Chapter 18. Methinks AQ is flustered.(The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

Chapter 18.  Methinks AQ is flustered.

The main priestess looks a bit flustered and she gestures  to a priestess as she tears round the circle. but the acolytes are confused and skitter around for a moment in confusion.  The acolyte with the book looks beseechingly towards the men robed in black, and then the head priestess.  She looks grim for a moment then shakes her head curtly.   She rustles through her notes for a moment and gestures with four fingers..  You see  the group frantically turning pages.  Meanwhile you notice the energyof the circle dissapating and the mottled colours you saw earlier increasing.  The olde man circles and you see him poking and then an area in front of him sparks and turns black.  He gestures and behind him you see a group of people garbed  in paints and ochres carrying spears and small wooden shields.  They enter the circle and head towards the altar.  Your vision shifts and you see a wind blow into the tent, the ornate altar seeming to totter on one edge, one of the acolytes seems to trip and tugs the altar cloth which pulls the candles and carefully arranged items out of skew. 

The HP seems to have a conduit connected into the energy of the circle and is like a spider having the energy directed towards her priests, priestesses and acolytes.   As the energy builds. you a picture of her in the centre radiant in energy ... with people bowing down to her and her dispensing the manna to who she feels deserves it. 

The energy that was building up in a spiral lashes around the circle, pulling from each person  and dissapates through the black holes and up into the sky.  The head priestess who is running round the circle screaming at the top of her voice.

and then DOWN DOWN DOWN.. and all the acolytes and priestesses and priests fall down flat on the ground.  The head priestess seems to trip and falls down in a nose dive into the hay.  with her legs up in the air. Two quick thinking priests hoist her up. and she totters for a moment.  you glimpse and you are sure you see the olde man removing a spear shaft from where he had held it .. just where the high priestess tripped.  The high priestess is a bit skew wiff... yet somehow the straw in her previously immaculate hair.. and the robe riding up her leg caught in her belt gives her a somewhat more human appeal.  Raising both arms shakingly up to the skies she intones... the energy has been gathered and assigned to its purpose.

A lot of people in the circle look to be drained somehow,  and you feel a bit of a headache. 

Chapter 26. Celebration and an ending of this story.. bows. (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

WS voice rises again,,  blessed be and merry met.. and now it is time for celebration.. for the gifts we have received and the gifts we have shared and given.  Drink and share the water of life.. Eat and share the bounty of the earth.  (you see flagons being passed round and trays with food).  Now stay a while and talk and play and sing and dance.  For this is the spiral of life , always here, never closing.  Blessed be.. Blessed be.   WS nods… and the music starts up again.. and over in one corner  someone starts singing the battle of the trees.  Some people start dancing .. some stop and chat.. The scene whirls for a moment and it gradually fades and you find yourself back in your favorite spot and place.

Now is the time to leave this story and to gather yourself and come back into the world as we know it.

I thank you for joining me for this tale…  and hope it entertained and perhaps informed..  As with life there are no tidy endings…. The Australian pagan scene is a conglomerate of a variety of peoples.  Sometimes we work together.. a lot of times we don’t.. There are people who are in paganism for a number of different reasons.  I would like to say that AQ saw the error of her ways.. yet she still goes around the same manner.. attracting new people who are gathered to her like a moth to flame.. Yet she tends to not keep all that many around for all that long.  WS is still wandering around looking for that perfect stick.. Sometimes her rituals go together with flow, and sometimes they work  and don’t work.. Looking at the way tools were seen and used seems to point that  it doesn’t matter WHAT the tool is it is what goes into it.  There is a place for ritual and a place for intuition.  There are also a myriad of different paths and flavours.  It is up to you to explore and follow what you will from YOUR heart.

Chapter 25: The bonding (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

You hear the carrying voice of WS... calling out..

You have joined as a community.. you have danced.   You have seen that in our beliefs there is just as much dissension as there is in other spiritual paths.  We all follow the goddess and the consort and believe in the interconnectedness of our world.  How any action  we take effects others ....and on its journey gathers speed and momentum..it comes eventually back to us with added impetus.  I call upon you to be aware of the earth that we live in.  For we live on the skin of the earth mother, covered with animals and plants,  each dependant on the other.  Us as human beings have been taught  that we can control the world and that we have dominion over it.  That we are the most intelligent of creatures.   Yet we are only one part of the pattern, one part of the whole. Some people feel that they can take energy from who and what they will for what they decide to be a higher purpose.  Tonight that unfortunately happened.  A lot of you probably have headaches and feel a lack of energy.  We as a group of diverse and different paths have shared and built and raised our energy …  now let it come back to you with a gift from the earth mother, the consort and the native spiritual keepers of this place. 

You hear a drum beat start up that resonates with your heart.  Behind it is the drone of the didgeridoo and the clap of sticks.   Voices lift up.. some chanting some singing.. and weave around the tent.  Smoke billows around the tent and underneath it you can hear the chink and clash of sword and shield and mail.

You look around the circle and your vision shifts to that different place, you see and feel and sense a swirl of colors and energies spinning round the tent like a spiral and a vortex.  Your eyes are drawn to the people here and you notice that each has a different mix of colors around them.. some glowing .. some dark. Some a mix… Threads descend down from the swirling energy and as they reach each person the colors match.. and for a moment the persons energy brightens and sparks..

There is sudden silence.. and all that can be heard is the sounds of the night.  

Chapter 24 Aq espouses (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

You bunch of drongos.. yells AQ... Im leaving this farce.  She storms out of the tent gesturing to her priests and priestesses and acolytes.  A couple of them go with her, yet a couple of them stay as well.

WS shakes her head with bemusement and points to the bard who gestures to his group who start up a tribal beat that starts to permeate the tent.  The bard winks at the faery who leaps up and starts to dance round the circle of the tent pulling people up in a conga line.  The young man with the toy drum starts playing furiously and then does a yell and runs straight for the large cauldron and leaps across it . just missing the flames.  People start getting up and dancing.  The celts bring out meade and start passing it around.  the norse bring out meade as well. 

.  The faeries get up and start a weaving dance, pulling people up from the circle to make a line of dancing people.  The ageless faery shucks his clothes and dances .. Both him and his bevies run round the circle cajoling other people to do the same.   

