THE MAGIC OF THE LAKE
The Initiations of the Lake
We have seen how deeply the magic of the lake, which is of a most ancient time, is woven into the panoply of Arthur’s realm. As his age begins in the forest with the awakening of Merlin, so it was to end, for that time, in the realm of Avalon.
The visualization that follows here takes you through three levels of the inner realms, where you will encounter the famous ninefold sisterhood mentioned by Geoffrey of Monmouth and others. These are the Faery women of the Arthuriad, and they bring the deepest connection with that path. The visualization is in three parts, and as you follow it you will encounter three of the sisters in each of the levels and be permitted to journey with one of them in each realm. The first level is that of Avalon, the hidden heart of Arthur’s realm. The second is Annwn, known as the Inworld or Underworld; the third is the mysterious Spiral Tower, dwelling place of the Lady Argante and her sisters Nimue and Enid, which opens into the vastness of the starry realms. Following this way you may learn much that will further your journey upon the path of the Arthurian mysteries, especially as they relate to the Faery realm. If you wish to gather together nine people to record the visualization, each may take the role of one of the sisters. With this work you enter the season of summer.
The Vision of the Nine
The Voices
In Avalon
- Morgan
- Guinevere
- Igraine
In Annwn
- Ragnall
- Kundrie
- Dindraine
In the Spiral Tower
- Nimue
- Argante
- Enid
The First Triad
Close your eyes. Breathe deeply and evenly. Let the troubles of the day fall away. As you do so there comes a slipping and sliding in your consciousness; patterns establish themselves behind your eyes, patterns that become clearer as you sink deeper into meditation…
You are standing on a high hill and looking out to a wild gray sea. In the distance a single sail moves in its own ray of light—dark purple with a nine-pointed star emblazoned upon it. As it draws nearer you see a figure standing in the bow of a slender craft: tall, dressed in red, with night-dark hair and skin as white as snow. In one hand she carries a bough from which hang nine red apples…
You look around for a way down to the shore but see none, yet the urge to be upon the ship is so great that you are almost prepared to leap out into the cold gray sea beneath you…Then the woman in the bow of the ship raises her hand, the hand that holds the apple bough, and shakes it; a sound like the chiming of bells reaches your ears, and all around you sky and earth tremble. In a dizzying moment you cannot tell if the air is above or below, if the land is beneath your feet or above your head, if you are standing still or moving…then you find that you have come to the deck of the ship and that you are face to face with the woman in red…
Her disturbing presence is overwhelming as she looks intently at you, probing deeply then suddenly smiling, laughing, holding out the apple bough towards you. Her lips move, yet you hear her words inside your head: “I am Morgan. Journey with me.”
The ship moves onward, swiftly now, flying before the wind, scarcely touching the tops of the waves. In moments, it seems, you sight new land, an island shore where you disembark, standing on soft and golden sand under a sky suddenly blue and tame after the tossing of wind and wave. Again you hear the voice of Morgan:
“Welcome. This is the Isle of Avalon, where dreams become true. Here the king sleeps until he is needed again. Here you will meet the first of the sisterhood of nine whose dreams are spun like webs of silk within the dreams you have dreamed and the dreams you shall dream. From me you may learn the mysteries of making and shaping, the springs of inspiration that I nurture with my heart’s blood. But before that, you shall meet the first of my sisters.”
Morgan leads the way inland, walking swiftly, her night-black hair streaming behind her. On all sides are apple trees, boughs heavy with fruit, the scent of which hangs in the air. Beneath your feet the ground is soft, the turf so luxurious that you kick off your shoes and walk barefoot, feeling the springy earth like a carpet beneath you…
Ahead now is a clearing amid the apple orchards, and there, beneath the shade of an ancient tree, sits a figure dressed in blue, her sun-gold hair hanging forward as she sits concentrating on spinning a thread of many colors from her spindle. As you watch, you are dazzled both by the whirling of the spindle and by the beauty of what she spins. Then she raises her head, and you stand bathed in the glory of her glance, which is both cool and hot. So bright is the light of her eyes that scan you as deeply as did those of her sister. And in your mind you hear her voice, clear as water over stones in a stream:
“I am Guinevere. I am the guardian queen of Britain, the consort of Arthur, the bringer of the Round Table. I spin the heart’s dreams of all who come to this place. My teaching is of the visions of the heart, and if you are willing I can take you wherever you most wish to go and teach you the deepest secrets of the heart’s desire.”
You hesitate for a moment, perhaps thinking of what is most deeply yours to dream. As you do so, Morgan speaks again:
“Not yet shall you journey with my sister. First you must meet another who waits nearby. Then you shall decide.”
Wondering, you follow Morgan away from the grove where the queen spins her thread of dreams and find your feet upon a faint path that wanders between rose bushes, each one blooming with flowers of deepest red. Their scent is so overwhelming that you become almost dizzy for a moment, and then you see a figure dressed in black and gold kneeling beside one of the bushes, tending to its roots. As you approach she sits back upon her heels and looks up at you. Flame-red hair frames her face and bright green eyes look out with an expression that is at once merry and filled with sadness. These are the eyes of one who has known suffering but who has transcended it. There is a quietness about her that hides strength as great or even greater than that of Morgan or Guinevere. In your mind her words come slow and steady:
“Welcome. I am Igraine, mother of Arthur, wife to Uther. I held the dragon’s head between my hands. I am all that nurtures the land of Britain, even though the task of guardian has passed to my sister Guinevere. Yet still can I guide you to the warm womb of motherhood, to the place where judgment is found and all ills can be healed. Come to me if you would learn the mystery of the engendering, for in my blood runs still the royal line of Avalon. It is an ancient bloodline that I carry still in my heart.”
Again you hesitate, and again Morgan prompts you:
“You may choose to journey with any one of us. But remember that we are but three of the ninefold sisterhood and that the others await you. With any one of us you may travel the middle realm, the place where the heart beats high and the blood courses swiftly in the veins; the place of the hunting and the capture, the blowing of the chase and the sounding of the morte. Enter upon this path at your will and be sure that whichever one of us you choose will guide you as surely as the other.”
The time has come to make your choice. You may travel with one of the three queens, each of whom offers a different path. Morgan’s is the path of enchantment and dream; Guinevere’s the path of the heart and of lost desire; Igraine may lead you to a deeper discovery of your place of origin, which is more than either your birthplace or your family’s line. Or they may lead to none of these things; according to your need and the need of your inner life at this time, you may travel elsewhere and for other reasons. In silence, then, follow whichever of the queens you have chosen—or who chooses you—and journey with her.
…
In the silence, no matter where or when you have travelled, suddenly you hear birdsong, and with that you are recalled from your journey, back to Avalon’s isle where you have fared this day. There stands Morgan, who, if you travelled with her, is there before you. With her stand her sisters, Guinevere and Igraine, and to each one you bid farewell and give thanks as appropriate. Awaken now to your own time and to the place from which you began your journey.
