Beltane 2009 - a reading (on YouTube)
In darkness there is memory. In shadows, a witness to our reflections. At moonrise the shadows coalesce into the shapes of trees disguised as men, hungry and threatening, their sylvan fingers scratching at the window. In the forest, gathered green men turn their faces eastward to catch a glimpse of the sun king reborn.
The wind whispers colors across the morning sky, telling tales of all the places it has been. A golden fanfare of allamanda echoes off a slate gray ceiling. The sun peers through a fine leaden veil as the wind traces the shadows of her face with a delicate lover's touch. When the veil parts and the morning brightens, new leaves perch upon the branches like hundreds of yellow-green butterflies drying their wings, poised to take flight. Near the moss cloaked statuary, fallen flames of honeysuckle litter the grass like discarded votives at an unnamed shrine.
The morning air has the cool edge of a little used knife scraping slowly against a pale blue stone as the seasons prepare for battle. Summer and winter have once again entered the lists to settle their annual dispute, this time to the death. Two men, one armored in multicolored ribbons with a willow wand, the other armed with only a shield and blackthorn switch. Like ancient rivals at a watering hole, each circles in silence, cautiously waiting for the other to respond. Between the need-fires their melee erupts, and none too swiftly ends. The green man claims the victor's cup, quenching his thirst with honey mead, sweet water from a holy well. The straw man has been scattered, at least for a time. From winter's corpse we sow the embryonic seeds from which the barley king will rise so we may sacrifice him later in the year.
In the west, the sun peers shyly around a pale purple curtain, her face half concealed. She retreats demurely, divergent rays shining outward from radiant eyes behind a gold-lined mask. As we bow to the antlered king, she sets the sky afire in his name, burning a rainbow of amber to apricot, lavender to ash. The last a reminder that deep within the thicket, a wicker man is born, stalking among the roses, and all too soon will be coming home.
© 2009 Edward P. Morgan III
--------------------------------
ReplyDeleteNotes and asides:
--------------------------------
Beltane is the first day of the Celtic summer.
In parts of the Celtic countries, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, men and cattle are purified by passing between bonfires (need-fires). Fighters reenact the ritual battle between summer and winter, armed and primitively armored. Many of these personae, the green man, the barley king, the sun king, the stag king, are thought to date from the Neolithic, perhaps a part of some of the oldest rituals humans performed as they recognized the patterns underlying their world. Sometimes I think we've retreated too far behind our walls and lost touch with that pattern and our place within it. Such are the seeds of many of our current problems. That's not meant as a religious or political statement, only a philosophical observation.
This message is woven together from lines written day by day over the past month. At the time, I didn't think they had much to do with one another, other than noting an image of the world that caught my eye each day.
Enjoy the day. For most, summer is all too short a season.