athenagrey: (Default)


Keeping vigil for the sun wasn't planned,
but I could not sleep.
Gritty-eyed, stumbling and late,
despite sleeplessness,
I ran down the path to the headland.

Pale light rising in the east.
This is the false dawn.

I greet a swan on her morning glide,
and settle on the rocks to wait.

Slowly, the clouds blaze with red highlights.
It's beginning.
I pour a libation of clear, pure water,
and offer bread to the Sun.

Slowly, the sky brightens.
Red in the morning,
Sailors take warning.

I lift my hands to the light,
Seeing the symbols burning with power.
I know that it is joy that will lead me
from this sun drenched pinnacle,
back to winter's stillness.

I must carry gratitude's sweet lessons with me,
and keep the Sun at my center.
Compassion paves the path ahead of me,
and possibility is linked to accountability.

Know detachment,
let go of straight lines drawn in ink,
whispers Katiyah, and the Ancestors.
It will be as it should be.

It all comes down to courage.
Trust is not revealed, but integrity is.
I take in these messages,
knowing the meaning will be revealed in time.

Walking back from the east,
I regret that the furthest cove
only held memories of last year's encounter.

In the nearest cove,
I find her, the white egret,
like paper folded into impossible angles,
gleaming in the sun.

Solstice blessings.
athenagrey: (Default)
This is the shortest night of the year, Midsummer Eve. Tomorrow, Midsummer Day, is the longest day of the year.

Like the full moon is the monthly time to stand on the hilltop and take stock of where things are going, correct your course, and jump forward, tumbling downhill to a breathless finish, this is the solar time, the annual time, to do the same thing. Presumably with a higher hill, a longer jump, and a faster tumble.

Although I join other witches in celebrating the solar year, and use it to mark long passages of time, it is the monthly progression of moon from new, to full, to dark, that guides my everyday life.

A year is a long time.

I am disinclined to look back, because the hill was very steep, and I flung myself from rock to rock, taking the only path I knew. I left behind tatters of my mantle of grief, like a snakeskin painfully shed. I'd rather stand here and look to tomorrow. I"m wrapped in a better mantle right now, layers of satisfaction, accomplishment, promise and silence. Fancy threads. I must have picked them up without thought, to cover the raw nakedness of being. They suit me well.

I will pause briefly and look at the present. This is my fifth anniversary as priestess. The rhythm of the lunar calendar is now as natural to me as breathing. The solar calendar of sabbats is becoming familiar. Tonight, as the sun passes behind the western hills, I will light the sacred fire in my cauldron.

I am ready to look to the future, to chart the course that brings me back to the stillness of midwinter. I have The Project™, the challenge of doing something that I've never done before. I am bound to silence on this one, and the pent up desire to speak about it may be what propels it to completion.

Sunrise will find me sitting on the rocky headland, overlooking the Sound. There are answers where the water meets the sky.

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athenagrey

June 2012

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