Friday, September 28, 2007

An Equinox Dream

Friday September 21, 2007:

Balanced on a shining thread,
Laced across the turning leaves,
Green to yellow, then to red,
Spider spins her grateful web.

The evening was cool and fresh. The fire in the brazier whooshed into life as the dried leaves from the wreath made by a friend after my own last burglary were mixed with dried rowan leaves and herbs from my garden and sprinkled on.

My companion had been burgled a few weeks earlier. Her sense of violation still tangible, she wanted very much to do some protection work in her home. What better time to work to restore balance than at the equinox, a festival also of thanksgiving and future dreaming?

Our ritual was simple. We used the power of fire to cleanse and purify; smudge and the rattle’s voice cleared each room. Taking small Rowen twigs, we wove them together with red thread and hung them at every window and on both the front and back doors. We journeyed to the drum to give thanks for what we have and then wove our thanks and wishes into more twigs to fashion the eight legged form of a spider, conscious that eight was also the number of festivals in the year for we wanted our bounty to last that long.

The drum and rattle beat together insistently. “My intention is to journey to give thanks for my life and its ripeness.” I whispered as I stepped between the worlds.

I could se the fire. It was dancing brightly amongst the trees, throwing up great long shadows. I hurtled towards it, dodging round trees, pushing through the undergrowth with little care for how the brambles tore at my skin, so urgent was my desire to be near it.

And there it was. Flames leapt up into the darkness, the trees around glowed warm in the flickering light. I moved closer and stretched out my cold hands. Inside, my soul danced with joy. I never wanted to leave.

In the shadows, the presence stirred. Insistently, she bade me go, move on in my life. I knew I had to obey. Reluctantly, I turned away and walked on through the trees.

The ground beneath me rose steeply; the trees edged closer together and then fell away. I was at the top of a hill looking down on a sleeping world, lit only by the pre dawn light.

Now the wind was fiercer, tugging at my feathers. I lifted my wings and flew up and over the earth. Below me, the land fell away, spinning as I flew, the sunrise bringing colour and definition to its rolling contours. It was so beautiful, so fertile and lush, so varied and unspoilt. My wings beat powerfully as I soared up to the sun.

I saw a river snaking through the trees. It glittered in the warm sun light. I dove down and into the rushing water. I flipped and turned as I swam through the turbulent waters, darting in and out of the rocks, rolling over, righting myself and then leaping out into the fresh air and back into the water, the sun glinting on my wet scales. I was filled with joy for life as I somersaulted in and out of the rushing waters.

With one great leap, I landed on the bank. I stumped heavily through the forest, revelling in the soft earth beneath my paws, nuzzling the rough barked trees, chewing on a juicy leafy branch. I moved back up the hill, through the trees and back to the still burning fire.

The big dried log we had put in the brazier had now caught. The fire was burning purposefully. The air filled with that sweet pungent smell of wood-smoke. I stood and allowed the wind to blow the smoke to me. As it sought every part of my clothing, I savoured the warmth and the smell and gave thanks for the power of the fire and for my life.

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