Post by Slepnir on Dec 25, 2009 3:13:47 GMT -5
Imagine if you will for a moment, you are the house of an old acquaintance. She is kind and smiling, gentle yet firm, the spirit of the wolf runs wild in her heart and her soul. She is your High Priestess, and you are in attendance for the Yule. She calls the quarters in a darkened room while you and a young lady who is also their for ritual call with her, silently with your hearts and open mind, while the scent of sage and incense drifts through the room. The four candles are lit as well as a candle for a recently passed soul. You pay your respects and begin a meditation.
Your soul leaves your body and enters a snow laden glade, with the waxing moon a mere sliver as the stars dominate the night sky. A cauldron is slowly bubbling over a warm fire in the center of a cleared area, and all you hear is the sound of the flames dancing, and snow occasionally falling from the branches of the pines. Then as quiet as the diamonds above a person enters the glade, from the shadows of the trees. It is a dear friend of yours. Someone who had died long ago and the sight of her tears at your heart slightly as she smiles that familiar sad smile and speaks to you in a voice embedded in your deepest and most cherished memories.
'The path will be long, and your heart will belong to another...' her lovely voice speaks to you but it sounds as if she is speaking from a distance. Before you can begin to ponder the meaning of her words, a great owl silently glides around the glide calling in a voice like gravel upon cement:
'The Ash leads to the Willow. Mars and Neptune shine while Venus fades,' the owl is large and tufted, brown and speckled with colors of creme. It lands on your shoulder, it's weight staggering, far more than any bird it's size should weigh. Yet you do not topple. It repeats it cryptic warning and call again this time in a voice of death, distant and cold full of threat and omen.
As your mind attempts to process this words and the words of your past a pack of wolves howl and run from the towering pines, circling the fire and glade before stopping at the compass points. All except for two. A large black wolf and an elegant white wolf. They stop on either side of the entrance to your circle, silently and with purpose for another figure is exiting the forest.
Shrouded in black an old woman hobbles forth her face shifting yet not. you see the face of a fair maiden only to instantly age from youth to middle age and then once again the face of an ancient. The face stops shifting and rests upon the face of a middle aged woman. The face of The Mother. She speaks to you kindly and the fear that was rising in your heart fades.
'Peace my child, for the day will come when you are needed,' the Mother hold out her arm, her hand emerging from the black shroud of the Crone, holding out to you a closed fist. You take the object in your hand and feel the roughness of wood before looking. An olive branch is now in your hands and a feeling of calm rises in your chest like the rising sun.
Music suddenly fills the circle as torches flair to life surrounding your encampment. Drums beat rhythmically, hypnotically as a lute softly plays a melody, unknown to you yet familiar, as if it were a forgotten dream from the days when you slept peacefully as a child. As the music plays a large figure emerges from the wood. Taller than any man, he comes. The God of travelers, and hunters, the father of winter. Pan. Instead of the familiar visage of a satyr, a goat man, he is now appearing to you as a minotaurian stag. His eyes glow with innumerable knowledge and a color you have no name for. His great antlers hold the birds of winter. The snowy owl, the cardinal, both the brown female and the crimson red male, blue jays and ravens nest within the great branches of the god's antlers. The leviathan towers before you his undecipherable eyes fixed upon your own. He says nothing to you and hands you, in a clawed hand, fire. You take it hesitatingly at first for fear of being burned, but you trust the god before you.
You hold the fire in your hand and the olive branch in another, and as if you knew what to do you throw them into the boiling waters of the cauldron.
The fire beneath the cauldron erupts and billows around the iron caste and screams fill the air, emanating from the steam and smoke.
'Look,' Pan commands you in a voice full of fatherly compassion. The fire dies and you gaze into the cauldrons remains and you see before you images of chaos. Protests erupting into violence, armed soldiers warring with citizens in the streets, ducking behind cars and behind dumpsters. Gunshots ring, as fighter jets unlike anything you have seen fly over head, smiling politicians speak of change and peace while the city behind them burns, all this and more flashes before you eyes.
Pan speaks again.
'Fear not my son. You will not be alone and you will be needed. Change is coming.' After he speaks he changes. His great antlers retract and the birds fade and stands before you the Green Man, lord of Spring and standing beside him in the Mother's place is the Maiden her eyes sparkling with joy singing a soft song.
The wind will blow once more the life of those behind. The waters will flow again my love for those that draw the lines,' she sings as she skips away grass pushing through the winter freeze. The wolves become doe that bound away, as the great owl once again leaves. You are left alone with your lost friend her smile still breaking your heart.
