I enter as solicitor into the breech, I
shimmy through a spinney of oak and beech, I
smolder I stutter-step hillside-bound, I
worship at a cromlech with reverent sound, aye.
I revel in primeval heresies hailed, I
peel away pretense brandish what’s veiled, I
quest for veracity, from all whom would speak, I
seek rectitude for the shunned and the weak, aye.
I trip down footpaths long over-grown, I
convulse on the altar of rain-etched stone, I
gasp at the lightning in the night-bird sky, I
ken to the eidola of eons wild, aye.
I rove companionless as streams flow past, I
quaff their waters my drought to cast, I
taste aged mosses and sod underfoot, I
mingle with the mysteries of the twilight wood, aye.
I relinquish these boots, this crown, this shame, I
breathe malcontent extrication exclaimed, I
move to recompense my lady, my land, I
make an invocation to all women and men, aye.
I present to the heavens my chest, my face, I
plea for forgiveness of my race, I
burn from the fire and bruise from the stone, I
writhe hands and knees past a gauntlet thrown, aye.
I return to the hearth to the village I adore, I
rush along the promenade a warrior born, I
recite the story to the curious child, I
thrill and fulfill her or render him riled, aye.
From a CUUPS rite I wrote, "Walking with Eris & Coyote" & published in a pagan literary journal in 2003- that's why the fool is king & not the basketball player... This is meant to be a chant- has a cool rhythm if you hear it performed. Intro from the ritual:
"American archetype Mark Twain said “Why shouldn't truth be stranger than fiction? Fiction, after all, has to make sense.“ When facing certain destruction, one may find it necessary to skip into the fray with a stupid grin pasted upon one’s lips, tooting a melody on the kazoo.
We live together in a world that scarcely makes the sense Twain desired, that is poised on the edge of oblivion from so many different angles . A world of smokestacks, starvation and soldiers being killed; a world of AIDS and cancer and SARS; a world where the ultra-rich increase their wealth and the poor are left to fend for themselves.
We live in a world where the fool has been crowned king; where chaos has taken the battle and reigns supreme. Like the kitten on the bedroom poster, its claws clamping desperately around the branch of a tree, we must remember to “hang in there, baby!”
To quote that great American sage once again, “When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries of life disappear and life stands explained.” From all chaos comes order and back and forth and again. The cycle will continue and something new shall rise from that which has fallen."
* * *
For every ending, there must be a beginning
For every beginning there must come an end
A completion of the cycle Than dance ‘round again!
We’ve got to dance with decay
Cut the tow ropes away
From desecration comes creation
Every dawn disarray.
Dance with decay
Says the crone, says the sage
Fallen walls can be foundation
Blow the wind! Fall the rain!
To see the light of the stars
The earth must bathe in midnight
Must have a shrouded earth
To see starlight in the sky,
Strike a balance in between
Of a cheer and a sigh.
We’ve got to dance with decay
We come to celebrate
An induction from destruction
Every birth comes with pain.
Dance with decay
From the womb till we’re gray
From commencement to completion
Our selves to ascertain.
For all feeling sorrow we’ll make mirth and laughter
In every burst of laughter we’ll mourn for a friend.
A completion of the cycle Than dance ‘round again!
A completion of the cycle
Than dance ‘round again! (We come to celebrate!)
A completion of the cycle
Than dance ‘round again! (We come to celebrate!)
A completion of the cycle
Than dance ‘round again! (We come to celebrate!)
