The Tales We Tell

Clouds over head, and the road runs away
To a land of no return.  The rain sings
Us its ballad, as the world fades to grey
Through the mist.  The sound of her mighty wings
Calls man and mouse to meet his rain washed fate.
The highway runs, far over the hills and
To the sea, from forest to mountain gate.
Her wings and her rains must take us in hand,
Both the Beauty and the Beast, in this tale
As old as time.  Snow White and the Red Rose,
The white swan and the brown bear, we all hail
From her arms, and so we return.  Our prose
In the tales we tell, of wings and of rain
Speaking of heaven and Earth, of joy and pain.

How Beauty Came to Slay the Bear King

** being an account of my experiences in the Otherworld, and therefor entirely my own unverified beliefs. **

Once upon a time, deep in the Wildwoods of the otherworlds the Lord of the Wilds was in his tent with His beloved.  She had been gone long and was newly returned to Him.  The two longed for nothing more than an undisturbed night together, and had gathered the Hunt about them to insure that no trouble came to them.

The Hunter and his beloved were alone in their tent when a great clamor swept through the camp.  The Horned One grabbed up his dagger and swept his great fur cloak over his shoulders.

“Stay here my love, “He told the young woman, “This won’t take long.”  He kissed her once before throwing open the tent flap and going out into the cool night.  His beloved waited only a moment before dressing a gathering her own weapons.  Hearing a great roar from outside, she took up her bow and quiver before following her god out of the tent.

The sight that met her outside of the tent shocked her.  Her lover was in the form of a great bear, with a golden crown set upon his brow.  Cast over Him was a golden net that glittered darkly beneath the astral stars.  Strange men had overwhelmed the great bear and jabbed at him with golden spears.  A goddess with mahogany in a golden chariot drawn by peacocks gave orders and laughed at the plight of the Bear King.  Another chariot rolled in, storm cloud grey, drawn by goats, and containing a large, burly god wielding a hammer.

The Bear Kings was dragged away by the lady in the golden chariot and the lord in the storm grey chariot.  The young woman looked about her, the camp was in disarray.  The huntsmen were frozen, all turned to stone by the goddess or stunned by the god.  No help would come from them; the Hunter’s beloved was alone.

Silently she followed the tracks of her god that was a bear and the two chariots that pulled him away.  She followed the trail until it left the forest to follow a road.  As she followed the road it began to rain, cold stinging rain that” turned the road to mud and by the time she cam to a small village the trail was lost to mud and puddles.

The Hunter’s Beloved asked an old woman in the village if she had seen the way the chariots went.

“Ah,” said the old woman “So you must be the huntress.  As they brought the Bear King through He swore to all who heard Him that a huntress would follow in His steps and would stop at nothing to free Him.  They took Him on the main road through the village and towards the city.  If you follow I’m sure you will find Him.”

The Hunter’s beloved thanked the old woman, and handed her a small reddish feather.  “Thank you for you kindness, if you ever have need of me, this feather will summon me to you, take it with my gratitude.”

The young woman then followed the road and the old woman’s directions through the village, the surrounding fields and orchard until the road become paved with flag stones.  Shortly after the stones began the road wound its way through a sizable town.  People in the town stared at the young woman, and she caught the word “huntress,” “Bear King,” “beloved,” and “Hunter” on their lips.

As the road left the town it turned from paved stone to asphalt, with double yellow lines down the middle.  This road leads to a city, just as the sun was rising over the horizon.  The light lanced through the glass and granite walls of the buildings around her, and a single ray fell on the golden door of a tall mirror walled building.

Standing outside the golden door was a doorman in a neat, pressed suit.  The Horned God’s beloved approached the doorman and inquired about the passage of two chariots pulling a captive bear behind them.  The doorman looked her up and down, taking in her hunting leathers, her dusty boots, her finely crafted bow and her quiver full of arrows.  “So you must be His beloved.  Aye, they brought the Horned One through, bound as the Bear King.  As they took Him by He cried out that you would follow to avenge Him, and that anyone who would follow the turning of the wheel would let you pass.”

“Where did they take my god?” she asked?

“Why, they brought him here.  Took Him through the door.  And I know which way the wind blows, so in you go.   If you followed him all this way who am I to stop you at the door.  Take the last elevator on the left and the operator will know where they took him. Tell him who you are.”

The huntress inclined her head gravely to the doorman and thanked him for his information.  She went through the golden door and to the last elevator on the left.  She pushed the button to call the elevator to her, and the doors slid open and a golden grill was raised to reveal on wrinkled old man in a uniform that matched the doorman’s.  “I’m –“ she began.

