Monday, 25 April 2011

White thorns, a hornets search and tangled threads unwind.




A warm breeze brings the black and gold mistress of the air to the eaves of my home, gently searching for a suitable place to rear her much maligned brood, a spot if found to be approached with caution and no small amount of respect, windows remain closed as an eviction of this kind is not really what my family would desire.
The white thorns of this one's home are on the verge of bursting forth, others in places further afield seem to be already there as she heralds the coming of the may. The great Ash throws its leafy shoots toward this fertile sun, Yggdrasil splendid once again reminds us in this time of great distraction that decisions are still to be made to continue in our spiritual journey, the time of the Rood magnificent.

An old oss, scarlet and black with his chattering jaws shall soon shed its winter coat of dust and mere mortal men shall don the garb of horned giants, the ring of bells and the sound of the common folk parading around a giant phallus sunk deep into the dark soil of the village greens of our land, although they might not know why they do what they do still they persist in a rite that has taken place far back into the history of our people, so much so that it exists deep within the souls of the people and echos constantly through the bones of the land, a very part of it in every sense. Yet still it may be corrupted, perhaps at first by our puritanical ancestors and then later still by the rites of the fertility cults, it is with good reason that I feel that this effigy may hold a deeper significance than that of the divine masculine, could it perhaps reflect another great tree and the gnosis that fruits from it's myriad branches, adorned as it were with fibres spun from the loom of the Wyrd, ribbons and threads that could serve to hasten our climb and understand the web on other levels, who is to be sure and it would take one without virtue to bring a stop to this holy dance.

For the Cunning man comes a time for consideration, aside from the lights of the bale fires I wish to look further, to continue to gaze into the deep waters of the well and ponder the secrets that lie therein, this hound is free to run, wild and somewhat untamed, alone, in a pair or within the pack, the choices are there and I have chosen, I shall hunt alone and in a pair, I shall share my quarry with my own kin and I shall run and hunt with the pack for the love and protection it offers, I shall bark at that which offends me and mine and I shall bite the offenders when required.

I see the patterns within the tangled threads of the maypole, as those coloured bounds to which I am tied, I see the source and some way to the future and I am happy with what I see.

Flags,Flax, Fodder and Frigg. Tony.


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