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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs
Avalon Midsummer potions ....

Midsummer runs riot all over this land, the winter lakes have long gone, giving rise to verdant fields and hedgerows, swathed with elderflower, cow parsley and meadowsweet like white foam. Comfrey flowers blush purple in the shadows. Glastonbury Tor truly becomes the Glass Castle of British myth at this time, entrance to the land of Faery. On Midsummer Eve, as the dusk gathers, the hill comes alive, pilgrims climb the summit to drum the sun down, somewhere in the woods that sprawl around its base, a fire is lit in vigil, as it has always been at this time. A new generation take over the duty every so often, each person called to the task by something inside them, a compulsion, a call from the hill itself. All who come to sit by its flames bring wood to burn, drink to share, a tale to tell… This night, and all through the season, the veils between the worlds are thin, or thinner still. This land of water and mist is only ever half a human place, the Summer Land – the county of Somerset- rises above the lakes when summer is at its height, to sink beneath the waters again when autumn comes. But for now Jack in the Green, Jack Stag as he is known here, is having his day…   

I make my way along the labyrinthine tracks, climbing along the hill's steep sides singing old songs to the spirits as I gather elderflower (Sambucus Nigra) for cordial and medicine. Blossoms fall like tiny stars as I reach precariously over brambles and nettles, I wind a strand of my hair over the branches in thanks for their gift. The apples nearby are swelling and green, not ripe for a few months yet. The promise of harvest can be seen on the horizon, but for now, for me, it is the time of the elder tree. Sleeping beneath an elder was said to lead someone into Faery never to return, and sitting below the tree at dusk on Midsummer's eve grants a vision of the faerie hosts. Here at this liminal time, as the wheel turns, on this Sacred Isle the realms of the Sidhe, of Faery, are close at hand. All who wander here step on to their Green Road, if only for a while.   

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Posted by on in SageWoman Blogs

Until I  moved to this magical place first settled by the mythic Tuatha dé Danaan I, too, was a fairy agnostic.  But when the land energy is so potent and palpable my disbelief was easily suspended. So yeah, I believe and have also come to know.  Unlike the Doubting Disciple of the Christian gospel I don't need to have seen to believe.  It's enough to feel.  But once you do get the vibe the communication in my personal experience gets more direct. 

 

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This week has been very busy here in Geek Central, NV.  Pokemon X and Y just came out, and three of us have been exploring the wild world of strange talking animals for quite a while.  This isn't actually terribly unique, considering that six months out of the year, there's a heavy amount of obsession over My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

In this house, a geeky obsession is more than a sudden-and-inevitable commitment of time and finances.  It's a chance at initiation into some of the magicks of the world.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs

Astride his ‘stead’ he majestically sits; chest puffed, shoulders back and head held proud. He is of the Abatwa and he would look down on you even though his ‘stead’ is an ant and his height is matched with that of a fat pea. Some would group him with the realm of faery, but the Abatwa are proud little warriors and you would caution to ever call an Abatwa small.

 

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Bronwyn Katzke
    Bronwyn Katzke says #
    Thank you for the comment Brian and glad you enjoyed it.
  • Brian Shea
    Brian Shea says #
    Very interesting. Thank you for the informative article. They sound very similar to the Irish Sidhe; the poison arrows (elf shot),

For this installment of Well at World’s End, we’ll take a look at the pagan themes in J. R. R. Tolkien’s fiction. I could easily dedicate the entire blog to Tolkien, but have chosen one rather obscure piece to focus on, “Smith of Wootton Major.” If you would like to read the story first, and then read along, you can find the selection here.

 “Smith of Wootton Major” is a short story written by Tolkien in 1967. It was originally known as “The Great Cake,” since the story starts off with the festival, Feast of the Good Children, which is celebrated every twenty-four years, and attended by only twenty-four village children. Baked inside the cake are a variety of trinkets, and hoped to be won by the children. (Cake with trinkets, can you see where this is going?)

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Hunter Liguore
    Hunter Liguore says #
    Yes, it's truly one of my favorites, and shows the dimension of his work--and also the pagan elements...
  • Byron Ballard
    Byron Ballard says #
    Thanks for much for reminding me of this--it's one of my favorites.

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