The aromancers toss more herbs on the cauldrons until the tent starts filling with aromatic smoke.

The faeries start removing what wisps of clothing they have and start dancing round the cauldron.

The tribal beat quickens and people start leaping over the flames of the cauldron and dancing gets more frenzied.  The shamans go round with paint brushes painting swirls and dots on people who have taken off their clothes.

You seem to see that overlay of levels as you did before.. and catch glimpses of animals and even the olde aboriginal man dancing around the circle with glee. 

The drumming quietens down and people start collapsing and falling down in the straw.  Soon there is only a drum  heart beat and the drone of the digeridoo and the tap of clap sticks.  

Chapter 23. The old ones stands forth (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

The old witch stands forward.   Now young one.. I do remember you dont I.  This tradition of yours I believe you state is alexandrian..that is not a particularly olde tradition....  Also I seem to remember your circle tonight ..had as many holes in it as a swiss cheese.  If I remember rightly you were the young lass who claimed to be an orphan who was guided by the spirits of the ousha... hmmmm.

Turning red AQ splutters.... the spirits told me who my real family was...how dare you question me. you poor excuse for a soothsayer. 

The shaman speaks from behind... How can you claim that which you had no part of, no crafting of, you were asked if you wished to be part of this, and your reply was that it was silliness and not done in the proper manner.  You have no claim here.

speaking louder.. AQ said I claim by high priestess of the alexandrian order. as the only one here with the learning and rights to do this.

You hear laughter and a young man strides in.  He has curly hair garlanded with flowers and you can see horns sprouting as if from his head.  This sword is mine. as consort to the ladye I claim it.  He reaches quickly past the norse and the celt and grasps the blade quickly, and wields it.

A woman strides across the circle.. she is of earth motherly proportions, she grasps the sheath and holds it outward.  The young man bows and sheathes the sword.  Holding the sword the earth mother intones.. it seems as if there is debate about who is to use this bright blade of wisdom.

I believe the keepers of this land should hold it for us until we can decide when we can wield this together. She hands the sword to the aboriginal shaman woman with a smile, who takes it and places it back on the tripod. 

Chapter 22. The land (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

This land is populated by many... we need to learn to work together.  See around you.. how different traditions can communicate and cooperate.  ( you notice that the music being played from each group seems to weave and combine together).  May this blade in its power and wisdom awaken the spirit within us all.  He places the blade on a tripod next to the sheath. and bows to WS and steps back to stand beside the aboriginal shaman woman.

WS says who would take up this blade.... who would wield it.. Who considers themselves worthy.

From the back of the tent  a clear strong voice chants... I DO.  You look to see AQ striding forward.

She moves to the tripod and goes to take the sword.  A spear haft comes upward and is crossed with a sword which blocks AQ. 

AQ is confronted with a very hairy celt with a scar on his left cheek holding a very large pointed spear.  To his right is the norse cheiftan holding a very wicked looking sword.  WHO GOES THERE.

HALT.  Suprised and a little overwhelmed AQ halts in her tracks..  If you wish to take this sword you must come with action and determination and with the blessing of your ancestors.  you must come of your own self .. connected to the sacred within and respecting the sacred without. answer the riddle which only you have the key.  It is time for your warrior self to stand out  and tread with passion and strength.  Your wisdom the cutting edge of your sword.  Your compassion the defence of your spirit. Your passion and purpose your binding force. Life is action.  Making decisions.  Make it be.  You may use it glinting in the daylight as the sword of your wisdom. Why do you wish this sword and what do you intend to do with it. The two warriors stand at ease watching AQ with a wry expression and a depth to their eyes.

I come as a High priestess of the wiccan church.. and of a olde tradition.  I have studied and learnt much.  I have the discipline and the power to wield it to the better good as I see fit.  and you celts and norse will war till the world ends..

You hear laughter in the background and the faery calls. AAHHHH but what purpose....dear wiccie poos.

do you wish to use it.  Holding it in your sanctum to be seen by the worthy.  Would you hold it in your site where you will not let me be.. a mere faery a figment of someones imagination. 

I have the right.. as High priestess. and definitely to keep it from people like you. 

Chapter 21. The warriors stride in (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

The dour man with the blade gets up and strides into the circle, as does the norse lady with the claymore. bowing to the four directions and waving their swords in unison sword to the ground  then swirls it around each of their bodies in a spiral and pointing it towards the sky, (as this happens the drums also spiral upwards)   and with it you could hear an ululation from the rest of his group. In the background you can discern bells  being run.  Each time one is rung it is like your heart starts up again as if it was at rest. You see the faeries grinning.  From the celtic group you hear a low throaty voice, joined by two others. Voices twirl and weave round your body. chanting and cajoling .. wailing  and crooning. 

You notice people sliding back in under the sides of the tent, until it seems as if the whole camp is here,

The norse leader stands up and calls with a large loud voice.. norslings arise...  A gutteral roar comes up as mailed and beweaponed warriors rise, clashing shields and weapons.  A number of horns bellow out and drums flail out a furious rapid beat that stirs the blood.  You feel the iciness of the nordic winter and the hardship and struggle.

Over the other side of the tent you hear the sound of bagpipes and drums and a gutteral yell that chills the blood.  The celts rise kilts  flaring,  and hit their swords and axes against their shields.   The flame of celtic passion and vigour flares up.  You can see the tension between the two groups like  fire and  ice. 

In the centre of the tent you now see a large man holding an enormous sword.  HOLD.. he cries.. HOLD norslings and celts.. The horns and bagpipes and drums stop.  Behold.. this sword I hold here you all recognize..  Its steel has been gathered and forged by both you celts and you norse.  You hammered and worked in unison on this blade.. how can you now think of severing this joining .. severing this bond. 

He places the sword in a  tripod frame .

Both groups lean on swords and shields and mutter and watch.

 A weaving bodhrain beat comes from the celtic group..

An underlying chant comes from the norslings.

The norse royalty comes forward. as does the celtic chieftan.

Both lay their hands on the large two handed hilt of the sword. 

This blade is action..slicing  awakening the sleeping warrior... AWAKE.. roars the norse.

