All Hallow's Eve: Samhain -- Honoring Death

 

Samhain: Honoring Death

 

Samhain, the Celtic festival that marks the beginning of winter, is still celebrated in many countries. Samhain, meaning 'Summer's End,' is the time when the Sun's power wanes, and the forces of winter and darkness - and therefore of the gods of the Underworld - grow in strength. It is a celebration of the Dead, when the veils between the worlds open and the spirits of the dead can come into our world. During this time, all fires are extinguished, and the new fires can only be rekindled from the 'sacred' fire of the Druids. Herne the Hunter and his White Hounds sweep through the skies as they hunt the souls of the Dead and of the Dark. Samhain stands opposite Beltane, the festival of the beginning of summer, on the Wheel of the Year.

In English-speaking countries, we celebrate Samhain as All Hallows’ Eve, or Halloween. Halloween is a time when sprites, trolls and nature spirits, as well as the spirits of the dead, can commune with human beings. These spirits demand some form of nourishment to propitiate them, for all spirits, both good and evil, crave life. Hence, our custom of 'trick or treat'. 

 

In Latin countries, the memory of this festival is celebrated throughout the Roman Catholic Church as the Feast of All Saints or Hallowmas, celebrated on November 1^st, and the Feast of All Soul's Day celebrated on November 2^nd as well as The Day of the Dead.  These are celebrations commemorating the dead, and many cultures believe that the dead need to be nourished on these days, both literally and spiritually. And so prayers are offered for the souls of the dead, while families leave out extra food to feed the wandering spirits in the night.

 

 

 Especially on this Samhain, we are reminded that we too, as children of the Earth Mother, must face Death, and acknowledge that Death is the other face of Life. In facing the death of another year, as well as the possibility of our own deaths, we acknowledge that the rhythm of life is slowing down. Now, the darkness is most evident, and the life force turns within, retreating into the Underworld until the nadir is reached on Winter Solstice, when the Light of the World is reborn once again. The gift that Samhain brings is the knowledge that in accepting Death, the possibility of change and new life is just around the corner.

 

~~~

And so it begins.

 

Herne the Hunter
 

The cold, silvery light of the full Moon reflected off the bone-white bodies of his hunting dogs as they raced the wind through the clouds. With a smile cold enough to match the moonlight, he slowly raised his arm above his head, and sent out his call to the winds, and they silently began to gather 'round him. Blood-red eyes shone with an hypnotic intensity as his hounds raised their heads to him, eagerly awaiting his command. The moonlight reflecting off the top of the cloud banks was blinding, and all he could see of his pack were gleaming red coals of fire, flaming out of that field of white. He waited as the winds gathered their fury, now moaning and shrieking in the airy heights. The column of air funneled high into the atmosphere above his arm, straining to be let loose upon the world below. With a cold, triumphant cry, he finally flung out his arm, and with an explosion of sound and movement, the Hunt was on!

 

The old woman huddled more deeply into her cloak as the winds tugged at it with angry fingers. The coldness stung her eyes and then froze the tears as they formed. The winds shook the trees above her until the last remaining leaves flew free to brush against her on their wild ride to the forest floor. 

 

Crone

 

"It will take more than a strong wind to scare me on this black night," the woman thought with a grin. Wiping her eyes and pulling the hood of her cloak closer around her head, she looked up. Through now-bare branches, she watched as the Moon sailed in and out of swiftly moving clouds, then looked back down at the forest path that shifted in shadows with the comings and goings of the light. Slowly, she continued on her way through the darkening forest.

Before she emerged into the hidden meadow, the woman stood within the shadow of the trees to stare out at the dark Mound rising into the sky on the far end of the field. With cries and groans, shrieks and howls, the winds swept through the treetops in a wild, dark dance. In the sudden wide expanse of sky, she could see how the clouds formed dark masses whose tops became snow-white fields as the light of the hidden Moon shone down upon the moving clouds.

"Ah! Sweet Lady of the Night!" The woman felt her heart swell as the Moon suddenly shone out into the clear cold night, turning everything to enchantment.

