Yep…. the 4th edition! I am happy to finally see it complete, the labour was long, but I think worth it. I want to thank Mary and Rowan for being so patient with me during the delivery…
This issue has some great stuff, so please check it out, and if you like it, please purchase it.
Free Down Load!: http://www.earthrites.org/invisible-college.htm
Purchase A Copy, Digital or Print!: http://stores.lulu.com/Gwyllm
No advertisements, No filler… Art, Poetry, Interviews, Stories and more!
Contents of the 4th edition, “Entity Encounters”
Poetry:

The Poetric Musings Of Michael Hoffman

The Poetry of A.E. (George William Russell) Theosophical & Celtic Ruminations

The Bornless One (Hermetic Ceremony)
Features:

The Cracking Tower – Interview With Jim DeKorne (Jim wrote ‘Psychedelic Shamanism’, and was the founding editor of ‘The Entheogen Review’)

Divinity and Grace In Expression – The Art of Maura Holden (Wonderful Art!)

Notes From The Headland – Tales from the Western Shores of Ireland

– Tim Daly(Tim’s Tales are not to be missed!)
Articles:

Moon Daughter Muse – Poetry & Article – Padrice Stewart (Padrice is a member of our Portland Community)

The Serpent & The Light Part 2 – Genesis and Isis… From The Early Hebrews To The Egyptian Gods – LyterPhotos (Another excellent article from LyterPhotos!)

Entity Encounters – Stories From The Poison Path & From The Realm Of Faery – Compiled by Gwyllm Llwydd & Fiona MacGreggor (Interesting stories from the entity encounters…)

The Short Review – Gwyllm Llwydd
Art

Izwoz –An Art Collective From Adelaide (Wildness from Australia!)

Digital Joy! In The Lands Of Vision – Stevee Postman (wonderful digital collages!)

Close Encounters – Mike Crowley (Fractal Fantasies!)

Vimana – Gwyllm Llwydd
Community Page:

News,Events… and more
So Please check it out~!
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm

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On The Menu:

The Invisible College

Igor Stravinsky’s “Le Sacre du printemps

The Black Bull of Norroway

From Peter:Aman Aman – Si veriash a la rana / Las casas de la boda

Robert Graves: Under A Spring Moon…

From Peter: AMAN AMAN – Los caminos

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Templar’s?

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Igor Stravinsky’s “Le Sacre du printemps”

Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring

1913
Pulled from the web:
“On May 29, 1913, in Paris, Les Ballets Russes stages the first ballet performance of The Rite of Spring (Le Sacré du Printemps,) with music by Igor Stravinsky and choreography by Vaslav Nijinsky. The intensely rhythmic score and primitive scenario — a setting of scenes from pagan Russia — shock audiences more accustomed to the demure conventions of classical ballet. The complex music and violent dance steps depicting fertility rites first draw catcalls and whistles from the crowd, and are soon followed by shouts and fistfights in the aisles. The unrest in the audience escalates into a riot.
The Paris police arrive by intermission, but they restore only limited order. Chaos reigns for the remainder of the performance. Nijinsky and Stravinsky are despondent. However, Sergei Diaghilev, the director of Les Ballets Russes, comments that the scandal was “just what I wanted.”
The ballet completes its run of six performances amid controversy, but no further disruption. Both Stravinsky and Nijinsky continue to work, but neither creates pieces in this percussive and intense style again. In later years, The Rite of Spring is regarded as a path-breaking 20th century masterpiece. The work is often heard in concert and the ballet is set by many prominent choreographers. After extensive research, Nijinsky’s original setting is reconstructed and presented by the Joffrey Ballet in 1988. This performance, 75 years after the premiere, causes no riots. In fact, it is televised nationally on PBS.”
One of my favourite pieces of music and dance… Enjoy!

G
The Rites Of Spring # 1

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The Rites Of Spring # 2

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The Rites Of Spring # 3

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The Black Bull of Norroway

And many a hunting song they sung,

And song of game and glee;

Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,

“Of Scotland’s luve and lee.”

To wilder measures next they turn

“The Black, Black Bull of Norroway!”

Sudden the tapers cease to burn,

The minstrels cease to play.