This blade is your ancestors their wisdom and thought ... REMEMBER...intones the celt.

This blade has been drummed and smoked and magicked. 

The head faery strides forward....

As does the shaman

As does the bard.

This blade has been made as a centering of the spirit  intones the shaman. and stands behind the blade to the right.

and holding it takes you to your centre of being   .chimes the bard. and stands behind the blade to the left.

and once there you may travel to other worlds.... laughs the faery. who dances round the blade and then sits directly behind it.

The large man continues.  This sheath, he gestures towards the group of witches, you have worked hard at each phase of the moon, providing a resting place for this blade..   The blades sheath is woven  and guarded with weave and weft.

The group of witches stand up singing and chanting....

The lead witch comes forward.. holding the sheath.  You notice it is made of wood, skin, bone, and tapestry, all woven and fastened together to make a whole. 

May this guard this perilous blade

May you draw it at need and place it in here linking to the earth mother to slumber amongst the roots of the world.  She stands in front of the sword. 

 

This blade is also part of THIS land THIS place. 

The wood is yellow box...  Covered in crocodile skin.. The metal is from this earth.

It has been tempered in water and sand and oil taken from sacred aboriginal space.

In the background you hear the grumbling of a didgeridoo.. the sound of clap sticks. and the dull roar of a bull roarer.  You see an aboriginal woman standing  in the back of the tent with a approving look.  She strides forward and sits in front of the sword with the witch.

This blade is a symbol of our community joining.    

Chapter 20: The Sound of Heart (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

The young man with the toy drum leaps up and starts twirling beating it with a frenzy.  The man next to him smiles, and unslings a long object at his side, it is a hollowed out tree branch, he rubs the beeswax at one end checking it.  Reaching into his belt he pulls forth a clapping stick.  He nestles his mouth into the end of the instrument ( the word didgeridoo comes into your head).  He looks at the man in green who smiles and then taps out four loud beats on his drum.  At each beat the drumming and singing drops off and you can hear underlaying it all a deep droning  sound.  You hear a second similar sound join it and notice there is another man sitting across from  the other didgeridoo player blowing into his own instrument.  You notice that it is here that the droning sound is coming from.  The droning sound becomes louder as the drums and voices decrease.  You hear the resonant tapping of sticks and see each of the men tapping a stick on the body of their didgeridoo.  In the background behind the man in green you see a couple of other people tapping sticks.  After the fourth beat of the drum dies away .... all you hear is the swirling sound of the droning digeridoo and the tapping of sticks.  The sound changes and you think you hear a deep barking sound and then the sound of animals and birds.  You hear a voice in the background making a nasal  sound of  syllables that seem to drift across the tent.

The drummers and didgeridoo players start walking around  WS in the centre of the circle. Their drums held down low.  

Chapter 19: The gathering of strings Wooden Spoon stirs

You feel a gathering of energy and see the bard, the ladye with the large drum the aromancer, the faery,  both of his consorts ( who now seem to shuck of that role and gleam ) ,the celtic shaman, the big hair woman,  the woman with the claymore,  the earth mother witch,  and the sharp featured witch, together with the monk like man connect somehow and  then bow to the kadaichaman , and together gather the dissapating energy which is held,  Then the connection between the HP and the rest of the circle is blocked which seems to unsteady the HP for a moment.  

Gathering herself, the HP intones all is done all is gathered all is in purpose.  We thank you all for being part of this circle.. moving around the circle she opens the circle .. may it remain open yet unbroken..

and with that the wiccan group singing and drumming file outof the tent.  You are somehow left hanging ... as if something didnt happen... with a slight headache and a sense of being ripped off almost.  As you are sitting there you notice that a lot of the people that you had seen earlier have seemed to have vanished.

WS walks into the centre of the circle. near to the cauldrons. She is holding her little branch..  She waves it above her head and points to the corner where the majority of the musicians are.  Some drums start up with a deep resonant heart beat.  Gradually more and more drums join in with syncopated beats ...A harp starts playing and the drums drop down behind it..  Over the harp a female voice rises..( you look over and notice a slight lass next to big hair has started singing).. and that voice captures your heart with its beauty. . singing the old song of the battle of the trees.  Another female voice joins in. (big hair).. and a male voice joins in.. and then two more females.  (one is the gothic woman you saw before). 

WS gestures again.. 

The aromancers quietly rise up grabbing bags and move like wisps of the wind to the centre and start tossing in bundles of herbs with flourishes and chanting.   You feel a shift in the atmosphere as a strong yet somehow balanced mix permeates the tent,, grounding you and pulling the scattered energies to earth. The smell of ancient places wafts through your being.. a tangy yet musty smell of places long left.  Your nose crinkles as heat is passed under it and nearly sneezes at the sudden intensification of the smoke and aroma.  At some point you notice that the song had finished. and that there was only a deep thrumming sound in the background with the voices now toning ( toning is a technique where it is like going OMMMMM or AHHH keeping the voice at one note..)  The head aromancer unleashes his drum and looks at the man in green with an uplifted brow..  The man in green gestures to the group around him which forms in a semi circle with him as its centre.  Both the head aromancer and the bard start a beat which  thrums at the bottom of  hearing.  It pulls and centres. You feel vibration at your feet passing through your body like the rings in a pool expand after an object is thrown in.  Any tenseness is felt as a heat which fires up and then dissapates outwards.  The sound passes around your body in a spiral.

The lead aromancer ( who by the way is one of the head shamans) nods.. and  out of the corners and other places stride drummers.  I stride out wielding a deep sounding pottery drum.. One of the celts strides out holding a bodhrain..One of the witches strides out holding a frame drum and an ornately carved and feathered beater. The dark haired consort strides out with a darambukah.. Gradually about 20 drummers stride out forming a circle facing inwards to WS. 

Chapter 17. The Kaidaicha Man gestures (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

A bit of smoke gets in your eyes and you mutter wiping your stinging eyes for a moment.. and before they clear you seem to see a form out beyond the scribed circle that was chanted upon and strode around and gestured at by the wiccans in forming their ritual space.  You blink and look again.