She released her breath as the dark veiling was drawn once again over the Lady's bright face, but that momentary vision had given the old woman new sight. Looking at the whitened fields above her, she saw ruby eyes and blood-red ears as Herne's hunting hounds rampaged through the night sky. Herne's cold laughter sounded in her ears and she thought, "So it begins!"

 

Susan Seddon Boulet ~ Wise Woman

 

Another woman walked through the forest on her way to the Mound. As the Moon revealed Herself to the old woman, Her light found its way to the forest floor as this woman stepped onto an old wooden bridge crossing a stream. An ancient being watched her stop to look up at the sky, and saw that the woman was of middle years, with a strong face bleached white by the moonlight. As the woman watched the cloudy veils hide away the light, the Ancient One scampered under the bridge. "There," he thought, "I am hidden away from the human woman's sight. It wouldn't do for her to see me on this night of nights." And with a chuckle, he hunched down into the shadows beneath the bridge, and faded into the boulders that held up its wooden beams. 

 

The woman threw back the hood of her cloak as she looked up into the face of her Mistress. "Ah! The Goddess plays with us tonight!" And the woman smiled in pure delight as the winds tossed leaves back and forth over the stream, sending them in twirling dances high into the sky, left to gently spin down as they were forgotten and left behind. As the clouds raced by, creating shadows only to spear them again with light, the woman caught sight of a gnarled figure scampering away under the bridge, and her breath caught in surprise. To see an Ancient One, on this night of all nights! Her Mistress was indeed with her tonight!

 

 

Keeping her eyes on the tumbled boulders, the woman stepped off the bridge and climbed down to the rocky stream bed. Leaning down into the darkness beneath the bridge, she looked directly at a large grey boulder and said, "Good evening, old troll. Will you come with me to the Faerie Mound?" With a grumble and a groan, the Old One threw off the illusion and tumbled out from his rocky nest. "What else can I do, on this night of nights, with the moon-sight on you?" And pulling up her hood to hide her smile, the woman reached down a hand to help the troll up.

A third woman hurried through the night. She lifted her cloak as she leapt over a fallen tree-trunk that lay in her path. She ran through the shadows and she ran through the silvery light, afraid that she was late. It seemed like she was always late, and always hurrying, like those clouds sweeping through the sky overhead. 

 

"But, there are so many things to see; so many interesting places to explore," she thought with a sigh, as she slowed down to watch the flowing moonlight dance in and out among the tree trunks. The young woman stopped, entranced, as a dark shadow flew through a moonbeam. And then the Moon threw off Her veils, and flooded the forest with light. There, off to her left, sat a white owl, staring at her out of the lowest branches of an oak tree. When the light suddenly vanished, the young woman stepped off the path and found her way to the tree.

It was an ancient tree, a grandmother tree, and the wind barely moved its upper branches. The young woman went and put her face up to the rough bark, and breathing softly, sent out tendrils of awareness into its core. In silence, the woman felt how the tree absorbed the wind's violence, taking it in and transforming it into vibration as it carried its message down into the Earth. The woman heard it as it moved through the tree - Herne the Hunter was riding with his Hounds. The Wild Hunt was abroad in the night!

As soon as the young woman came out of her silence, the winds shrieked around her head and then flew off in the direction of the Mound. Looking up into the shadows, the woman found the owl staring down at her. And as she stepped away from the tree, it silently took wing to settle heavily onto her shoulder. The woman looked into wild, fierce yellow eyes for a moment before it lifted away and flew before her into the night. Hurrying back to the path, she swiftly followed the ghostly shadow as it flew to the hidden meadow at the center of the forest.

  Samhain Night ~ Elana Gibeault

And so, the three women finally came to stand at the very edges of the forest, one at the North, one at the South, and one at the East. On the Western end of the meadow rose up the Mound, darkly brooding beneath the moving skies. The women silently watched as the winds gathered in a whirlwind above the dark Mound, where Mighty Herne sat on his own dark steed, as the old Crone saw clearly enough. Then Herne's arm pointed to the North, and the winds were suddenly baying with the voices of many hounds, while with a wild tossing of leaves, the released winds blew away the last of the clouds.