The Second Triad
Closing your eyes and sinking deeply into meditation, you return again to Avalon, waking amid the scent of apple blossoms and the sound of distant birdsong. Morgan is there to meet you, beckoning you to follow her down a different path, a way that leads steadily downwards between green banks that rise up higher on either side until you are walking in a dim and shadowy place. Then before you opens a wide cave mouth from which comes a glow of green and gold. At the entrance a figure stands, dressed in the color of leaves. In the shifting light at the entrance to the cave she seems for a moment to be ugly, then as you look again you see that her face is bright with mischief and laughter, and her honey-gold hair is as bright as autumn leaves. Smiling, she offers you her hand, and at a nod from Morgan you take it and follow her into the cave. As you look about you, you hear the voice of your new companion:
“I am Ragnall. Once, upon the road, I met a man who asked me the question: What is it women most desire? I was able to give the answer he sought because I am a guardian of truth and the sovereign gift of honesty. Later he gave me the choice of being fair or foul and thus anchored his answer in justice and balance. If you choose to journey with me, I can take you to the heart of all paradoxes and show you the path that finds a way through even the most difficult of circumstances. But first you must meet my sisters, for we are the second triad of the ninefold sisterhood…”
You follow Ragnall through the cave, which is vast and lit from within by green and golden light. The farther you walk within its great expanse, the less like a cave and more like the outside world it becomes. At last you are walking on green grass again, though you would be hard put to say when the floor ceased to be rock and became earth. Above the sky is clear, a pale eggshell blue in which tiny clouds are blown by a wind you cannot feel. Everything about this place seems undefined—you cannot say where sky ends and earth begins, what exactly the air feels like, what tricks the light and shadows play. Suddenly before you is a wall, with a high, narrow gate, through which Ragnall leads you. Inside is a garden, which has at once the appearance of being well tended and neglected. It has been allowed to grow wild as it will, and there is a predominance of thorn bushes and wildflowers that glow with delicate hardihood. There, coming to meet you, is a woman cloaked in black, with the hood of her cloak pulled up so that her face is in shadow. As she draws nearer, you see that her face is marked with suffering, but that great strength and courage show through also, softening the lines with warmth. In your mind you hear her voice:
“I am Kundrie, sometimes called the dark woman of the sorrows, for I have seen great suffering. Yet in all the long time I have walked the earth, I have striven always to help those I meet who are also engaged upon the long search. I it is who points the best way for them to go. Sometimes it is the way of greatest danger, for it can ennoble those who take it. If you choose to journey with me, I can take you by the shortest road, the way that all seek. I will not promise success, but I offer an experience to all who seek the way to the heartlands of life.”
You feel Ragnall’s hand warm in yours, and her voice urges you to follow her. But Morgan speaks again:
“It is not yet time to journey with my sister Kundrie. Another waits nearby whom you must also meet.”
You follow her deeper into this strange land where the edges seem somehow blurred, until you see a small hermit’s cell standing alone on a windswept corner of the land. Ragnall leads you to the door and bids you enter…
Within is a simple whitewashed room containing only a cot and an altar made of rough-hewn stones. Kneeling before it is a figure in a plain brown robe. Her hair is cut short, roughly, as though by her own hand. The face she turns toward you is still and peaceful. Her clear, bright eyes strike deep within you, and she smiles in greeting.
“I am Dindrane, the sister of Perceval and the keeper of that which is sought. I do not name it here, though you know it well. For this is a place where all things exist in a state of potentiality—they only may be realized by those who seek the truth with open eyes. If you would journey with me, you must prepare for great hardship. Like my sister Kundrie, I offer no easy way. Nonetheless, I will guide you to a great beginning from which you may continue without fear.”
Ragnall speaks at your side:
“You may choose to journey with any one of these, my sisters, remembering that these are but a part of the nine and that others yet await you. Choose now and go with whichever of we three you wish.”
The moment has come to make your choice and to journey where one of the three will take you. Ragnall may lead you on the path of becoming, the path that helps you recognize your true potential; Kundrie takes a harder road, but one that holds many clues to the search for stability and true sight. Dindraine’s path is perhaps the hardest, for she will help you look into the very face of truth, from which there is no turning away. Or it may be that you will be led to none of these things, but elsewhere. Choose now and follow whichever of the sisters you will.
…
No matter where you have travelled, you hear the sound of distant bells that recall you to Avalon. There stands Ragnall, who, regardless of whether you travelled with her, is there before you. With her stand her sisters, Dindraine and Kundrie, to each of whom you bid farewell and give thanks as appropriate. Awaken in your own time to the place from which you began your journey.
The Third Triad
Closing your eyes and sinking deeply into meditation, you find yourself back once again in the groves of Avalon. Ragnall is there to welcome you, beckoning you to follow her upon another path, which leads to where you suddenly see a wall stretching above you, and in it a narrow door, which is set ajar. Through it streams light that at first you take to be that of the sun, but which, as you approach it, takes on the appearance of starlight. A shadowy figure waits by the doorway, who, as you draw closer, becomes more defined until you can see that it is a tall woman whose hair and eyes both gleam silver, though she is by no means aged. She speaks:
“I am Argante, queen of the otherworld that lies beneath the water. I am the guardian of the sword of kings, and in my forges was it made. My sisters and I guard the way to the starry realms. Those who would walk there with us must be prepared to be changed forever. We weave webs of starlight stronger than any other substance, and our nets hold all who fish for wisdom and freedom. Ours is the blessing of sovereignty and the seal of transformation. Come, follow where I walk.”
As you take your leave of Ragnall and follow Argante through the narrow door, you see that on the back of her garment is emblazoned the same sigil of the nine-pointed star that you saw upon the sail of the ship which carried you to Avalon—but you have no more than a moment to see this, for you are filled with wonder and awe as you find that you are walking up a great spiral stair that rises through the heavens into a sky filled with countless stars. So bright is their light that you can see distances beyond distances, and the stars seem close enough to touch…Then ahead you see what seems to be a second great door, opening through space itself, and beside it stands another figure: slight, golden haired, dressed in shimmering blue. In her hands she holds a key that seems to be made of light, and as you approach she sets it in the lock of the great door. But before she turns it, she addresses you:
“I am Nimue, daughter of Diana, keeper of the key to all possible futures. I it was who learned the wisdom of Merlin and who taught him the secrets of the stars. I hold the way to the deepest realms of the inner world. Those who come with me will see all possible futures opened to them—their own and others according to their need. I bring the gifts of inspiration and transformation, as do all my sisters in this place. If you would come with me through this door, know that there is no turning back from the road that lies beyond.”
Slowly, Nimue turns the Key of Light in the lock and opens the great door. With some trepidation you step through…and are surprised to find yourself back on a dusty road between a landscape of hill and forest. You look around and there is no sign either of Argante or Nimue…then, far ahead on the road, you see a cloud of dust from which emerges a figure on horseback, riding towards you with some sign of weariness. As she draws nearer, you see a fair, fresh-
complexioned woman in a ragged dress. Her black hair flies unbound behind her, and there is a look in her brown eyes that puts you in mind of both her sisters, even though she is more humbly appareled. Smiling down at you, she invites you to ride with her and extends a hand to pull you into the saddle behind her. As you ride, she speaks:
“I am Enid. I ride the path of responsibility and caring. My dreams are all of love and trust and true blessing, but the way I journey is not an easy one for most who come with me, though at the end of this road there is the gateway to the Courts of Joy.”
For a while you ride in silence until you see before you a building surrounded by a fence or high stakes. As you draw nearer you see that on every stake save one a human head is planted. Some are old and have clearly been there for a long while. Others are of a more recent age…You turn your head away in horror, but Enid places her warm hand over yours and says, “Do not be afraid. It is true that those who come here alone must face the perils of the dark champion who holds the threshold to my house, but when you ride with me your test is of a different kind.”
The horse carries you both to the gate of the stockade, which swings open to admit you and closes again behind. Within is a courtyard and a house made of tree trunks thatched with golden straw. Enid helps you to dismount, and you both pass within. Inside, the walls are hung with fine tapestries, rushes strew the floor, and fragrant herbs burn in a great central fireplace. There, awaiting you, are Nimue and Argante. As you turn to look at Enid, you see that she is now dressed in a splendid scarlet gown trimmed with gold, her hair bound back by a fillet of gold. She speaks:
“Now is the time to choose which of we three you shall journey with at this time, always remembering that we are but the third triad of the sisterhood of nine. With me you shall know the truth of the Courts of Joy, and with me face the test of the champion; with my sister Nimue you may visit the interior of the world of which she is mistress; with Argante you may travel to the land beneath the wave.”
It is time to choose which of the sisters you will accompany on one further journey. Enid holds the keys to love and joy; Nimue to the mysteries she learned long since from Merlin, and which are her own mysteries; Argante is queen of emotion and justice. All three are weavers of the webs of truth. Choose now, according to your need, and journey well.
