BELTANE

I’ve been spending too much time with the ancients. Time to wash the dust out of my mouth, lift a cup and sing. Afraid I'll have to settle for fruit juice and Seven Up. My cup may be purple or red. But both are pretty darned delicious.

Found this graphic on the net. It's an unusual image for the Green Man. It's a great example of the duality of nature. When you live in the city you sometimes forget that the beauty of Mother Nature has a dark, dangerous side.

CUP OF WONDER

May I make my fond excuses for the lateness of the hour,
but we accept your invitation, and we bring you Beltane's flower.
For the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay will heed the song that calls them back.
Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom; pass the cup of crimson wonder.

Ask the green man where he comes from; ask the cup that fills with red.
Ask the old grey standing stones that show the sun its way to bed.
Question all as to their ways, and learn the secrets that they hold.
Walk the lines of nature's palm crossed with silver and with gold.
Pass the cup and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom; pass the cup of crimson wonder.

Join in black December's sadness; lie in August's welcome corn.
Stir the cup that's ever-filling with the blood of all that's born.
But the May Day is the great day, sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay will heed this song that calls them back.
Pass the word and pass the lady, pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom, pass the cup of crimson wonder.

-- Jethro Tull

I discovered the British rock group Jethro Tull when I was in college, back in the dark ages. I had never heard anything like them. I played the flute from the fifth grade on and I wasn’t half bad. For a high school musician. But I swear Ian Anderson had a forked tongue or something. That flute DANCED and the lyrics to many of the songs, especially the album Songs From the Wood, had a hint of the pagan about them. St. Cyril would not have approved. Screw Cyril.

I’ve discovered that uncovering the roots of politics and religion is a bit like stumbling into the room where the sausages are made. The results might taste good, but you’d prefer that you didn’t know what went into them.

At sunset tonight Beltane begins. Celtic summer begins. The bonfires were lit. The wine filled the cups. It was a time of joy and feasting. Raise a cup and sing. Summer has come again.