Category Archives: Dreams

Leto, Glorious Mother

[Originally posted here at the Treasury of Apollon’s blog, October 4, 2014]

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I see Her there, seated upon the exposed root of a great and aged tree, its leaves turning the colors of blood and fire.  She is in Her element, upon Her throne, a visage of civilization still apparent, yet noticeably porous; the act during the feast.

Her host, Her court, all make wide circles within their crowded space, trying to come ever closer to Her, but She is the distance between the stars, and none can traverse the few steps separating them from Her.

In that area, Her Son stands vigil, staring the crowd into submission.  He will not allow any to draw near, and delights in the power to instill fear within those who love Her.

She laughs, having been brought to joy by the appearance of Her Daughter, wild and freely dancing with the forest nymphs.  They circle Her, and the great tree with hands clasped together.

And Her Son turns to look upon them all, to smile in that sincere way that would cause a mortal heart to stop.  And His Sister dares Him with Her haughty eyes.

With one graceful wave of Her delicate arm, the Mother, the Enthroned One, compels the crowd to stillness, while simultaneously inviting Her Son to rule the dance.

And when He takes up His lyre, the forest falls into silence.  When He plucks the strings, all the nymphs and spirits swoon.  When His voice carries over the tree canopy, all those gathered are entranced.

And She, upon Her throne, is pleased; served sweet water by the creatures of the forest, while nymphs adorn Her golden hair with night-blooming flowers, each as white as the snows which soon will fall.

This is the court of the Dark Mother, this is the feast of the wild things which dwell in the night.  This is the host which follows Her over the threshold between Seasons.  And this is the stark beauty of life.

Hail to You, Leto, Glorious Mother, and Mistress of Winter’s long nights.

Our Lord, Leading Us

Across the promenade, down the cobbled walkway, in the moonlight striking my skin harshly, like the sting of pea-sized hail, for I am damp still from the sacred river.  There are the sounds of night-birds, always singing, always calling out in warning. And the sound of the sea, below, crashing against the rocks. The cliff is high, and I traverse the hallowed walkway, with the sound of my sandals dragging slightly.

The Moon, Great Selene, always sets my mood eerily, hovering above, witnessing the scenes of love and other base passions played by humans, even acting as agents of the Gods. I smile, nervous, knowing, having rehearsed my role so well in advance. I have waited so long for this night. So very long.

Inhaling the freedom of youth and virgin maidenhood– enjoying it, tasting it again– for the last time perhaps, I catch the sweet scent of rosemary, burning.

My hands are suddenly moist. A hot wind stirs about me, clinging and humid. My stomach twirls… and lower, I burn for what I have not known. Though I will know much in time, of this I am sure.

I slink forward, clasping my own arms. The heat is unbearable, and I must move. The scent of rosemary is so inviting…

I notice my heart has quickened. Could it be because I am running? Ahead, I have seen them, the fair ones for the Fair God. His priestesses. His women. His many fawning conquests. Dancing. Dancing with abandon; hair loose, limbs loose, tongues loose with loving praise for Him, our God, our Lord, leading us in the moonlight.

I am free now. There was no freedom in maidenhood, only the illusion thereof. Within His grasp, I am free. For I am unbound to the world– free to see it as it truly is, free to witness the tides– and the rise and fall of empires. Free to set His course in motion, for I am one spoke in the great wheel with which He steers the fate of this world. Within Him, we are all free.

But first, we had to make the choice.

The Rabbits

rabbit hole

My Lord is a snake, twisting in the grass, strangling a pale rabbit.
Behind the latticework, within the alcove, upon the thick grass carpet.
He is a slender muscle, coiled round her throat and everywhere else.

Not wishing to stir Him, we escape the way we’d come, hidden beneath the canopy of vines, only a mere breadth away.

He stalks the warren-hole.

Time passes.

My Lord, the snake, all golden and darkly spotted– shining reptile skin in the sunlight…

We shiver, knowing He approaches… searching for another pale rabbit.

rabbits

Floating Back to the Land of Two Rivers

I’m going Home.  I’ve resisted this ever since the reality of it hit my family a few weeks ago.  Things that seem unfathomably bad have a way of opening doors, and creating potential where there was previously none.  I have to face facts. Opportunities for my family to succeed and to thrive are back home.  We came here for the same reasons which drive us back, and indeed we have thrived. But, everything changes.  I knew this from the beginning, though I sought out attachments here.  And now that I have them, who is to say this was not the plan of the Land all along?

“Go forth and learn.  Go forth and grow,” the spirits said to me the day I left them.  For the past year (a little over a year, actually) I’ve learned a lot about myself in this new location. Perhaps I am now better equipped to stand in my previous station, the station which awaits me.

Gods, I love this State, and every little bit of it that has called to me.  There is yet more to explore, so much more to see.  But now, the Land of Two Rivers is calling me.

So, I’m going Home.

And… because I am not one to dismiss astronomical omens, here is an image of the Comet ISON emerging from the Solar atmosphere.  [click image to watch]

IsonSunatmosphere

Being the River

SanGabrielRiver

Dripping and trickling

Running and flowing

Winding and streaming

Lapping and rolling

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Sunlit and shining

Warm and shallow

Does’ tongues dipping

In the shadows

RiverDeer

Turtles basking

Fishes splashing

All the dappled sunlight

Masking

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Drifting lives

Amid the stream

Floating laughter

In liquid dreams

SanGabrielRiver2

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[The photography is wonderful.  It’s also not mine.]