…
Wherever your journey has taken you, it is time to return. You are summoned by the cry of a magical bird, the heron that calls from the reeds along the shore of the Land of Dreams. There you see Morgan awaiting you. Now she is accompanied by all the otherworldly women you have met on this long journey. Morgan speaks:
“Soon it will be time to return to your own place, but before that, I have one further test for you. Look about you now…”
As you do so, you see that you are in a different part of the island. Here trees grow down close to the edge of a great lake of still water. As you approach, Morgan is there before you, holding out her apple bough towards you, and for a moment you are permitted to see with her eyes…In the depths of the lake a cauldron of mighty proportions lies, streams of bubbles raising from it, and the surface of the lake itself seems, for a moment, clouded. The shape of a great table is there…and when something prompts you to look up, you see in the sky and beyond the sky the shape of a great fortress, set round with stars. For a moment you can see these things as if they were as solid as in the world you live in, then Morgan withdraws her sight and all is as it was before, but you hear her in your innermost mind:
“This is my mirror, in which all dreams are shown and all truths measured. You may look within it, if you dare, and see what is meant for you to see. Here is all that is left of the world within the world, older than time as you know it. Here is your past and your future, as individuals and as a species. Look well. Remember what you see.”
One last time you look into the water of the lake of Faery. What will you see?
…
When you have looked, you become aware that you once again stand on the margin of the water, but now you are alone save for the sister with whom you travelled earlier. If you have any last words to say to her, do so now, for she is both one and many; she is Morgan and Guinevere, and Igraine; Dindraine, Kundrie, and Ragnall; Argante, Nimue, and Enid. Bid farewell to all and one, and listen to the song that rises from them, twining itself forever in your innermost heart and soul…Then, once again, Morgan shakes her apple bough above you, and slowly, in your own time, you begin to release the images you have perceived and reestablish contact with the world, which has texture and dimension, and which we call real.
The Tower of Glass
A Meditation
Close your eyes and enter a quiet place within you. From here you may journey forth into the realm of the otherworld. See before you the rough, gnarled trunks of two great trees, between which you see the tangled ways of a mighty forest, a mixture of shadowed rides and sunlit clearings. Go between the trees and walk ahead, letting your steps lead you where they will, until you hear, distantly at first but growing gradually stronger, the calling of birds. High and silvery, their voices penetrate deep within you, drawing you deeper and deeper into the forest…
Gradually, the land on which you walk rises until you are climbing through the great bastions of the trees, clinging to root and branch to pull yourself along. Finally you arrive at a level place and see before you a tall tower sparkling in the sunlight. This is no ordinary tower of stones and mortar; the sun reflects back from it in dazzling rays, for its walls are made of gleaming glass.
For a moment you stand, bemused by the sight, then you go forward towards an arched entrance leading within. Surprisingly, the interior of the tower is dim, the walls opaque. Sunlight strikes through but is caught, filtered, and turned back again. Outside, all is brilliance and glittering light; within is a cool, diffuse glow. A stairway leads upward, curving to the right around the softly glowing wall. You follow it up and up for a long time.
At length you find yourself in a circular room, the walls of which shimmer and seem at times translucent, at others opaque. In the center sits a figure at a loom, weaving. Her hair is long and black, her face pale; she wears a dress of many colors, which shift like a rainbow, showing now blue, now yellow, now red, now violet and many subtle shades in between. The pattern of her weaving is beyond description, being all of light and color, and is ever shifting and changing. You see shapes there as you look, but they are gone before you are able to grasp their significance.
Without pausing in the swift movement of shuttle and weft, the woman looks at you, scanning you with great power. Then, abruptly, she stands up, and though her hands are removed from the web and weft, the shuttle continues to move, ever faster it seems. The lady beckons you to follow her to the side of the room, from where you look out through a window of clear glass in the fabric of the tower. Below you see the forest spreading far into the distance. Now its mood is autumnal; the leaves turn to deepest bronze and strong winds snatch them and drive them into the mounds on the forest floor.
Then Nimue, for she it is, raises her hand and opens a door in the tower before her. She walks through the door and you follow in her wake, trusting yourself to her guidance. She moves more swiftly than you may have expected; caught in her train, you are drawn after her out and up into the sky itself…There you see before you a second tower, like the first radiating light, but this time set amid points of starlight.
Within the tower all is bright, as though the darkness without were compressed and turned back to form a border of light. Again the stair leads you upwards, and you enter a room seemingly identical to the one in the earthly tower, yet there are two differences. Here the loom is still, and the woven cloth, almost completed, is stretched in its frame.
Beside it, on a great bed, lies the figure of a man whose age is beyond calculation and whose sleeping face is possessed of such beauty that you are breathless at the sight. A suspicion as to the identity of the sleeper enters your mind, and you hear Nimue’s voice in your ears: “Yes. This is indeed Merlin, who sleeps here until the time for his waking. It was not I who placed him here, nor is it I who keep him here. I am the guardian only, and when the time is right I shall awake him again.”
Now Nimue moves to stand before the loom and bids you look upon her work. You hear her words: “I am she who weaves all threads into a pattern that none may read save one, and that is my brother Merlin. Yet, the weaving is almost finished, and because you come here with me, you may look upon the pattern and see one thing that you desire. Look well, for only once is this offer made.”
You look at the woven cloth, and there in the pattern, so complex that your eyes cannot read it, is a single, glowing picture—a scene, perhaps, or words that mean something to you alone. Look with care and remember what you see, for this opportunity may not come again…
When you have looked and understood what is there for you to see, you follow the Lady of the Web once again to the door of the tower. Somehow it is no longer set amid the starry sky but opens again onto the green wood where you began your journey. A few last words Nimue speaks to you: “I am the Keeper of Wisdom, the bespeller of night and day, the queen who rules over space and time in the world of wonders. Remember your journey and all that you learned. It is only part of the mystery of the nine, which you will come to know better.”
As her words ring in your ears, you walk forward and pass almost at once between the gnarled trunks of the two great trees. Your consciousness shifts, and you find yourself again in the place from which you began this journey. Take your time to awaken, and write down anything you wish of your time in the tower of glass.
The Wells of Life
(CM)
Before Arthur was king and when the mysteries of the hallows were as yet unrevealed, the seeds that flowered into the beginning of the quest were sown. Let us explore these now so that our awareness of the greater mysteries is deepened. Here we draw upon the story of the text known as the Elucidation (see chapter 5) and the story of the maidens of the wells, who served all comers until the lustful Amangons broke the good custom and sowed the seed of the Wasteland and the quest to restore it.
…
See before you a pool of water, still and calm. As you look into it, you can only see the sky and the trees’ reflection. Find an answering mirrorlike quality of clarity within yourself; it lives at the level where no fears or doubts can shake you. It is the clear mirror of crystalline awareness. Breathe and find the unshakeable stillness within yourself…
We are now going to return to a time before Arthur and before Amangons. Look into the still pool. Pick up a stone and drop it into the center of the stillness. As the ripples spread, so does the passage of time. Deep, back beyond remembrance, the stone drops, turning over and over, deeper and deeper. Now look around you.
You are outdoors. It is spring. The air is clearer than anything you have felt before. Everything has primacy, clarity, and depth. You are looking through pre-industrial air into the first created light. Look at the trees and plants about you: each leaf and flower is as though painted by an expert limner. Breathe and be at ease, for this is the land you have always loved but never visited; the land that lies at the foot of memory’s tree. You are at a place where four ways meet—four separate tracks that run like ribbons of earth over the green hillsides into separate distances. At the crossroads itself is a low mound with a doorlike stone set within it. You know this for a place of power.
Along the road comes a rider. He and his mount are weary. He dismounts at the crossroads and notices you standing there. “I see that you are a wanderer like me. Come, let us seek refreshment.” He strikes the stone door purposefully. It makes a hollow ringing sound as of a bell struck far off beneath the ground. As you watch, the massive stone door loses its density and becomes as translucent as glass.
