Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Quest of the Rose
See that hedge of roses, now?
(Beautiful, isn't it: Rose Moon nearly upon us, and the flowers at their opening.)
They say that there's a goddess in there, sleeping.
Waiting.
Centuries she's slept, now. Maybe longer.
Why, you ask? Well, now.
Some say it was a curse. Perhaps.
Or maybe some inner call, deep within? The inner life of goddesses, who can know?
But sleeping her hundred-years' sleep she is, and waiting for one to wake her.
And maybe it's you that she waits for.
See those thorns, now. They'll draw your blood, they will. They'll tear the flesh from your bones.
But sometimes, they say, the hedge opens.
And if it should open to you, now, then do you enter in, and seek her out, there where she lies within.
And if should you find her, rouse her, but gently.
How else, but with a kiss?
Comments
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Thursday, 02 June 2016
Fierce beauty.
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Sleeping Beauty, huh? Freya likes roses.