You see the glimpse of a wizened old man  as dark as the evening just before night.  He has a wide boned face with a large fleshy nose.  His eyes are like black gimmets that twinkle at you.  He is gaunt and you can trace his bones by the contours they leave on his body.  He is wearing  a woven string cloth.  His body is swirled with ochre within which are dots and dashes that seem to expand and draw you.  You notice he has scars inscribed on a couple of parts on his body,, yet when you try and focus they drift away.  You hear a chanting voice in your head that rises and falls , you dont understand the words .yet you feel the desert landscape around you.. taste the dry red dust.   Feel the parchedness on your throat.  The heat on your head.  The dry hot smell.  His feet seem to swirl and he does a slow dance that at moments you seem to see him shift and change into the form of an emu.  . the flightless bird of the desert with piercing eyes and a sharp beak and long legs.  He swirls around the sacred space pushing and poking with that cheeky bright gleam in his eyes.   A thigh bone appears in his hand and glows.  He points it towards the black draped area from which the music is coming from. You remember this man as the one you encountered earlier as his smile still transfixes you.

You come back to the ritual and notice that there are several wiccans standing around chanting and gesturing  you hear the music start speeding up and slowing down erratically and then  it slides drunkenly to a stop. A couple of dark robed accolites hurriedly go over to a black draped area and you hear clicking and fiddling. 

You look back and see the wizened man smiling slightly.  His arms raise and he puckers up his cheeks and blows.  One of the cauldrons starts billowing out smoke that sends the acolyte with the book stumbling backwards.  The other smaller one goes out completely, while the large one starts spluttering and the flames go larger and smaller. 

Chapter 16 . The circle swings (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

Your nose picks up a faint pungent scent and your eyes go left to pick out a group of black robed men, all with an insignia on their robe.  One is sniffing the smouldering end of a smudge stick and deep in concentration.. you are reminded of a wine connoisseur who is trying to figure out whether he likes the wine he has just sniffed and swirled in his mouth and spat out.  Another is swirling his finger round in a bowl and taking it out and tasting it every now and again with a wry look.  You can see a multitude of knives and pouches girdling his waist and a drum is resting over his shoulder as well as a long flute like shape shrouded in cloth.  A third who has a smile on his face that seems permanently fixed.. is looking at the sporadically smoking cauldrons and shaking his head.  You can see his hands wandering to a pouch at his waist as if he wants to throw some of it in the cauldron . 

You pull your wandering attention back to the ritual. Somehow it seems a bit lacking in drawing attention. and you can remember parts of their speeches and litergies as bits from starhawk  and silver ravenwolf books. and shudder the big blue uncle buckies bedtime pagan book.  You notice quite a few of the people here seem distracted and fidgety rather than ingrossed in the ritual. You look over to the corner and see a couple of people  bow to the centre of the circle surrepticiously roll under the sides of the tent and disapear into the nite.  It is like this is set as if for a play.  You are watching it unfold from scripts and it feels more like a well rehearsed production than a spiritual event.  The ritual in the centre seems like one of those moving sculpures inside one of those plastic domed toys you watch from outside. That in this outside circle you all are in a reality of the inner circles crafting that seems to exclude rather than include the various traditions you have caught a glimpse of.  Yet  the energies of all are tapped into and fed into the ritual and changed and transformed to fit the mould set here, which somehow does not seem to connect into the land around or the people but seems to be a manufactured construct of the High  priestess running the circle.  Her priestesses and priests and acolytes seem to be running around like drone bees, following her command without question, yet seeming to lack something in the following.  The words drip with meaning, yet those essences do not seem to touch the ground, The structure seems to be like one of what SHOULD be seemed to be done rather than taking account of the surrounds or the different resources.  You shrug away these distracting thoughts and try and concentrate on the ritual once again.

Chapter 15. The circle draws (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

You feel a pulling at that energy connection and you are drawn back to the centre.  You see the high priestess complete the greeting of the four directions and the sealing of the circle.  It seems that this seal is quite tight and rather than filtering  it actually shuts out the world.  You look at the HP and notice she looks for a moment like  the centre of a web of light.. Each strand connecting to a person in the circle, the strands seemed to flow one way  .. towards the HP... then you notice a secondary web of connections outgoing to the priests, priestesses and  somehow the acolytes have only a smaller connection to them.

A feeling and smell of  thyme and a scent of something tangy draws your attention over to one of the corners where you see a group of men and women clad in black, purple, green, and brown robes.  In the centre of the group you see an elder woman with a face etched by the cares of the world, a slight hardness of the eyes as of someone not taking any shilly shally.  Yet in the background there is a sparkle. Around her waist is clustered a simple unadorned athame and some various pouches.  You remember her as the one who provided dinner last night... Next to her is a man with a face that at one look seemed almost ugly by society standards.. yet a power sat behind it  and a rough hewn nature came through.  Sitting next to them was a woman who reminded you of  the beautifully voluptuous  goddess figures, she glances in your direction and you feel a sense of her look weaving into you, and she smiles.  Next to her is a man dressed in a brown robe who almost looked like a christian monk , yet by his eyes you see circles of dancers under a moonlit nite dancing round fires.  The other figures seem to blend in and out like a graceful dance.  They seem connected somehow yet at the same time solitary unto themselves. 

Your attention circles back to the ritual and notice that  one of the priests, ( who when looking at him you swear belongs on a small hairy horse thundering across the steppes).  is striding round  the circle chanting from a piece of script.  His phrases are complicated and involve goddesses and gods names that  sometimes he stutters over and you see him wince. His eyes which are black and seem to squint blend into a flat asiatic face which has definite interest and character.   There is a strength about him and you get the feeling he would look good in an ornate robe with moons and suns on it with a large floppy brimmed hat invoking the alchemical change of lead to gold while discoursing on the meaning of some obscure goddess name.  Swirling in the other direction is a vision of brown hair and glimpses of a gorgeous face, and the whiff of an exotic scent.  She is also reading off a page.. curling her wrist delicately as she does so.  You can almost feel a contained vibrant energy between these two.   You are sure that they can both dip into a realm and depth of ceremony and carry on for hours without needing the props they are now gingerly using. The mongol’s nose turns up as he does another rollicking circuit and gestures towards one of the acolytes impatiently .  You hear a gentle cursing as the acolyte  says in a voice sotto that seems to travel to your ears. “ damn this incense...If they had got the aromancers to do it they wouldnt have all this hassle.”  You can see them holding a cunningham book and deliberating over which herb to throw more into to balance the mix which is sporadically burning and seems to have an acrid smell about it.