Then the Lady of the Night, the White Pearl of Heaven, looked down upon Her Child, the living Earth, Whom She nourished and sustained with Her light, and governed with Her rhythms. One rhythm had been struck that night, a rhythm of power and terror - the rhythm of Death. 

 

 

The Night of the Dead was upon the Earth, and the Moon Mother offered Her light to help strengthen Her Child's children as they met their Fate - as the Earth Herself walked through the veil to meet with Death.
 

The three women came forward and stood before the Mound. With hands uplifted, they prayed in the silence of their hearts. Their prayers were offered to their Mothers, for the strength and courage to meet their task: to look upon the face of Death and live.

 

While the women prayed in the bright moonlit breath of the Mother, the Mound before them drank in the light. And started to move! The earth on the hillside rippled and shuddered, and exploded in little volcanoes of dirt. Then, as if two giant hands slowly ripped apart a woven veil, the Mound split open. A dim light outlined the breach for a moment, but was suddenly blocked by a dark figure stepping up to the opening. 

 

For a moment, the women felt the warm, fragrant winds of Springtime and smelled the intoxicating scents of lilacs and roses as they looked on the face of the Bright One standing before the Mound. They saw plants and vines grow and decay, leaving the fruits of the fields lying at her feet. But when one last cloud swept over the face of the Moon, the cold breath of winter blew away the last memories of summer, and the women huddled deeper into their cloaks.

When they looked back to the Mound, they saw that the Woman was now veiled in black. Silently, the four women waited, while the Moon poured down Her light and blessings upon them.

 

Persephone ~ Susan Seddon Boulet

Slowly, a vast silence sucked away the last breath of sound in the meadow, and the veil between the worlds opened further upon the night. The dark figure in front of the Mound slowly turned away from the three women and walked through that torn veil - walked into the land of the dead.

In the place where she had disappeared, there now shimmered above the Mound a Presence of terror and splendor, dark wings outstretched into the starry sky above. The Crone quickly stepped forward, and raising her arms, began to chant an ancient song, a song of power to hold the Angel of Death at the door which had opened between the worlds.

The second woman turned to the troll, who had been watching, in terror and delight, the opening of the veil. Calling to the other sprites, gnomes and trolls rollicking on the far end of the meadow, he hurried forward to stand next to the woman who had called to him beneath his bridge. Now he was compelled to do her bidding, as the others were compelled to do his. And with much tumbling and tossing, shrieking and laughter, the spirits of the Earth took a stand in front of the torn veil. And with the lightness of a laughing heart, the woman turned to confront the demons who were trying to force their way out of the rift.

 

 

The demons took on all the faces of fear, trying to get by that line of imps. But just as terror began to overwhelm the woman, a troll would tumble forward with a loud and smelly fart, and the demon would dissolve in the mists. Or a sprite would imitate the fierce and deadly faces before them, and soon they were rocking with laughter at her antics. The demons, being unable to produce one tremble of true fear, shrunk and shriveled up and ran shrieking back to hell!

And still the old woman kept up her song, and the Angel of Death stood guard before that dark door.

The third woman, the youngest, also set about her task. Looking into the eyes of the owl once again sitting on her shoulder, her vision followed after the Wild Hunt, as it gathered in the souls of the dead. There was one she especially looked for; one who was the other half of her own soul. When it was time, it was with joy and sorrow that she finally caught sight of him, flying before the Hounds. "He was always quick, and even death has not taken that away." The tear that rolled down her cheek fell to the ground unnoticed.

And so she called to him, who led the dead on their last journey. Called, he came to where his heart still lived. Called, he led the souls a merry dance before the hunting hounds. Called by love, the other souls remembered and so flew before the winds to that dark door.

