This is one of the vitrified hill forts up in the Highlands of Scotland. There has never been an adequate explanation how the stone was vitrified… given the supposed technologies of the past… One of those mysteries!
On The Menu:

Thoughts Leading Up To The Solstice…

The Links

Running On Empty?

Andy M. Stewart – Robert Burn’s ‘A Red, Red Rose

Lyrical Poetry Of Silly Wizard…
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm

_________

You can now get your own printed copy of The Third Edition of The Invisible College! Check out the calendar as well… just click on the images at Lulu.com to get a preview!

____________

Thoughts Leading Up To The Solstice…
The Solstice bears down, and the darkness is now at its deepest. The northern lights hang a shimmering curtain far to the north, and the night sky is achingly beautiful further south here in Cascadia… It has been quite cold for Portland, the season may soon deliver its promised snow.
This is the time traditionally of deep contemplation, sitting by the fire staring into flames, or watching the night sky…. but it seems all are running around in the induced frenzy of the end-game of capital.
Food prices have risen 25% in the last few months in the US I heard today, and the main culprit is wheat and corn, and fuel cost….
Food supplies are down to 8 weeks (from 11 weeks – the poorest amount since 1980) across the world, and you know the poor are in for it if there is crop failures or weather problems again in the next year.
Corn is being eaten by vehicles instead of people, at a 1 to 1 ratio without a true energy relief. Sheer Madness. We are struggling to keep a model alive that is consuming the world, and threatening to take all of us with it for the profits of a few.
Now is the time to consider what we are to do in the coming year. This is the time to contemplate how we can change to help others and our selves out of a decaying, decadent system. Talk to your neighbors, start gardens, share plantings, changing our diets to ease the burden on others, and use those Bikes!
The Solstice bears down with the promise of change and the coming of new light. This is the time to push forward those dreams, those ideas that will touch others, and will bring renewal to the world.
Give the gift of Greater Love this Solstice; Love for all on this great and tumbling blue/green earth. Together, we can dream beauty into being. Together, we can bring about the changes that are needed to usher in a new awareness.
Friends, it is no longer just for ourselves and families, but for every being, especially those who will follow….

__________
The Links:

Heritage Ireland are proud to present a “live” webcast of the winter solstice at Newgrange.

Ancient Egyptians ahead of time

Visions of the Divine…

Burning Man backs solar-power project for Nevada towns

___________
Running On Empty?
When I was 36 years old, I got up one morning, went into my recording studio, sat down at my keyboards, and sat and stared at the wall. I sat there off and on for several days.
Where-as I could write 2-3 songs a day, with lyrics, and a basic structure, I was confronted with being completely empty. I cannot describe the horror of those days. I had been very prolific for 10 years, and then, I ran into the proverbial wall.
I withdrew from the world and went into a place that burned me down to the soul. I have never successfully written a full song since and committed it to recording (I can’t actually write music, but I can store most anything into memory if it has to do with creativity…) I gave up keyboards, and have only played since on stringed instruments.
I have found lately that after almost 20 years, I am beginning to compose again. I work out melodies for Rowan, so that he has something to practice. I have yet to try out lyrics, as my voice is a mess after all that time without singing, and smoking (I quit 17 years ago). I am working with the most wonderful of instruments, my mountain dulcimer that is now about 22 years as my companion. I put it away for several years, and then Rowan pulled it out one day last year and asked me for some lessons. It has been a slow tumble back into love again…
What the Muse takes away, she can also gift back. I don’t take her gifts lightly as I once did squandering youths’ bounties and endless energy. I played freely with her gifts, and didn’t listen to the wind as I should… I do now, and I feel very, very lucky to be apparently back in her graces again.
This time, it is dedicated to her, and may she be gentle with her old servant who has come back to service again.

80)
Gwyllm

__________
(Andy M. Stewart – Robert Burn’s ‘A Red, Red Rose)

=en_US&fs=1&”>

___________
One of my favourite bands… Silly Wizard ( the song above was by its old singer, Andy M. Stewart…) They always impressed me. My friend Sam at Rhino Records introduced me to them. It was a real joy getting to know their music. Look it up, give it a listen!
G

_
(An early picture of Silly Wizard)

The Lyrical Poetry of Silly Wizard:

If I Was a Blackbird
I am a young maiden, my story is sad

For once I was carefree and in love with a lad

He courted me sweetly by night and by day

But now he has left me and gone far away
Chorus:

Oh if I was a blackbird, could whistle and sing

I’d follow the vessel my true love sails in

And in the top rigging I would there build my nest

And I’d flutter my wings o’er his broad golden chest
He sailed o’er the ocean, his fortune to seek

I missed his caresses and his kiss on my cheek

He returned and I told him my love was still warm

He turned away lightly and great was his scorn
He offered to take me to Donnybrook Fair

To buy me fine ribbons, tie them up in my hair

He offered to marry and to stay by my side

But then in the morning he sailed with the tide
My parents they chide me, and will not agree

Saying that me and my true love married should never be

Ah but let them deprive me, or let them do what they will

While there’s breath in my body, he’s the one that I love still
Male perspective…
I am a young sailor, my story is sad

