“A swarm of bees in May
Is worth a load of hay;
A swarm of bees in June
Is worth a silver spoon;
A swarm of bees in July
Is not worth a fly.”
– Rhyme from England
I have a well of memory that surfaces from time to time. One of the earliest memories is in Newfoundland, dancing around the Maypole with other kids. I must of been 3 or 4 years old at the time. The clouds were fleecy overhead and the day was one of joy. I am blessed with these memories, for they tie me to an old and ancient tradition, that the modern world cannot erase. Here is to Bel-Eve, with all the correct rites observed. Here is to love, and the regeneration of the earth through celebration.
In Passing…. I met Nick Sands over a long weekend at MindStates back in 2000 I believe. He had just gotten out of prison. He was a delightful conversationalist. I talked with him a bit, along with others, and was struck most by his story of teaching Yoga and Meditation to other incarcerated souls. He was to my mind about changing consciousness however most effective for the situation one finds oneself in, and especially with Love. That was his main theme I believe. A Bodhisattva of Love. He put his life on the line for others, and along the way, changed the hearts of millions.
Tonight, I drink a toast to him, and light candles to light his way home.
Bright Blessings Nick, Bright Blessings….
So, we are now at the real beginning of Summer. Not the Solstice, but on the cross quarter days. Tonight, light a candle, a fire, and take your loved one into your arms, if only for a hug. This is the real deal, this ties us to the ancient spiral of life….
“‘Tis like the birthday of the world,
When earth was born in bloom;
The light is made of many dyes,
The air is all perfume:
There’s crimson buds, and white and blue,
The very rainbow showers
Have turned to blossoms where they fell,
And sown the earth with flowers.”
– Thomas Hood
“In somer when the shawes be sheyne,
And leves be large and long,
Hit is full merry in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song.
To see the dere draw to the dale
And leve the hilles hee,
And shadow him in the leves grene
Under the green-wode tree.
Hit befell on Whitsontide
Early in a May mornyng,
The Sonne up faire can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.”
– Anonymous, May in the Green Wode, 15h Century
“The month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit; for like as herbs and trees bring forth fruit and flourish in May, in likewise every lusty heart that is in any manner a lover, springeth and flourisheth in lusty deeds. For it giveth unto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May.”
– Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur
“The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.”
– Philip Larkin, The Trees
“The new earth quickens as you rise.
The May Queen is waiting.
Feel the pulsing ground call you to journey,
To know the depths of your desire.
The May Queen is waiting.
Moving through the night, the bright moon’s flight.
In green and silver on the plain.
She waits for you to return again.
Do not keep Her waiting.
Her temper stings if you refuse to taste Her honey.
Surrender as enchantment brings
The first light of dawning.
Move with Her in sacred dance, through fear to feeling.
Bringing ecstasy to those who dare.
Living earth is breathing.
Loving through the night in the bright moonlight,
As seedlings open with the rain.
She’ll long for you to return again.
Do not keep Her waiting.”
– Ruth Barren, The May Queen is Waiting
“Now every field is clothed with grass, and every tree with leaves; now the woods put forth their blossoms, and the year assumes its gay attire.”
“What is now the foliage moving?
Air is still, and hush’d the breeze,
Sultriness, this fullness loving,
Through the thicket, from the trees.
Now the eye at once gleams brightly,
See! the infant band with mirth
Moves and dances nimbly, lightly,
As the morning gave it birth,
Flutt’ring two and two o’er earth.”
– Wolfgang Goethe, May 1815
Bless You All, On This Most Fair Of Nights.