Chapter 14: The circle twines. (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

You watch as one of the wiccans strides round the circle with an acolyte following her every move. She stops close to you and you see her bring out a sheet and  fumble with it briefly ,, subvocalizing LIGHT ..NOW... the acolyte mutters fiddling with a torch button and  a white light clicks on straight in the acolytes eyes.. You watch as the acolyte ( you are quite sure he is blind as you noticed it was a mag lite torch) waver and try and train the torch on the piece of paper the priestess is holding.  I call the spirits of the north.. she intones. and then continues on with a long list of elements and deities. She waves a sword in the air desultorily and you hear a muffled snort.  This breaks your attention and you look over to the source of the sound.

Your eyes slide to a grim hatchet faced man dressed in mail and girt with a sword belt who doesnt seem to smile easily . You sense that unlike the priestess who is definitely using the sword with some unfamiliarity, this dour faced man definitely knows how to use his. He seems to gather a cloak of knowingness and almost arrogance and proudness about him, and a sense of power and not being quite safe to be around.   You look around him and notice a group of some rather warrior like people dressed in chain and  having helmets sitting at their feet with a collection of swords and daggers and shields.  They all seem to exude the same quality.  One busty woman is gently fondling a  claymore with a small smile on her face.  Rather curiously you notice a dagger stuck into one of her legs, and you watch as she pulls it out.. inspects the point, twirls it about looks at a cute man over the other side of the circle and you watch her smouldering gaze catch him and his head nearly wrenches around to look at her.  She breathes in  making herself   nearly bust out of the already precarious bodice she had stuffed herself into.  His attention is riveted.. and she langourously twirls the dagger once more and thrusts it in her leg again with a satisfied smile.... A large beefy guy next to her with a flowing red beard and locks  is muttering and throwing some bones on the ground.  Next to him is a slender extremely handsome and attractive young man with wild eyes who is fidgeting with a ornate curved dagger with a dragon pommel, which he bounces off a rather glaring drum in blue ( like one of those toy drums with the rubber heads).  He is a wisp of a lad yet has a beauty about him that grabs.  A young man in a blue tatty robe staring intently at a  frame drum sits next to him. An extremely muscular black haired man is flexing his biceps and checking how they look as they bulge out of his chain mail.  There are a couple of spears thrust in the ground and you can make out a banner, limply furled which seems to be of a knotwork horn.  In the middle sits a regal looking character who seems to exude a feeling as if you would like to bow towards him.  He is smiling gently and fingering the end of an ornate staff.  You see for a moment a vision of a tree rooted in the earth with its roots digging deeply into mystery and strength and wonder.  The knotted expanse of the trunk moves upwards to the heavens and the branches frame outward drinking of the sky.  You notice a man hung from the tree with a bunch of carved stones lying at the foot of the tree.  You see bones with inscriptions falling on the ground in a pattern.  The flash of an axe and a sword blind you for a moment.  you sense an oldeness

Next to this group is another , your attention is drawn to a largish man who is regally dressed in a kilt and looks like a roughish celtic bear , both rough and gentle.  Easy at swinging a sword or plucking a harp, both of which you sense he does with equal dexterity.  Clustered around him are two more just as brawnish, hairy and very much the male, the ones you expect to be yelling and dashing on a battle field or in the masculine muscle rippling commercials on tv. The second is bouncing his fibble stick gently on a bodhran.  The third is making guitar strumming gestures with one hand while mouthing notes with a cheeky grin.  Somehow you sense they are linked together. Their energy seems olde and rough and stirs a fiery passion within you for a moment.   Sitting near them is a woman with a mass of hair who is surreptitiously looking at each of them in turn and smiling and sighing at the same time, you can feel her voice like a stream burbling .. trying to come out and know that it is a voice that is transfixing in its melody. Somehow the words “unholy trinity” spring to mind.  You shrug.. and see a slim couple sitting next to the big hair woman, they seem normal enough but as you look away you see their faces almost gothic white and a majesty about them that nearly takes your breathe away.

Chapter 13: The diverse identities and weaves (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

You see one of the priests look warningly towards the area from where the sounds come from and your ears follow it till your eyes find a blonde haired muscular and extremely well endowed girl surrounded by various and diverse drums.. her fingers tapping a soft rhythm on a narrow waisted pottery drum. She shrugs and smiles at the priest.  Around her are gathered a group of diversely dressed people . An earth motherly woman in a black robe and vibrant eyes sitting astride a large wooden drum.her fingers carressing the mottled skin bringing out a deep thrumming sound... A number of people you cant quite make out are holding  clave sticks or have drums or instruments sitting next to them.  Four more people who seem to blend and shift are playing various drums.  In the centre of this half circle is a man dressed in a green robe with hair cascading down to his lower back.. Around his feet are clustered a pottery drum.. several shaman drums.. and other drums, clustered together with a selection of flutes, whistles, ocarinas, and unusual musical instruments. He looks at the rest of the group with a resigned look and raises his eyebrows.  The music stops ... and he looks at the priest and shrugs and smiles apologetically.  At this point the music reached that same irritating flutter point seemingly at the point when the music stops. His eyes sparkle at you as if to say “oops I didnt mean that......NOT”   and you realize he is the person that was with you travelling at the gathering circle.

Around the outside walls of the pavillion are gathered a ever increasing group of people in a variety of attires.  You are guided to a gap in the circle and guided to sit. 

