Arianrhod: Full Moon Poem. And Your Full Moon Ceremony Invite

full moon ceremony may 2020

The moon by many ancient tribes and faiths of yesterday personified the moon, and for many this continues today –  latter-day Celts and Druids, and others, as well as writers, poets, and romantics. In Wales she was, and is. known as Arianrhod (meaning silver wheel).

And, with the next full moon this Thursday, 7 May 2020, below is a poem to celebrate the event.

There will also be a Full Moon Ceremony ‘broadcasted at 7.30pm (UK time) this Thursday,  ‘on my Facebook site, here, and you’re invited! That link will take you to my FaceBook site, and if you can see many previous recorded broadcasts then you know you’re set for the Full Moon Ceremony. If you only see a brief outline and little or no recorded broadcasts you will probably need to press the ‘friends’ link button (from my Facebook site. I’ll accept the next time I’m online and then you should be able to view and/or participate at home, ready for the upcoming Ceremony. A printable ceremony outline will appear within a couple of days.

Meanwhile, the poem about the moon, penned by me a few years ago.

Arianrhod in all her splendour, moves by an invisible hand
and wanders companionless, like a silver wheel in the sky. She ascends.
This full moon’s lucid beam dominates the now darkened canopy, and
there, in her smiling face, we find sweet, unbridled understanding.
She befriends.

Her ‘lesser light’ moves across the sky above the city, grey.
Oh, robed in splendour, her surge of silver-light fills every window pane
and skips across rooftops, trees, streams, fairy fires, and silent railway,
and falls unbeknown on those who sleep now, and refreshment regain.
A blessing.

Arianrhod, spill your beauty on a thousand Earthly races,
on happy flowers that bloom in a myriad of hues,
on laughing, smiling, sad and all up-looked faces,
who, in wilding spaces, drink your wine of sweet, bless’d fallen dew.
A gracious infilling.

And paled now is her light,
as onward she moves lower in the sky. For the sun, opportune.
But, for now, dear Arianrhod reigns with love. She is mistress of the night.
A timely witness sent by the Truth who is beyond the Moon.
A glorious remembrance.

 

Bright blessings to you and yours during these difficult, ‘lockdown’ days, Tadhg

[Note: The moon photo, above, is copyrighted by Pennie Ley, and used with kind permission. Gratitude to Pennie [Link]]

 

The Time Of Presence, Or A Permissible Walk In London: A Poem

THE TIME OF PRESENCE

It’s dark, it’s half past ten, right now
and around me shadows grow.
The city lampposts, try to cast their light.
Beaming radiant hope far into the night.
And, eight million people wonder what’s going on,
But no one knows.
This is the time of lockdown.

And yet we’re not alone, my friend
this is far from being the end.
In these strange days that we find ourselves in.
Elementals from above, descend,
and invisibly move amongst us,
so unknown, so quietly.
This is the time of new beginnings.

And so I walk fast, on and on,
past peopled houses in the night.
With our new time of self-isolation,
sweeping all across the nation.
There is one message we must never forget,
Forget, never.
This is the time, we’re together.

 

[With apologies to Simon & Garfunkel]

 

 

The Winter’s Light: Winter Solstice Approaches [Poem/Liturgy]

20191210 THE WINTERS LIGHT WINTER SOLSTICE APPROACHES REVISITED

The season of winter is upon us and almost half way through. And, Winter Solstice approaches. And, I love it. The cold, the dark, the freshness of it all, and hopefully, some snow. This time is a liminal time, a time of myth and ‘magic’, and so my encouragement is for you to pause, draw aside, use your imagination, and let those ancient whispers from yesteryear permeate your very being.

Poem and video follows.

As you contemplate the season, join a group or arrange something by yourself to celebrate the Winter Solstice (called Alban Arthan in Welsh, ‘the light of winter’) you might find the following poem – penned a few years ago by myself – an aid to your meditation, or you might use it as liturgy.

The poem is followed by a video link to Seattle Unity Church who used the poem last year, and so you can hear the poem read by Scott.

Winter solstice approaches.

