Widdershins

The Song of the Holly Fairy

holly

O, I am green in Winter~time,
When other trees are brown;
Of all the trees (So saith the rhyme)
The holly bears the crown.
December days are drawing near.
When I shall come to town,
And carol-boys go singing clear
Of all the trees (O hush and hear!)
The holly bears the crown!
For who so well-beloved and merry
As the scarlet Holly Berry?

Flower Fairies of the Winter,
Cicely Mary Barker

Winter Solstice Chant

Geese and standing stones and mist,
Baying hounds and hooting owl,
Sparkling stars, snow is crisp
Herne is here. Bring forth the Bowl.

winter_solstice

longest night of the year
winter Solstice
Alban Arthuan
celebrations
holly king
oak king
father Christmas
introspect
the future
Yule log,
evergreen
cedar
holly
mistletoe
candles
clove studded fruit
nutmeg
spices
wassail
ale
caroling
mumming
family bonds
love
peace goodwill
honor the God and Goddess

Heavens to Betsy!

This is a cute but silly little story about Betsy, Christmas, Pagan Gods, and the Vatican. Enjoy!

Heavens to Betsy! A Christmas Story!

8be7bd363832ff5cb5cd880f51e969b7It was Betsy’s thirteenth birthday, which was a bittersweet day for her because it was also Christmas Day. Her parents always told her they gave her twice as many gifts as they would have if her birthday was any other day, one for her birthday and one for her Christmas present.

But their hypocrisy always became apparent when they gave her a pair of shoes, that is one for each foot they said, or a pair of socks, or the weirdest gift of all—a pair of babies. Imagine her surprise and chagrin when Bob and Rob popped into her world on her birthday, which had been upstaged already by Baby Jesus. Now her birthday party and gifts would be divided between two more, and probably it would be much worse because their family was already poor and they claimed it was a stretch of the family finances to even get her some new shoes.

And for Betsy even the word “new shoes” was a cruel joke because those new shoes for her were always the old shoes that were now too small for Jesús, the boy next door named after the original Jesus. Christmas was always boo-hoo day for her.

They lived on an ancient street named for the old Roman god, Saturn. There was still a statue plinth where it was claimed Saturn once stood, but that was removed long ago and put into The Vatican, just a short walk from Betsy’s home. It was squeezed into a display room full of other old Roman gods. There they could be safely ignored, or occasionally on special days like Christmas simply mocked with little gifts placed at the foot of the statues.

vatican-museum-of-roman-gods
Vatican museum of Greek and Roman gods.

Continue reading

Red

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Red is the color, there’s no other, red velvet tap your veins
Red is the color, red is the lover, red as drippin’ stains,
Red as the lips the wet tongue licks, red as the eyes that weep,
Mmm the bridegroom’s red-devil cake, red as love,
Red as hate, red as anger, red as rage, red as playin’ games,
Red as comin’ home, red as poppies, fire and pain,
Red as you and she, red as ecstasy, red as racing cars,
Clinic cards, nirvana, red as a rose, a barfly’s nose,
Back alabama roads, the Grand Wizard’s robes, red as china,
Rubies, leather bridles, stirrups, red as sticky gooey syrup,
Red as caviar, mars, red as hell, red stripe, life,
Red as Jack the Ripper’s surgical knife… (“you’re better red.)
Red as cherry, power, armies, jelly, red as Kahlo’s Birth, mud,
Sand and dirt, red magenta, Georgia clay, placenta,
Red and black-venom lack, red as snakes-i’m crawlin’, down
Your back, red as a clown, Circus Mort, red as your way out,
Red abort, red as pleasure, traitor, red flavor, red as walls,
Smog, red silos, red stone, red sheets, read Keats, red sunset,
Nuclear accident, red sleep, red wings, red emergency,
Red candles, insects, trance, cannibals, red sea, pussy,
Red shock, executioner’s block, red as laughter, red slaughter
Eaten by carrion, Sharon Bateman, fate, and Al’s hair,
Red sardonyx, red fingernails, lil’ Red Ridin’ Hood, MATADOR,
Crucifix, red is good, red as red, red as stop, red prick…
(“you’re better red.) red as party, sacred altars, Lola’s dress,
Rubber halters, red as war, red Xmas, red as a temple,
Red as your next meal, red prostitutes, red preachers, suits,
Red mama’s boots, red alert, red sex, red dessert, red hex,
Red as crimson, scarlet, vermillion, red cactus,
A virgin’s mattress, red as sin, red as ink in Ted and Norman’s
Skin, red candy, toys, red box, munition, red as flesh whipped
Into submission, red as wounds of Christ,
Bluebeard’s wife, red as meat is, red as Foetus…
(“you’re better red…)

-RED by JARBOE

Autumn

Autumn

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.
The hour of the waning of love has beset us;
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear and dropping brow.