“The Cout of Keeldar,” by J. Leyden.
IN Norroway, langsyne, there lived a certain lady, and she had three dochters. The auldest o’ them said to her mither: “Mither, bake me a bannock, and roast me a collop, for I’m gaun awa’ to seek my fortune.” Her mither did sae; and the dochter gaed awa’ to an auld witch washerwife and telled her purpose. The auld wife bade her stay that day, and gang and look out o’ her back door, and see what she could see. She saw nocht the first day. The second day she did the same, and saw nocht. On the third day she looked again, and saw a coach-and-six coming along the road. She ran in and telled the auld wife what she saw. “Aweel,” quo’ the auld wife, “yon’s for you.” Sae they took her into the coach, and galloped aff.
The second dochter next says to her mither: “Mither, bake me a bannock, and roast me a collop, fur I’m gaun awa’ to seek my fortune.” Her mither did sae; and awa’ she gaed to the auld wife, as her sister had dune. On the third day she looked out o’ the back door, and saw a coach-and-four coming along the road. “Aweel,” quo’ the auld wife, “yon’s for you.” Sae they took her in, and aff they set.
The third dochter says to her mither: “Mither, bake me a bannock, and roast me a collop, for I’m gaun awa’ to seek my fortune.” Her mither did sae; and awa’ she gaed to the auld witch-wife. She bade her look out o’ her back door, and see what she could see. She did sae; and when she came back said she saw nocht. The second day she did the same, and saw nocht. The third day she looked again, and on coming back said to the auld wife she saw nocht but a muckle Black Bull coming roaring alang the road. “Aweel,” quo’ the auld wife, “yon’s for you.” On hearing this she was next to distracted wi’ grief and terror; but she was lifted up and set on his back, and awa’ they went.
Aye they traveled, and on they traveled, till the lady grew faint wi’ hunger. “Eat out o’ my right lug,” says the Black Bull, “and drink out o’ my left lug, and set by your leavings.” Sae she did as he said, and was wonderfully refreshed. And lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till they came in sight o’ a very big and bonny castle. “Yonder we maun be this night,” quo’ the bull; “for my auld brither lives yonder”; and presently they were at the place. They lifted her aff his back, and took her in, and sent him away to a park for the night. In the morning, when they brought the bull hame, they took the lady into a fine shining parlor, and gave her a beautiful apple, telling her no to break it till she was in the greatest strait ever mortal was in in the world, and that wad bring her o’t. Again she was lifted on the bull’s back, and after she had ridden far, and farer than I can tell, they came in sight o’ a far bonnier castle, and far farther awa’ than the last. Says the bull till her: “Yonder we maun be the night, for my second brither lives yonder”; and they were at the place directly. They lifted her down and took her in, and sent the bull to the field for the night. In the morning they took the lady into a fine and rich room, and gave her the finest pear she had ever seen, bidding her no to break it till she was in the greatest strait ever mortal could be in, and that wad get her out o’t. Again she was lifted and set on his back, and awa’ they went. And lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till they came in sight o’ the far biggest castle, and far farthest aff, they had yet seen. “We maun be yonder the night,” says the bull, “for my young brither lives yonder”; and they were there directly. They lifted her down, took her in, and sent the bull to the field for the night. In the morning they took her into a room, the finest of a’, and gied her a plum, telling her no to break it till she was in the greatest strait mortal could be in, and that wad get her out o’t. Presently they brought hame the bull, set the lady on his back, and awa’ they went.
And aye they gaed, and on they rade, till they came to a dark and ugsome glen, where they stopped, and the lady lighted down. Says the bull to her: “Here ye maun stay till I gang and fight the deil. Ye maun seat yoursel’ on that stane, and move neither hand nor fit till I come back, else I’ll never find ye again. And if everything round about ye turns blue I hae beated the deil; but should a’ things turn red he’ll hae conquered me.” She set hersel’ down on the stane, and by-and-by a’ round her turned blue. O’ercome wi’ joy, she lifted the ae fit and crossed it owre the ither, sae glad was she that her companion was victorious. The bull returned and sought for but never could find her.
Lang she sat, and aye she grat, till she wearied. At last she rase and gaed awa’, she kedna whaur till. On she wandered till she came to a great hill o’ glass, that she tried a’ she could to climb, bat wasna able. Round the bottom o’ the hill she gaed, sabbing and seeking a passage owre, till at last she came to a smith’s house; and the smith promised, if she wad serve him seven years, he wad make her iron shoon, wherewi’ she could climb owre the glassy hill. At seven years’ end she got her iron shoon, clamb the glassy hill, and chanced to come to the auld washerwife’s habitation. There she was telled of a gallant young knight that had given in some bluidy sarks to wash, and whaever washed thae sarks was to be his wife. The auld wife had washed till she was tired, and then she set to her dochter, and baith washed, and they washed, and they better washed, in hopes of getting the young knight; but a’ they could do they couldna bring out a stain. At length they set the stranger damosel to wark; and whenever she began the stains came out pure and clean, but the auld wife made the knight believe it was her dochter had washed the sarks. So the knight and the eldest dochter were to be married, and the stranger damosel was distracted at the thought of it, for she was deeply in love wi’ him. So she bethought her of her apple, and breaking it, found it filled with gold and precious jewelry, the richest she had ever seen. “All these,” she said to the eldest dochter, “I will give you, on condition that you put off your marriage for ae day, and allow me to go into his room alone at night.” So the lady consented; but meanwhile the auld wife had prepared a sleeping-drink, and given it to the knight, wha drank it, and never wakened till next morning. The lee-lang night ther damosel sabbed and sang:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,