The day is over, and night comes early.
Orion is higher in the sky now,
and imaginations are unshackled.
Above us the gods of yesteryear move across the heavens.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

The silvery December moon rises
and the face that smiled upon the Birth,
of yesteryear, also smiles on us.
Above us Rhiannon advances.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

Wise ones seek the Truth,
and beings of light, lit their Way.
Angels? Fae? The Watchers? Elementals, The Others?
And, about us unnamed, invisible Companions guide us still.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

We dance together in the dark,
as the Circle turns, and yet
we dance joyfully and with purpose.
We celebrate the season, that is.
And, around us, in the darkness
we ‘see’ the Friend at work.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

And yet in the darkness,
there shines a Light.
And, in remembrance, we light this festive candle
to the Sun of Righteousness.
And, we declare to all, near and far;
peace and hope, light and love
be to you and yours.
Now, and forever more.

The trees are sleeping.
Deep roots are dreaming.

Winter solstice approaches.

My friends at Seattle Unity Church read the poem as part of their Christmas celebration last year, and if you want to hear it read (extremely well by Scott, starting some forty seconds into the video link) – highly recommended – please click here.

The blessings of this awesome season be to you and yours, Tadhg.

 

20191210 THE WINTERS LIGHT WINTER SOLSTICE APPROACHES REVISITED

 

Cosmic Christ[mas]: Poem

20191205 COSMIC CHRISTMAS REVISITED

I love this time of the year. It’s getting much colder – below zero degrees Celsius in London, and the nights are getting longer. Sunset is now much earlier – about 3.55pm in London (and 3.44pm in Scotland) and over the next couple of weeks the sun will set a few minutes earlier as we move towards the Winter solstice.

My ‘inner child’, never very quiet, goes into ‘overdrive’ at this time of the year. The veil between Here and There, The Other ‘thins’; it’s a liminal time; the nights are longer and stories abound – but in many cases we call them evening movies on tv.

It’s a time of myth and story, of ‘earthy’ food, and drink, and revelry; of communion with families and others; and whether we believe wholeheartedly or ‘romantically’ in the fae, elementals, angels, woodland myths, those ancient stories of the Christ-child etc, no one can deny that this is a ‘magical’ time of the year, a profound season when we remember great events, and pause, ‘look up’ and gasp in awes at all that is!

With that in mind, some time ago I wrote the following poem:

Into the void
His word went forth.

What was not. Is!

Light and life accompanied His utterances
and in response, nature danced in the song of creation.
He formed the man of clay, and the woman who is the mother of all life.
And they, too, danced in the light of the morning.
Night has now come, and is far spent,
and the man and woman crane their necks and gaze upwards.
And their words go forth into the vacuum, that is space.
‘Is anyone out there? ‘.

Out of the void another sound is heard.

This time, a baby’s cry echoes in some dim and dusty street of old.
And in the darkness of the world, words of hope are once more heard.
‘My children. Did you think I would leave you as orphans to stray in the night?
I am with you, evermore! ‘.

Wishing you and those whom you love bright blessings of this wonderful season. Tadhg.

 

The Days Are Cold: A Winter’s Song/Poem

20191024 THE DAYS ARE COLD A WINTERS SONG POEM

The weather is changing. There’s a chill in the air. Even the rain, up to now intermittent, is different and lasted hours today instead of a small number of minutes, on and off. In the UK winter is almost here, and the Celtic Advent (16 November) approaches.

English skies, seemingly ever daubed with cloud, now change from white to a dark, brooding grey. It’s a time to reflect, and with that in mind, and in thinking of the approaching winter, I’ve penned some words that ‘fit’ to an old Scottish, traditional tune of yesteryear.

I like to sing, adapt words, use ancient tunes, and let my spirit dance to the Universe using words and tuneful sounds (or at least that’s the intention, but the Source of All accepts all that we have even if it’s not what some would call tuneful). I’d encourage you to do the same, that is sing with all that you have. Do feel free to use the song, below, in your group or individual times of ceremony as a song, or as a reflective (said) poem for the day.

The tune is  ‘The water is wide’ and an instrumental version to give you an idea of it, is here.  The ‘Water is wide’ is a A folk song of Scottish origin. The original lyrics and tune partly date to the 1600s and speak of an unhappy first marriage. I’ve changed the words to reflect the season of winter, but kept the tune which seems deeply reflective to suit the words of the newly-penned song and the season.

THE DAYS ARE COLD
A winter’s Hymn

The days are cold
And night comes soon.
The circle turns
As in days of old.
Nature does sleep
And the winds do howl
And my eyes do weep
Through the cold air now

The snow falls harsh
Upon the land
There is a light
Within and without
We raise our hands
To the source of all
And nature responds
with elementals call.

The days of change
Are here again
Our voices raise
To a loud refrain
We wish you peace
We wish you well.
All nature sings
Winter’s fare thee well.

