Morgana, my Muse, what ill-conceived
petulant or thoughtless act -
what secret of sorcery did you keep
from the Priest at my christening, that
was a blatant act of blasphemy,
when the Holy Water on my brow
burned and sizzled into vapour,
while all those present gasped?
Morgana, who intrigued me with stories
of Avalon - that legendary Otherworld
peopled with Priestesses, Sirens and other
disquieting beings. I wondered if they were your sisters,
whether it was you who'd invoked
those pale-robed hooded women
who nightly circled my girlhood bed
while chanting in an unfamiliar tongue.
In that harsh winter, when the snow
fell three feet deep and broke all records
and my Father had to dig us out, you lit
a candle and called upon Ariadne.*
After that all hell broke loose:
the spiders awoke from their hibernation
and prowled the dark recesses of our house.
Terrified, I was convinced they had come for my Soul.
Once, beneath a Midsummer full moon
I glimpsed you dancing, white-robed, in the garden
while humming to yourself a haunting tune.
I was mesmerized, transfixed in my window.
You resembled a Goddess, I thought,
all ethereal in the silvery moonlight
as you spiralled faster and faster, leaving me breathless.
Then a cloud obscured the moon and you vanished.
I remember holidaying once in North Wales,
when you presented me with a map of the region
and pointed out to me all the lakes and springs.
Well, you spent the entire week dragging me
across the breadth of Snowdonia: hours and hours
over rough and dangerous terrain - but for what?
It's vital that you learn from the land, you said,
Her savage nature is mirrored within you.
One morning at three o'clock I saw you, Morgana,
standing before me at the foot of a moonbeam,
in a pool of white light that filled my room
with a million sparkles of Angel dust
that I just knew couldn't possibly be earthly.
And yet, they collected like snowflakes
in my hair, on my pyjamas and my quilt. Reach out!
It was then that I realised I was more than just flesh and blood.
Every moment now, wherever I go
they shadow me - Seven of the Avalonian Nine,
their faces obscured within oversized hoods,
with robes shimmering from a setting sun
that never goes down nor rolls into dawn.
For this is the timeless realm you initiated me into:
like Priestess, the Neophyte - my destiny
is to uphold the Traditions of Avalon.
* Ariadne is the Druidic Weaver Goddess.
petulant or thoughtless act -
what secret of sorcery did you keep
from the Priest at my christening, that
was a blatant act of blasphemy,
when the Holy Water on my brow
burned and sizzled into vapour,
while all those present gasped?
Morgana, who intrigued me with stories
of Avalon - that legendary Otherworld
peopled with Priestesses, Sirens and other
disquieting beings. I wondered if they were your sisters,
whether it was you who'd invoked
those pale-robed hooded women
who nightly circled my girlhood bed
while chanting in an unfamiliar tongue.
In that harsh winter, when the snow
fell three feet deep and broke all records
and my Father had to dig us out, you lit
a candle and called upon Ariadne.*
After that all hell broke loose:
the spiders awoke from their hibernation
and prowled the dark recesses of our house.
Terrified, I was convinced they had come for my Soul.
Once, beneath a Midsummer full moon
I glimpsed you dancing, white-robed, in the garden
while humming to yourself a haunting tune.
I was mesmerized, transfixed in my window.
You resembled a Goddess, I thought,
all ethereal in the silvery moonlight
as you spiralled faster and faster, leaving me breathless.
Then a cloud obscured the moon and you vanished.
I remember holidaying once in North Wales,
when you presented me with a map of the region
and pointed out to me all the lakes and springs.
Well, you spent the entire week dragging me
across the breadth of Snowdonia: hours and hours
over rough and dangerous terrain - but for what?
It's vital that you learn from the land, you said,
Her savage nature is mirrored within you.
One morning at three o'clock I saw you, Morgana,
standing before me at the foot of a moonbeam,
in a pool of white light that filled my room
with a million sparkles of Angel dust
that I just knew couldn't possibly be earthly.
And yet, they collected like snowflakes
in my hair, on my pyjamas and my quilt. Reach out!
It was then that I realised I was more than just flesh and blood.
Every moment now, wherever I go
they shadow me - Seven of the Avalonian Nine,
their faces obscured within oversized hoods,
with robes shimmering from a setting sun
that never goes down nor rolls into dawn.
For this is the timeless realm you initiated me into:
like Priestess, the Neophyte - my destiny
is to uphold the Traditions of Avalon.
* Ariadne is the Druidic Weaver Goddess.
