirsty plants turn to marvel at the brilliance, some only to wither beneath roofs of glass. It becomes harder to function within the high humidity gifted to us by the June showers, an uncertain time which may leave us in need of a coat in one moment and stripping off within the next if sensibility and modesty will allow.

All seems at first glance to be the portent of a time of pestilence, who is to tell, yet if one reaches out beyond the skin it paints a far different picture, the beat of Nerthus's drum pounds out a different tune to the gentle, consistent pulse that we could all perceive in the weeks that seem so far behind. An army of drummers thump upon the dry skins a rhythm so hard and fast as to become a vibration , each beat no longer truly discernible from the last, to dance to this tune would bring insanity, this song has a far different purpose, a herald of the life and fecundity that fills the ether, the dry earth, all realms that now clamour for attention.

Care is taken, meditation brings the most confusing of signals, a wild spinning vortex of life that is hard to define, whirling and chaotic, exiting, yet there would appear to be some danger within, to dip into this pool is joyous indeed, although there is the temptation to dive in completely, to swim and explore the world within the depths, to escape from the mundane reality completely, however, wiser council might suggest that to do so is to willingly have ones soul ripped out of the body through the third eye perhaps never to return intact, again, Prudence within ones actions is definitely required, until the time when guide and mentor might furnish me with the armour or perhaps a lifeline to enable this one to swim safely. Until then the pineal shall remain tugging upon the brow and crashing against hard skull like a trapped animal, desperate to escape but ultimately safe in the knowledge it cannot fall into another Hunt's path.

With the seasonal confusion, the maintaining of all the connections made becomes harder, it is though many the voices all shouting at once cannot be heard for the raucous noise they all produce, they become one with the vibration, indiscernible, difficult to single out, lessons merge and other sounds distract the traveller from the path, true Faith steps in to unite the parts of the shattered soul and simple pleasures bring mortar to the unstable masonry, art and poetry bring inspiration, the beauty that lies within an other's words or within the gentle strokes of a brush calm the water and filter out the detritus, so clarity and solidity may return, the seemingly impossible is not as far out of reach as any of us might imagine.
Faith becomes another key, to unlock that door that leads to gnosis, it is the support that will aid the injured man, the horse that will carry him home safely and the hearth that will warm the heart, never blind, for that is the domain of the usurper, the charlatan that demands allegiance without assurity, the fools paradise, to see the truth one one has to open ones eyes, heart and ears and it is there for all to see,feel and hear. There is no need to follow blindly, doubt and delusion are the liars seeds planted by those who lack a faith of their own, and they are keen gardeners in that respect, with only a false calling to their names, at least in this calamitous time their voices are not easily heard.

And so a note to those lost souls within this strange brotherhood, brothers we are and through our blood we are bound, to the both of you separated by the great Atlantic I send my wishes, what you both have is precious and rare, turbulent oceans will not break that bond, time and patience will see you right in the end, have faith my kin, for fate has a plan for you both, as does she for us all, I truly count my own blessings that I do not have to endure that pain that you yourselves endure, but remember that it will not last.

Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony.

Wednesday, 1 June 2011

The Mighty Oak, a clumsy boot and a gallic Crocodile

The fire crackles into life and smoke entwines itself through leaf and branch.
Green and proud, the sentinel stands, keeper of secrets and herald of the chthonic realm, king of the mound and guardian of the abyss, watcher and shepherd to those that would approach that sacred realm.
Mighty Oak, adorned in life, majestic tree of ages three, one to grow, one to live and one to die, as above as so below, the hidden door to a world of deep knowledge, ancestor and home, defender of the fugitive, protector of this realm, I salute you at this time of your splendour.

Beneath this opulent canopy, it comes once more to pass that summer madness is upon us all, endlessly trying in vain to maintain some kind of order from among the chaos and distractions at this time of insanity, yet often to fail and get caught by the traps and pitfalls littered throughout the world of man.
Many folk descend to this coastal haven to to take the sea air and rid themselves of the burdens of everyday existence, busy roads and cluttered streets, the lifeblood for a county that has Little else to offer, so a smiling face and a touch of courtesy would go a long way to help fill the county's coffers.
The older children within our society, having served their time, prepare to take the first steps into the "real" world, work, college and all the cruelties involved, the next phase in the lives of the innocent, talented shapers of creation one and all.
Chaos all around.

The season of Loki is here once again, at least for this traveller who would stumble along the crooked road, more diligence and care is required, as the digital world of communication serves to teach this one a lesson once again.
Perhaps I have become far to comfortable with this electronic medium, forgetting on occasion the subtle nature of words and of the perceptions that are born of them, a statement that may be intended as a question becomes as an insult if not properly worded, care must be taken when opinions are thrust into the realm of another who perhaps we have never met, unable to see the smile on your lips, or hear the inflections upon the voice, words alone will perhaps deceive the reader from their true intent, hurt will then manifest itself in incorrect assumptions, anger and emotional discomfort, such a snare has had me by the neck this week, but lesson learnt and endeavours will be made not tread so heavily when walking in the gardens of others, for if we should refuse the invite or jump over the fence to safety we shall be denied the fruit of wisdom and there is nothing to be gained.

Brief contact and deeper thought with my own dear brother serve to bring great strength to this would be Cunning man, separation by distance overcome, we work and explore the darkness together, the sun returns to mark another year upon his life and I for one shall raise an Ale in his honour, bright blessings my true kinsman and may you have many more.

Finally, if one should ever wonder what it might be to live within the realms of Mr Punch, then please feel free to spend a few days beneath our own roof, as our home would adjoin that of "the Punches" there is much verbal abuse toward the children, shouting, screaming and most certainly the consumption of sausages, no policemen although I suppose I could become the devil within the mix, I shall let you know if and when a crocodile should make an appearance, and if it does it will most likely be fluent in french as are the rest of them.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.