Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Beltane A Tale Of The Iron Age

Beltane A Tale Of The Iron Age


The time of festival is here: the summer suggestion. It is primary morning, and the cool sea breezes luxury the grasslands, and the natural world be the owner of begun their chorus of love, inclination to one just starting out imaginatively the tree nail clippings, darting from weld to weld. We be the owner of not working our fast with pal, fit for human consumption upon a charcoal fire, and impulsion not eat another time until the morrow. For this is a day of fasting, a holy day, and our purpose impulsion become clearer for the rituals that are to come.

The combustion is grown on the high place, and our race climbs the knoll, and gathers around, men women and children. After that the priest comes blatant, hand in hand with the priestess, and they recite the ancient blessings; they take a blazing torch and set fire to the plod. They howl upon the fire of holiness to bless our flocks, and self-discipline from us the ways of the grave. For we be the owner of seen the spirit of the fire send down piquant ashes and baking sulphur on the wicked; she punishes them with sticky winds. On every occasion existing are storms, we see her disapproval flame up sweetheart fire and flicker everything on earth. It can last to the world under and waste the roots of the mountains.

And we improve in a circle around the conflagration, and deem hands, and romp slowly thrice mature thrice around the baking embark, chanting to the spirit of the fire to bless us, all within our dwellings or in our special effects, all crops, all our flocks, and all our corn. This is our spherical, our caim, our protection.

"Three mature three is the charm"

"Upon the land, the sea, the sky"

"Upon the earth, the moon, the sun"

"Upon our flocks, our friends, our relations."

The priestess scatters herbs upon the fire, and they dash, and exhaust as they flicker within the conflagration. Now the light is blazing, and as we scrutiny, and take breaths the exhaust, we see the spirit of the fire outlook. It is sweetheart a magnificent light blazing at the soul of the conflagration, that takes our form, the form of a man, sweetheart a son of the gods, a form in white robes, so intelligent we can see plainly his shape, white versus the blonde flame; he looks at us, and his eyes are sweetheart a flame of fire; he raises his arms in a blessing upon us, and so is gone, white departure indoors golden tongues of intense fire.

The priest comes blatant, and he too scatters herbs upon the fire, which crunch and dash roughly. The flame burns ever brighter, and we see the gold and cherry wings of flame, as the victory of a overall bird in run away, and that too fades indoors a breath, a friendliness that comes to us from the conflagration, the spirit of life, and we breath gutturally of her. And the specter is gone, and we are blessed next auxiliary.

It is not every day we see these visions, and not all see them, but natives that do are blessed with the spirit of the flame, and they flicker with a look forward to for contributions and reckoning.

Evening surge, and the embers serenity red, and we self-discipline some of our farm animals low the remainder of the fires to simplify them, and as a feature of accuse to bring good opening for this summer.

"Make holy our flocks and pose cows;"

"Dislike nor harm, come not close us,"

"Organize from us the ways of the grave."

"Perceive us from knoll to sea,"

"Fortitude the orthodox and their heir."