A CRAZED GIRL
That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling she knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, ‘O sea-starved, hungry sea.’
-W.B. Yeats…
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A different direction today…
For Rebecca
The Charge of the Goddess
Ichycoo
A visit with William Butler Yeats…
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm
—–
For Rebecca
So… this is my sister Rebecca. She is a couple of years my senior… (I am the youngest of 3 and the only male out of our original familial configuration) Today is her Birthday, and I just wanted to pass on my wishes. love, and appreciation of her.
She is a cultural creative in her endeavors… Through the education & theatre work she did in Poland in the late 80′s, to the womens spiritual groups she helped develop in the Czech Republic in the 90′s, to her work with abused women, theatre work, and so much more. She has worked at making this world a better place in her own way for a wonderful long time. She is also a triple Gemini… 8o)
She has two beautiful daughters, Deva and Sooooz, who I don’t see enough, (another story) and a group of friends spread across the world from Z Budapest to Jean Houston and many in-between.
She has been my friend for many years. There is a difference between just being sister and brother, when you can step forward out of the family patterns, and establish something else. I don’t always agree with her on all her views (and vice versa), and from what I can tell, this is okay with her.
So, Rebecca if you are out there, have a beautiful day, and thank you for blessing my life with your presence…
Much Love From All Of Us!
G
—-
Something For Rebecca on this day:
Charge of the Goddess
Traditional by Doreen Valiente, as adapted by Starhawk:
Listen to the words of the Great Mother, Who of old was called Artemis, Astarte, Dione, Melusine, Aphrodite, Cerridwen, Diana, Arionrhod, Brigid, and by many other names:
Whenever you have need of anything, once a month, and better it be when the moon is full, you shall assemble in some secret place and adore the spirit of Me Who is Queen of all the Wise.
You shall be free from slavery, and as a sign that you be free you shall be naked in your rites.
Sing, feast, dance, make music and love, all in My Presence, for Mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and Mine also is joy on earth.
For My law is love is unto all beings. Mine is the secret that opens the door of youth, and Mine is the cup of wine of life that is the cauldron of Cerridwen, that is the holy grail of immortality.
I give the knowledge of the spirit eternal, and beyond death I give peace and freedom and reunion with those that have gone before.
Nor do I demand aught of sacrifice, for behold, I am the Mother of all things and My love is poured out upon the earth.
Hear the words of the Star Goddess, the dust of Whose feet are the hosts of Heaven, whose body encircles the universe:
I Who am the beauty of the green earth and the white moon among the stars and the mysteries of the waters,
I call upon your soul to arise and come unto me.
For I am the soul of nature that gives life to the universe.
From Me all things proceed and unto Me they must return.
Let My worship be in the heart that rejoices, for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals.
Let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honor and humility, mirth and reverence within you.
And you who seek to know Me, know that the seeking and yearning will avail you not, unless you know the Mystery: for if that which you seek, you find not within yourself, you will never find it without.
For behold, I have been with you from the beginning, and I am That which is attained at the end of desire.
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Okay okay okay… Yes, it is a bit of nolstalgia, but hey, its fun!
(Small Faces Promo for Ichycoo Park)
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A visit with William Butler Yeats…
AN ACRE OF GRASS
Picture and book remain,
An acre of green grass
For air and exercise,
Now strength of body goes;
Midnight, an old house
Where nothing stirs but a mouse.
My temptation is quiet.
Here at life’s end
Neither loose imagination,
Nor the mill of the mind
Consuming its rag and bone,
Can make the truth known.
Grant me an old man’s frenzy,
Myself must I remake
Till I am Timon and Lear
Or that William Blake
Who beat upon the wall
Till Truth obeyed his call;
A mind Michael Angelo knew
That can pierce the clouds,
Or inspired by frenzy
Shake the dead in their shrouds;
Forgotten else by mankind,
An old man’s eagle mind.
—
THE CURSE OF CROMWELL
You ask what — I have found, and far and wide I go:
Nothing but Cromwell’s house and Cromwell’s murderous crew,
The lovers and the dancers are beaten into the clay,
And the tall men and the swordsmen and the horsemen, where are they?
And there is an old beggar wandering in his pride — –
His fathers served their fathers before Christ was crucified.
i{O what of that, O what of that,}
‘i{What is there left to say?}
All neighbourly content and easy talk are gone,
But there’s no good complaining, for money’s rant is on.
He that’s mounting up must on his neighbour mount,
And we and all the Muses are things of no account.
They have schooling of their own, but I pass their schooling by,
What can they know that we know that know the time to die?
i{O what of that, O what of that,}
i{What is there left to say?}
But there’s another knowledge that my heart destroys,
As the fox in the old fable destroyed the Spartan boy’s
Because it proves that things both can and cannot be;
That the swordsmen and the ladies can still keep company,
Can pay the poet for a verse and hear the fiddle sound,
That I am still their servant though all are underground.
i{O what of that, O what of that,}
i{What is there left to say?}
I came on a great house in the middle of the night,
Its open lighted doorway and its windows all alight,
And all my friends were there and made me welcome too;
But I woke in an old ruin that the winds. howled through;
And when I pay attention I must out and walk
Among the dogs and horses that understand my talk.
i{O what of that, O what of that,}
i{What is there left to say?}
—
THOSE IMAGES
What if I bade you leave
The cavern of the mind?
There’s better exercise
In the sunlight and wind.
I never bade you go
To Moscow or to Rome.
Renounce that drudgery,
Call the Muses home.
Seek those images
That constitute the wild,
The lion and the virgin,
The harlot and the child.
Find in middle air
An eagle on the wing,
Recognise the five
That make the Muses sing.
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