You notice as you look around rubbing your chafed knee that there are quite a few others with scraped shins or arms that are rubbing them whimsically and you begin to wonder at how true perhaps the comments of your escorts about faeries are. Hearing a muffled giggle you look over where it came from and cant not miss a set of short cropped hair that seems to glow in a light of its own.  It is a bright yellow that impudently seems to stand out in the darkened tent.  You see a very slim and elfin figure and a pair of very old eyes in a cute faery like face that sparkle and glint at you.  Next to her sits a Redheaded sloe eyed figure who seems quieter yet in that depth there is  a magick that seems to reach out. . An older  woman dressed in egyptian garb tapping a darambukah. Standing next to her is a woman that takes your breath away with her beauty.  Long dark hair cascades down her back, enshrouding a hourglass figure.  Her delicate fingers are tapping finger cymbals and her body moves lithely to a rythym quite her own. A  face that seems both old and young moves out into focus.  At one look you see an eternal youthfullness and a devilish grin. your heart stops for a moment as he has a beauty that seems to reach out and grab you.  It is a beauty from within, a stateliness and somehow a burning passion shabbily hidden by masks of the woods and glades, when you look again you see wrinkles cast around the eyes and an agelessness,  his body is thin and wiry , and the bones of his face stand out in bold relief.    His left hand rests proprietorially on the knee of a sultry beauty clad in whisps of virtually nothing with a sculpted face not unlike his.  His right hand is hidden behind  the derriere of another beauty to the other side,, and the look of langousness leaves little doubt that whatever he is doing she likes. Some visions move through your mind.. Puck, of the mischievious eyes and horns,  hooves, and hairy legs and fauns, a olde passionate sensual abandonness.  You blink and try and calm your breathing and look around further. There is a scattering of younger people around him and he seems to be whispering to them and gesturing as they point and smile at what is happening in the ritual circle.  You remember tales about brownies and pixies and little creatures that run around and do mischief.  Somehow though you dont think they are responsible for the mishaps that seem to be befalling this ritual,, but glancing at the older faery you look at his eyes and are not quite as sure. 

Chapter 12: The main pavilion (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

A woman all dressed in black stands before you.. her eyes look a bit distant and harried and you see that she looks a bit tired as she takes your hand. Yet at the same time you sense a feeling of building anticipation and a need. Various other robed wiccans are scurrying around gathering more things and bumping into one another.  One of them is nearly run over by two more priests who come in with another postulant. ( you hear one of the ones mutter as they get up some more water, “damn how many more are there”) ( you also notice the new postulant is nursing his elbow which looks to be a bit grazed)  You gaze around and see you are in the antechamber of a pavilion tent. You are in the centre of a disorganised malestrom.. which sadly seems to differ from your intial impression with the blindfold on.   Several black and purple robed wiccans stand around holding either wands or staffs or athames.  (they look like extras on a movie set told to HOLD THIS and DO THIS, you wonder what they would actually do if they were asked to use their wand or staff or athame)  A couple of them are huddled in a corner reading in turn from some papers quietly. 

The alcove is filled with weaving smoke and candle light. ( you notice several large wrought iron candelabra... looking at one in particular with twists and turns as it moves from the main trunk to the branches of the candelabra holding the flickering candles).  You notice that the candelabra seems to move and then topples over slowly onto the ground.,, You feel a wind lift the side of the tent like a large hand.  The candles scatter on the straw on the floor and you see the postulants drop their tools and put out the small flames that start... your eyebrows lift at the most unspiritual language... You are guided to a draped opening and taken through.  You are in a large pavillion tent, the floor is covered in straw.  In the centre is a large cauldron with flames sporadically leaping out of it . Flanking it are two smaller cauldrons with clumps of smoke coming out. You see a couple of acolytes attempting to tend the cauldrons. Over in the middle of the far wall is set up an ornate altar with wrought iron candelabra holding black and white candles

You hear music coming from around you, some drumming and a calling voice,, you recognize it as one of the tapes that is played incessantly round the wiccan grove. ( you remember that spot where the tape flutters and continues. and as you do it does it again making you wince gently).  You can hear some gentle drumming and music that is seeming to try and bolster and support the music. 

Chapter 11: The Night begins. (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

It is a beautiful night .. the stars frame the heavens is sparkling magnificence and the milky way seems tossed over the sky like a blanket.  The night is quiet and calm as if waiting for a great event.  No wind stirs the trees and all is quiet.

The priestess looks at you with a deep and smouldering gaze.  Are YOU ready to face the goddess tonight....(BTC)...(well if ya dont wanna go on with this then you betta stop reading now and go do something more interesting lol).    You reply as the others have replied before you ... YES I DO.

“Behold the guardians of the way.  ( you look at the black robed priestesses and priests).  ..(BTC)..

They will take you there....(looking at one of the priests he looks a bit unfit ..you hope you dont get him ...as he looks a bit tired and glazed)...(BTC).... The pathway to the goddess is unseen and unknown and can be treacherous to the unwary..(BTC)  .. Prepare to be cloaked in sight and trust to be guided by the consorts of the goddess.  (BTC).. The two black robed priestesses flank you and you feel a blindfold being put over your eyes and tied tightly.  (BTC)..  The world spins as you are turned around and around... (BTC)  as the priestess intoned. Now begone to another world.. ( BTC).. The hands are removed from you and another set of hands plae themselves under your elbows.

The hands under your elbows tighten  and you are half carried half rushed off into the darkness.  It is like a journey into the night from a gateway to a secret place hidden by the sacrosanct, by ritual and by tradition.  Guided as if to the sidhe hill mounds or to an esoteric masonic temple , or to the depths of secret chambers within a pyramid.    Several times you nearly stumble as you feel yourself going down an incline.  You hear strained breathing from the person on your left.  A couple of times you feel tugged from both sides as if you are being stretched.  You clatter across a bridge stubbing your toe.  You can hear two sets of fast running feet clatter towards you and then shoot off to either side and disapear off into the night.   As you go over the other side you get wrenched to the left and up a slope and the person on your left curses and slips and your knee smacks down on the ground grazing it slightly.  You hear muttering from the person on the other side about  damned spirits jinxing them tonight..you are lifted up and half carried off.. The person on the left subvocalizes about how many MORE people did they have to bloody do.  And the idea about the blindfolds sucked..  You keep going. and your initial feeling of that adventure is a little soured by the tiredness of your escorts, and their comments.   and are brought to a sudden stop stubbing the other toe..  You can hear voices and smell smoke.

