Excavating the Archives: Far from the Goddess

~ Hecate by William Blake ~ photo credit: wikipedia

Sunlight filters through the leaves
Lazily reaching out to the earth
But it does not touch me

Moonlight bathes all in majestic silver
Boldly breaking through inky clouds
But it does not reach me

Starlit beacons in the indigo night
Safely guide the lost and wayward
But they do not save me

I am far from the Goddess

Beyond the embrace of
Sun, Moon and Stars

I am far from the Goddess


You can find the original post here: Far From The Goddess – 24 April 2017

Far from the Goddess

~ Hecate by William Blake ~ photo credit: wikipedia

Sunlight filters through the leaves
Lazily reaching out to the earth
But it does not touch me

Moonlight bathes all in majestic silver
Boldly breaking through inky clouds
But it does not reach me

Starlit beacons in the indigo night
Safely guide the lost and wayward
But they do not save me

I am far from the Goddess

Beyond the embrace of
Sun, Moon and Stars

I am far from the Goddess

The Heron

river ouse

The heron stood still
A vision of patience
And though the world around it
Continued on, continued moving
The heron remained
Waiting for the
Perfect moment
Only then, when the time was right
Would it gracefully and swiftly
Make the transition
From stillness to movement
With the fluidity of water
Before taking to the skies
To enjoy its solitary flight

This poem was inspired by a heron I saw this afternoon.  We were in the car, and as we drove past a meadow next to a river, we saw this solitary heron taking a walk.  It was such a shame that I didn’t have my camera with me.  Though, that being said, the heron seems to be a regular visitor to this area as we have seen it a number of times.  Perhaps next time I will get a photo of it…

The photo above, which was taken last summer, is of the same stretch of river.

Inspired By The Moon

moon november

*

An orb of silver

Hanging from a ceiling of stars

Illuminating the jet-black sky

With lunar light

As it chases away

Midnight’s shadow

*

The weather has turned cold here, but with the lack of cloud cover comes the opportunity to take some great pictures of the moon – one of my favourite sources of inspiration (if you have yet to guess it!)  The above photo was taken this evening, and the little poem (if you can call it that, such as it is 😀 ) was written outside in the cold, by lunar light.

Here are some other moon-inspired pieces you might have missed hereabouts:

If you check any of them out and enjoy them, please let me know.

All there is left for me to do is ask if you have had a good weekend.  I hope so.

Stay warm everyone and bright blessings for the week ahead 🙂

Sammi

The Druid Wanders

blue tinted forest

The Druid wanders alone

But never lonely

For his friends are

The spirits of the earth

And so are always with him

Wherever he walks

Through spring, summer, autumn and winter

They are there.

*

The animals, trees and stones

Have all been with him

Since the beginning of time

And they will stay with him

Until the end

Encouraging him here

Testing him there

Guiding him along

The hidden pathways to knowledge

Teaching him

The secrets of Above and Below

 

The Standing Stone

mitchells fold

Stone from Mitchell’s Fold stone circle, Shropshire

She places her palm on the lonely stone

Granite upright, standing in a sea of grass and heather

From within it she feels the heartbeat of the earth

Moving, pulsing, from the ground beneath her feet

Through the rock, cold to the touch

And into her skin

As she draws the ancient natural energy into herself.

The Hawk God

hawk

He hovers in the air, circling

High above the earth

His gaze taking in all he sees

The bigger picture

And the minute detail

Nothing escapes him.

On strong, swift wings

He moves through the sky

Awakening awareness

An agile hunter

Pursuing relentlessly

Truth and Light.

His energy is focused

His intention acknowledged

His presence noteworthy

Lord of the Sun

Bringer of destiny

Symbol of rebirth

The Swan Goddess

swan goddess

Over the water she glides

In grace and beauty

A vision of dignity

A lesson in gentleness

An effortless display of

Feminine potency and potential

A quiet confidence

Can be seen in her bearing

The proud lift of her head

The arc of her neck

When she spreads her wings

Showing her strength, her power

All who see her

Understand her majesty

She is resilient

Undaunted in the face of change

She is the lady of transformation

The Magic of Autumn

A poem for the first day of autumn…my favourite season 🙂

purple leaves

As day and night fall into balance

And the leaves fall from the trees

The cold, crisp air does awaken

The need for reflection within me.

*

My mind searches in earnest for stillness

My spirit cries out for peace

So into nature I venture

Only then will the urgent need cease.

*

Once immersed in the transitional season

I can contemplate to my hearts content

Turning my gaze inwards, thinking

Over how my year, thus far, has been spent.

*

I think of the web of connection

Of the bonds grown through synergy

And of the secret places I’ve found inspiration

This is the magic of autumn for me.

Sacred Waters

Inspired by this week’s Monday Inspiration – At the Holy Well

I had always felt a tremendous sense of peace down by the holy well.

Perhaps it was the sound of the water, quietly cascading over the rocks into the little pool below?  The harmony of the music was enough to soothe my troubled soul, even after the worst of days.

Perhaps it was the small piece of ancient woodland that protected it on all sides from the outside world?  A barrier against progress, development and the material world…at least for a little while.

It might even have been the ruined chantry chapel, off to one side, that had fallen into disrepair hundreds of years previously.  There was no roof now, and only three walls, such as they were, remained standing.  Weeds that grew in cracks in the stonework, were either holding the masonry together or helping to further demolish it until nothing remained…

The chantry chapel certainly left it’s imprint on the spirit of the place.  The mystery of a long ago priest saying masses for the souls of the generous dead.  I wondered how the poor felt as they passed by it, only a few steps away from their destination…the holy well and the hope of a miracle.  What coin they had would only grant them access to the blessed waters; there would be none to leave to the small chantry for the singing of masses.  They would have to wait out their time in purgatory, as the rich tried to buy their way into heaven.

Of course, the spring pre-dated the arrival of Christianity on these shores, when nature was both deity and divine.  A time when the liminal places of the land, the gateways of transition that marked the threshold between magical and mundane were the most sacred, holy sites.

It was hard to believe that this tiny spring that seemed so inconsequential to modern eyes was so important.  But it was. Ancient offerings had been found hidden in the deepest, darkest depths of the pool, a testament to the worship of nature spirits and long-forgotten gods and goddesses…

But were they forgotten?  Had they remained silent as their influence had apparently diminished and been replaced?  Had they become powerless?

After all, the chapel was in ruins, but the spring was still here.  It was an interesting thought…