Celtic Clip Art Border by Gunther at Synergy.
'.'
As we draw up to midsummer solstice, looking out on this wet and misty day I see through the pearly light the half-ruined stump of Castle Pook rising with low rounded hills a grey-green and silver backdrop.
This castle, built within the ramparts of an ancient cheiftain's lis at the beginning of the twelfth century by Geoffrey the Red, a De Synon lordling of the then-still-new ascendancy. This tower, his imprint and signature and symbol of his power built within a hold that already had a millenial history. Here the king and queen of the fairy-folk held their midsummer gathering. And through all the ascendancies this story remained in the folkmemory of the local people. To be heard by the poet Spencer, and no-doubt passed on to his contemporary fellow-writer Will Shakespeare, and so pass on to the world as A Midsummer Night's Dream. Aye, our history is always with us. The stories of the ancestors passed on, generation upon generation. The archetypal tales of great deeds and wonderous magics.
But what of us, the current generation? What ancestral tales will be told of our time?
Food for thought, I think.I'm not long back from an all-too-short and wonderful sojourn on Turtle Island.
My first port of call was Norfolk Virginia where I was speaking at the Spring Gathering of the Tribes, and was honoured by being adopted into the Llama Clan, spending three wonderful days camped with them. Days of fireside stories and meetings with the Grandmother Spirit in the form of a Brown Recluse Spider. This wonderful and deadly creature, complete with her egg-sack. Then the tornado that chose to present itself on the last night of the gather, touching-down only four miles away. I spent this time of flashing lightning and roaring thunder and torrential rain sitting with my Llama family under Mom & Az's awning, sharing tall tales and good whiskey, indian fry-bread and chili with the best of company.Wonderful gifts given me. First and foremost of which was fellowship and friendship. A beautiful deer-antler and obsidian blade, indian corn, and the shamanic gifts of bear and coyote fur. All to remind me of new and dear friends. Memories of sitting around the table in Maggie's hospitality area with the other speakers. Shared insights, fellowship and humour. The gifts of books from Trish Telesco and Robin Wood. To meet and find that these people are not only icons of Pagan Spirituality, but fine human beings as well. I won't bore you with lists of names, only saying that my heart and thanks remain with all my friends in America.
The gather over, I wend my way across country to Portland, to give more workshops and see the wonders of nature, Oregan style. The Columbia River Gorge with its tree covered sides and awesome waterfalls. This land of rivers and mountains on a scale I could barely comprehend. The last three days of my trip spent in Hood Canal near Seattle, sharing ritual with sister Jane and her women's circle. The only man there, I was made to feel at home and comfortable. In the state forest, walking amongst ancient gods, subdued quiet of these old massive trees. Douglas firs ten and fifteen foot across, hundreds of foot high. Western Cedars, tall and graceful. Some of these fallen giants acting as nurse-trees for the next generation growing up through their rotting remains. Always the sigh of the wind amongst the bearded giants, the air chill and the roar of the melt-water river, blue-green and bone-numbing icy to the touch. And then the overpowering scent of cat. Clear pug-marks in the wet earth and the wild laired cougar amongst his rockpile. Everywhere native tobacco, and the white flowers of trillium. Along the shores of the hood canal oysters for the taking. This truly was an Eden, a land of plenty, lived in, loved and harvested by it's native people for thousands of years, and still a great and grand place.
On my last day, a trip out for a late brunch turns to a rare treat as Jane's neighbour Tel takes us in his small plane to fly 100 miles over the woods, waters and along the mountains to Hoquiam, to the airport restaurant for a late American breakfast of hash-browns and pancakes. Then back to Portland for the night, where I was gifted a most beautiful figurine of a corn-maiden and daughter. A faceless ancient goddess, her head bent, not in supplication, rather in care and love for all. This little statuette that brought tears to my eyes now resides lovingly in the niche for our lares at Castle Pook.
I cannot express my thanks to all the wonderful people in America who made my whole journey one of joy and wonder.
For all this I found myself shocked at the cultural differences... I mean.. syrup on sausages!!! seriously though, living here in Ireland in a completely dis-armed society, to be transported amongst people who carry and accept destructive weapons as part-and-parcel of their every day lives was quite disturbing to me, as was seeing amongst all the display of wealth such apparant poverty.
We shall be celebrating Solstice on the night of the 21st here at Pook with family, friends, guests & travellers and here extend a welcome to all of good heart to come share with us this vigil of love and hope.
Bev.