'Do not worry. We will meet again,' she says before like melting smoke, vanishes before your eyes.
You return to this world your heart and mind troubled but hopeful, already trying to unravel the visions. Above all you were told the owl's words haunt you as you leave your priestess' home.
The Ash leads to the Willow. Mars and Neptune shine while Venus fades.
Your soul leaves your body and enters a snow laden glade, with the waxing moon a mere sliver as the stars dominate the night sky. A cauldron is slowly bubbling over a warm fire in the center of a cleared area, and all you hear is the sound of the flames dancing, and snow occasionally falling from the branches of the pines. Then as quiet as the diamonds above a person enters the glade, from the shadows of the trees. It is a dear friend of yours. Someone who had died long ago and the sight of her tears at your heart slightly as she smiles that familiar sad smile and speaks to you in a voice embedded in your deepest and most cherished memories.
'The path will be long, and your heart will belong to another...' her lovely voice speaks to you but it sounds as if she is speaking from a distance. Before you can begin to ponder the meaning of her words, a great owl silently glides around the glide calling in a voice like gravel upon cement:
'The Ash leads to the Willow. Mars and Neptune shine while Venus fades,' the owl is large and tufted, brown and speckled with colors of creme. It lands on your shoulder, it's weight staggering, far more than any bird it's size should weigh. Yet you do not topple. It repeats it cryptic warning and call again this time in a voice of death, distant and cold full of threat and omen.
As your mind attempts to process this words and the words of your past a pack of wolves howl and run from the towering pines, circling the fire and glade before stopping at the compass points. All except for two. A large black wolf and an elegant white wolf. They stop on either side of the entrance to your circle, silently and with purpose for another figure is exiting the forest.
Shrouded in black an old woman hobbles forth her face shifting yet not. you see the face of a fair maiden only to instantly age from youth to middle age and then once again the face of an ancient. The face stops shifting and rests upon the face of a middle aged woman. The face of The Mother. She speaks to you kindly and the fear that was rising in your heart fades.
'Peace my child, for the day will come when you are needed,' the Mother hold out her arm, her hand emerging from the black shroud of the Crone, holding out to you a closed fist. You take the object in your hand and feel the roughness of wood before looking. An olive branch is now in your hands and a feeling of calm rises in your chest like the rising sun.
Music suddenly fills the circle as torches flair to life surrounding your encampment. Drums beat rhythmically, hypnotically as a lute softly plays a melody, unknown to you yet familiar, as if it were a forgotten dream from the days when you slept peacefully as a child. As the music plays a large figure emerges from the wood. Taller than any man, he comes. The God of travelers, and hunters, the father of winter. Pan. Instead of the familiar visage of a satyr, a goat man, he is now appearing to you as a minotaurian stag. His eyes glow with innumerable knowledge and a color you have no name for. His great antlers hold the birds of winter. The snowy owl, the cardinal, both the brown female and the crimson red male, blue jays and ravens nest within the great branches of the god's antlers. The leviathan towers before you his undecipherable eyes fixed upon your own. He says nothing to you and hands you, in a clawed hand, fire. You take it hesitatingly at first for fear of being burned, but you trust the god before you.
You hold the fire in your hand and the olive branch in another, and as if you knew what to do you throw them into the boiling waters of the cauldron.
The fire beneath the cauldron erupts and billows around the iron caste and screams fill the air, emanating from the steam and smoke.
'Look,' Pan commands you in a voice full of fatherly compassion. The fire dies and you gaze into the cauldrons remains and you see before you images of chaos. Protests erupting into violence, armed soldiers warring with citizens in the streets, ducking behind cars and behind dumpsters. Gunshots ring, as fighter jets unlike anything you have seen fly over head, smiling politicians speak of change and peace while the city behind them burns, all this and more flashes before you eyes.
Pan speaks again.
'Fear not my son. You will not be alone and you will be needed. Change is coming.' After he speaks he changes. His great antlers retract and the birds fade and stands before you the Green Man, lord of Spring and standing beside him in the Mother's place is the Maiden her eyes sparkling with joy singing a soft song.
The wind will blow once more the life of those behind. The waters will flow again my love for those that draw the lines,' she sings as she skips away grass pushing through the winter freeze. The wolves become doe that bound away, as the great owl once again leaves. You are left alone with your lost friend her smile still breaking your heart.
'Do not worry. We will meet again,' she says before like melting smoke, vanishes before your eyes.
You return to this world your heart and mind troubled but hopeful, already trying to unravel the visions. Above all you were told the owl's words haunt you as you leave your priestess' home.
The Ash leads to the Willow. Mars and Neptune shine while Venus fades.