At the same time as the stone dissolves to nothing, a high, clear singing is heard distantly. It strikes the heart with remembrance and wonder at its beauty. Three maidens come from the mound, so alike that they might be of one birth. One bears a candleholder made of precious stone and a knife of silver, one bears a white cloth, and the other bears a cup and ewer. As they move, their actions seem to etch music that hangs like harmonics of a stringed instrument in the air. They seem to weave together in a dance; when they have finished, you see that the cloth has been spread on the grass and the cup, ewer, knife and candle set upon it.
The traveler gives them thanks and sits down to the cloth. “What would you like to eat and drink?” he asks you, and you wonder at this, just as you wonder what use a candle is in broad daylight. But you sit down nevertheless and watch the traveler. He holds his hands to the candle as though to warm them and music threads the air that emits both light and shape about you. As it starts you feel as though your ears were suddenly unblocked after a period of deafness.
He then lays both hands upon the cloth and there appear numerous dishes of savory foods whose odor involves the taste buds instantly. Stews, pies, fruits and puddings cover the cloth. The traveller then pours from the ewer into the cup, and a clear red ale fills the vessel.
He drains it appreciatively, then attends to his horse. He pours the ewer into the hollow of a rock that forms a natural trough. To your surprise, clear water flows out. Touching the cloth again, the traveler picks up a bundle of fresh hay that appears and gives it to his horse.
Pick up the ewer now and pour it into the cup. You can ask for any drink you want. Now drink it…it is as though your taste buds had been retuned to appreciate nourishment. The draught is refreshing.
Now lay your hands upon the cloth and think of the food you like best; it appears before you. Eat with good appetite, using the knife to cut your food. Each morsel is delicious, giving you health and strength. You and the traveler finish your meal, sharing with him the cup with which to wash it down. You are both restored, and the traveler’s weariness is utterly gone. You feel younger and lighter and look wonderingly at your hands, which seem more supple and smooth than before.
The traveler smiles and says: “Those who drink from the wells of life will be ever young within, they say. Farewell, wanderer! Hold fast your road.”
He strikes the door-stone once more, thanks the maidens for their service, then mounts up and rides off. As soon as you have risen from your meal, the maidens return. As each touches the candle, the knife, the ewer, cup, and cloth, the music and the food and drink vanish as though they had never been, and they return to the mound.
As you wonder about the maidens, you hear this song coming from beneath the ground:
These are the Courts of Joy
Which in your heart unfold.
Beyond the haunts of men
Remains the land of gold.
Where treasures lie
And memory tells
There rise the deep
Forgotten wells.
All who would drink the cup
Must travel without end.
All who would cut the bread
Must promise to defend.
The earth remains to you the quest:
Seek for the Courts of Joy, then rest.
And when that they be found
Then comes the endless joy.
When hearts are set at one
There shall nothing annoy.
Seek for the treasures
One by one
For so your quest
Shall be begun.
Remember this moment when you need to in times to come. But now return to your own time and place. Take one last look and close your inner eyes. The still pool waits. You see the stone that you dropped into the pool falling and coming to rest upon the bottom. As it does so, you are borne upwards on the ripples to the surface of the pool. You emerge and watch the waters become still once more.
You have been given a quest, if you wish to take it up. Now, preserving all that you have experienced in your deep memory, return and open your physical eyes.
The Initiation of Taliesin
The Celtic bard Taliesin first made his appearance in the sixth century and was soon incorporated into the Arthurian world as Arthur’s bard. Poetry attributed to him has survived and is full of wisdom and knowledge. He was, as we have seen, a friend and an equal to Merlin, schooled in the arts of vision and magic. He has been a significant guide throughout much of our own mystery school teachings over the years, and he brings a contact with both the goddesses of the Arthurian world and with Avalon itself. What follows is a meditation that draws upon Taliesin’s own dramatic initiation and displays his connection to the unseen world of Avalon and the Faery traditions.
…
A crack opens in the wall and you walk through it. You emerge into a huge cornfield. Clumps of trees lie along the edge of the field and a river runs swiftly by. You walk through the rustling corn. Ahead lies a range of hills split by valleys. Huge boulders lie strewn across the earth. As you walk, the path climbs before you and there ahead is the entrance to a cave. As you draw near, you see firelight gleaming within. You enter and find yourself in a large cave. At the center is a fire, above which hangs an ancient iron cauldron.
To one side of this, warming his hands at the fire, sits a figure wrapped in a brown hooded cloak. Bright eyes gleam out from the depth of the hood and he indicates that you should sit with him. You do so and the figure throws back the hood. You see a narrow face with intense eyes that study you for a time. Then the figure speaks: “I am Taliesin, once called Gwion. Welcome to my humble dwelling. Why have you come?”
In your own words you answer him, telling him that you have come seeking the initiation of the cauldron. He tells you this is not for everyone, and at this point you should search your heart to see whether you really feel ready. If you feel that this is the time to attempt this test, follow the instructions Taliesin gives you.
First he points to the cauldron. “Behold the mystery. Here is the cauldron in which I sought for inspiration in the broth of creation and from which I drank all knowledge. If you truly seek this initiation, you must first bathe in the starry waters.” As you hear these words, you become aware of a pool of still, dark water that lies to one side of the cave. Taliesin indicates that you must enter this; mustering all your courage, you walk forward into it. The water is ice cold and you catch your breath, but you walk onward and the water swiftly closes over your head. Now it is no longer water but another substance, something akin to both water and air, which you find you can breathe easily. Darkness surrounds you, but within it bright points of light shine out. There is a sense of endless peace. Gradually you become aware of a voice singing quietly in the dark vastness of this place…
Before you, half hidden by a veil of light, the singer smiles at you. Warmth spreads through your being and you find yourself filled with joy. Silently the singer waves you onward, and you float through the starry darkness like a swimmer on a vast and tideless sea. All around you are bright figures whose shape and form you cannot quite see but whose presence is as real as any living being. You sense, without really knowing, that these are stars or perhaps the souls of stars, and that as you are aware of them, so are they aware of you. As you float with them through the vast darkness of the cosmos, you hear a part of their song—at least as much as your mortal ears can understand. You feel a great peace descend upon you, and a new realization of your true purpose for seeking the initiation of Taliesin becomes clearer…
As the music fades, become aware that you are back in the cave again and that Taliesin sits watching by your side. After a moment in which to recover from the first part of your journey, he beckons you forward and bids you look into the cauldron. It is filled with a brew that seems almost luminous and swirls with a motion of its own. Taliesin bids you dip a finger into the cauldron. The liquid within is cool enough not to burn but makes your whole hand tingle. Wonderingly, you raise the finger to your lips and draw upon the drink of inspiration…
Everything is changed now: the light of the cave splinters into shards, and music born of no earthly mind sings in your head. You find yourself whirled away out of time and place, and as you do so you begin to change shape. You find yourself in the shape of a hare, running outside in the open cornfield, sensing behind you a vast and mighty presence, which, though it has no form, seems to possess the essence of a hound. Swiftly, you race across the field and see before you the back of the river. There you change form again, into the shape of a silver-sided fish. But once again the presence follows you, this time cloaked in the essence of an otter. You swim as fast as you can through the water of the river, but as fast as you go, the otter comes closer, until at last you burst forth and take to the sky in the form of a bird…
Higher and higher you fly, looking down at the wide world spread out beneath you. But then you become aware of the presence that still follows you, now taking form as the shadowy essence of a hawk. Still fleeing, fearful of what may happen if the presence catches up with you, you fly down towards the sheltering earth. There, on the ground below, you see a heap of winnowed wheat, a scattering of husks and grains. Fluttering down, you shift shape again, into a grain of wheat. You wait, silent and still, as once again the presence descends upon you. Then you are aware of the essence of a red-crested hen that scratches amid the piles of husks and then, in a moment, takes you into its crop and down into darkness…
There you lie, quiet as a babe in the womb, and it is in this moment that you become aware of the identity of the presence that has followed you, and all your fears melt away. The presence has many names and many faces, many of them known to you. But the face it presents to your innermost senses now is a new one, a face that looks upon you with compassion and love, who receives your soul and holds it in a warm and gentle embrace. Within that embrace you begin to learn, absorbing wisdom as a child ingests food. Knowledge comes to you that you have long sought, and you are bathed in it as if in water or light. You feel yourself begin to grow, to stretch forth and break free from the enclosing chamber of the presence, until you find yourself standing once more in the field of standing corn. Above you the sky is eggshell blue, cloudless, and the round disc of the sun shines down with a glorious light. In the distance you see a shimmering figure approach, and as it comes within sight you see it is Taliesin, garbed now in a garment of white that gleams as brightly as the sun. In his hands he holds a disc on which is engraved three rays of descending light—the ancient Druidic symbol of inspiration known as the Awen. Smilingly, he places this around your neck and bids you wear it always in token of the initiation of Taliesin…
Slowly the vision begins to fade, and you become aware again of the place from which you began your journey. The crack in the wall closes behind you. Awaken in your own time to normal consciousness and record anything you need from the journey.