In the link to the tune above, the tune starts at 10 seconds into the Youtube music and concludes at 51 seconds (and that tune is then used three times for the three verses above).

 

The Elements: In Praise Of Water

20190816 THE ELEMENTS IN PRAISE OF WATER POEM LITURGY

It’s been warmer than usual in the UK, and yet today and tomorrow the forecasters predict that over that short period we should expect a month’s rainfall, if it were a ‘normal’ month.

We take it for granted, misuse it as though we have too much of it, and yet without water life on this planet would perish. Another sobering thought, as take clean water for granted, is that two billion people are without clean water, and, sadly, each year 320,000 children die because of that.  If ever there was a need to consider giving a small amount of money to water aid charities (if able), then now is the time. But, whatever we do, you might like to consider the following as a poem, a prayer offering, or as part of your liturgy for the environment.

The following was written some time ago by me:

Water.

The vast oceans, which sustains life on Earth,
which move at the behest of the moon,
the rolling tides that contains a myriad of sea-life, from plankton to the behemoth,
that which quenches the world’s need,
and from which all nourishment is assured,
acknowledgement is given.

From clouds you pour out rain upon the Earth, and enrich it.
Mighty lakes appear from which  ancient forests of growing trees are fed,
and daily bread is produced for our table.
An abundance for many,
and a veritable gift from the Great Water-Giver.
Bountiful.

It soothes and it heals.
For when an angel’s wing sweeps
across the surface of the Pool,
then healing takes place, and there is restoration.
Health-giving.

It’s cleansing power, daily, washes the body,
and restores vitality.
A clean start. A refreshing start. A new start.
All is washed away.
And, in it celebration commences,
in appreciation, in sport, in swimming and in children’s’ play.
Joyfulness.

It quenches the soul, it nurtures the spirit;
and from those who are aware,
springs of sanctifying water flow,
and outward pour,
to friends, to enemies,
to those near, and to those far away.
To all.

Water.
Whether we have much, or little,
may the words, “Come, all. Drink. Share”, be on our lips.
Praise to the Great Water-Giver.

 

Become The Duet [Revisited]: Hearing That Ancient Voice…

20190529 BECOME THE DUET REVISITED

There is an interesting line of thinking that says that the Source of All is always communicating with us through a myriad of ways, if we only paused long enough to take notice.

Sometimes communication from the Source of All (perhaps via an angel, an elemental, the elements etc) can be heard through anothers’ words; or witnessed in a kindly act; read in written form; experienced in an activity or art, dream, music or thought; observed in nature, and in many other ways.

Throughout the ages the Ancients were adept at hearing The Source of All in nature and other ways. Modern-day understanding, it seems, leaves little room, and current working practices leave little time to ‘hear’, sadly. Even in our prayers, lists may be recited, but we leave little room for a reply! And, what if we got a reply?

‘Then God answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said…’, Job 38.1, The Book

‘Bom-di bom-di, bom’, a friend says whenever it goes quiet.

‘Bom-di bom-di, bom’, fills up a gap quite nicely, but it seems to me to be a form of self-defence. I’m walking in a forest and a friend engages in talking about the increase in his stocks and shares. We undertake a type of silent meditation and some find themselves becoming restless and need to hum.

Could it be that all these are forms of self-defence?

The ‘bom-di bom-di bom’ sounds and other activities draw us away from ‘the moment’ and fill our world with a cacophony of noise and thought, and ‘insulate’ us against hearing, witnessing, reading, experiencing or observing the communication to us from the Source of All?

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
(W H Davies)

I do believe much of our busy-ness is a form of self-defence.

If we were to pause, we might understand the Source of All’s communication, however it ‘arrives’, but then it may require a reply – from us a word, us writing something or doing something, and that can feel quite traumatic, weird as others look on who have successfully ‘drowned out’ the Voice and wonder what you’re up to, unnerving, unsettling, demanding perhaps.

But, also what a privilege?

A privilege to receive a message From Beyond, and a privilege to respond. Some have likened this to a dance, others to a two-part harmony! Yes, you get to participate in that dance or song, whichever metaphor you choose. Two-way action!

Duets are not about individual skill, but about the relationship between the two players. (Daisy Goodwin)

I often find that inner Voice ‘speaking’ to me in solitude, in a forest, in deserted places that are devoid of people but full of life. There, I can revel in the ‘moment’, and would suggest that you do the same.