.  A deep voice reverberates and says... “You are in the temple of the wiccan sisterhood.. Are you willing to let go all of the world as you enter this sacred space. You are now deep in the embrace of the mother... far from where you have been.  Do you wish to enter here”..( you hear rustling and a space and then the voice starts up again)  Or do you wish to be cast back upon the realm called the earth.”(the voice sounds practiced as if these phrases have been said before.. and with a feeling of rote... as of something learned well yet somehow not felt or understood,, more like a jackdaw takes something bright that might fit her nest yet not understand that brightness)  You feel within for any sign that this is the appropriate thing to do.. and somehow that reaching for that inner self seems hindered... so you make an educated guess.... Your mouth opens and you hear yourself say I DO.   The sonorous voice continues....” Then prepare to be cleansed by the elements and by sacred magick.”  You feel water being splashed on your face...... “ Feel the flow of the seas of the blood of the earth mother.. may it cleanse you of the storms and turbulence of life and bring you to the calm pool of repose.”  You feel heat being passed close to your eyes and face....”Feel the passion of the earth.. feel the magma of her form pass by... Feel all the dross and weight and old forms being burned away and you released into the cleansing fire.”    You feel the whistle of wind on your face...” May the winds of the earth carry away the thoughts and attachements that refuse to let go.. Feel the gale take it all away and blow you dry  and clean..” You feel the rich smell of earth being passed by your face... : May you gain energy from the centre of all being... where all sustenance and growth has its source... feel grounded and connected to the earth mother. ( a space and a rustling of pages)  Are you willing to give this energy to a higher purpose.” “ So that we can craft energy tonight and in this place”  You intone Yes , not really thinking of the consequences.  “  Now be marked by the gatekeepers for all to see and know..  You feel a sigil being inscribed on your brow.  and a heat. as if by the giving of permission you feel a energy connection between you and the high priestess being made. .. Then your blindfold is removed..(As your blindfold is removed you smile at the ritual as.. you try and remember where it came from for it is familiar... you shrug and continue with the show..)

Chapter 10: The Kadaichaman Enters with a nod

You see for a moment  an olde olde wizened man who sits on the ground and seems a part of it and who holds a bone in one hand and has a long hollowed tree branch by his feet with designs carved on its outside of snakes and kangaroos and emus that seem to writhe and change... next to it are a pair of pointed and designed sticks .. whirled with lines and dots..

Sitting on one thigh is a leaf shaped piece of wood with some twine attached to a hole at one end.

He smiles and nods at you.  In the distance you see a pavillion and in the centre a woman dressed in black.

She is casting a circle of protection that seems to bring in visions of somewhere else.. of seasons where trees drop their leaves.replacing the trees of duller green that are here all year round.. and of snow.  of a long hard winter and a shorter summer. Of trees bare of leaves and then of buds and flowers..It flickers and overlays the landscape.  The energies move in the opposite circling direction and the season changes so you see snow and cold overlay the hot australian summer..The animals seem to change and shift into animals that seem different to the kangaroo,, the emu,, the wombat.  The olde man looks over to the circle and shakes his head.  He picks up the leaf shaped piece of wood and moves to the outside of the circle. He bows at the woman in the centre and you see appear in his hands a piece of bark with food and a couple of items in it.  He offers it towards the woman who looks towards him but does not appear to see him through the haze of the otherworld she is setting up.  He smiles and tries to walk in but is balked..  He steps back puzzled and waves at the woman in black.  She does not appear to see him.  He sighs and starts whirling the leaf shaped wood round his head at the end of the twine.  You hear  a dull deep roaring sound that seems to shake your teeth. It whirls round your head,, you look and see animals looking towards the olde man .. and you see spirits of snakes and beings being drawn out of the earth and the skye.  Yet the woman in black seems oblivious.  The olde man dances round the circle poking at it with his bone that seems to shift to the vision of a long wooden spear,  he stands back .. the spear changes to  a crescent shaped piece of wood that he hurls at the circle. Sparks of energy  spurt out and the object whirls around the circle and returns to the olde mans hand.. Yet you notice that the energy of the circle is not consistent and it wavers and wobbles.  The olde man smiles at you and winks.. looks at the circle again and you see a smile on his face.  The vision fades and you come back to the circle, waiting for the ritual to begin.

Chapter 9: You enter the story (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

Play a whimsy with me for a moment.  Imaginethat you are not necessarily of one corporal form dear reader.  You have been following along with this story till this point.  Now if you will. you can become a part of it.  Breathe deply as you did at the beginning of the story and imagine yourself in this place here and now.  Feel the earth beneath your feet.  Smell the pungent smell of the australian bush and of pine trees. ( if ya dont know what a eucalyptus tree smells like think of eucalyptus oil LOL or just think of pine and dust).  You look down and find yourself wearing attire and any accoutrements that you desire.  You are standing in a group of rowdy pagans.  You can hear the sound of deep resonant drumming. Of voices singing.  Of chattering and laughing.  Someone offers you  a flagon of mead.   You feel the sounds and smells and visions of the place come alive around you.  You notice me standing over to the side with a group of musicians.  I grin and bow to you .  You look into my eyes and the drums increase their beat and you find yourself drifting.

You feel a heat expanding from your centre and you seem to fall downwards within yourself to a place that you remember well. It is a place that you go to when you need peace and quiet and strength.  You sense in one mind that you havent been there for a long time and in another  that it is a place that you know well and you settle down.  This space expands and takes up all your senses and you feel that  for a moment you see the night slightly differently..  The land is full for a moment of spirits weaving about... the sound of a deep droning sound.. of feet stamping the ground in a complicated beat.  Voices raised in an ululation..  Eyes and claws and teeth and tails move through your vision..  You realize that the landscape is alive and you can see the hills form shapes of mythical beings,, see shapes of  dancing aboriginal people,  animals move, trees and bushes glow.  There is energy connecting places with the curling and siniousness as if of a snake.  Somehow this energy seems to have been here for a long long time..yet you get the sense that it travelled across from somewhere else.. You get the sense of a nomadic people wandering across a bridge of land.. dogs at their side,  you watch them settle on this land and the bridge of land disapears leaving them on this large island.  You see the energy of other peoples travel and touch this land.  A vision of a cross and a man which seems to try and sweep all before it and overlays the scene you have just experienced.  You see a glint of a man sitting under a fig tree.. Of a blinding sun and a figure of a god behind it.. the images start to increase and merge together.. and move inwards, and outwards.  Yet under all the feel and sense the bones of the earth and that this continent is very very old, some of the energies you see connect and revere this energy.. like the aboriginals... some like the man with the cross seem to try and overlay something else.  You sense that this energy is a spiritual energy and is an expression of the ways in which people try and explain the world in a myriad of ways.  You take a deep breathe shake and clear your head. and look out again at the land and the sky and see it like several layers , sometimes you see a glimpse sometimes not. 