For once I was carefree and a bold sailor lad

I courted a lassie by night and by day

But now she has left me and gone far away
Chorus:

Oh if I was a blackbird, could whistle and sing

I’d follow the vessel my true love sails in

And in the top rigging I would there build my nest

And I’d flutter my wings o’er her lily-white breast
Or if I was a scholar and could handle a pen

One secret love letter to my true love I’d send

And I’d tell of my sorrow, my grief and my pain

Since she’s gone and left me in yon flowery glen
I sailed o’er the ocean, my fortune to seek

Though I missed her caress and her kiss on my cheek

I returned and I told her my love was still warm

But she turned away lightly and great was her scorn
I offered to take her to Donnybrook Fair

And to buy her fine ribbons to tie up her hair

I offered to marry and to stay by her side

But she said in the morning she sailed with the tide
My parents they chide me, and will not agree

Saying that me and my false love married should never be

Ah but let them deprive me, or let them do what they will

While there’s breath in my body, she’s the one that I love still

—–

This is in the old version of Scots’ English… You might look the words up!

Donald McGillavry / O’Neill’s Cavalry March
Donald’s gane up the hill hard and hungry,

Donald comes down the hill wild and angry;

Donald will clear the gouk’s nest cleverly,

Here’s to the king and Donald Macgillavry.

Come like a weighbauk, Donald Macgillavry,

Come like a weighbauk, Donald Macgillavry,

Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly:

Off wi’the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry.
Donald’s run o’er the hill but his tether, man,

As he were wud, or stang’d wi’ an ether, man;

When he comes back, there’s some will look merrily:

Here’s to King James and Donald Macgillavry.

Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry,

Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry,

Pack on your back, and elwand sae cleverly;

Gie them full measure, my Donald Macgillavry.
Donald has foughten wi’ rief and roguery;

Donald has dinner’d wi banes and beggary,

Better it were for Whigs and Whiggery

Meeting the devil than Donald Macgillavry.

Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry,

Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry,

Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly,

Here’s to King James and Donald Macgillavry.
Donald’s the callan that brooks nae tangleness;

Whigging and prigging and a’newfangleness,

They maun be gane: he winna be baukit, man:

He maun hae justice, or faith he’ll tak it, man.

Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry,

Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry;

Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly,

Up wi’ King James and Donald Macgillavry.
Donald was mumpit wi mirds and mockery;

Donald was blinded wi’ blads o’ property;

Arles ran high, but makings were naething, man,

Lord, how Donald is flyting and fretting, man.

Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry,

Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry;

Skelp them and scaud them that proved sae unbritherly,

Up wi King James and Donald Macgillavry!


Golden, Golden
Slowly, slowly, walk the path,

And you might never stumble or fall.

Slowly, slowly, walk the path,

And you might never fall in love at all.
CHORUS:

Golden, golden, is her hair,

Like the morning sun over fields of corn.

Golden, golden, is her love,

So sweet and clear and warm.
Lonely, lonely, is the heart

That ne’er another can call its own.

Lonely, lonely, lies the part

That has to live all alone.
Wildly, wildly, beats the heart

With a rush of love like a mountain stream.

Wildly, wildly, play your part

As free as a wild bird’s dream


Hame, Hame, Hame,
Hame, hame, hame, o hame fain wad I be–

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree!
When the flower is i’ the bud and the leaf is on the tree

The larks shall sing me hame in my ain countree;

Hame, hame, hame, o hame fain wad I be–

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree!
The green leaf o’ loyaltie ‘s beginning for to fa’

The bonnie white rose it is withering an’ a’;

But I’ll water ‘t wi’ the blude of usurping tyrannie

An’ green it will graw in my ain countree
O, there ‘s nocht now frae ruin my country can save Instant Song Lyrics

But the keys o’ kind heaven, to open the grave;

That a’ the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie

May rise again an’ fight for their ain countree
The great now are gane, a’ wha ventured to save

The new grass is springing on the tap o’ their grave;

But the sun through the mirk blinks blythe in my e’e

‘I’ll shine on ye yet in your ain countree.’
Hame, hame, hame, o hame fain wad I be–

O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree!

( I would like to dedicate this one to my friend Tomas Brawley…)
The Fisherman’s Song
By the storm-torn shoreline a woman is standing

The spray strung like jewels in her hair

And the sea tore the rocks near

the desolate landing

as though it had known she stood there.
Chorus:

For she had come down to condemn that wild ocean

for the murderous loss of her man,

His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning

And it’s feared it’s gone down with all hands.
Oh and white were the wave-caps

And wild was their parting

So fierce is the warring of love,

But she prayed to the gods

Both of men and of sailors

Not to cast their cruel nets o’er her love.
There’s a school on the hill

Where the songs of dead fathers

Are led toward tempests and gales,

Where their God-given wings

Are clipped close to their bodies,

And their eyes are bound-’round with ships’ sails.
What force leads a man

To a life filled with danger

High on seas or a mile underground?

It’s when need is his master

And poverty’s no stranger,

And there’s no other work to be found.

—-