{"id":12068,"date":"2016-01-01T01:10:34","date_gmt":"2016-01-01T06:10:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paganpages.org\/content\/?p=12671"},"modified":"2015-12-29T11:31:56","modified_gmt":"2015-12-29T16:31:56","slug":"finding-the-pagan-way-17","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2016\/01\/01\/finding-the-pagan-way-17\/","title":{"rendered":"Finding the Pagan Way"},"content":{"rendered":"

A Conversation with the Muse<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

I found myself in a large cave, and my goddess, who as you may know is also my muse, was looking every inch a faery queen. Her beauty always leaves me breathless. She seemed to be wearing a circlet of pearls woven into a silver band made from many fine strands. The strands of silver seemed to branch out from the core and formed interweaving spirals, between the pearls. Her ebony hair flowed down into the shadows and her deep brown eyes filled my mind with half-forgotten memories of sun-drenched foliage and warm moist air.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou have not visited us for a while\u201d, She said softly. Her voice seemed to carry concern and a faint hint of humour at the same time. \u201cI have been writing\u201d, I said, defensively. \u201cSit down!\u201d she said, and I noticed a plush sofa. As I sat, I felt a bony knuckle rap against the crown of my head. Looking up, I realised that she had changed personas. She was the ancient crone. Grey hair was tied into a scraggy bun with what looked like a leather thong and her perfect cheekbones stretched against the weather-beaten skin of her face. \u201cYou foolish child! how can you write anything of true value if you do not listen to your heart? You have wasted your valuable time in fretting about popularity and promoting your books! Listen and learn!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I felt her bony fingers touch my forehead as the scenery faded and memory drew me back through time. I found myself at an age when age does not matter, and sitting on the floor in my maternal grandmothers flat in Ringsend, Dublin. All around me were treasures. Tiny little glass bottles of many colours and shapes. She had taken them from the glass cabinet for me to play with. I was totally engrossed in the reflection of light through the bottles and the feel of the cool hard glass. Some were thick clear, uneven glass that distorted everything like a hall of mirrors as I looked through them. The glow of sunlight through the window shone golden through the amber vials. The green flasks made the room look colder and darker. Even on a summer\u2019s day, the fire was lit and I could recognise the unforgettable smell of turf burning. Life was simple and safe. I was too young for fear or anticipation and my past had barely begun. I sensed, rather than understood, my grandmother\u2019s love and her satisfaction in seeing me playing with her collection of old glass containers.<\/span><\/p>\n

I felt a touch on my forehead and I was back in the ornate cave. Flaming red hair framed her vibrant green eyes and billowed about my goddess, then swept down and around a flowing robe of green as she danced and swirled. \u201cWrite for me! She commanded. I felt puzzled. She laughed. \u201cYou are sitting at your laptop, aren\u2019t you?\u201d Suddenly I am here and looking back at what I have written. Have I been dismissed? I suppose I must relax and see what it is that I must write. I decide to make a cup of tea first, and I can hear her giggle somewhere in the back of my mind, so I know that she is still very near. While the kettle boils, I search for an image to inspire me. Do I have one as beautiful as her flaming red hair and laughing eyes? It hardly matters to a goddess with a thousand faces. I choose a picture to match my mood then sit and wait for inspiration as I sip my tea. The first few lines are granted, and I begin.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"PaganWay\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My Lady Moon<\/b><\/u><\/span><\/p>\n

Within that world, where ancient mysteries lie, unshared with few, except the brave.<\/span><\/p>\n

I walk the sacred path, determined that I keep the promises I made.<\/span><\/p>\n

I had sworn that I would live a life that was devoted to the truth and to the Fae.<\/span><\/p>\n

I had promised I would strive to live my brand-new life, immersed in magic every single day.<\/span><\/p>\n

A childlike heart is wont to stray within this night-time world of loving Fae.<\/span><\/p>\n

Where fireflies flit between the flowering moonlit trees to guide your way<\/span><\/p>\n

I stretch my mind to fill my senses with the beauty of this glowing aerial display,<\/span><\/p>\n

For, soon I must return to all the trials and all the complications of the day.<\/span><\/p>\n

I will walk the lonely path of mankind\u2019s world and spend each moment longing for my kin.<\/span><\/p>\n

I will count each weary day until my promise is fulfilled and I return again.<\/span><\/p>\n

Here among the dancing trees where laughter floats on every floral scented breeze,<\/span><\/p>\n

I will rest a little while, and I will find my smile again, among the flowers and bees.<\/span><\/p>\n

