The poetry of ritual reunites the imagination to the dry parts of the intellect. -sundruid
There is no magickal act as practical and useful as the art of controlling personal presence. That capability alone is nothing short than time travel itself. The mastering of the tempo of the mind, to not be in the future with anxiety nor the past with regrets, but balanced on the head of a pin in the very moment of existence. -sundruid
Light sliding sideways into the branches, the green
Blessed are those to be seen
For the light cannot be extinguished in our hearts or the grassy planes.
Spirit sweet, slipping shaft, dancing, prancing, shimmering soul.
Piercing the cold and dark– sweet, sharp, brilliant light
Mover of shadows, bringer of illumination and enlightenment
Constant as a lighthouse directing me home
warm candle light, rise and fall of the flame
light returns from dark, raising spirits, bringing joy and hope to all
Light warms me, enlightens me, show me the way.
Illuminates the connections between us all.
– Stephanie Bass
A review of Kristoffer Hughes’ book The Journey into Spirit: A Pagan’s Perspective on Death, Dying and Bereavement by Maria Ede-Weaving
Druidry teaches us to honour death and to remember the dead with reverence. However, for most of us, our wider culture has hidden much of death’s processes from view. The physical realities of this most inevitable and unavoidable rite of passage have been obscured and this has only served to intensify the fear of death and sever the connection to its deeper mysteries. We live in a world of plastic, a substance which by its very nature defies the laws of decomposition, and this seems to reflect on some inner level, the chronic fear with have of the dissolution and decay that are the vital foundations of renewal and life.
This is a subject close to my heart. I have lost most of my close family over time and last year my father died. We were very close and his death was unexpected; the grieving has been intense. When Philip asked me to read and review Kristoffer Hughes’ The Journey into Spirit: A Pagan’s Perspective on Death, Dying and Bereavement, I had mixed feelings – although of late I have sensed an emerging from the darker spaces of my grief, parts of me still feel a little raw, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to gaze into death’s face again quite so soon, even if only in the pages of a book. Despite my fears, I am so pleased that I read this wonderful book.
There is a fine mystery in this black walnut tree. And if I sit silently for long enough, maybe I’ll hear what it is.
I look at her every day before dawn, starting when I can just make her out against the sky. Being near her feels like being near someone who is benevolent, powerful, rich and wise. And somewhat intolerant.
She’s like a queen.
Walnut trees make beautiful, hard, rich brown wood, expensive and much prized. The nuts have a sweet, musky, woods-dirt flavor that reminds me of truffles. They are locked away in a troll’s purse of rock-hard nutshell, and you really, really have to want the nutmeats to do the hammer-and-pick work of shelling them. Just a handful will flavor a pound cake, but it will take you forever to get them, and your fingers can…
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