Difficult Journey's and Being of the Mist

Difficult Journey's and Being of the Mist

After an easy trip down there I spent this weekend at a Jack-in-the-Green festival in Hastings. I didn't see a lot of things, sometimes because I was napping to catch up on sleep, or because my host thought it was pointless or rubbish.
Yet the three most "magickal" events for me this weekend were not as you might imagine (and no it wasn't mussels mariniere but it could have been).
I was not overwhelmed by the sense of community and connectedness, far from it. Mostly people were people and other than TK, Witchling and MB (our host) I didn't feel connected to the people at all.
No that morning when the light crept up over the East Hill I felt no compulsion to "join in" even though I did.
I was aware that what I wanted was a fire (not only because on a coastal hilltop it is a bit nippy before dawn) and silence. Maybe not silence like a church, or even of meditation, but to listen to the wind and to the birds waking (it has been a long time since I heard dawn chorus).

I had set my alarm for 3 a.m, knowing I would need sometime to ease myself into awakeness and drink enough tea to be considered awake. By 4 a.m. we were up and dressed and by 4.30 a.m. we were in a taxi on the way to the hill. Unsure of who or how, or what was happening we followed the folks dressed in morris whites and bells. It was still dark at that point, the silver had not began to creep over the sea. We were few at that point too.

Slowly more people arrived and it a silver took the sea making everything like ghostly photographs. The many morris dancers and players began. It was very strange. I was torn between watching these people (some of whom were channeling a lot of energy and some who were not) and the increasing dawn light. More people arrived (some with dogs that growled and snapped at the other dogs, really, people? Really?) and as the light began to full appear the mood was excited and jubilant.

The orbs on the picture were not bugs (it was too cold and too windy) and we saw none while we were there. So it seems like the fae folk did join in with some of the dancing.
The more light there was the more joyful the mood and the dancing seemed to be.

I have not watched a sunrise for a long time. It was intoxicating. Uplifting. I used to watch one every day as a child. Funny the things we grow in and out of. 

In the ruins of an old castle I found something I thought I'd lost, and never thought that I would find again.

While the rest of the town was drumming or crowing the May queen, we, or rather I elected to go up to the East hill, the one that had drawn me the night before, was it, or was it the day? Time got funky over the weekend.

At any rate, I wanted to be up on the wilds(ish).

To some folks the weather would have put them off, I LOVED it. The clouds were at our level and were like living things moving and scattering in and out of the trees and gorse.

Hemlock and Blackthorn (oh Gayla it was everywhere in in bloom) hedges saved us from the wind for the most part and it was quieter near the edge of the cliff.

Carefully and with permission I collected Blackthorns and gorse flowers as we wandered into the mist and bluebells.It was another world. It was Anwen. Voices and gull cries appearing and disappearing in the wind scattered cloud.

Following the paths that could have been left by rabbits, dog walkers and the fey alike, that twisted and turned all the time the sea whispered in the background.

It was truly a magickal day and I could have stayed there all day but I walked as far as my feet would let me go.
The Jack-in-the-Green Parade on the Monday was again the third magickal moment for me. While some of the parade clearly knew the symbols and power they wielded some did not, but the power of Himself walked with them as clear as day. Several times I got shivers and felt his presence as they drummed, sang and thumped their way up the tiny street on which we perched. Often the parade stopped just before us (we had set up outside a pub which was open and doing roaring business at just 10.a.m)

It was strange to me that we didn't follow them to the castle, but MB assured me that the best spots would have already been taken and we would not see or hear much because there was no stage and all the people made it impossible to see the death of Jack.

Part of me was glad to eat more food and wander back through the almost immeasurable number of motorbikes (40.000, they believe) to the quiet. Part of me was glad that that vital and throbbing life force was not going to vanish before my eyes too.

No matter how difficult the journey's, no matter the lack of sleep or the cold, somethings are worth leaving your safe, comfortable place for. Somethings are worth the wind burn, the bags under the eyes and sore feet for. Comfortable is a cushion and sometimes we must do without it to remember we are truly alive.

Bright Blessings xxx

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