Join me! – If you dare, in my sweet world where children dance and sing without a care.<\/span><\/p>\n

Walk the starlit path that shines down from the moon and weaves between the trees.<\/span><\/p>\n

Here, in the woodland glade, where lovers promises are made beneath her silver light.<\/span><\/p>\n

My Lady moon will take you to a world where all is love and all is pure delight!<\/span><\/p>\n

Patrick W Kavanagh 12\/12\/2015<\/span><\/p>\n

Art by Bill Oliver<\/span> boysoblue.com<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Conversation with the Muse I found myself in a large cave, and my goddess, who as you may know is also my muse, was looking every inch a faery queen. Her beauty always leaves me breathless. She seemed to be wearing a circlet of pearls woven into a silver band made from many fine strands. The strands of silver seemed to branch out from the core and formed interweaving spirals, between the pearls. Her ebony hair flowed down into the shadows and her deep brown eyes filled my mind with half-forgotten memories of sun-drenched foliage and warm moist air. \u201cYou have not visited us for a while\u201d, She said softly. Her voice seemed to carry concern and a faint hint of humour at the same time. \u201cI have been writing\u201d, I said, defensively. \u201cSit down!\u201d she said, and I noticed a plush sofa. As I sat, I felt a bony knuckle rap against the crown of my head. Looking up, I realised that she had changed personas. She was the ancient crone. Grey hair was tied into a scraggy bun with what looked like a leather thong and her perfect cheekbones stretched against the weather-beaten skin of her face. \u201cYou foolish child! how can you write anything of true value if you do not listen to your heart? You have wasted your valuable time in fretting about popularity and promoting your books! Listen and learn!\u201d I felt her bony fingers touch my forehead as the scenery faded and memory drew me back through time. I found myself at an age when age does not matter, and sitting on the floor in my maternal grandmothers flat in Ringsend, Dublin. All around me were treasures. Tiny little glass bottles of many colours and shapes. She had taken them from the glass cabinet for me to play with. I was totally engrossed in the reflection of light through the bottles and the feel of the cool hard glass. Some were thick clear, uneven glass that distorted everything like a hall of mirrors as I looked through them. The glow of sunlight through the window shone golden through the amber vials. The green flasks made the room look colder and darker. Even on a summer\u2019s day, the fire was lit and I could recognise the unforgettable smell of turf burning. Life was simple and safe. I was too young for fear or anticipation and my past had barely begun. I sensed, rather than understood, my grandmother\u2019s love and her satisfaction in seeing me playing with her collection of old glass containers. I felt a touch on my forehead and I was back in the ornate cave. Flaming red hair framed her vibrant green eyes and billowed about my goddess, then swept down and around a flowing robe of green as she danced and swirled. \u201cWrite for me! She commanded. I felt puzzled. She laughed. \u201cYou are sitting at your laptop, aren\u2019t you?\u201d Suddenly I am here and looking back at what I have written. Have I been dismissed? I suppose I must relax and see what it is that I must write. I decide to make a cup of tea first, and I can hear her giggle somewhere in the back of my mind, so I know that she is still very near. While the kettle boils, I search for an image to inspire me. Do I have one as beautiful as her flaming red hair and laughing eyes? It hardly matters to a goddess with a thousand faces. I choose a picture to match my mood then sit and wait for inspiration as I sip my tea. The first few lines are granted, and I begin.   My Lady Moon Within that world, where ancient mysteries lie, unshared with few, except the brave. I walk the sacred path, determined that I keep the promises I made. I had sworn that I would live a life that was devoted to the truth and to the Fae. I had promised I would strive to live my brand-new life, immersed in magic every single day. A childlike heart is wont to stray within this night-time world of loving Fae. Where fireflies flit between the flowering moonlit trees to guide your way I stretch my mind to fill my senses with the beauty of this glowing aerial display, For, soon I must return to all the trials and all the complications of the day. I will walk the lonely path of mankind\u2019s world and spend each moment longing for my kin. I will count each weary day until my promise is fulfilled and I return again. Here among the dancing trees where laughter floats on every floral scented breeze, I will rest a little while, and I will find my smile again, among the flowers and bees. Join me! – If you dare, in my sweet world where children dance and sing without a care. Walk the starlit path that shines down from the moon and weaves between the trees. Here, in the woodland glade, where lovers promises are made beneath her silver light. My Lady moon will take you to a world where all is love and all is pure delight! Patrick W Kavanagh 12\/12\/2015 Art by Bill Oliver boysoblue.com<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":220,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12068","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12068","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/220"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12068"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12068\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12068"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12068"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12068"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}