Some say the gods left these lands long ago, but I say the land is god. This wild solstice, I say they are still here. Sing for them.
Sing for them and lean in. Let me tell you what I’ll remember in my death cave. It began like this:
That beast of a sun-star was about to rise, and I met the hag on the mountain where time is a chilled sap running slow and thick, where the trees’ memories are more real than mine and the wolves walk in the same rhythm that gives an ancient cadence to my more mournful summer dreams. It was there I found her, still singing at the fireside, still brewing with goat’s milk, mayhem, and honey.
The hour went thin. I supped from her sweet cup, and, deep in the haunted mansion of my mind, the antique pendulum stopped swinging. The coming dawn swallowed us both whole, and, together, we sat suspended between the once and the future, that hag and I. Together, we sang of otherworldly creatures, bone-witches, alien worlds, and the green-dwellers who scry best in the early morning mist.
Together, we lived lifetimes in that portal between the sacred and profane, and I stayed there with her while the world below burned. I stayed while the seas lost salt and money lost meaning. I stayed while every clock fell from every wall, while every light went out, while every child named their own innocence holy and every tree started spilling its secrets.
“Speak through me, you Heathen Mother,” I said, and her voice rose from my depths like well water.
“Some say the gods left these lands long ago, but I say the land is god! I, the mud and the sea, say we are still here. Sing for us!”
And sang, I did. I swelled with a peculiar poetry the bolder women of my bloodline were hunted for, and I heard the anthems of the woodland drummer-folk below my feet. I sang the song my soul hears when I ask the right questions about time, temptation, and the human tragedy. I sang myself to death, and I met the magick of me. I sang myself to life, and I met the madness of the moment.
I was a fleshless ghost crouched on the grave of a world older than any I might call ancient, and I was a necromancer stirring the past awake with a low and lonely dirge. I was a broad-winged blackbird haunting the boneyards of the yet-to-come, and I was a peaceless but precious place.
I was there, and I was nowhere.
I was a living solstice of infinite possibility and utter despair. I dwelt on the aching edge of existence. I danced on the border between chaos and order, and I wept at the beauty of rot while the dawn painted the sky gold.
Because some say the gods left these lands long ago, but I say the land is god. I, the god in the ground, say we are still here. Sing for us.
Sing like you live inside the sun. Sing so loud your song ripples back through time and stirs the summer dreams of the ancients sleeping inside stone circles. Sing like you’re a stellar creature of flame and fury in love with a watery Earth and your song is your gift for a lover destined to be forever distant. Sing like I sang with that mountain hag at the fireside, with no witnesses but my future, frail self, remembering that epic dawn on my deathbed and sounding my soul home to the brilliant infinite inferno named Deep Time. Sing a solstice song for you. Sing for the hag. Sing for us all.
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Some say the gods left these lands long ago, but I say the land is god. This wild solstice, I say they are still here. Sing for them. Sing for them and lean in. Let me tell you what I’ll remember in my death cave. It began like this: That beast of a sun-star was […] -
Some say the gods left these lands long ago, but I say the land is god. This wild solstice, I say they are still here. Sing for them. Sing for them and lean in. Let me tell you what I’ll remember in my death cave. It began like this: That beast of a sun-star was […] -
Some say the gods left these lands long ago, but I say the land is god. This wild solstice, I say they are still here. Sing for them. Sing for them and lean in. Let me tell you what I’ll remember in my death cave. It began like this: That beast of a sun-star was […]
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Some say the gods left these lands long ago, but I say the land is god. This wild solstice, I say they are still here. Sing for them. Sing for them and lean in. Let me tell you what I’ll remember in my death cave. It began like this: That beast of a sun-star was […] -
Some say the gods left these lands long ago, but I say the land is god. This wild solstice, I say they are still here. Sing for them. Sing for them and lean in. Let me tell you what I’ll remember in my death cave. It began like this: That beast of a sun-star was […]
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