Thursday, 16 May 2013

An Invocation of the Fey

Tarot of the Sidhe, Carding 2010
'The Mysteries'

Here and now are the Mysteries.
Out of no stored and storied past
Of things long lost,
But the breathing moment of time.
Out of no twilight
But that which falls upon the hills this night.
The old trees partake of them,
And the voices of the grass,
The ghost-white blossomed elders,
And the first clouded glow
Of the rising moon.
If we can hear.
If we can see.
Out of no buried past they come,
But from the fields of our own home
Is reaped the grain
That makes the bread of their feast.
Out of the flowers of every summer
Flows the honey of their mead.
Look -- between the stones is a blade of grass,
And all the rites of the high Mysteries,
And the runes of all witcheries,
Are written upon it.

~Doreen Valiente

5 comments:

  1. Nicely combined poem and image! Did you feel their presence in your time in the countryside? :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Actually, at a few points during the coastal walk, when the wind was nearly knocking me over, I did hold my arms out and think about the power of air! (The sleeves of my coat sounded like when you jump out of an airplane -- not that I have done that, but I've seen it on the telly. :) )

      Delete
    2. Well, I'm glad you didn't take a Fool-like leap off the cliff - coatsleeves may sound like a parachute, but I doubt they'd act like one :o

      Delete
    3. Not likely! I crouched down and nearly crawled over a footbridge because the wind was so strong. It would have been a 'big' fall of about five feet into a shallow stream. Total weenie, me. Ha!

      Delete
    4. LOL! Better a weenie than a splat on the ground :)

      Delete

Share your wisdom, please! Comments welcome.