Beltane
Have you ever stood in the April wood and called the new year in?
While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin?
There's a snap in the grass behind your feet and a tap upon your shoulder.
And the thin wind crawls along your neck it's just the old gods getting older.
And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and the red cloud hanging high
As the sun rose in the earliest hours of the morning, the fire burned. As it burned as steadily as His light throughout the May Day.
Of course, as we all know, light fades. Light is life, and life is Jack-in-the-green, He who is born to die and who does so gladly.
And his death is not sad. Far from it, those of a pagan heart rejoice in good company and pass the cup.
And we know that his gift of his Light is given again and again, to seed Her with His light to make life, to give pleasure to Her body to bring joy to Her heart, to give of Himself. We enact the sacred magick of their union, the Great Rite symbolically made manifest.
And we take joy in Their joy, as Their joy IS our joy. Ed especially finds happiness in the beauty of a summer Robin.
But now, as the pleasure peaks and ruptures and the little death comes, the act of joy and satisfaction becomes an act of death. To make life, to give Light, his body is broken, his essence to be spilled upon the body of the earth. The happy fool is sacrificed, for who but a fool would accept such a deal? King for a day, for a moment--only to accept death in exchange? But in the end, the joke is on us, for He is no fool-- He walks to the gallows with a song in his heart.
Sarah's strike
Eric's strike
Robin strikes
Ed strikes-- and takes Jack's Head! Experiencing the magic of the Quickening, Ed takes his enemy's head, and with it His power. Should he and pretty Robin be concerned from the symbolic virility in this magick? Of course not, it's only a pinata. But we congratulate you in advance on the lovely family you'll no doubt be starting very soon. ;)
The headless body is restrung, and the Priestess strikes
Gail strikes, and takes His legs.
Our second Eric strikes, taking an arm as a trophy
The Priest strikes (cheating! Look at that blindfold!)
Sarah takes her second strike, and Jac--and gravity + alcohol--strike back
Eric deals the killing blow . . .
. . . and Jack's "essence" is spilled upon the earth. Note the squashy white marshmallows in packs of two.
Jack sighs, as His light is given back to Her, and in turn, He will return again from Her. The pagan hearts assembled say goodbye, his body reduced to the ash of the earth, knowing his glad sacrifice gives us the crop to feed us all.
And Ed enjoys another moment of unwitting symbolim, enjoying a marshmallow roasted over Jack's burning, broken form.
Have you walked around your parks and towns so knife-edged orderly?
While the fires are burned on the hills upturned in far-off wild country?
And felt the chill on your window-sill as the green man comes around?
With his walking cane of sweet hazel, brings it crashing down.
Sends your knuckles white as the thin stick bites. Well, it's just your groaning pains.
Come-a Beltane
While the phantoms of three thousand years fly as the dead leaves spin?
There's a snap in the grass behind your feet and a tap upon your shoulder.
And the thin wind crawls along your neck it's just the old gods getting older.
And the kestral drops like a fall of shot and the red cloud hanging high
As the sun rose in the earliest hours of the morning, the fire burned. As it burned as steadily as His light throughout the May Day.
Of course, as we all know, light fades. Light is life, and life is Jack-in-the-green, He who is born to die and who does so gladly.
And his death is not sad. Far from it, those of a pagan heart rejoice in good company and pass the cup.
And we know that his gift of his Light is given again and again, to seed Her with His light to make life, to give pleasure to Her body to bring joy to Her heart, to give of Himself. We enact the sacred magick of their union, the Great Rite symbolically made manifest.
And we take joy in Their joy, as Their joy IS our joy. Ed especially finds happiness in the beauty of a summer Robin.
But now, as the pleasure peaks and ruptures and the little death comes, the act of joy and satisfaction becomes an act of death. To make life, to give Light, his body is broken, his essence to be spilled upon the body of the earth. The happy fool is sacrificed, for who but a fool would accept such a deal? King for a day, for a moment--only to accept death in exchange? But in the end, the joke is on us, for He is no fool-- He walks to the gallows with a song in his heart.
Sarah's strike
Eric's strike
Robin strikes
Ed strikes-- and takes Jack's Head! Experiencing the magic of the Quickening, Ed takes his enemy's head, and with it His power. Should he and pretty Robin be concerned from the symbolic virility in this magick? Of course not, it's only a pinata. But we congratulate you in advance on the lovely family you'll no doubt be starting very soon. ;)
The headless body is restrung, and the Priestess strikes
Gail strikes, and takes His legs.
Our second Eric strikes, taking an arm as a trophy
The Priest strikes (cheating! Look at that blindfold!)
Sarah takes her second strike, and Jac--and gravity + alcohol--strike back
Eric deals the killing blow . . .
. . . and Jack's "essence" is spilled upon the earth. Note the squashy white marshmallows in packs of two.
Jack sighs, as His light is given back to Her, and in turn, He will return again from Her. The pagan hearts assembled say goodbye, his body reduced to the ash of the earth, knowing his glad sacrifice gives us the crop to feed us all.
And Ed enjoys another moment of unwitting symbolim, enjoying a marshmallow roasted over Jack's burning, broken form.
Have you walked around your parks and towns so knife-edged orderly?
While the fires are burned on the hills upturned in far-off wild country?
And felt the chill on your window-sill as the green man comes around?
With his walking cane of sweet hazel, brings it crashing down.
Sends your knuckles white as the thin stick bites. Well, it's just your groaning pains.
Come-a Beltane