Sunday, 8 February 2015

Winter sun caught within the mist.

The Bright February sun burns away the hanging mists that touch upon the body of our land, when the cold wind abates there is warmth to be found within its embrace.
The Candlemass fire burned bright and fierce, yet like the storm touched solar rays it held little heat, but then it rarely does.
It speaks only of promise and promises, the bright mirror and the dark one, the light of the way and the beacon that is the hearth of the clan. Shelter from the world and hidden aspects of the self it offers not.
This world is on fire and yet we patiently await the rising phoenix as she blows away the ashes to reveal that splendour, that renewal and makes good her promise.

Patience may be a virtue indeed but do not mistake it for the idleness of waiting for her gifts to come to you, reward is never without work, to know love and joy is to experience the frustrations of pain,hate and anger, if we stay atop the mountain we forget the life in those forgotten vales. To embrace all that she throws at us is the key to life and true enlightenment. To await it's arrival without toil, thought and care is a sin that should have been consumed by he who would devour it.

There are still far to many prophets who sit within their halls of dust, upon thrones built of lies and deceit, amongst vast libraries of over priced tomes, rarely to climb down and live among those whom they feel shall be eternally beneath them, that tradition of the over privileged occultist, fat and rich upon the money of their kin, idle in the true work of their cause, the blind that would lead the blind, lemmings to the sea indeed.
I say jump and be done, for you are of no use to this world, unless you live within it. Of what use are you to the homeless man frozen by the winter winds? or the elderly one that lies upon her floor unable to move behind the closed door of your street. How does your work or lack of help the man who will lose his head at the touch of an Arab's sword or the woman who is brutalised for her God differs from your own?

Become human. Pay attention and walk in the world. Listen to the wind but do not shut out the voices of mankind. All work is prayer and therefore sacred, it is an evil man who does nothing to change the fate of the oppressed if it is within his grasp to do so, humanitarianism, environmentalism, the true vocations that will elevate the soul, ignorance only serves to lengthen your time in hell.
There is no medal of honour to be won here, none will gift you with rewards and riches, it is beyond where the gifts manifest, gifts of reciprocation that cannot be bought, sold or traded, for once given they are your own, your keys.
Every tradition within the craft started with a voice upon the wind, listen to the voice that speaks to you, it serves nothing to listen to translations of another's whispers, belong to yourself and you will find kin upon this path, make contact for there are others who would listen to you.
The Clan of Tubal Cain may be a closed order but we all wish to hear the stories of another's journey, to find and recognise our kin within the craft. We all belong to the stream, if we cut away the petty trappings and the badge wearing mentality of our occult past we may yet become a true community, but until that time we remain fractured.

Live life as a servant to it, to do anything else is to make a mockery of existence. Look to the old ones and their ways, for Odin's own sacrifice would be for nowt if you don't.

Speak upon the wind and someone will listen.

Flags, Flax and Fodder

Tony Macleod. (Man in black to the Clan of Tubal Cain.)