Baying and belling, the white hounds ran upon the winds, their master riding behind, driving the souls toward the broken veil. Herne's horn resounded through the cold night air as they came to rest high above the secret meadow. The bone-white bodies leapt and danced beneath the prancing feet of Herne's dark mount, while the souls descended to the earth like a lowering mist.

The owl flew off to settle on an oak branch, as the young woman turned to face that misty gathering of souls. The terror of the Dead was settling over the forest, yet she stood forth to meet them unafraid, for there before them all stood her beloved. With love and sorrow, she looked upon his face once more, but while his face and figure were known to her, his eyes were already full of stars. He, for his part, recognized the woman, and knew her for his love, and yet it seemed a far and distant love, for there was no warmth left in him.

And as they stood there, the living and the dead, something happened. A little imp, one who had clung to his mother as they tossed and tumbled before the torn veil, approached those two lost lovers, and shaping his face to their lose and love, he bridged the two worlds. In his face, he showed the fire and ice of their love, and for a moment, they knew their love for what it was in truth. And were set free.

When the young ghost finally turned toward the veil, the host of dead souls moved through the night with him. The three women saw there souls of great ugliness and of greater beauty, of twisted lives and full; saw faces full of great sorrows and of great strengths. They stood and witnessed the ghosts of young and old float silently through the waiting veil, while the dark Angel of Death held open the gate.

 

When the last of the dead had disappeared through the veil, a great light shone from within the rift, as if the souls themselves had turned to light. Then with a mighty shaking of wings, the towering Angel cried out, "It is finished!" and like a dark flame, sank back into the rift.

 

 

The three women, deserted now by all the imps and sprites except for the old troll, watched as the veil began to reweave itself in the gray morning light. The Moon looked down upon Her children with a final blessing before vanishing beneath the horizon. The jack-o-lanterns the imps had fashioned to frighten away the demons were scattered around the Mound. Then just before the veil was whole once more, a great light shone out from that hidden world and began to burn within the hollow faces.

And so it was with quiet laughter that the women took up the jack-o-lanterns with the new light to carry it home. The light would light their hearths, and others in the village would come to them, and the fire of the souls of the dead would live on to bring warmth and light to those they left behind. And the old troll took up his light, and departed for his bridge above the stream.

And Herne the Hunter looked out across the fields of heaven, and called his hounds home as the Sun rose over the winter forest.

And So It Is!

From my ebook, Stories of the Earth: 8 Tales of the Wheel of the Year.

Re-Storying the World: The Language of Flowers

 There are many sites that tell of the language of flowers.  So I decided to share pictures of the Beauty of Spring here in Rhode Island -- in my village of Wickford.

 A woman was walking around Wickford when I was talking pictures and she said:  "this village is like a children's story book."

 

It is in Springtime -- and Autumn!

Enjoy the flowers.  Use your imagination to smell their fragrances.

Re-Storying the World. Beltane: the Rites of Spring

 

Beltane: The Rites of Spring

  Goddess May Pole

 

The Celts considered Beltane, or May Eve, the beginning of summer and we still celebrate it by building bonfires—on hillsides or our back yards. Beltane is the fourth gateway of the Wheel of the Year, a time when "sweet desire weds wild delight." It is the season when the first glorious burst of springtime causes our hearts to rejoice in life and perhaps love. Our passions are re-ignited at Beltane. We engage in the wild flow of life, regardless of age. Our blood pumps through our veins with renewed strength, our hearts open to delight and we become one with the blossoming Earth.

It is in the 'lusty month of May' that our imaginations take flight with hope. Perhaps this year. . . ! And so we dance around the Maypole, weaving the energies of life and love, hope and expectation for the coming year. We weave the feminine and masculine energies of Life and dance in renewal. Amidst the flowering shrubs and birdsong, we also engage in the dance of light and life, calling in for ourselves ever greater light and deeper and fuller life. Winter is behind us and a new round of life awaits us. What do we desire to be and do this year?

 

 

The bonfires of Beltane bless us with the fire of desire, and when we jump through and over them, the fires cleanse us of any lingering winter darkness, and bring us luck and fertility.

