Tag Archives: mythology

Betwixters?…

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“We still don’t know how they did it, or why, or even if they really did it or not…

…We do know that for at least two thousand years these sort of monuments were a preoccupation, were the preoccupation of a world wide culture.

And then they were not!

The traditional supposition is climate change.

But there is another way to look it.

One that involves teleology…

And a change of state…

An evolution.

Amphibians can live in water and on land.

What would we call a creature that lives neither in nor out of time but somewhere between?”…

 

‘Heart and Soul’…

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The first key…

Bigger than me…

and inside, a box; identical but smaller, in order to fit, with another key.

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Key number two…

As big as you…

whose mote is my beam, now clearly seen as I click the lock and find inside another box, identical but smaller…

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Key number three…

What will we see…

as we flick the lock and peer inside the box? A heart, blood red and still beating…

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The ground starts to shake with footfalls much bigger than me and a large eye appears at the church window.

‘Fee… Fi… Fo… Fum…’ says the Giant.

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Sylvan Grade…

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Can stone

turn to tree

or was that just eroded memory?

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Yet, if water turns to earth

and air

and earth to fire

and air to water

by dint of long forgotten alchemy.

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And if indeed

the Fire-King and Earth-Maiden

have spawned a beautiful daughter…

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There may yet be

some fleeting semblance of hope

for me…

Armoury Show…

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The prosperous town of Armore was built next to a forest.

Late one night Old-Man-Log came out of the forest and sat down in the middle of the town’s market square.

He opened up the palm of his right hand and started cackling.

The next morning as the sun came up he was still sitting there cackling at the palm of his hand.

The towns-folk of Armore gathered around him to learn the source of Old-Man-Log’s amusement.

There in the middle of his palm was a little red man who was dancing.

“Who is that little red fellow?” asked the townsfolk falling over themselves to get a better look  at him.

“Why, his name is Mammon,” said Old-Man-Log, “see how he dances and spins for your amusement growing redder and redder?”

“Let me see…”

“And me…”

So it went with the towns-folk of Armore as they pushed and shoved and trampled each other in order to get a better look at the spectacle being played out before them…

At the end of the day when Old-Man-Log returned to the forest forty of the towns-folk lay dead.

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The next day Old-Man-Log was sitting in the market square again and this time the crush to see his show left eighty people dead.

The day after that, the death toll was one-hundred-and-sixty.

Finally Old-Man-Log said, “People of Armore, why do you put up with this day after day. Don’t be killed. Pick up stones and stone me.”

Without hesitation the towns-folk of Armore immediately picked up stones and threw them at Old-Man-Log.

They stoned him from all directions and before long he lay dead.

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But then the dead man’s body began to stink.

The stench was so bad that people fainted and died.

The wind blew and wherever it carried the foul smell people died.

The dead man opened his mouth and spoke, “People of Armore, why do you put up with this. Don’t be killed. Bring your hauling ropes and haul me away.”

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Without hesitation the towns-folk of Armore immediately ran for their hauling ropes and tied them around the body of Old-Man-Log.

They began to tug the ropes but Old-Man-Log’s body was hard to shift.

The towns-folk tugged harder and one of the ropes snapped. The men pulling the rope fell on top of each other and died.

Another rope snapped killing more people and then another with the same result.

The dead man opened his mouth again, “People of Armore, why do you put up with this. Don’t be killed. Sing me my song.”

He sang it to them, “Pull our log/Old-Man-Log/Pull our log…”

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Altogether the towns-folk sang the dead man’s song and the body began to move…

It moved so quickly, sliding along the ground that whenever anyone stopped for breath they were run over by the body and killed.

When at last Old-Man-Log was sung back into the forest the few towns-folk that remained returned to their homes to sleep.

Next morning when the towns-folk of Armore awoke they remembered nothing of Old-Man-Log.

It was as though they had been intoxicated.

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A Border-Land of Spirits…

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We do not doubt the immortal nature of the Spirit in Man.

Neither do we care to speculate on its probable state or condition in any future life.

The Spirit, breathed into Man by the Great Mystery,

ultimately returns to the one who gave it.

