Alfred Willowhawk's Page
Alfred Willowhawk's Groups
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Dragons
(102 members)
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The Society of Celtic Shamans
(37 members)
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poetry group
(70 members)
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Welsh Pagans
(20 members)
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Confederation of Celtic Shamans
(66 members)
Alfred Willowhawk's discussions
Following Your Path
Replied 1 day ago
Following Your Path
7 Replies
Started this discussion. Last reply by Ryver 1 day ago.
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Profile
- Relationship Status:
- In a Relationship, It's Complicated
- Age
- 43
- Country
- USA
- Astrological Sign
- Sagittarius
- About Me:
- I am a practicing Pagan in a Celtic Family Tradition for over 25 years. In 2005 I received ordination from the Church of the Seven Planes. I am a Licensed Spiritual Coach (2007) and a Reiki Master (1995). I recently published a book of poetry, Hawk Sighting. I am the editor in chief of the Heartland Spirit the Newsletter of the Heartland Spiritual Alliance.
My spiritual name is Vajrasattva Savitur and in Pagan circles I am known as Alfred Willowhawk. This name is drawn from The Willow Tree at the center of the Otherworld which is the Pathway to the Bright World and The Hawk, who represents recollection, cleansing of self and is the Messenger of the Otherworld.
- Website:
- http://www.vajrasattvasavitur.com
- Favorite Books
- Left Hand of Darkness, The Mabinogion, Earth Abides,
- Beliefs / Practices
- Pagan, Witch, Mystic, Shaman, Druid
- Other Beliefs/Practices
- I follow a Welsh Family Tradition that is generally listed as either Celtic Eclectic, or Welsh (erroneously) Fey Tradition.
My pantheon is however a little unusual, get to know me better and you will see. (Hint: see my Kriya Name Vajrasattva Savitur)
- Hobbies
- Photography, Tree hugging, journeying, reading, walking, biking, camping
- Heroes
- Tuatha DéDanann, Macha, The Morrigan, Cerridwen, Cernunnos, Bran, Branwen, Ffraid
- Likes
- Sinead O'Connor, Melanie, Wendy Rule
- Dislikes
- intolerance
- How did you find PaganSpace?
- Funny enough, one member republished one of my articles - WITH PERMISSION!!! So, I checked out the site!
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Hey sweetie! Hope you’re having a VERY COOL week! Vila
http://www.paganspace.net/group/realmofthearchers
so if thy will be so, come, join and share your uniqueness.
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Hey Hon! HAPPY WEEKEND!
John Barleycorn
There was three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn must die.
They took a plough and plough'd him down,
Put clods upon his head,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn was dead.
But the cheerful Spring came kindly on,
and show'rs began to fall;
John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.
The sultry suns of Summer came,
and he grew thick and strong;
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.
The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;
His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.
His colour sicken'd more and more,
He faded into age;
And then his enemies began
To show their deadly rage.
They've taen a weapon, long and sharp,
and cut him by the knee;
Then tied him fast upon a cart,
Like a rogue for forgerie.
They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgell'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turned him o'er and o'er.
They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim;
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.
They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe;
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.
They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;
But a miller us'd him worst of all,
For he crush'd him between two stones.
And they hae taen his very heart's blood,
And drank it round and round;
And still the more and more they drank,
Their joy did more abound.
John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise;
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise.
'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy;
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.
Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!
Marilee (aka Snowfire)
Esoteric Consultant / Shaman
Ancestral Coalescence
www.ancestralcoalescence.net
Epode V – The Witch’s Incantation
Horace
‘By all the heavenly gods that rule the world, And command the human race,
What does this hubbub mean, and all these savage Faces, turned towards me alone?
By your children, if Lucina came when called To assist at their proper birth,
By these worthless rags of purple clothing, I pray, By Jupiter who will condemn this,
Tell me why you gaze at me like my stepmother, Or a beast pursued by the spears?’
When the lad, who lamented with trembling lips Stood silent, stripped of a boy’s insignia,
His youthful body such a one as might soften The impious hearts of Thracians:
Canidia, those blunt vipers entangled In her head of dishevelled hair,
Ordered wild fig-trees, ripped from the sepulchres, With funereal cypresses,
With the feathers and eggs of nocturnal screech-owls All smeared with the blood of vile toads,
With herbs that Iolchos and Iberia, fertile In poisons nurture for us,
And bones snatched from the jaws of a hungry bitch, All to be burnt in Colchian flames.
Meanwhile eager Sagana, sprinkled water From Avernus all through the house,
Hair fierce and bristling, like a spiny sea-urchin, Or like a wild-boar in the chase.
And Veia, unrestrained by sign of conscience, Was digging the earth, with a sturdy
Mattock, while groaning hard over her labours, So the lad, buried to his neck,
His face showing like a swimmer’s, chin touching The surface of the water,
Might die staring at food, brought and taken away Two or three times each endless day:
This so his marrow and liver, extracted, then Dried, might form a love potion,
When his eyeballs, fixed on the meal he was denied, Had shrivelled all to nothingness.
Idle Naples, and every neighbouring town, Believed that the mannish wanton,
Folia of Ariminium was also Present as one of that number,
Who spirits away the stars with Thessalian Charms, and steals the moon from the sky.
Then savage Canidia, gnawing a long nail With livid tooth, what did she say
What did she not say? ‘Oh, faithful witnesses Of my actions, you, Night,
And you, Diana, who are the queen of silence, Where our secret rites are performed,
Now, aid me now, now, turn your anger and power Against the houses of my foes!
While wild beasts lie in the fearsome woods, Wrapped in the sweetest slumber,
Let Subura’s dogs bark at the old adulterer, He whom everyone laughs at,
Who’s smeared with the ointment that my hands prepared, And never more perfectly.
What happened? Why have barbarous Medea’s dire Potions failed to work, those with which
She took vengeance on that proud paramour, great Creon’s daughter, then fleeing,
When the gift of a robe steeped in poisoned blood, Engulfed the new-made bride in flames?
And yet no root or herb that may grow secretly In wild places eluded me.
He is sleeping there between perfumed sheets Forgetful of mistresses. Alas! He walks at liberty, freed by the charms
Of some clever enchantress! O Varus, doomed to a life heavy with weeping,
By use of no common potion Will you return to me, nor will your devotion
Be revived by Marsian spells. I’ll prepare something stronger, a stronger dose I’ll pour,
That will counter your disdain, And sooner shall the sky sink under the sea,
With all the earth spread over both, Than you not burn with passion for me, just like
Bitumen with its smoky flame.’ Hearing this the boy no longer tried, as before,
To mollify the impious, But uncertain how best to break the silence,
Uttered Thyestean curses: ‘Your magic spells can’t alter right and wrong, or
Avert human retribution. I’ll pursue you with terrors: no sacrifice
Will expiate my dark threats. Even when, doomed to death, I expire, I’ll come
To you as a Fury by night, A shadow whose crooked claws will tear your faces
With the Manes’ divine power, And settling myself in your unquiet hearts, I’ll drive sleep out with terror.
The crowd will crush you, obscene old hags, pelting you With stones from every side:
And then the wolves and birds of the Esquiline, Will scatter your unburied limbs,
And my parents, who will alas survive me, shall Not miss a moment of that sight
THE CAT AND THE MOON
THE cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet.
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.
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