The glassy hill I clamb for thee,

The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;

And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?”
Next day she kentna what to do for grief. She then brak the pear, and found it filled wi’ jewelry far richer than the contents o’ the apple. Wi’ thae jewels she bargained for permission to be a second night in the young knight’s chamber; but the auld wife gied him anither sleeping-drink, and he again sleepit till morning. A’ night she kept sighing and singing as before:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,” &c. Still he sleepit, and she nearly lost hope a’thegither. But that day when he was out at the hunting, somebody asked him what noise and moaning was yon they heard all last night in his bedchamber. He said he heardna ony noise. But they assured him there was sae; and he resolved to keep waking that night to try what he could hear. That being the third night, and the damosel being between hope and despair, she brak her plum, and it held far the richest jewelry of the three. She bargained as before; and the auld wife, as before, took in the sleeping-drink to the young knight’s chamber; but he telled her he couldna drink it that night without sweetening. And when she gaed awa’ for some honey to sweeten it wi’, he poured out the drink, and sae made the auld wife think he had drunk it. They a’ went to bed again, and the damosel began, as before, singing:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,

The glassy hill I clamb for thee,

The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;

And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?”
He heard, and turned to her. And she telled him a’ that had befa’en her, and he telled her a’ that had happened to him. And he caused the auld washerwife and her dochter to be burned. And they were married, and he and she are living happy till this day, for aught I ken.[1]
[1] Chambers, Popular Traditions of Scotland.

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From Peter:Aman Aman – Si veriash a la rana / Las casas de la boda

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Robert Graves: Under A Spring Moon…

THE BARDS
The bards falter in shame, their running verse

Stumbles, with marrow-bones the drunken diners

Pelt them for their delay.

It is a something fearful in the song

Plagues them — an unknown grief that like a churl

Goes commonplace in cowskin

And bursts unheralded, crowing and coughing,

An unpilled holly-club twirled in his hand,

Into their many-shielded, samite-curtained,

Jewel-bright hall where twelve kings sit at chess

Over the white-bronze pieces and the gold;

And by a gross enchantment

Flalils down the rafters and leads off the queens –

The wild-swan-breasted, the rose-ruddy-cheeked

Raven-haired daughters of their admiration –

To stir his black pots and to bed on straw.


The Worms of History
On the eighth day God died; his bearded mouth

That had been shut so long flew open.

So Adam’s too in a dismay like death-

But the world still rolled on around him,

Instinct with all those lesser powers of life

That God had groaned against but not annulled.
“All-excellent”, Adam had titled God,

And in his mourning now demeaned himself

As if all excellence, not God, had died;

Chose to be governed by those lesser powers,

More than inferior to excellence –

The worms astir in God’s corrupt flesh.
God died, not excellence his name:

Excellence lived, but only was not God.

It was those lesser powers who played at God,

Bloated with Adam’s deferential sighs

In mourning for expired divinity;

They reigned as royal monsters upon earth.
Adam grew lean, and wore perpetual black;

He made no reaching after excellence.

Eve gave him sorry comfort for his grief

With birth of sons, and mourning still he died.

Adam was buried in one grave with God

And the worms ranged and ravaged in between.
Into their white maws fell abundance

Of all things rotten. They were greedy-nosed

To smell the taint out and go scavenging,

Yet over excellence held no domain.

Excellence lives; they are already dead –

The ages of a putrefying corpse.


Rhea
On her shut lids the lightning flickers,

Thunder explodes above her bed,

An inch from her lax arm the rain hisses;

Discrete she lies,
Not dead but entranced, dreamlessly

With slow breathing, her lips curved

In a half-smile archaic, her breast bare,

Hair astream.
The house rocks, a flood suddenly rising

Bears away bridges: oak and ash

Are shivered to the roots – royal green timber.

She nothing cares.
(Divine Augustus, trembling at the storm,

Wrapped sealskin on his thumb; divine Gaius

Made haste to hide himself in a deep cellar,

Distraught by fear.)
Rain, thunder, lightning: pretty children.

“Let them play,” her mother-mind repeats;

“They do no harm, unless from high spirits

Or by mishap.”


Penthesileia
Penthesileia, dead of profuse wonds,

Was despoiled of her arms by Prince Achilles

Who, for love of that fierce white naked corpse,

Necrophily on her committed

In the public view.
Some gasped, some groaned, some bawled their indignation,

Achilles nothing cared, distraught by grief,

But suddenly caught Thersites’ obscene snigger

And with one vengeful buffet to the jaw

Dashed out his life.
This was a fury few might understand,

Yet Penthesileia, hailed by Prince Achilles

On the Elysian plain, paused to thank him

For avenging her insulted womanhood

With sacrifice.

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From Peter: AMAN AMAN – Los caminos

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