Nice evening… I sat at the table with family and friends, ranging in age from 92 to 15 years. Diverse backgrounds, Russian Ex-pats, English, Scots, Americans.. A lively conversation, good food, excellent wine and the night unwinding around us in a beautiful breeze.
Various images arise: Rowan cooking aubergine over the charcoal grill under the bamboo with Sofie looking on, Tony wandering the garden enquiring about the plants, Irina looking lovely, Mary smiling, tired from all the preparation… Maggie with her Mother Ruth and her nephew John (a truly wonderful 15 year old from Pendelton), Zena laughing, asking her daughter Irina what everyone is saying in English… Andre crusing through as he always does with his impish smile.
Nothing like being with good friends and family! A great night.
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The entry for today is based on Invocation… I found a series of poems, meditations and thought they would cap the week nicely. It is funny I feel the sacred in the strangest ways. Sometimes it strikes me at what would be considered awkward… 80) Nothing like having an epiphany whilst shopping at Home Depot in the morning, staring off into space at a display and seeing the patterns of chaos congeal into a coherent concept. This was not the way the corporation hoped you would spend your time on their territory.
I find the mind going over a concept, a poem, or a lyric and finding a gem of incredible worth staring back at me; often times I will have heard or read it for years, and missed the point. Here is to finding the point, and all the multiple facets of the situation!
These Poems/Invocations help bring me back to the root of things as I have come to know it. Your speed may vary of course…. 8o)
I hope this finds you well,
Gwyllm
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On the Menu
The Links
The Quotes
4 Poems of Invocation…
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The Links
Greek archaeological sites celebrate Lunar festival
Goat crowned King of Ireland at ancient fair
A Closer Look: On justice and the sacred
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The Quotes
“On my income tax 1040 it says ‘Check this box if you are blind.’ I wanted to put a check mark about three inches away.”
“Television is a new medium. It’s called a medium because nothing is well-done.”
“We need anything politically important rationed out like Pez: small, sweet, and coming out of a funny, plastic head.”
“Rudeness is the weak man’s imitation of strength.”
“Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it whether it exists or not, diagnosing it incorrectly, and applying the wrong remedy.”
“There is no passion like that of a functionary for his function.”
“Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.”
“The best way to predict the future is to invent it.”
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The Invitation
It doesn’t matter what you do for a living or how much money you have,
what matters is how you live, how much you give of yourself.
It doesn’t matter where you were born or with whom you studied,
It matters only when you give birth to yourself, and then share that wealth.
I do not care what planets square your moon,
or how much joy you express when times are good
and all the world seems to smile upon you,
I care only that when fortune betrays you, and you stand naked
abandoned at night near the edge of the lake–
you can still lift up your arms to the great silver of the moon and shout, “Yes!”
It doesn’t matter how much money you have, or how many things you possess,
it matters only that you can be content when alone in the silent spaces,
and then wake each morning confident to do what needs to be done for the children.
[Remembered from the words of a Mountain Elder]
—-
Hymn to Dionysos
Blessed, blessed are the ones who know the mysteries of the god.
Blessed, blessed are those who hollow their lives in the worship of god,
whom the spirit of the god possesseth,
and who belong to the holy body of the god.
Blessed, blessed are the dancers and those who are purified,
who dance on the hill in the holy dance of god.
Blessed are they who keep the rite of Cybele the Mother.
Blessed are the disciples who become prophets, the Gnostics
who hold the holy wand of god.
Blessed are those who wear the ivy crown of the Conquering One–
Blessed, blessed are they,
Dionysos is our god!
–Adapted from the Bacchae
Euripides [480-406 B.C.E.]
—-
INVOKATION TO CERES
O great and Holy Goddess,
I pray Thee by thy
plenteous and liberal right hand,
by the joyful ceremonies of thy harvest,
by the secrets of thy Sacrifice, by the flying
chariots of thy dragons, by the sowing of the ground gnosis
thou hast invented on earth for thy children;
by the marriage of Persephone, by the diligent wisdom and
devotion of thy blessed daughter; and by the other secrets and
devotions thou hast revealed to thy mortal followers,
whose hands till the earth in love for Thee.
Come to us here in this
consecrated place,
Deign to bless these rites
with thy shinning face,
Bless thy faithful Children
with thy Holy Grace.
O beautiful Ceres and Great Mother Isis are One!
Grant us thy fruitful protection!
—
The Golden Thread of Time
Chaos rules the world of Man and Nature
in the moment of now
Order will return for a while in the cycle of the times,
but the World will never die,
The Vine of Man and Woman may wither and pass away.
New Birth will come and Ma-at return.
New eyes may greet the rising of the Sun
In distant future, another kind may taste the living air of ancient dead
and rise in life from the dust of ages,
To wonder once again at the stars
and keep the Time to sail the seas on wind and tide.
They who are to walk the earth
will spin beneath the ruthless eye of Starry Serpent
and watch the hoary Twelve sail by with Orion
at the helm
And will they see the Sun give life by day?
As did we,
and live in balance with the world
For a while.
What clothes will you wear, my love?
And how shall I recognise thee?
Will we be as One as once before?
When we meet again in this ship of life.
in distant times,
On the Golden Thread of millions of years.
©2001 Crichton E M Miller
—-
Priests
And who will write love songs for you
When I am lowered at last?
And your body is that little highway shrine
That all my priests have passed.
My priests they will put flowers there
They will kneel before the glass
But theyll wear away your little window love
They will trample on the grass.
And who will aim the arrow
That man will follow thru your grace?
When I am lowered of memories
And all your armor has turned to lace.
The simple life of heroes
The twisted life of saints
They just confuse the sunny calendar
With their red & golden paint.
And all of you have seen the dance
That God has kept from me
But he has seen me watching you
When all your minds were free.
And who will write love songs for you
When I am lowered at last?
And your body is some highway shrine
That all my priests have passed.
My priests they will put flowers there
They will stand before the glass
But theyll wear away your little window light
They will trample on the grass.
Leonard Cohen
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