The Wisdom of the Sword
It is no accident that many of the greatest weapons listed amongst the heroes of myth and legend had names. This was not simply to make them distinct; it was to acknowledge the uniqueness of each blade, hilt, and setting. From Arthur’s Excalibur to Roland’s Durandil to El Cid’s Tizurna and Sigurd’s Gram, each had its specific power and its own abilities. Nor should we be caught up too easily in the warrior ethos, the destructive side of the weapons. As we saw in the Grail story, the spear that wounded the king was also the cause of his healing, while the swords carried by Galahad and Gawain rendered the darker aspects of human consciousness powerless.
We heard in chapter 8 how the modern Fellowship of the Round Table crafted their own blade, empowering it with ritual and chant. The five meditations that follow here form the basis of this work. They are intended to be experienced over a period of time, and whilst practitioners are free to adapt and experience them over a shorter period, taking time and working slowly will bring a more empowering result. These are followed by the ritual of awakening the sword, which provides a far deeper awareness than simply its intended purpose.
Meditation 1: The Sword in Winter
(VC)
Incense: Cedar, pine, and raspberry leaves
Oil: Frosted holly or other mint-based oil
Before you, upon a wall of clean and polished white stone, hangs a tapestry. The thread is polished and shining. The tapestry is simple: a wooden door with an ornate handle of gold. The tapestry seems alive with movement and magic, and you reach towards it, focusing on the golden latch. You are not surprised to feel the cool touch of the precious metal. You turn the knob slowly to the right and hear a satisfying click as the door begins to open…
You venture out from your safe and warm abode into the chilled and frosty outdoors. It is twilight, and to the west the winter sun settles beneath the horizon amidst a tapestry of fiery red and orange. To the east you can see the darkness of night approaching. Silvery starlight dances in the sky as a crisp wind begins to blow from the west. The moon is full and polished and riding on the sky in a dazzle of silvery light. The wind seems to be tinged with voices singing…laughing…weeping…
A path upon the frozen earth beneath your feet becomes clear. It begins at your own doorway and unfolds into the west. As you step forward, you feel a slight shift in the earth beneath you. Breathing deeply and feeling the strong beat of your heart within your chest, you take a second step. Another shift beneath your feet leaves a tingling sensation, and when your vision clears you stand at the threshold of a magnificent forest. Clad in thick snow, the forest is silent as you stand before it. Standing to either side of the path are two trees. Tall and mighty, they look to be oak, but then your vision blurs again for a brief moment, and when it clears the trees are birch. As you stand there, the trees continue to transform into what you now realize are all of the sacred trees. You feel a beckoning to continue on the path and so you step forward again into the west.
After quite some distance, you see the path diverge into several directions. One turns and leads to the north and another to the east. The path continues westward, and as you puzzle over where to go next, the wind comes forth again, bringing with it the voices that are clearer now and, it seems, closer. You continue west on the snowy path.
Before you the forest suddenly opens to unveil a magnificent lake that seems to stretch for miles upon miles. It is still night, even here, yet the starlight is brighter, more dazzling, and everything seems to be white or silver and glowing. You hear the singing again—a very high, melodic voice accompanied by the strings of a harp—but it still seems far away.
You realize the lake is frozen, and it is such a startling blue color that you are certain the ice is too thin to tread upon. And yet…you place one foot on the lake’s edge: the ice is firm. You step forward carefully. The ice looks thin, but it feels thick and solid beneath you. You look up from the frozen surface and see a flash to the north. Up higher, against the starry sky, you see a shooting star streak north to south and then disappear in a blaze of gold and red. You see the flash again and this time you are sure that whatever it is, it is farther out on the ice.
You walk towards the flash. Within moments, you see an object sitting upon the ice that flashes and pulses with the dancing starlight above. As you get closer, you then see that it is a broken piece of ice—no, not broken; it is a small tower of ice that actually rises forth from the surface of the lake. Inside it a sword rests. You can see a jeweled hilt with dragons whose eyes blaze red and gold with each twinkle of the stars above.
Take your time and look at the sword. Watch how it dances; feel its vibration; hear its song. You silently thank the Lordly Ones, the Folk of the Lake, for this vision.
At the edge of the lake you see a path, the same path cut into the hard, cold earth that led you to the forest. With a step, you are once again upon it and walking towards your own safe haven. With a few more deep breaths and strong beats of your heart, you are safely within your own world and in your own time.
Meditation 2: The Sword Awakens
(A. E. Christian, Guild Seeress)
Incense: Pinch of oakmoss, one part lavender, one part vetivert, and several drops bergamot oil
Oil: A blend of rose, bergamot, and vetivert or any oil that creates a sense of light upon cool earth
Closing your eyes and sinking deeply into meditation, you awake to an awareness that you are in another place…
Ahead of you lies a forest path; the dark trees of winter are very dimly lit from behind with the colors of early morning twilight, pale blues fading into a hint of saffron on the horizon. The air is exceptionally crisp and the scent of moist earth permeates the area.
You begin your journey down the path, moving with ease and comfort on the damp but supportive trail. Walking down the path between the trees has a peaceful, almost hypnotic effect. Many have walked this way before you, and the narrow way has been worn deeply into the earth. As you travel, the sound of a bird distracts you for a moment, and your attention is turned to the northeast, where you catch sight of something amid the trees. You make a sign with your hands for luck and blessing and leave the path to investigate. Keep this sign in your thoughts.
You draw closer, and the object you saw takes shape. Closer still, you see that it is a pale gray stone, almost white in the ambience of predawn light. It is just taller than a tall man and has smooth edges. As you inspect it further, you see a young rowan tree growing beside it. You give homage to the sacred tree and make your way back to the path through the forest.
The light is growing somewhat brighter, and you are sure morning will be upon you soon. Continuing onward, you hear voices in the distance—perhaps the sound of a woman weeping. You feel beguiled as the sound shifts to that of bells and wind.
A large clearing opens up onto a low hill ahead and you step forward, receiving a full view of the brilliant pre-dawn sky. After a few moments of appreciation, you survey your surroundings and are surprised to see small, delicate white blooms scattered throughout the area.
A wellhead built from light-colored stones is before you, and a building is set at the edge of the clearing, its large hall doors facing the west. You cannot help but gaze into the well for a moment. It disappears into darkness, leaving the sense of a great depth into the land below. Somehow this is a comfort to you despite your relative smallness. You look up and notice that a torch is lit in a sconce on the right of the hall doors. You are certain it was not lit before, but there is no one here, only a silence before impending dawn.
Curious, you approach the hall, put your hand between the doors, and pull, as there are no bars or fixtures. The huge door opens with unexpected ease. You walk into the apparently empty hall, where a single narrow vertical window draws you across the room to the eastern wall. You cross the packed dirt floor to reach a large table, on which lays a large intricately woven piece of red cloth. You wish to examine the serpentine pattern but first vow to yourself to return it exactly to its place. As if in response an audible easterly wind buffets the hill and the side of the building.