“The huntress that follows the Horned God.  I know.  I won’t mince words, you’re late and running out of time.  I’ll take you to the pent house, but that’s it.  I don’t want to be involved.”

The young woman thanked the elevator operator as the grill was drawn down and the door slid shut.  Once the elevator reached the penthouse floor the grill was raised and the door opened, “Out.” Said the operator.  “And good luck.”

The elevator had opened into the penthouse flat, which was deserted except for a single young man, in a sharp suit, with wavy blonde hair, and a charming smile.

“Where is He?” the young woman demanded knocking an arrow and drawing it.  “I want Him back.”

“The Hunter is there. “ the young man said, setting down the cup he had been bearing in order to point to a plain wooden door.  “My mistress brought Him in and then she left to attend to her husband.  I don’t want to go against my mistress, but He’s spoken of noting but you.  He truly loves you, and if you can free Him, I’ll let you go.”

“Thank you.” The young woman cried as she raced past the cup bearer.

Once in the room the young woman could only gape.  Where she had been expecting to see her over returned to His normal form, she saw only the great bear, with the golden crown.

“My love?” She asked approaching the bear, placing a small hand on the massive shoulder, “have they harmed you?”

“Not harmed, no.,” growled the Bear God.  “But I can’t take the crown off.  And with the crown on, I can’t leave this room.”

“Don’t fret my dear.” She said, reaching out to lift the crown off of the bear. But the crown would not be moved, it was fused to the skin beneath the thick fur.

“As I feared.” The Hunter said when his beloved described this to Him.  “They won’t let me go easily, they’re afraid of what’s to come.  They think that keeping me bound by gold will stop what has already begun, what has always been inevitable.”

“But you’ll fade in here. With this on you’ll be shaped completely by mortals beliefs, they’ll change you, and you won’t be able to act against it.”

“Worse than that, me love.” The Horned One replied.  “Creatures of the wild are not meant to be caged, and luxury is my opposite.  This golden circlet is crueler than iron chains.  I will fade from existence in here.”

“What can I do?” she begged, “Will our allies help? Can I gather the Hunt?”

“None of those.  You must kill me.”

“I would rather die than kill you.  The world cannot survive without you. I do not want to live without you.”

“Kill me!” He roared, pushing His beloved away from Him with a massive paw.  “I will not give them the satisfaction of watching me fade into the nothingness.  To be forgotten is worse than death.  Kill me, with a clean shot that only you can make.  Then skin me and take my hide back to my Wildwood, so that I may rest there.”

The huntress stood tall, and drew her bow, she had never denied her lover anything before.  And though this may hurt her, she owed her loyalty to Him.

“I will never love another, “ She told Him as the took her aim. “And I will become what you want me to become, what they fear so much.  And once I have, I will avenge you.”  And with that she loosed the arrow, it flew as straight and true as the love she had for her god, to bury it’s flint tip and apple shaft deep into the bear’s right eye.

With tears in her eyes she drew her flint knife to finish out her gods instructions.  She skinned the great bear, then set fire to the remains.  She would be damned if His captures ever touched her beloved again.  As the remains smoldered away she carefully cut the crown from the bear hide and then threw it on the fire, weeping as she watched it melt.

Her lover was nearly ashes and the crown a lump of molten gold when the door banged open and the god with hammer stood framed in the doorway.

“You.” He snarled.

“Me.” She replied grimly.  She had fought with this god before, and while she had never bested him, she had held her own.  She had never been this angry before, this time, she would make him kneel before her sorrow.

The god hurled his hammer at her and she dodged, she had drawn an arrow from her quiver to fight back when she heard the voice of her god.  “Take my hide back to my Wildwood, so that I may rest there.”  She had to fulfill His final request.  So she knocked an arrow to the string, and instead of firing on her opponent she turned and loosed at the wall of windows in the room.  The glass shattered as she race towards it, the bearskin in her arms.  She flung herself out of the window, and plummeting to the ground she shifted.

She heard the gods below of anger as she flew away, a small reddish falcon, hauling a bear pelt in it’s talons.

She flew non-stop until she came to the Wildwood.  Then she landed, shifted back to her human form, and let herself cry.  She knelt on the mossy ground, beneath the spreading trees with the bearskin wrapped around her shoulders.  She rocked back and forth and felt her heart break over and over again.  Tears fell from her eyes onto the skin and the ground around her.  Then the wind whistled through the trees and a hunting horn sounded in the distance, and no longer was she wrapped in a bear pelt, but in strong arms, large hands rested on her waist and hips.  Lips brushed her ear, her check, her neck, and a voice like the storm, like wind through trees, like the pipes on a distant hill, like the whole of the wilderness whispered to her.

