Tuesday, 22 June 2004

Penwitchcamp.

Me and my friend Klur arrived at the camp near Roughlee at about 10 am saturday 19th June.The view from there was stupndous with Pendle Hill as a backdrop on one side and a vista of Burnley and Pendle boroughs to the other. There was an excellent view of Blacko Hill and tower also.

 

 

This site is supposed to be about nature so I wont go on about what transpired on the camp except to say it was a marvellous experiance apart from the lousy weather. It must have been the coldest 2 days in june ever recorded in lancashire. However it was good to wake up to the sound of swallows tweeting overhead.

 

For the benefit of any pagans/druids/wiccans etc who may read this here is something I wrote almost 2 years ago.

 

FOUR SEASONS

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WINTER

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It is Yule, the Solstice. I am  Ceridwen, and from out of my bottomlesscauldren the Sun King, the Child of Hope is reborn. A tiny seed, long nurtured by the insulating blanket of snow and leaves ripens and begins to grow along with the first snowdrops.

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SPRING

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Your light is very weak, but each day you rise that bit higher in the cold sky. I am but a child. I am Epona, wild, unfettered, free, as I gallop skittishly across the pale blue sky, and you shyly play hide and seek with me, peeping out from time to time, and I enjoy our playful games. You are still so small and so far away, but I know that you are the one, you have always been mine and will be again. I feel a joyous expectation build up within me, and in your increasing light the cold snows begin to melt, the sheep give milk to their lambs, and I begin to grow anew, refreshed from my long sleep, stretching upwards towards you. Yet still we do not meet or love.

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It is the Equinox and I am Brigantia. The rounded hills are my bosoms, the long swaying grass is my long pale hair, the gentle breeze is my breath. I dress in white and green, and my trees are dotted with blossoms, like pretty pink bridesmaids swaying in unison. The tiny birds chorus of my love for you, “Oh, come to me now between my hills, amidst the long grass above my Pennine home. I see you my beloved, so radiant, so warm, be at one with me now” You partake of my sweet fragrant waters and are made whole again. And my stream becomes a river coursing down to the ocean, mingling with the waves, to crash over and over again on the liminal shore. And you are awakened, and reborn a man, and I am a woman. We are together and I adore you. The gentle rains fall but yourincreasing warmth causes me to grow in stature as my buds burst forth and open into a thick canopy of green leaves. My cornucopia is full to overflowing, my love for you is endless.

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SUMMER

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At May Eve I live amongst the bluebells and I greet thee, O Lord of the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /><st1:place>Forest</st1:place>. You spread your green mantle all around and I bask in your light and heat. I am full of your love and the blackbirds sing sweetly of our love for one another, amidst the hawthorn blossom. By the Solstice you are with me all the time, I awake each morning and you are there, at <st1:time Hour="12" Minute="0">midday</st1:time> you are smiling down with passion upon me, when I go to rest you rest too for a little while. All my days start and end with you. My hair is golden, my skin is brown and I am gowned in emerald green and yellow. My perfume pervades all around. We are so complete, my joy for you is endless. “Oh, stay with me till the end of time, my beloved, never depart from me” But I see that even the brightest of lights cast the darkest of shadows and I turn my back on them and stay in your light. I am earth and water, you are fire and air. Your fire burns me consuming all my being, devouring me until I am one with you. I feel the scorching desert winds surround me, the light blinding me.

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AUTUMN

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At Lammas the corn has ripened and must be cut down. God, that is is necessary to cut you down in your prime and fruitfulness, to end it so suddenly. I don’t want to do this, but I have to, and it breaks my heart this sacrifice. The blood soaked rowans stand as a living testimony, I see them everywhere shrieking “why?” I bask in your dwindling warmth and call to you who is dying “Take me with you”, but I know that you cannot, it is not my time yet. First all my fruits have to be gathered in until I can yield no more. “Come, drink deeply of my wine, partake of my bread one last time.”

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After the great harvest my hair turns grey and my leaves turn red and fall to the ground with my tears. I shroud myself in mists of mourning and drape cobwebs around me. The darkness is now overtaking the light as you sink into your underworld kingdom, the chill only serves to remind me of my emptiness. Without your warmth to nourish and sustain me I can grow no more. I am fading too, all my colour disappearing leaving the monochrome greyness of awful autumn. All is silent, the little creatures have disappeared, the birds have flown, except for a lone raven who stares silently from her fence. That great cyclopean orb in the sky shines balefully down, making shadows of shadows. All is still and I am so alone. I cannot live without you my love, for without you I am nothing.

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As Samhain draws near I become Hekate, standing at the crossroads of life and death. My hair is white, like the first flakes of snow which fall onto my black cloak, my heart frozen like icicles. Winter has arrived.

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WINTER

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I can go on no longer without you. My life has come to an end. You are only a fragmentary weak light now, so distant, inexorably sinking lower. All around me darkness prevails along with my fast decaying leaves, trodden underfoot like my dreams. I must go deep within myself, inside my darkest recesses to find you again, but I cannot feel you, I cannot touch you, and how I yearn for you. Sleep, I must sleep, maybe somewhere I will find you again. I sink into the fathomless depths and as I sleep something stirs deep within me.

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It is Yule, the Solstice. I am Ceridwen, and from out of my bottomless cauldren the Sun King, the Child of Hope is reborn. A tiny seed, long nurtured by the insulating blanket of snow and leaves ripens and begins to grow with the first snowdrops.

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Cathy Bennett. August 2002

 

1 comment:

reuby01 said...

Your writing reminds me of white witches I have met and their relationship with the Earth. The rites and rituals of nature are powerful and deeply enriching is understandable that a greeting is 'Blessed Be'.