Opening The Gate

20 July 2014 23:49
xiane: ([yarn goddess])

opening the gate

Why are you silent
in this circle of words
the center of your knowledge
embrace the secret stillness
you are going home
and I will follow
I am not afraid

Into the woods
the dark mickle woods
the center of your knowledge
leaves like dampened silk
unfetter your stillness
soothe me with celestial eyes
and old gnarled stumps
dressed in mossy velvet
I am not afraid.

Words like tender benedictions
rain down on open palms
the center of your knowledge
is my name inside the Green
lay claim to the key
embrace the secret stillness
with an open eye
I am not afraid

We are going home
I am not afraid.

 

 

 

 

 

  • photo & words, Christiane Knight

Mirrored from xiane dot org.

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happy may and may beltaine fires burn bright

1 May 2007 12:40
xiane: (Default)
Hal an tow,
jolly rumble-o,
we've been up long before the day-o
to welcome in summer,
to welcome in the May-o...
the summer is a-comin' in and winter's gone away-o.

or if you prefer,

Sumer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu,
Groweth sed, and bloweth med
And springth the wude nu
Sing cuccu!

Awe bleteth after lomb
Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth
Murie sing cuccu,
Cuccu, cuccu!
Wel singes thu cuccu
Ne swik thu naver nu.

There's no better way to bring in the summer than to be under the moonlight with bare feet in damp grass.


Oh! And happiest of birthdays to the Beltaine Babies - I have so many Taurean friends, it is CRAZY. [livejournal.com profile] nothingoth, [livejournal.com profile] ladymeshel, and [livejournal.com profile] bestiame, may this year bring you more joys than you can count!
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So they talk to each other in my head, what of it?

30 June 2006 11:17
xiane: ([dreamy])
Will:
"Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply."

John:
"Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Every thing is spoilt by use:
Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
Too much gaz'd at? Where's the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new?
Where's the eye, however blue,
Doth not weary? Where's the face
One would meet in every place?
Where's the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft?"
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