You begin to remove the cloth to look at it more closely, and to your surprise it reveals a splendid sword that seems to glow in the luminous morning light as you pull the fabric to one side. The metal surface of the blade is perfect and unblemished, and without hesitation you reach for the sword and pick it up to test its weight and balance, turning around so the light from the window can aid in your inspection.
As you do so, moving it slightly side to side, a shaft of light breaks through the window and touches the sword, creating a fiery, sparkling light that fills the hall with dancing lights. A sense of joy and deep personal power rises within you. After a moment, you lower the sword; in your field of vision you see myriad faces around the room observing you in silent expectation. As your sight clears, you place the sword back on the table and look around but see only the rough patterns in the wood of the surrounding walls.
You take a moment of silent communion in this strange sacred place and return everything to the way it was when you arrived. You thank the ancestors and spirits of the forest for showing you these marvels, and you leave this place to make your way home. As you leave, questions begin to arise, but you remember the mysterious torch and decide that there were mysteries at work. You decide to look within for answers another time. You make your way back to the starting point of your journey, back to the light of a normal day, inspired to express a new strength in all that lies ahead.
Meditation 3: The Sword Unfinished
(Govannon, Guild Forgemaster)
Incense: Dry oak leaves, green and brown pine needles, coal, additional herbs of your choice
Close your eyes. Note how you are sitting. Consider if the position that you are now in will still be comfortable in ten minutes. If not, change position now.
Today you pass into the spiritual realm. The spiritual realm may be interpreted by your mind in many ways. This is one interpretation. With time, upon reflection, your interpretation may change. This is normal. This is growth.
Take three deep breaths.
Let all fleeting thoughts flow from your mind so that you are grounded, centered, and empty of thought. Squeeze your eyes tightly shut for a few seconds to remove any images or after-images of the world around you. Let all extraneous sounds flow over your body and onward so that you will not be interrupted in your journey.
Breathe deeply to become accustomed to the smells within this space so that you will not be drawn away by them.
…
You are assembled in a forest clearing with your friends. It is an old-growth forest with large- diameter trunks and very little underbrush. There is a light breeze as the trees wave their limbs to cool you. A woodpecker pierces wood and silence in search of food.
The sky is light; the forest is dark. Streaks of sunlight pierce the pattern of leaves with the intensity of frozen lightning. Above the clouds play. Streaks of light come and go, seemingly at random, dancing across the forest floor.
(Add oak leaves to the censer and fan the smoke.)
The scents of spring are around you. In the distance there are sounds of someone working the land. The feel of the air is that of the first crisp morning of spring: dry, cool, acrid, almost electric…a day when spring approaches to chase away the cold of deepest winter.
At your feet, among the leaves, is a path. It leads away but only in one direction. It is a mystical path that only may be found under special conditions. Now is the time. You and your companions stand and begin to follow the path.
As you move down the path, you hear the sound of last autumn’s leaves crunching beneath your feet.
(Crunch up additional leaves and add them to the censer.)
As you pass through a shaft of light, the cool morning air is pierced by the warm touch of sunlight upon your cheek. As you walk, you see that the path curves by a stream. It bubbles over large stones, ever purifying itself, to be used again and again by those who have the need. If you have the need, kneel down and refresh yourself.
(Pause and place pine needles on the censer and fan the smoke.)
Looking farther down the trail, you see that it is partially blocked by a stand of small fir trees, their limbs close to the ground. Walk to them, push the limbs aside, and pass through. Be careful to not let the limbs fly back and hit the person behind you.
Inside the fence of trees is a village. The people nearest to you, when they see who you are, continue to go about their business. They know you. Others are walking about, doing their daily chores, dressed in clothing that you find familiar.
(Place coal dust upon the censer and fan the flame.)
As this is a day of celebration and trading, many people still continue to watch you cautiously. A smile and an open hand, palm out, signifies that everyone comes in friendship to trade, to visit, to learn.
To the left is the smithy, identifiable by smell, smoke, and noise. A small group stands around the forge, one to the side working the bellows.
Walk over until you are close enough to see but not close enough to get burned or be in the way. There is a table nearby that holds a number of unfinished blades. Look at them to see if you can decide what they will be when they are completed. You notice that one is wrapped in silk and tied with white rope.
While you are examining the blade, the smith strikes the anvil three times to signify an end of work and walks over to the table. He picks up the wrapped blade and bends his head to your group. He then turns around and nods at the surprised apprentice, who was working the bellows, and walks out of the smithy. All follow, even the apprentice.
The now fully assembled group walks to a large round hut. Though it is primitive in style, it is built with more care than the other buildings you see. The bottom of it, to waist level, is constructed of stone and mud. The stone is flat, angled, with each layer pointing a different direction. The top section, from waist to shoulder height, is wattle and daub, in which sticks are woven and strengthened with mud and straw. Different types and colors of mud give the hut character, as well as displaying mystical patterns, some of which you may recognize.
The top of the hut is thatch. Wisps of smoke from an unattended fire exit the central hole.
(Add more pine needles to the fire.)
As you approach the hut, you feel it is a sacred place. Some in your group look around expectantly, for many do not know what lies beyond.
Within is the realm of the gods and of those who follow them.
To the left of the entrance is one who guards the portal. Large, silent, hooded, and still, the guardian points to the opposite side of the entrance and indicates a hollow in the stone. Inside the hollow is a burning candle, well protected from the elements. From the wax drips hanging off of it, it looks to have burned for years.
Next to it are unlit candles for visitors’ use. The guardian directs you to take one. Pick one up and bless it appropriately.
Using your inner fire, light the candle in your hand. If you cannot light the candle at this time, this is acceptable. Learning, practice, maturity, and magic are all necessary to accomplish this work. Not all of these skills have to be mastered. It is allowed, instead, to light the candle from the sacred flame in the hollow.
Anyone with a pure heart, good work, and honest intentions is allowed within the sacred building. All are allowed to speak to the gods, and the gods will speak with all if they sense you are true.
As you bend low to enter the sacred place, the guardian moves to block the way. He lays his staff across the doorway and waits…
Do you know the words?
Tell the guardian your name and the words that are spoken upon entering a sacred place of the gods—the words that only a true follower will know. Only a true follower knows and understands the full meaning of Perfect Love and Perfect Trust.
Only after you have spoken these words does the guardian remove his staff from the door and motion for you to enter.
But as you approach to enter, the guardian again moves to block your entry. He then blesses you with the four elements. Only after you are properly prepared does he step to the side to allow you to enter this most sacred place.
The inside is dark. Only enough light pierces the holes in the roof to allow you to move around without tripping. Faces and objects pass through your sight, as through a dense fog. The gods are here, walking among men—walking as men, helping mankind as mankind helps them.
(Pause. Add green pine needles to the censer, then add one at a time any additional herbs you may have selected earlier.)
The smells of the village, of herbs, and of yesterday’s supper are faint. The smells of animals and people linger also. The smells of healing teas, sassafras, pine, cinnamon—strong, sharp, acrid—cut through the mustiness as the gentle outside breeze reaches tentatively through the cracks in the wall.
Some that you see are sitting around the outside perimeter, exploring their innermost thoughts. There are others chanting so low that you cannot make out what they are saying.
The blacksmith takes the unfinished blade and walks to a depression in the wall. He unwraps it and cuts the rope, which he then holds over a white candle that is sitting on a stone outcropping. The rope is consumed. The honey-tinged flame pierces this magical temple with a flickering but unwavering brightness. It sits unprotected in this sacred place, burning strongly but varying often in brightness and color; as spells and wishes flow through it, both to and from the realm of the gods.
The blacksmith steps back and sits down. He turns and beckons all in your group to do so as well.
Beneath the sacred candle, the drips of a thousand candles cover the stone. Ribbons of hope cling to the wall above it, colors representing deities, desires, and dreams. Coins of desire are stuck between the sticks and vines where the daub has weathered away.
Stare at the flame. What do you see?
Stare at the flame. Ask a question of the gods that you feel surrounding you in this sacred place.
Consider your quest. What do you wish to accomplish by having traveled this path?