There are many traditions that say that during Beltane, the veils between the worlds become thin and the Faerie Folk come into our world to dance and give the Earth their blessings. 

 In Celtic mythology, the Otherworld is the realm of the deities as well as of the dead. The Otherworld is usually described as a supernatural realm of everlasting youth, beauty, health, abundance and joy. (A happier vision of the afterlife than our western religions offer us.)

Perhaps this belief in a bridging of worlds contains a memory of a time when priestesses and shamans celebrated the opening of the veils between the worlds and the powers of the Earth took on form and walked amongst humans.

Because once upon a time, they did! 

 

  

When April turns to May, the Mother and her newly returned Daughter roam the woods, looking for the portal where the veils thin and the Otherworld draws near every May Day and Samhain.

They came to watch the Great Beings bless the re-blossoming of Life here on Earth.

The two women walk through a wispy fog as darkness slowly dissolves the light. In this twilight hour, the glowing green of new grass and tender new buds turn silvery-grey. Birds dart overhead through the stark tree branches, flashes of bright color to the growing dark. The sounds of animals settling in for the night whisper through the forest.

The women slip into a hidden forest glade. Before them rises the Faerie Mound.  

 Under a trio of birch trees, the women sit across from the Mound, breathing in the scent of Spring. As darkness fills the wooded valley, and silence spreads her silken wings, the women keep watch, enfolded in the sweet-smelling darkness, waiting for Moonrise.

In the waiting darkness, the Mother is remembering. Sinking into the silence of the night, she sinks down into the silence of her heart. The painful memories take shape like a dense, gray fog in her mind, only to shred and blow away with the coming of Joy. For lo! Her daughter, who had been lost, is found again! The memory flows through her like a bubbling brook, whose song is the sound of joy.

The Daughter sits in the growing dark, sharpening her eyes on the shadowy shapes gathering around her. As her eyes adjust to the darkness, her ears attune themselves to the night. The quiet rustlings of the night forest gives way to the quicksilver melody of a brook leaping and tumbling on the forest floor, while nightingales sing praises on the other side of the rounded hill.

Looking at her mother, the daughter knows a moment of wonder. Some comfort she thought lost forever is found again. At peace, she shifts her gaze to the starry heavens. The pressure of the light is building on her skin, and she looks to the East for the rising of the Moon.

The sudden appearance of that glowing light, flowing down from the heavens, cuts through the trees to fall on the Faerie Mound. 

 

 

Now, the sound of moonlight falling on a Faerie Mound is indescribable; it’s as if the most delicate bells are set ringing by the most delectable breezes of Spring. Both Mother and Daughter let the sound wash over them like a waterfall before they turn to look at each other with identical grins.

So it begins!

The music of the light and of the night weave soft melodies, tossed by playful winds high above the forest only to sink down through the unfurling leaves to dance on the new green grass of the hill before them.

The women stand to greet the Moon Mother as her light flows through the forest, reaching toward them like a blessing. When the Moon herself finally rises above the trees, they open their arms in welcome.

Then they turn toward the Faerie Mound. And wait.

As they wait, they add their voices to the wind's melody. There in the glowing dark, Nature’s song calls out through the veils to the Invisible Powers, to the Shining Ones. The song deepens and swells, and with arms outstretched to send forth the call, the two women watch as the veils between the worlds fray and shred like mist dissolving in morning light.

The Faerie Mound is slowly splitting open, and light pours out of the rift, brighter than the moonbeams that dance through the dark forest. A hidden Sun shines from the other side of the veil and takes shape as a Tree, a great shining Tree of crystal light, with its roots sunk in the Earth and its branches reaching to the heavens.

 

 

The Tree glimmers with all the colors of the rainbow as the winds of the Otherworld blow through its branches. As the music of the Faerie Mound winds through the clearing, another sound faintly echoes, the deep note of a drumbeat woven beneath the enchantment of the bells.

