Into the Cauldron.

I am currently (as well as being under the weather with a chest infection) exploring the mysteries and myths of my Welsh heritage. It is challenging. I recognize much and yet find it difficult to put into words the meaning and depth of all that is raised. I have bought more books (Victor Tuners work) but it is the soulful quality of this exploration that makes me feel...different.
Words and phrases, questions raised without answer that have me haunted by this half remembering. In this cauldron of rebirth, of inspiration I am wary of my own voice. Wary of things covered half in mist and myth. Only in the dreaming, only in the Veil does all this seem simple. The stag within my dreams that has been with me for years as a gentle, comforting presence.

The bird, the blood and the feather floating on the water.

 I am finding words for way I have always been.

 Annwfy, the deep, both here and there, close but separate, a thousand worlds in a drop of water.
Goddesses of flowers and owls and lovers who are consumed in their passion for each other. Horses, dogs and stags, there but not there like the long dead cat playing with my curtains. I could weep and I am not sure why. A feeling of connectedness and yet distance like the shiny spinning stars. It is like the feeling at Worlds End, heart stopping beauty and a feeling of peace, and yet, and yet it is a liminal space that can not last. It is a place to visit, to pass through to Dinas Bran, to the white roaring river, to home.

 I surrender. I relax into that space within myself that remembers. I remember the sea. I remember my hands covered in the blood of birth. I remember fire and death. Of not being able to breathe. Nothing else comes but it has been so long since I pushed that memory away. So then it becomes clear. To accept I must remember, for the dragon in my skin, in my bones, in my belly that knows, that always knows and remembers requires my attention. I must dream of the river, slow and deep. I must find the clearing and leave the boat. I will walk up the hill in the meadow hemmed with old tree down the mound. I must bend my knee and touch the bones, the skull, and dream within my dream, down, deep and deeper down. I will speak to the dragon.

It has suffered all my pains, my injuries, and it remembered. All the evil words and deeds. Every blow. very touch. So I honour the dragon and I give it my respect and my love. She will shed one tear I drink it down. I will surrender to the blackness that comes before.