“You really didn’t think you’d be rid of me that easily did you?”

–End

Devotional Poem #2

You are my creation and my unmaking

You are my life and you will be my death

All my strengths and my faults are bound up in you.

I ask you what to do and you say live

I ask you how and you show me the way

And when I ask you why,

You teach me how to love.

C is for Calendar

So apparently, this didn’t post on Friday like I told it too, so here it is a little late.

I don’t really have a set calendar, there are a few days that I always hold special, but otherwise, my religious devotion is a daily thing, and special days are basically just whenever He or one of the Others says so/requests special attention.

The Days that I do mark are the following:

October 31st:  Samhain, one of the few days that people talk about the “veil thinning” and I actually feel it.  It’s also one of the days/nights where the Wild Hunt rides out.  It’s also when the Horned God passes to the Otherworld for the time that I mark next. . .

Octorber 31st-Winter Solstice:  The Long Silence, this is when I wait.  In this time I have no contact from Him, He is in the Otherworld, and can not reach out to me, and when I am there I cannot be near Him.  This is my test as His devotee and beloved, I need to withstand the separation, and remain faithful to Him.  Part of this time is to prove that I can stand on my own and be powerful and strong as an independent woman, witch, and practitioner; I may be beloved of a god, but He is not all that makes me extraordinary.

Winter Solstice:  The Return, this is when He comes back to me.  This is a very personal holiday for me, and I tend to mark it quietly.  I cross to the Otherworld as soon as I can after sunrise and I spend the whole day with Him.  This is also the anniversary of our betrothal, so we celebrate it together, and pretend to be a normal couple, sometimes I get Him a present (this year I got a new corset and wore it for Him) and every year He promises me my heart’s desire, which He knows full well is Him. Maybe it’s Him with a mortal body.

Then we have nothing much until . . .

May 1st: Beltaine, basically the Lusty Month of May applies to gods too.  Especially Him.  This is usually another chance for me to dress to please Him, and we have a picnic.  My college has a big May Day celebration with may poles, mummers, and a shit ton of drinking, He likes to think it’s all for him.

And that’s it.  everything else just happens as it happens.

Foggy Night

It’s was foggy night here at Bryn Mawr.  The kind of night where I swear I can watch the rays of light move out from the lampposts and through the dense air.  These nights are the worst.  The fog slows down the flickering movements of spirits so that I can seem them in their shapes, not just a blurs of motion.  On nights like this I can stand at the top of Senior Row and look down towards the glow that collects in fog.

And in that glow I can see the Autumnlands, the part of the Otherworld where He and I most often rendezvous.  That place of perfect happiness where He and I are still courting, and everything is flirtatious glances, delicious, gently offered promises.  That place where He and I lay in the warm sun on beds of fragrant flowers and soft clover, or  leaning against each other and the rough bark of a branching oak; then everything is secrets whispered in ears,  and calming caresses.  This is where He professed and proved His love to my doubting mind, this is where I swore my love and honor to Him.  Here is where I learned of my past, and here is where we found our future.

Veiled Threats

I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.  Like how it’s my last undergrad semester, how I need to find informants for my thesis, how I need to re-writing my survey for said thesis, and how I will need to eventually (soon) write this monster paper.  I’ve been thinking about my job, how it’s my last semester working here, how I need to train new works, and  select my successor as student manager.  I’ve been thinking about my school, how I just moved back, and how I will soon move out.  And I’ve been thinking about how this school and this campus has changed me and my practice, so much so that  I wrote my last two Pagan Blog Project posts about it, and they ended up being too personal to post.

I’ve also been thinking about veiling as part of my practice, and today I started experimenting.  The idea of veiling as part of a spirituality is in no way new to me, I come from a Roman Catholic family, and the idea of covering one’s head while at worship is one that I saw growing up.  Women is our church, particularly older Italian or Hispanic women, would walk through the doors, genuflect in the naive, and then wrap their scarves around their heads, or place their silk or lace veils over the tops of their heads.  When my grand father died I saw my grandmother with black lace covering her hair and face; I helped her cut off a piece of the veil to bury with him.  When we got back to her apartment, after all of the friends and extended family had left and it was only her, her children and grandchildren, she reverently drew the fabric off, folded it gently and then handed it to me, saying I was the only granddaughter so I should keep it.