Sometime ago I wrote:

If we were to travel from the wild, ruggedness of Capel Curig,
near the foothills of Yr Wyddfa,
that place of green, of open-space, of dragons, myth and power;
Myrddin’s lair.

If we were to travel to the busy-ness of Old London,
that place of the ancient river of the Celts,
of crowded streets, of neon lights, Druid-energy and oh-so many people,
the Voice can be heard.

If we were to pause,
wherever we are, just for one moment,
to revel in life that is happening around us, to us, in us, through us,
we would hear the Voice.

Distractions come,
and a distancing from all that is natural seems to happen.
But, only seemingly, so.

The Voice that spoke creation into being,
thunders in the wilderness, whispers in built-up places,
but speaks, still.

The Voice can be heard, if….
…if we have ears to hear.

If we would but listen to the music of our life,
our body would sway in time to the primal beat of times of old.

If we would but gaze at beauty around us,
our mind would laugh crazily with delight at the colours seen.

If we would but ponder, and feel deep within our soul
the love-song of the Friend,
then we would know the reason why we are here:
Become the duet.

 

Indra, Hafiz & The Magic Café: Interconnectedness & Interbeing

20190514 INDRA HAFIZ AND THE MAGIC CAFE THOUGHTS ON INTERCONNECTEDNESS AND INTERBEING

Today, I was in one of my favourite locations when in London: the Magic Café in Fulham. And, as usual there was a latte not far from my hand on the table, my head was down and my nose was close to a book and I was in my element, reading a deep and intriguing book. I have to admit that I can be so absorbed in a book, so engrossed in it that I do believe that if the four horsemen of the Apocalypse galloped by I wouldn’t notice.

There is a game we should play,
And it goes like this:

Nothing distracts me when I’m transfixed by a book, well, almost nothing. Having been reading for some time, I noticed a slight but distinct temperature drop in the café, and it caused me to look up, momentarily. My grandmother, if she were physically present, would say an angel had entered the room.

It was if the café had suddenly been filled, instantly, with six people sitting at two or three tables. Ofcourse, they had been there for some time, but I had been oblivious to their coming and going.

I do like ‘people watching’, and so changing glasses (I wear varifocal but do like reading-only glasses for serious reading) I sat back in the chair, sipped my coffee, and slowly (but hopefully, not to obviously) looked around.

We hold hands and look into each other’s eyes
And scan each other’s faces.

Trying to be ‘invisible’, I noticed the people around me. Ah, there was the journal woman, so-called (be me) as she is constantly writing in her note pad. Perhaps, she’s  writing about the peculiar man in the corner who always seems to be reading and making notes in his books (and, that would be me). Someone, a younger person, was at the counter, ordering a take-away coffee but indulging in general chit-chat at a rather loud volume. Wearing dusty overalls it was likely he was redecorating or rebuilding one of the large, expensive houses in the area. And, there were two others I had seen on only a few occasions. My mind wondered as to who they were, what their occupation might be, and how they found this delightful café? And two others, older women, seated very close to me, were obviously old friends, reminiscing about the good old days.

And, then I say,
“Now tell me a difference you see between us.”

I picked up the coffee cup again, leaned back even more, and continued to look around. Compared to when I came into the café, I marvelled at the people now here, the differences in age, gender, look, accents, and even languages. Truly I am blessed to be living in a ‘kaleidoscope country’, as John Bercow the Speaker of the House of Commons described it some years ago. So many people, so many differences, and yet paradoxically we have that in common.

And you might respond,
“Hafiz, your nose is ten times bigger than mine”.
Then I would say,
“Yes, my dear, almost ten times”.

So, what is the difference between us? In all the variations of humanity, a small microscopic proportion represented here in this café, what is the difference between us? Do we have the same chemical composition? The same energy? The same aspirations? Oh, yes!

And, what about the coffee cup I’m holding? It, too, is composed of atoms, and at a deeper level quanta material that is similar to out elemental make-up. In one sense little difference there? You would expect me to say that as an animist. Oh, yes!

But let’s keep playing.
Let’s go deeper.
Go deeper still.
For if we do,
Our spirits will embrace
And interweave.

There is a story I was told many years ago, when I was a wee lad, about Indra’s web or Indra’s net. It is a much-loved story, a metaphorical one, about interconnectedness and interbeing all of things.

The story says that in the realm of the god Indra there is a vast net that stretches infinitely in all directions. At each intersection of the net or web (think of a spider’s web) there is a single brilliant, perfect jewel. And, each of these jewels on the web also reflects every other jewel, infinite in number. And, each of the reflected images of the jewels bears the image of all the other jewels — infinity to infinity. Whatever affects one jewel effects them all.

