Life did that thing it does, acting like life and all, and became rather busy for several months. Who would have thought trying to finish a degree part-time, keeping a healthy/active relationship with the family, a job promotion, and added Craft commitments would have taken up some much of my time? Everyone except me I guess. Anyway, this is not a complaint or an excuse, just context. Though the blog has been silent, my re-exploration into Druidry did not end.
Though I could, I’m not going to bother summing up the whole of the last several months. I think it is much more fun to just jump into the current and have at the action instead of a stale tale of a backstory, which I feel would be a boring affair indeed.
The latest significant change to my practice involves ogham. For years and years I worked with them magickally and divinatorily (it’s a word now). Then I sat them down and didn’t touch ‘em again for years. Why? Two reasons really. (1) I wanted to focus on tarot exclusively for a while. (2) I am an idiot sometimes; being human and all.
This changed recently when I was hanging out with a Gardnerian (amongst other things) friend of mine and he pulled out an ogham set whereby each ogham few is made from the corresponding tree. I only looked at them for a few minutes before handing them back. They were game changing though. It was as if they lit a fire in my head. Literally, I have had ogham permeating my thoughts on an almost constant basis. Just for clarity, I meant the literal use of the word literal there.
Imagine an old friend you haven’t seen in long time just showing up on your doorstep one day. It has been as such. Like all things in our spiritual pursuit, the only permanence is change and I can’t say what the future holds. I am glad though that the Wheel brought this one back around again.
It is important to let things drift into the past as needed, but if an old friend comes back invite them in and ask them to set for a spell or two.
Enjoy this poem!
THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS
by: W.B. Yeats
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
Boidh Se,
-Cuchulain Duir