Praise to Hathor!

Praise to Hathor!

Friday, 12 August 2016

A Prayer to Cymru

You were my home.
Not a place of beginning and not a place of return at the end,
But a warm shelter, a promise of safety, a familiar comfort and a place of unsurpassed beauty.
I walked barefoot with You on the sand, saw You smiling through the summer trees and singing along the rivers that I had never had the joy to see before I met You.
Ancient memories echoed through the woodlands, through the remains of stone and the maternal darkness of Your caves.
Such pride I had when I called You my home.
I possess endless greatfulness to have walked beside You, to have rested beneath Your stars and bathed in Your waters.
I have known Your wild mountains.
I have walked through pine and oak and gotten lost on the way.
I have watched the mist flood the valley and undulate across the slopes.
I have heard the Faery voices at the waterfalls, the groaning giants in the hills and the galloping centaurs on the tracks.
An ancient mist swells on Your land and clings to a memory older than we can know.
Part of me wishes I could stay with You, Cymru.
Part of me longs to climb Your hills, watching falcons, running with the horses, and to recline beneath the Milky Way, into the moss and the ferns.
I have lived by the sea, by the outstanding beauty of Your sands, and caves filled with echoing drums.
I have lived in the mountains, hidden by mist, listening to the rivers and Your wild indefinable song Faery song.

You were my home.
And I adored at Your hearth as my Mother here.
But now You lift me up, dusting off the sand and pine needles, and turn me to face the rising sun, to the East.
It is time to walk. To run. To dance. To fly.
You have given me love, awe, heartbreak and understanding.
You have filled my pack with all I will need on my journey. And You release me from Your embrace, covered in feathers and ochre.
I leave You filled with my memories, with love and lessons.
I leave You with fondness and great thanks.
And I raise my head to the sight of orchards, bubbling springs and a hill coiling from the earth...
I leave You for another home, for other hills and hidden waters. For other stories and myths to uncover.
I may meet a Lady dressed in blue, with black hair to Her knees. I may cross a lake and pay the toll.
But there reflected in the water, I will see Your glistening eyes reflecting back at me.
I will see Your dress of leaves upon the earth. I will see Your mossy hair on the stones.
Wherever I may go I will know You.
For home is where the Mother is.
And Mother is our home.