Did you hear an answer? Some answers are not spoken. Some answers are given as a guiding hand, a guiding light, an opportunity, or an opportunity missed. Some answers are not meant to be told because you must discover them for yourself. Some answers are found only by examining the path taken, not the reasons or results.
Assuming you find the end of your quest, what will you do next? The quest, like life itself, is not a destination; rather, it is a path. When one corner is turned, another wall of doors appears in front of you. Looking at the doors and not knowing exactly what is behind each is a part of the journey.
A quest is a formalized hunt. A quest may be for the mighty boar, the giant stag, or the hunt for the meaning of life. But oftentimes a formal hunt is not necessary to find an answer.
And yet a formal quest with companions of a similar mind is always more fun, more fulfilling, and more rewarding. Many hands make light work, and many minds can find different aspects that a single person possibly would not see from their single point of view.
The things you experience in a sacred place many times must also be considered outside of the sacred space, within the mundane world, before understanding comes.
…
This is a magical place. You may reenter it at any time by lighting a candle in the dark. You may at any time exit it by taking your fingers and squeezing the flame of the candle. Keep your eyes closed, use your mind now, and squeeze out the flame of this, your personal candle of spiritual guidance.
As the flame extinguishes, you find yourself magically sitting in a circle with your friends, somehow spiritual and yet mundane at the same time. Your adventure is over. Take three deep breaths and feel yourself again sitting upon the floor in the same place you started.
You have passed into, through, and back from the world of the gods. If you have the strength, if you have the will, if you have the need, you may return to this place at any time. It is your decision. It is your personal space. It is your personal route of contact with the gods.
Open your eyes.
(When everyone’s eyes are open, tap three times with a staff or other magical implement. If you have a hammer and anvil, use these.)
Meditation 4: The Sword in Summer
(Rhiannon, Guild Herald)
Incense: Rose, honeysuckle, oak leaves
Oil: Grail oil (see Part Three), cinnamon oil
Close your eyes and let the world around you fade. With your inner sight you see that you are in a forest. You can hear the song of insects; you can hear bees buzzing; and in the distance a rain crow calls.
As you look down, you can see you are standing on a well-trodden path that winds through the woods and out of sight. You decide to follow this.
As you are walking, you can see and feel the alternating warmth and coolness of the sun as it weaves its way through the trees. You can smell the warm, sweet smell of the woods in summer. You feel a sense of peace and well-being as you walk, and soon you begin to realize you can hear the bubbling and splashing of nearby water.
You look around to see if you can find the water, but the woods are too dense. It sounds as if it is coming from the west, and you see a small path veering off the main one in that direction. You decide to step onto the small path. You walk a short way before you find it ends in a small clearing.
There is grass and clover in the field, and it’s growing right up to the edge of a bold stream that runs right through the middle of it. A few short steps take you to the edge of this shallow stream.
You see its cool, clear water gently bubbling and lightly splashing as it tumbles over the pebbles, stones, and sand.
You decide to sit down in the grass and clover beside this stream. You notice that the water is so very crystal clear that you can see each and every stone and the individual grains of sand. The sound of the gently rippling water and the play of sun and water on the sands and stones of the streambed are strangely fascinating, yet peaceful. As you watch, it seems a small shifting of sand takes place, and you feel you can almost see a shape of something else in the streambed, perhaps buried in the sand.
As you lean forward to reach into the water to see if you can find what you might have seen, a cloud crosses and blocks the sun. Instinctively, you glance up and are a bit surprised to see that the sun is not blocked by a cloud but by someone standing a few feet away on the opposite side of the stream.
As you stand up to get a better look, you see that it is a lady. She is dressed in rich blue and gold robes, with her long dark hair wafting gently as in a slight breeze. You understand that she is someone who can help you in your journey, and she smiles, as if in acknowledgement of your thought. You may ask her anything you wish.
…
You thank the lady and are starting to turn away when a brief glimmer of light catches your eye. You stop and turn back, but the lady is gone. Then you notice that the sand in the streambed has shifted to reveal a bright sword lying there. You notice the blade itself, the elaborate hilt, and the constant play of light and color as the waters ripple over it. You feel the spirit of the sword, hear its song, and relish its beauty. Take your time and experience the power and energy of the sword.
…
You thank the lady and the inner guardians of the sword for these visions. As you look back at the water, you see the streambed is once again only a streambed, with cold, clear water rippling over pebbles, stones, and sand.
A few steps take you to the edge of the clearing and put your feet back on the small path. A few more steps bring you back to the main path in the middle of the forest. Three deep breaths bring you back to your own time and place, feeling refreshed and awake, bringing with you the memory of this time and place so that you may return whenever you wish.
Meditation 5: The Harvest Sword
(Eibhlean, Guild Minstrel)
Incense: Frankincense and amber
Oil: Cedar
Give yourself time to relax and breathe. Follow the rhythm of your breath in…and…out. With each outward breath, your awareness sinks deeper. Let your eyes gently close, continuing your breathing.
You are moving through a forest. The rich, dark evergreen scents of pine, cedar, and juniper hang heavy on the air. The trees tower like silent columns holding the cold night heavens aloft. The moon hangs low, crisp, and vivid orange in the sky. You step out of the forest onto a vast plane of waving grasses; barley and wheat glow in the moonlight and seem to move in spiraling waves, drawing tighter and tighter inward towards a clearing at the center.
You follow the spiraling grasses as they spin in a slow and grand dance inward. As you reach the center of the spiral, you see seven standing stones in a clearing. Lightning plays over the surface of each one and moves outward in a web of blue light to a sword standing point-up in the middle of the stone circle. It glows and shifts between deep red and luminescent blue and reaches tendrils of light to each of the stones, creating the lightning pattern over them.
You see the tips of the grasses that are touching the stones draw light back into the field—and looking closer you notice brilliant red flowers opening and floating along the ribbons of light. You move into the stone circle and sword-light plays around you. There is a thrumming drone in the air and you begin to hear words form. The sword speaks to you:
In this, the time of first frosts and final harvests, is a time of letting go and clearing away. This is a time of inner cleansing to make way for the justice of karma and a time for seeking shelter in friendship and community. See how the grain gives its light in sacrifice to support those who nurture its growth so that the light may return as blossoms of promise, showing that life only sleeps and will soon return.
You get a glimpse of expanded awareness; a vision of spiraling galaxies opens and spreads around you. This vision begins to spin inward and condenses into a single glowing seed in the palm of your hand. This is the final seed of your yearly harvest. You can decide what it will be comprised of—what you will sacrifice to give it the promise of birth in the next year. You take the seed and eat it, feeling the glow and life warming you within. You have become the promise, and the sword sings its approval.
You turn away and step out of the ring of stones, following the rippling grasses back to the forest’s edge. As you step into their vaulted halls, you hear the wind sighing through the branches high above and you know they also have seen your spark and the promise you carry within. The rich resin scent rises around you and the forest fades from your vision.
You find yourself back in the physical realm, completely aware and in touch with your body. You feel peace, release, and joy at the anticipation of the harvest of the present and the promise of the future.
Sacred Sword-Awakening Ritual
Ritual Equipment:
- Sword
- Chessboard
- Spear
- Chalice
- Guild sword
Officers enter the circle carrying the elemental objects:
- East, carrying the sword, walks deosil around the circle once, to stand in the east
- North, carrying the chessboard, walks deosil around the circle once, to stand in the north
- South, carrying the spear, walks deosil around the circle once, to stand in the south
- West, carrying the chalice, walks deosil around the circle once, to stand in the west
The smith enters the circle carrying the guild sword and walks deosil around the circle once, to stand in the center.
ALL
Gather around the sacred stone
Hand in hand, no more alone.
For we have heard the Old Ones call
Of one family are we all.
Chalice from the Lady,
Spear from the Lord,
Stone from the Wise Ones,
We gather for the Sword.
