Gathering

In honour of the Mercian Gathering 2008

Circled in the spray and dim torrent,
Dozens of strangers, with their lovers, with their children,
Stand on the green land
To lend their spirit to the flame of devotion,
To fan and breathe on the flame of the gods.
To the World Above!
Airy reaches of the endless sky!
To the World Below!
A skull on the grass and the Underworld under my feet!
A shout, bold, into the wind:
Air, Fire, Water, Earth.
We are Pagan people and we live and love and feel in awe.
We are a sensual people,
Our men like rutting stags,
Our women shaking the foundations,
Finding the Goddess or the God in a lover's arms.
We are a spiritual people,
Winding magic from the fire,
Looking to the moon
And the cornfield
And the whirling sky.
A cloud of steam rolls over the field
As they light it, wet embers cracking,
And Troll stalks around -
A dance of danger and respect,
Kindling the flames
Until fragments of fire break away
And tumble out over the electric blue twilight.
Now comes Herne, the Horned God,
Stag God of the Land,
Round and about the fire,
Calling his Pagan children,
And then we retire to the sweet place
And hear Damh singing 'Merlin am I'
To the strains of a guitar.
The honey of the gods is on our lips.
It is a good life, our life.