– W.B. Yeats

A Good Deed

This is an old story about The Dagda, one of the most prominent Gods of Celtic Mythology. If you’d like to read more about him, here’s a link: The Dagda

celtic_dagda

The Dagda sat with his back to an oak tree. He looked like a workman, and his hands were as hard as the hands of a mason, but his hair was braided like the hair of a king. He had on a green cloak with nine capes, and along the border of every cape there was a running pattern embroidered in gold and silver and purple thread. Opposite The Dagda sat his son, Angus Og, with his hands clasped about his knees. He was in rags, and his hair was matted like the hair of a beggar: a bramble had scratched his nose, but his eyes were smiling.

“If you only knew how ridiculous you look in that cloak,” he was saying to The Dagda, “you would not wear it.”

“My son,” said The Dagda, with dignity, “it is the only cloak the people of the Fomor have left me, and the evening is cold.”

“Why don’t you keep yourself warm by working?” said Angus. “It’s what I would do myself if you had brought me up to a trade.”

“Angus,” said his father, “remember I am one of the gods: it is not necessary to talk sense to me.”

“O dear! ” said Angus, “a bramble scratched me on the nose this morning–it’s all because you have lost your Magic Harp and the Cauldron of Plenty! Soon even the snails will make faces at me. I can’t go wandering round Ireland in comfort any more. I’ll change myself into a salmon and swim in the sea.”

“The salmon must come up the rivers once a year, and when you come the Fomorians will take you in their net, and it is likely Balor, their king, will eat you.” Continue reading

Moonlight

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Douse the lights, douse even the candle
Speak to her gently; she’s been shunned
so long, she runs away.
Suggest, don’t expect
Invite
Wait

Let being fill up the space
of doing
So that what you’re doing
is being.

Let the message emerge
from the sea of understanding
like a mermaid singing her seduction,
Think fishes, flying through dark waters,
Think night, moonlit seas, and
no moonlight at all.

Think water. Think depths, dampness.
Think subtle. Think subtler.
Think feelings.

Your wis-dame, your wisdom,
is an archivist. She knows what happened.
Just ask.

She isn’t afraid, she’s been here before.
Another kind of clarity, silvery, not stark, emerges.
Your wis-dame is your oldest ally,
your mother-wit.

Without her you are less than half yourself
with her you are whole and ready.
Like a dolphin she is beside you
when you are goalless
and seeking only to satisfy your higher yearning.

Be attracted, addicted to life
and life’s deeper demands.
Love, don’t curse, the blind alleys
the red lights and lost luggage.

Without guessing there’s no game.
Not “no pain no gain”
but “no love no gain”

You mother-wit
your wise dame

The sage speaks in patterns and pictures,
a scatter tongue. Catch as you can
her butterfly dust

But if you treasure her treasure
be loyal,
For eons she has been wooed in the dark
and spurned in the sun.
If she was with you then
She’s with you now.

Ask
Ask
and then, of course,
listen.

~Marilyn Ferguson

Bright Magic

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Welcome to my world,
where magic dances lightly
and winds of luck
will fill your sails
if you just know
just where to go
and what to do
to open eyes so wide
and then another pair of eyes
that show you more,
that show you
all there is to see,
and what there is
is mystery,
and beauty and a harmony
of wild perfection,
interlaced and intertwined,
love and logic
all combined and dancing,
laughing with the power and delight
of the day and of the night,
it is here,
it is now,
and you can come to it somehow,
just know that if you wanted to,
you would begin to know,
to really know
and really feel a calling
and it isn’t far away,
it’s here,
it’s every night and every day,
and every breath you take –

Awake!

~
Silvia
Hartmann

The Old Witch Hare

hare-moon2
In the black furror of a field
I saw an old witch-hare this night;
And she cocked a lissome ear,
And she eyed the moon so bright,
And she nibbled of the green;
And I whispered “Whsst! witch-hare,”
Away like a ghostie o’er the field
She fled, and left the moonlight there.

~Walter de la Mare

The Doom of Odin

odin2

“I find no comfort in the shade
Under the branch of the Great Ash.
I remember the mist
of our ancient past.
As I speak to you in the present,
My ancient eyes
see the terrible future.

“Do you not see what I see?
Do you not hear
death approaching?

“The mournful cry of Giallr-horn
shall shatter the peace
And shake the foundation of heaven.

“Raise up your banner
And gather your noble company
from your great hall,
Father of the Slains.
For you shall go to your destiny.

“No knowledge can save you,
And no magic will save you.
For you will end up in Fenrir’s belly,
While heaven and earth will burn
in Surt’s unholy fire.”

— Doom of Odin,
from the Book of Heroes

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