Chapter 8 AQ’s Ritual begins (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

Four wiccans in gorgeous purple and black robes that cascaded down and barely brushed the ground.. stood in a diamond formation… One was swinging a censor. Back and forth. With the scent of pine  and myrrhh and gumnastic.  The second waved an intricately tooled athame with a small crystal in the pommel and green garnets in the wooden handle reaching down to the slightly curly curved blade ( for some reason I got the white witch in my head from the lion the witch and the wardrobe.. and expected to see aslan stretched out on a cold iron table.. it was one of THOSE knives)… The Third waved a wand around.. which was the size of a small staff.  It had  a black iron point on one end.. out of which spiralled copper and gold and silver wire,  entwining  a carved wooden staff with branches and leaves on it.. to clasping a large crystal ball  .. slightly faceted.. at the other end… The fourth held  a double sided drum made out of deer skin.. with a crescent moon on one side and a full moon on the other..  The sound that was made was a low thrumming .. almost growling sound.. ( you looked around for the movie cameras and the special effects people to see if this was the remake of witchcraft the movie part 2.5). The four wiccans were chanting..”We all come from the goddess…..(bang on the drum)..(a circling of the athame and wand in breathtaking synchronicity)….In her name we do revere.. (Rpt last bang and twirl)..the growing mother.. of web and weave.. (yep BANG TWIRL)… and to her we shall once again return (a final BANG TWIRL)   On either side of the wand and athame twirlers.. were two  cloaked men.. Their cloaks were midnight black with a dark purple flair as one of them twitched his hand restlessly..  Their faces were hidden in hoods. (Cut them off at the knees and for some  reason they reminded me of those little scavengers on star trek that got r2d2.. with the red eyes grin.)  In front of them all,, waiting imperiously was the second in charge wiccan.. in her black  robe of definite magnificence.. Brown hair cascading down her back.. and hazel eyes looking imperiously at the crowd. Gesturing with impatience.. she looked off to the left.. Two more black robed priestesses came forward holding black pieces of fabric reverently in her hands… All of a sudden the drumming.. and chanting (yes AND the twirling ) STOPPED..   Into the silence a voice sliced.. WHO IS GOING TO BRAVE THE GODDESS TONIGHT.. (BANG > TWIRL and all the priestesses and priests repeating the words in a multipolyphonic chant ok so lets now shorthand this to BTC).. WHO IS GOING TO BE THE FIRST OFFERING TO HER MERCIES….. (BTC)…. STAND FORWARD NOW AND PREPARE TO BE INITIATED INTO THE INTRICACIES OF THE GODDESS THIS NITE (BTC)…   A diminuitive ladye in a purple and green swirling robe.. walked forward to stand before the priestess.  The priestess looked at her ARE YOU READY TO FACE THE GODDESS AND YOURSELF…(BTC) .. “Yes I am” replied the ladye .BEHOLD THE GUARDIANS OF THE WAY>(BTC) THEY WILL TAKE YOU THERE.. (BTC) . THE PATHWAY TO THE GODDESS IS UNSEEN AND UNKNOWN AND CAN BE TREACHEROUS TO THE UNWARY>>(BTC)>>> PREPARE TO BE CLOAKED IN SIGHT.. AND TRUST TO BE GUIDED BY THE CONSORTS  OF THE GODDESS>..(BTC) The two black robed priestesses flanked her and blindfolded her. (BTC). spun her around in a circle gently. (BTC). as the priestess intoned. NOW BEGONE TO ANOTHER WORLD. (BTC). The priestesses stepped aside and the Male priests.. came forward.. grasping the ladye gently under each elbow. And half lifting half guiding they led her off at a trot.Two more blackrobed priests appeared as if from nowhere and the litany started again for another person. Gradually one by one people disapeared into the dark night……….Now in words painted here you can feel that this is starting out to be a powerful ritual.. yet somehow it LACKS.. seeming like a empty script…..  All pomp and not a bit of feeling circumstance… and this was a feeling shared by people ( in comments afterwards this event)….

Chapter 7: The rituals arrive (The athame queen the wooden spoon and the bard)

The evening of the rituals arrive.... The day had been a typical Aussie January Heatwave with heat so dry your mouth felt like the simpson desert. People were doing the aussie salute pretty much constantly (in australia we have a perennial inhabitant of the landscapes which we call.blowflies. There are two types of them. One type which are sort of like the b52 version of flies.. they are huge and buzz around climbing into every orifice to see whats there and resting themselves in black clouds on people. The second are tiny fast little buggers that sort of stick to you... the only way to keep them away is to do a wave from the middle of the chest to the top of the head with the hand held out horizontally.. sort of like a fly version of a windscreen wiper.. otherwise known as the aussie salute).The day had been one of those where the winds hold their breath and there is not a movement anywhere.. just dry.. baking heat under a bright blue clear sky.. AQ's attendances had dropped down.. and little troubles seemed to dog her rituals.. the candles wouldnt stay alight and seemed to blow out .. altars would fall over... people would trip on robes.. forget the lines they were reading from parchment ( with torches).. once the quarters got mixed up in their order ( a great debate in australia.. being in the southern hemisphere sshould we cast the directions (those of us who did. that is) in the traditional northern hemisphere fashion or in the reversed southern hemisphere..) AQ did it in the northern hemisphere tradition.. and one night she found it was being done widdershins version grin.. WS rituals were pulling most of the camp and were quite the tribal happening with partying going on to all hours... the only ones absent were aq's group who did not attend...The night was glorious with all the southern stars blanketing the sky in myriad forms. orions belt. the milky way..a wonderful tapestry of the gods and goddesses under which for us pagans to play… We all started gathering for AQ's ritual. In the hot balmy evening. Waiting for the magick to begin…