After being freed from the body it is everywhere and pervades all nature.

So much reverence is due to the disembodied spirit we do not name the dead aloud.

Ohiyesa

Bardic Study – The Eyes of Fate…

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‘Oh, who can see in the eyes of fate,
All life alone in its chronic patterns?
Oh, swan, let me fly you
To the land of no winds blowing.
I know nothing, and know that I know nothing;
All is in the eye, and in its blinks of seeing.’

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The first verse appears to record a conversation between Swan and Fate. Swan asks a question and is invited by Fate to another world where no winds blow with the proviso that Fate itself is ignorant but merely watches. ‘Blinks’ here, operate as links of time.

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‘So just like the morning,
The ghost of the following day…

Listen…

Hoary, Hoary, Hoary, Hoary…
Rear the rollers, wild and stormy…
Echoes holy… Only lonely… Gone beforey… Hoary… Hoary…’

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The start of the next verse may represent the journey or flight and certainly if the morning is the ghost of the following day we have now travelled or somehow got beyond time in some way.

(Later in the song it becomes clear that this ‘disjoint’ in the day is not natural and can be rectified.)

This is immediately followed by an exhortation to listen…

‘Hoary’ here, is ‘venerable’, ‘ancient’ and ‘holy’.

Whatever decides Fate is very old and appears to be linked to the Sea which despite an absence of wind still rears and is stormy.

This ‘something’ is older than loneliness.

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‘Oh, rivalry and opinion still cast their wild spells.
Effort and contrariness change the directions of time.
The lion still growls in your hollowness.
Please let’s be easy, please let’s be friends.
Watching and learning like small children.’

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In this verse the wild nature of whatever governs Fate appears to be linked to Swan’s propensity for dissension  and emptiness.

Swan is exhorted to reconcile its differences with Fate and learn together by watching for and listening to the lonely ‘Old Friend’.

By so doing the schism in the days can be rectified and a harmony achieved which needs not fame nor fate.

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‘Till out of the morning
Is growing the strength of the day…

Listen…

Hoary, Hoary, Hoary, Hoary…
Hear the rollers, wild and stony…
Echoes holy… Only lonely… Gone beforey… Hoary… Hoary…

Servant of fame or fame for a servant, (Hoary… Hoary…)
You see what you see, you see seldom what is
Servant of fate or fate for a servant, (Hoary…Hoary…)
You see what you see, you see seldom what is.

(Hoary… Hoary…) Servant of fate, Oh…’

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‘The Eyes of Fate’ by Robin Williamson, appeared on the second Incredible String Band album entitled, ‘5000 Spirits’.

Overkill Hill…

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Never look back!

It is good advice, unfortunately, in story-telling this advice, when given, is never adhered to.

Orpheus…Lot…Dr Faustus…

They are all concerned with Soul.

The Soul that turns to look back is caught in time.

It may be an ‘intention thing’, like trying to serve two masters, do not walk one way and look the other.

There are any number of mythological monsters depicted in this way to prove it.

Tiamet…Nergal…The Dread Beast of Mercia.

The hero ‘slays’ them all, by moving forward.

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But going back to take another look, that is different.

That is part of going forward.

And it is also inevitable.

This time we inadvertently found ourselves following our own advice from one of our books.

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We started at Hordron’s, that hoary old receptacle of time, went on to Strines, the ‘Peacock Pub’, and finished up at the Old Horns Inn.

And this time when we got to Bradfield, ‘Castle Hill’ was illuminated.

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No need to wonder where we will be heading next then.

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But first, we had another encounter with one of our mounds to experience.

We needed more photographs.

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And photographs…

Were duly forthcoming.

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Once we had braved the curiously over friendly sheep…

Of Trolls and Sustenance…

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Tomf, the Troll, rises from the river bed after a long, long, sleep.

He is feeling grumpy but only because he is hungry.

Off in search of chocolate, cake, liqourice, orange juice, tobacco and cough sweets he goes…

Oh, and bananas too, I nearly forgot the bananas…

Where grub is concerned he is not  too particular…

Just in case you missed him, here is a close up…

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P.S. He does not look quite so grumpy, since we have been feeding him.

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