With each drumbeat, the Tree puts forth leaves of silver and of gold, until a great canopy of brilliant light hangs overhead. Then, as if the Tree can no longer contain the fullness of the light within itself, a flash of light erupts from it into the forest, and a fire flares up among the dead limbs the women have gathered.

 

The drumbeat becomes the sound of thunder in the night sky, and the fire burns with the brightness of the Tree.  Suddenly, the women feel a Presence approaching. Through the rift, flying on strong breezes, come flocks of different birds; small wrens and robins, brilliantly colored parrots, white swans and stately egrets, fierce hawks and majestic eagles. All the birds of the air come as the vanguard of the Mighty One who follows, Lord of the Air, Guardian of the Dawn, He who gives the breath of life to all living beings. 

 

 

With Him walks One who wears the light of Heaven upon Her face. Stars pulse on her cloak, and her eyes are shining galaxies, full of the Wisdom of the Universe. As these two Beings pass through the veils, the women see Justice tempered with Mercy on the Lord of Life’s face and feel safe. When the Queen of Heaven looks down upon them, they know the face of Compassion and Love and are content. Then these two Mighty Ones pass on into the woods.

 

 

Next comes a Power who takes the form of a mounting green wave, foam-crested and shimmering in watery blue-greens. He wears it like a cloak, and with Him flows the music of all the waters which sing upon the Earth. Within the waters, the women see the wildness of ocean waves, the rolling flow of rivers, the silence of a hidden forest pool, the roaring of sleek waterfalls, and the bubbling up of springs. As this Mighty Presence passes by, the women are engulfed by the wave, and emerging, are washed clean by its joyful life.

With a laugh, shaking out their hair over the fire, they watch the flames lick at the wood. Then the ground starts to shake.

A gnarled, little gnome is pulling his leg out of the dark soil of the Faerie Mound at the point where the rift emerged from the Earth. The women can’t contain their joy and delight when they see what caused the rukus. The Dwarf is clothed in browns and greens, and brings to mind the damp coolness and musty smells of fertile earth and forest tracks. He turns to them with a deep-throated laugh, and reaching down into the hole, begins pulling up a wealth of gemstones and metal objects, each one a creation of rare and astonishing beauty. 

 

  

The Master Craftsman looks at the beauty he’s created, and then lifting his arms, he gives a jaunty whistle. Soon the women hear the noise of many feet, and see a procession of men, women and children come through the trees. One by one they accept one of the Master's creations. When He has distributed all his store, the procession continues on into the forest, the gifts of the Master Craftsman held with reverence and honor at heart and breast.

The women turn back to the rift, staring in wonder and delight at the glorious Being stepping through the veils. She brings with Her the green livingness of the Earth. Dressed in a glorious robe of glowing green, She carries within herself the forms of all the countless lives that grow upon the Earth. The Mother sees trees the size of towers in forests long forgotten, and the flowering blossoms of trees that will soon bear sweet fruits. The Daughter sees soft dark moss growing over stones, and the secret life which moves the growth of corn and reeds, of root and stalk. As this Queen of the Greening passes by, She hands each woman a seed, and blows her breath upon their brows in blessing.

 

 

Meanwhile, the fire burns on and the thunder rumbles overhead, and the breezes, carrying moisture from the brook, swirl around the eddies of the flames, and teardrops fall onto the burning wood. The women watch the fire sizzle and crackle in silence.

And then they feel it: a great and gentle Spirit stands over them, wrapping them in love mixed with sorrow and pity With the Sorrowful Mother comes endurance and hope, and the wisdom that understands that life grows through suffering and sacrifice. A sudden breath of wind stirs the fire, and it blazes up to the sound of thunder until it seems to consume the whole world.

Now a new rarified sight takes hold of them and they see they are surrounded by countless Beings of exotic grace and beauty, swaying to the music that floats on the night breezes that sweep across the boundary of the worlds. And before they have time to wonder where all these Shining Folk have come from, they’re swept away in a wild dance.

All through the night they dance around the magical Tree, weaving strands of energy and light into patterns which echo their dancing steps. The light comes from the Shining Ones themselves, each individual creating part of the pattern, all connected in an intricate weave of light and life.