Since that day I’ve been thinking of the place veiling might have in my practice.  When Samhain came, nearly half a year later, I unpacked that expanse of black lace, and placed it over my head, as I had seen my grandmother do, and I honored my ancestors.  When that was done I went to remove the veil to join the Wild Hunt, as I do whenever they ride by.  He stopped my then, and showed me myself as he saw me.  He has tried this many times throughout our relationship, predominantly in our courtship, when I was unsure of my worth and value, when I was positive that I was undeserving of Him.  Usually I fail to see anything but His eyes, unblinking and golden, seeing and knowing something beyond my wildest dreams.  On the rare occasion that it works I have learned more about myself in once glance than years of living could have unlocked.  On this instance I saw a woman, with her eyes level and calm, hair cascading out from under her veil.  She was mature, but not a matron.  She was the kind of woman whose furry hell hath not, someone who would remain collected in face of adversity, do what needed to be done, and then spit on adversity’s shoes when she was finished, just for the fun of it.  A tempest in a teapot kind of woman, the Huntress caged and patiently biding her time.  And she could be me.

Today I needed to be that woman, not for any particular reason, but I needed that contained confidence.  So when I got dressed this morning I put on my make-up, did my hair, and the dug a scarf out from under my bed and wrapped it around my head and neck.  And today I was that woman that I saw in the Hunter’s eyes.  Maybe it was the veil, maybe it was the strength and power that I put into a small braid that I hid in my hair like a vein of gold under the earth, maybe it was both.  I will need to experiment more, to figure out specifics, but for now, I’m happy, and He is proud.  And that’s enough to be getting on with for one day.

A is for Apotheosis and Avatar

Pagan Blog Projects Weeks 1 and 2

I’m starting a little late on the Pagan Blog Project, I’m sorry to say.  I missed last week’s post because I was in the hospital and wasn’t able to write or post something for the first week of the letter A.  So this week I’m combining my two posts into one to catch up.   Just a reminder that all opinions expressed are my own and usually supported by nothing more than UPG.

 

First off, some definitions supplied by Wikipedia and paraphrased here:

 

Apotheosis, also known as deification, is the act/process of someone or something becoming divine.

An avatar, the actual Hindu kind not the movie with the blue people, nor the master of all four elements (although that Avatar is cool too), is a deity incarnated as a human.

 

So you see how these two go together, one is mortal –> god, while the other is god –> mortal.

 

In a previous post I described how I believed gods came to be gods; how a non-divine spirit could become divine through the belief and worship of enough mortals.  Since I first heard about apotheosis, and the people or whom it is part of their path, I’ve been wondering how it works.  In my research some of the to be deified bloggers write about how their particular deity or deities is/are involved in the process, how they will ascend with the help of the god.  While this makes sense to me, and I by no means doubt or question their path, I have had such trouble trying to fit this new possibility into my cosmology and my understanding of how the gods gained divinity.  The only solution that I have been able to come up with so far has been that the deity or deities who are “sponsoring” the mortal’s ascension will give up some small part of their own divinity/divine power and share it with the mortal in question.   My personal path mirrors that of apotheosis, more to do with reclaiming than achieving, so I haven’t managed to wrap my mind around how this would work.  Probably it is different for every cases, as most of these things are.

 

 

On the opposite end of the spectrum we have avatars, or incarnation.  This is something that I have had more personal contact with, those I haven’t yet come across anyone who identifies as an avatar.  In my personal worldview it isn’t just gods who can become incarnate as humans, but all spirits who have a desire to.   For the most part I have heard of this in the Otherworld and it seems to be on the same level as a spirit that was previously a human reincarnating as a human, there is no major shift, and the spirit now being incarnated as human does not undergo any major changes and the human life is not exceptionally remarkable, for instance just because the spirit was previously a lake spirit it doesn’t mean the human incarnation can breath underwater or has any more connection to that lake in particular or water in general than one may have from one human life to the next.

 

 

This is not so much what I am interested in.  I’ve heard tell in the Otherworlds, from the spirits and gods I work with a serve that when a deity or a particular kind of spirit is forgotten, which is essentially killing them, they continue to exist in a fragmented form, and that it is possible for one or more of those fragments to become lodged in a human body.  That fragment would then continue to live human life after human life, gathering information and strength until enough of the other fragments are assembled again and this fragment can rejoin it’s fellows and perhaps become some aspect of the original spirit again.  Since I heard of this phenomenon I have been wondering how this relates to the idea of the avatar.  Is this similar to a god in human form?  Surely the god who is becoming human has a choice, does this spirit fragment?

 

These are just things that I’ve been wondering about for some time, and I thought, since they fit the theme I would share them.  I’d love to hear people’s opinions on these.