The metaphorical story illustrates the interpenetration of all phenomena. Everything contains everything else. And yet, each individual thing is not hindered by or confused with all the other individual things. Harmonious interconnectedness. A wonderful story.

Our union will be so glorious
That [maybe] even God
Will not be able to tell us apart.

We are more alike to our neighbour than different, more alike to everything around us, than different or separate. We’re connected. In another story-metaphor told by the Christ we’re told that, ‘The King will reply, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.” Ah. Connectedness.

Suddenly, respect for others, even those who ‘violently’ disagree with me, seems easier. We’re connected, we’re the same. Appreciation for nature all around me – whether in rural or urban environments – seems altogether more necessary because of that real and energetic connectedness. We’re the same. It was for that reason many years ago that Brother Francis could sing to Brother Sun and Sister Moon.

Connectedness. Interbeing. Something which those ancient cultures of Hebrews, Christians, Pagans, Druids and others of yesteryear took for granted, and from which we can learn.

There is a wonderful game
We should play with everyone
And it goes like this…

And, so having finished the latte there is only one thing to do. To order another coffee, to find my place in that book and resume reading, and, before I do that, to look around at the wonderful people around me and nature that abounds both outside and inside the café, and to wonder. In that respect, won’t you join me in this ancient game?

[The indented paragraphs above come from one of the poems of Hafiz, Persian mystic, AD1315-1390]

 

In The Busy-ness Of Life

20190421 IN THE BUSYNESS OF LIFE POEM PRAYER BLESSING

It’s Eastertide, and for some it’s a long weekend holiday, a time to ‘recharge’ those ‘batteries’, to relax and enjoy the first blooms of Spring, as temperatures rise.

Here’s a poem, a prayer, a blessing just for you – because I care, and welcome you as you faithfully read my blog. And so, the following words are penned  so that you and yours might enjoy this Spring season, this time of new life, hope and renewal

In the busy-ness of life,
may you find the quiet repose of the Source of All,
and be blessed.

May the love of Life itself
fill your soul
with the energy of a thousand flowing streams.

May the love of Mary, the archetypal Mother,
pervade every gentle activity
of yours today.

May the Sun’s smile
reside in your heart, the hearth of your being
to seal you as one of His own.

And, may the wings of countless angels
brush gently across your cheeks
as you sleep safely tonight.

In Praise Of Blue, Green, Grey: World Water Day

20190308 IN PRAISE OF BLUE GREEN GREY WORLD WATER DAY

As a concerned person, (in my case) a latter-day Celt, Druidic-Christian or Christo-Druid I am, like you, intensely aware of nature and its cycles around us, but know that that in many cases we take it for granted. Timely reminders are important, hence the usefulness of faith, natural, and stellar calendars to mark and note the changing seasons, the passage of time and important occasions.

World Water Day is an annual UN observance day (always on 22 March) that highlights the importance of freshwater.

The day is used to advocate for the sustainable management of freshwater resources. World Water Day is celebrated around the world with a variety of events. These can be educational, theatrical, musical or lobbying in nature.

Some time back I wrote the following poem. Indeed, it was penned by me when at Dyffryn Ogwen, north Wales on 22 March 2016, World ‘Water Day’. Depending how you use it, the piece below could form part of a liturgy or prayer for that occasion (on that date or, indeed,  on any other), for a ceremony you might hold for World ‘Water Day’, or similar.

Although it may contain place-names that you may be unfamiliar with, they can still be included, if you wish, as locations of beauty to give thanks for, even if not witnessed (yet). But, please feel free to adapt.

Under the canopy of an oh-so-blue sky
I’m sheltered from the howling wind by spine-like mountains on either side.
The tempest may soar high above me, of that I testify
but all is at rest here, in this place, this hide,
this azure-domed valley, of Dyffryn Ogwen.

Surrounded by the life-colour. I shout, ‘Viriditas’.
It echoes the Deity’s handiwork of creativity and love.
Trampling underfoot lichen, moss and occasionally witchgrass
it harks back to an earlier day, a remembrance of
times of innocent, pure, green-childhood.

And onward, like time, to Afon Ogwen, that bountiful river of power and flow.
To stand, to meditate, and commune, and wait
and purposefully gaze upon it, and know
of the life-industry of former times, of Celts, of Romans, of purveyors of grey slate.

And I give thanks to you
The Source of all for blue, green, grey.