Far into the night, the Mother looks into the eyes of her dancing partner, and sees her fate written there. 

 

 

But it is to the Daughter that the Shining Ones now turn their gazes toward. In a sudden silence, the Queen of Earth takes the Daughter by the hand and leads her into the center of their enchanted circle. Spreading her arms over the girl, She bestows the blessings of the growing green upon her in a shower of emerald crystals. Next, the Queen of Heaven lays her starry robe around the girl's shoulders, and kisses her on the lips. And finally, the Dark Queen comes to bind the Daughter's hands, for sorrow is ever a companion on the Way.

Drawing closer, the Shining Ones behold their chosen Queen of May. And with solemn, stately steps, they dance to weave the strands of life and love, fertility and death, light and darkness around her. They bestow upon her the blessings of the OtherWorld.

 

 

Then as when a dream begins to slowly shred, once again the Tree began to glow, still growing in both this world and in all the others. The drumbeat calls to the thunder, and soon small clouds gather in the grayness before dawn. Under the light of the Tree, the grass grows greener and the air grows sweeter as the breezes of dawn sweep through the glade.

The ghostly dancers silently fade into the morning mists, until only the Mother and Daughter wait, feeling the heat of the rising Sun reflected in the fire at their feet. The Moon, having traveled the heavens throughout the night, sends her last rays soaring high upon the leaves of the Tree in the Otherworld, so that the lights of both blend, the silver and the gold. And the music of that blending sends a shiver of delight and a sweetness flaming through the living Earth, so that all are renewed and reborn.

As the sweet delight of that music sweeps through the women, the Sun rises. A golden shaft of light spears the heart of the fire, re-awakening the glowing embers to life. The Daughter feeds the fire and smiles to herself, for she understands the fire and its need. And reaching down, she places the Earth Mother's seed in the midst of the flames.

When she looks up, her mother is smiling down at her. A moment more and she finds herself in her mother's arms. She is kissed with great love and tenderness, and then her mother turns away, swiftly stepping toward the rift that is slowly closing in the light of the new day. The last of the Shining Ones have slipped through the glowing rift already. But someone stands there at the rift, his drum hanging from his shoulder and his hand held out to her mother, who has chosen to follow him.

Yet for a moment more, her mother holds the veils open, as a shadowy form slipped around her body and steps to the foot of the Faerie Mound. When her mother sends her wink and a smile, the Daughter casts one last loving look at her mother as her body dissolves in the crystal light of the Tree.

And then the Tree and the light are gone. With a crack of thunder, the hillside reforms itself and the veils are once again closed.

 

 

Now the Daughter looks at the Being standing silent and still on the hillside. A man, strong and broad-shouldered, looks back at her. The Sun's beams move up well-shaped legs and torso, until his dark eyes and strong face are lit with a golden glow. In his eyes, she reads a love of the Earth and of growing things, a desire to defend the lands that he loves, and the will to hunt down all that is hurtful to that life. And as she looks deeper, she sees herself as he sees her, and knows that she is loved and desired.

As graceful and proud as a king stag, he comes to her, and taking her hand in his, kisses her.

Then with a shout of joy, he embraces this beautiful woman standing before him. As the Sun lights up the forest glade, the Woman and Man walk hand and hand into the forest. Where she walks, the Woman leaves behind a trail of flowers - blue forget-me-nots, red anemones and purple pansies. With the Man, the animals of that place—stag, fox, wolf and bear – follow.

Soon their laughter floats out through the moist morning air, smelling of sweet desire and wild delight!

While thunder rolls to the beat of the drum, clouds sweep in to cover the morning Sun. Soft rain falls like music on delicate leaves and drowns in rich, dark soil. And the shimmering drops quench the fires of Beltane, so they might water the seeds both Mother and Daughter had set in the heart of the fire.

And the Faerie glade grew green with life. 

 

 

Copyright 2021 Cathy Pagano.  All rights reserved.