Saturday, November 19, 2011

26 Who is the Maggon?

26 Who is the Maggon?
Sunday October 1, 2011:
I stand bare footed on the cool wet grass. The sun streams down
unseasonably. My face is hot with its fierce caress, even though the
morning is not yet advanced.
I listen to the drum and feel my feet on the ground, my toes spread. The
bumpy dry earth lies beneath the soft grass. Small stones bite into my
tender soles. Gingerly, I dance. .
Through caves organically curved like a great vulva, I move into an arched
womb-like chamber. Dark and pulsing, it is empty. Beyond this, a sheet of
water that I must get across, bars my way. But I am a confident swimmer and
this is no barrier to me.
I immerse myself in its aloof coolness, cleaving through the water
effortlessly, revelling in the sense of power my warm blood zinging through
my rapidly cooling flesh brings.
It is dark on the other side. The pulse of my blood meets the rhythm of the
earth upon which I stand, mingles with the beat of the drum, and
involuntarily I move my feet. Dancing is everything, she dances too, and
she might be a flamed haired, flamed wearing goddess, swirling as I swirl.
Our dance is joined by a strange black and white creature with wings; a long
spiny tail and a beak come muzzle both dragon and bird like. Maggon (a
dragon-magpie or magpie-dragon) dances before me in a swirl of black and
white, illuminated by brilliant flames.
Who is this creature, what does he stand for? Dragon hoards, guards its
treasure. Magpie is enticed by bright shiny things. What does this mean
for my life?
I collect careers, activities, objects and skills. To my critical mind,
nothing is done to great expertise and I can't even describe myself by one
or two words even.
Yes I am a lesbian, a queer pagan, a witch, but I tread many paths. Yes I
advise institutions, coach people, train others, but I have many fields of
I've often longed for an all-consuming hobby, one thing I am am expert on,
birds of Britain, world music, playing a single musical instrument perhaps.
I enjoy all these things but am mistress of none. This is the same in my
professional life. I am infamously ubiquitous. My need to collect and
hoard spans from clothes, careers, pagan paths, personal growth regimes and
even my own fat.
My mind spins. We dance faster and faster. The maggon and the flame-haired
goddess do dance battle. Each swirls, leaps and arabesques, vying to outdo
the other. Their competition is fierce. The flames on the goddess sigh
shiver and diminish as the Maggon's stark silhouette gains dominance.
I dance on amongst them, helpless to do anything. Hours, days, week's even
years seem to pass as though but a second of time. The Maggon begins to
change as he melts into the flames. His dark outline merges with the
brightness of the fire.
My chest hurts. I am filled with pain, like heart-ache as though losing
someone dear. Maggon, austere in look, flamboyantly "bling-bling" in
pursuit is shrinking in front of me. I struggle to release that
aquizatorial tendency which I know now no longer serves me.
"But I want to do well in the world," I think as despair goads my heart.
"Why must I let go of this creature who has served me so well?"
We dance on; I focus on moving all parts of my body, as many parts of my
body at once. Am I trying now to collect multiples of muscle movements?
"Dance is the answer," I think, purposely seeing just how many limbs and
muscles I can shift at the same time, heedless of the possibility of pulling
a muscle. In the heart of the fire, where my feet stamp and swivel, she,
flame haired, flamed dressed goddess dances, her full attention on me,
loving me for who I am and how I am throwing myself into the dance.
The Maggon has gone! Behind, he has left a beautiful dancing fire goddess.
Enchantress of the fire, enchantress of my heart and destiny, we dance on
together. Behind the regret, the sadness, a new joy shines. I can dance
into my power as a woman.
Old habits have served me well. The MAGGON has been a fierce friend,
working only to support me in the only way he can. I no longer need that
which he has so long done for me. My mind whirls as I release old fears. I
dance in love of self, dance away from fear and restrictions, which leave me
as I dance into freedom.
Breathlessly, I stand slightly swaying upon the now warmed and trodden
grass. Sweat runs down my face in warm rivulets. The morning sun moves
across the sky. I hold my hands over my heart and bow to the sun and to the
shadows behind to the place of the Maggon for all he has done for me.


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