Mid-morning. You are facing south in the parking lot of Ohio Health Medical Building on Rt. 23 across from the entrance to Boy Scout Camp Lazarus a few miles south of Delaware city limits. Carol has her first appointment with Kim's doctor at the same facility where your Dr. Scott R. works.
1019 hours. The rain has begun and it is to continue through tomorrow. Poor kids have their Halloween Trick or Treat dampened a bit.
You wonder where your own personal sense of Halloween as gone. Let's find a suitable poem. -- You found two from your and Bob Pringle's publishable collection, "Take Two". - Amorella
1033 hours. These three are suitable. Bob and I wanted to publish "Take Two" but never did. Upon re-reading the below I realize that part of me has either been put away (out of consciousness) in my head. I am no longer in 'Faeryland'. Isn't this odd? All those years of writing, the Notes in the "Encounters In Mind" blog were in 'Faeryland'. Read them from the beginning or anywhere to the end and the reader can see this today is not the me who was.
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Introduction to "Beltane's Eve"
My oldest known genetic ancestors, the ancient Celts lived in present day France and Great Britain. They worshipped a sun god named Lugus or Lug. He was called “the inventor of all arts”. Because the Celtic day began at sundown, one of two particular holy days set aside was May Day Eve, which was then called Beltane’s Eve. Beltane’s Eve began as a sacred night in the same way Samhain Eve did, the other night set apart for Lugus, the Fairies, and the Dead. Today, of course, we celebrate the Samhain as Halloween.
This poem is dedicated to two ancient souls who know how to use Fire and Water; their names are Meleda and Celidon.
BELTANE'S EVE
Winging spritely across leafy felled forest
Feather bright birds sing along in a chorus,
Dead trees' gray fingers will leaf out quite soon
Under misty full light of magic May Moon.
Beware Earthly air, whirling winds deceive,
Beware the claw-ripped Souls of Beltane's Eve.
Tonight come the birds dressed wild and black
So keep close your Soul, they'll be wanting to hack
And fly it to Mounds where years seem a day
Across the far green where Fairy lands lay.
Be strong like the Oak near Celtic crossed stone
Think deep in Druid’s sleep so Spirits can roam;
Bring Souls together, yet remain afar,
Make fiery bright op’ning of the Oracle’s jar.
Beware Earthly air, whirling winds deceive,
Beware the claw-ripped Souls of Beltane's Eve.
On aid-Spring night where great stones lay rounded
In Fairy light from damp bark re-bounded.
Ghostly priestess and priest on Celtic cross stand
Midst Fire and Water in Sky and on Land.
***
INTERNAL FIRE
In the betweens of sleep I am lying in
I see flame shooting from my fingertips,
wonderfully green spiritual fires,
Fire, Water, Earth and Air
Swarms of Fairies everywhere.
A vision walks me to Mid-Summer's Moon
I await to be carried out of this place
on the pale, crescent, sky boat of the Dead.
0 high Priestess of the night, your light is as a pale vine
settling on my stone hard mind.
You touch and draw things out --
like Love’s memories soaring;
a rainbow of balloons colors of the Soul
imploding in quiet ecstasy.
Sweet moisture in a Moon drop.
0 high Priestess of the night, with deep smile and hearty laugh,
I feel no different, yet I am made so.
You, who have knowledge of the True Arts,
You, who say the Elements are tricky --
Your warm and gently stroking fingertips
Allow you to shape the size of Unicorns.
Fire, Water, Earth and Air
Swarms of Fairies everywhere.
Sometimes, when I walk the night, I lay my stretched mind
in your wispy white caverns of mysterious delight
Priestess, shining full and bright
In the dead and dark of night
By magic fingertips of healing
You pull secrets, at once revealing.
In the betweens of sleep my dreamy hands bend to crystal see
the counter-clock-wise round, my agony --
in clock-wise spins the eternal whirlwind,
in a Fairyland of timeless memory.
***
DRUID'S LAMENT
There’s a paced march of an army of ants
And wrens a-fluttering in a kind of dance,
Thick dark leaves turned over real light
And thick meadow clover bent just right.
It's about time for sowing winter's wheat
The West wind’s a-blowing across my feet,
The mighty yellow Sun is moving on South
Big Moon’s rising near small stream's mouth.
When water begins to churning white and high
Come rains, come rains, come rains try;
Cool me down, make me thick and muddy
Make my heart beat fast, my cheeks quite ruddy.
The shrilling sounds of troops of crickets
Swirling in my mind like rabbits in a thicket;
Small thicket made magic with lots of things to do
Before Fall sets in and the Harvest is through.
North-west breeze sniffing at my door
This hot summer’s blast will be nevermore;
Bright Harvest Moon, soon will be rising
Cool bright, like love gone philosophizing.
I’m walking on with my friends and clutter
Chirping my thoughts with a bit of a flutter;
Dancing and churning and swirling about
Like a wren in a thicket in a late summer’s drought.
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