North turns to face outward, holding the sword high. It is then placed upon the altar or point-down in the ground or upon the floor in that quarter if you are indoors. The quarter is saluted. A yellow or gold air candle is lit in the north.
NORTH
Peace to the north. Welcome, Ancient and Mighty Ones of Arthur! Hail and welcome! Welcome, Knights of the North; join us in our rite.
East turns to face outward, holding chessboard high. It is then placed on the altar and the east is saluted. A green earth candle is lit.
EAST
Peace to the east. Welcome, Ancient and Mighty Ones of Arthur! Hail and welcome! Welcome, Knights of the East; join us in our rite.
South turns to face outward, holding the spear high. It is then placed upright, point down, in the ground or laid upon the floor if you are indoors. The south is saluted. A red fire candle is lit.
SOUTH
Peace to the south. Welcome, Ancient and Mighty Ones of Arthur! Hail and welcome! Welcome, Knights of the South; join us in our rite.
West turns to face outward, holding the chalice high. It is then placed on the altar and the west is saluted. A blue water candle is lit.
WEST
Peace to the west. Welcome, Ancient and Mighty Ones of Arthur! Hail and welcome! Welcome, Knights of the West; join us in our rite.
Invoke the Lady of the Lake and Merlin from the center of the circle (see page 221 for formula). The guild sword is then placed in the center of the circle, and earth/north lays hands upon it, saying:
NORTH
Let no earth crush by sand, by iron, by rock.
SOUTH (places hands upon sword and says)
Let no fire burn by sun, by moon, by flame.
WEST (places hands upon sword and says)
Let no water drown by wave, by river, by lake.
EAST (places hands upon sword and says)
Let no air choke by smoke, by gas, by smog.
SPIRIT
Be the Caim na Brighid about me (the Protection of Brigid)
Be the Mantle of Gentle Brighid about me
Be the Shield of Mighty Brighid about me
Be the Fiery Sword of Brighid about me.
Designated officer takes the sword and holds it aloft to the gods.
ALL
Fire in the forge that shapes and tempers.
Fire of the hearth that nourishes and heals.
Fire in the head that incites and inspires.
We ask for the blessings of the Ancient and Mighty Ones and the Folk of the Lake upon this sacred sword, that it may be used for knowledge, justice, and truth. May it guide us well on our journeys and act as the foundation for our strength.
The sword is then carried to each of the quarters and presented for blessings by the Ancient and Mighty Ones. The forgemaster holds the sword; each quarter officer uses the quarter candle to make an invoking sign over the sword, saying the following.
NORTH
O Ancient and Mighty Ones, here we present to you our sacred sword, forged in the name of the Excalibur of old, to honor the mighty gift from the lake and to bring forth the power and wisdom from days long past. May you bless it and infuse it with your love, power, and protection so that it may serve in knowledge, justice, and truth.
EAST
O Ancient and Mighty Ones, here we present to you our sacred sword, forged in the name of Excalibur of old, to honor the mighty gift from the lake and to bring forth the power and wisdom from days long past. May you bless it and infuse it with your love, power, and protection so that it may serve in knowledge, justice, and truth.
SOUTH
O Ancient and Mighty Ones, here we present to you our sacred sword, forged in the name of the Excalibur of old, to honor the mighty gift from the lake and to bring forth the power and wisdom from days long past. May you bless it and infuse it with your love, power, and protection so that it may serve in knowledge, justice, and truth.
WEST
O Ancient and Mighty Ones, here we present to you our sacred sword, forged in the name of the Excalibur of old, to honor the mighty gift from the lake and to bring forth the power and wisdom from days long past. May you bless it and infuse it with your love, power, and protection so that it may serve in knowledge, justice, and truth.
The sword is now returned to the center and power is raised to activate it for service. Blessings of the Grail are invoked. Farewell to the quarters is stated.
NORTH, EAST, SOUTH, WEST
O Ancient and Mighty Ones, Folk of the Lake, thank you for attending us and adding your love, power, and protection to our rite and to what we have accomplished. Stay if you will, go if you must; let peace always remain between us.
Officers exit with relics, north, east, south, west, and then spirit.
The Wisdom of the Spear
To balance the power of the sword we offer here a further series of meditations focusing on the spear. Unlike our sword hallow, the Fellowship of the Round Table did not forge our temple’s spear hallow; we did, however, perform a series of meditations and rituals over the period of a year to aid us in merging the energy of the spear within ourselves and in our work as a group. The spear energy is fire, and it is, in a word, potent. Working with the spear requires a firmly established connection to earth, and one must always and at all times respect everything that the spear encompasses. The group’s meditations begin in the cold of winter, where the seeker is invited into a magical castle and witnesses the “Sleeping Spear.” We then seek the blessings of the spear energy and, later, the gifts of the spear. Finally, we come to the Wasteland and witness the Wounded King, not through the eyes of the Grail seeker but through the spear hallow itself.
Note: The Fellowship of the Round Table was founded in 2006 by a group of esoterically trained Arthurian practitioners who seek the enlightenment of the Grail. It is a private and closed group and has no internet presence.
Meditation 1: The Sleeping Spear
(VC)
Incense: Frankincense, myrrh, and amber
Oil: Cedar
Candles: Red, silver, and gold
Before you, upon a wall of clean and polished white stone, hangs a tapestry. The thread is polished and shining. The tapestry is simple: a wooden door with an ornate handle of gold. The tapestry seems alive with movement and magic, and you reach towards it, focusing on the golden latch. You are not surprised to feel the cool touch of the precious metal. You turn the knob slowly to the right and hear a satisfying click as the door begins to open…
It is twilight, and to the west the winter sun settles beneath the horizon amidst a tapestry of fiery red and orange. To the east you can see the darkness of night approaching. Silvery starlight dances in the sky as a crisp wind begins to blow from the west. The moon is full and polished and riding on the sky in a dazzle of silvery light.
A path upon the frozen earth beneath your feet becomes clear. It begins at your own doorway and unfolds into the south. As you step forward, you feel a slight shift in the earth beneath you. Breathing deeply and feeling the strong beat of your heart within your chest, you take a second step. Another shift beneath your feet leaves a tingling sensation, and when your vision clears you stand upon a narrow bridge that leads to a tall, white, dazzling castle of many towers.
Cloaked in thick snow and ice, the castle is silent as you stand before it. The gates to the castle courtyard are open, and to either side stand two mighty pillars. You feel a beckoning to continue; move across the bridge and through the open gates into the courtyard of the castle…
Once inside the courtyard, you are greeted by a still and heavy silence. Without being told, you know that, for now, it is forbidden to speak in this place or to disturb the silence in any way. Move silently to the doors of the castle which stand in the north. You need not knock; the doors open for you. Step through them and into a large, open hall where many torches burn upon wall and pillar and fires burn in braziers. The warmth envelops you, almost taking your breath, and you are reminded of the cold of winter that still lingers upon the world, but not here—here the silence rests like a heavy cloak, but you feel safe and welcome. There are tables scattered throughout the hall, but the remnants of any feasting that may have taken place have long vanished and any token of a living being is not to be found. You feel quite alone…
You are quite alone…
There is a staircase at the southern end of the hall. Go to it, noting the floor and the walls. When you reach the staircase, ascend slowly, deliberately, confirming each step until you reach the next landing and see many doors of a long hallway.
Walk the hallway until you reach the very end, where a final door stands shut. It will open for you. Step inside…
You see four walls of cold stone…a sleeping man in a magnificent but bloodstained bed…and in the corner, hanging with the tip pointed to the floor, is a spear that does not move, and yet you see movement. Step closer…
Beneath the spear is a stain, dark and large, absorbed by the stone floor for eternity but always wet and warm for the moment. You realize that the spear is bleeding. Allow your eyes to travel from the stain of blood up to the keen point of the spear, which drips…drips…drips…in a steady beat up the strong wooden shaft of the spear to the chain from which it hangs and into the bloodstained ceiling…
Allow your gaze to return to the inverted tip of the spear. Follow the trails of blood as they run across the metal blade…listen:
I am a Keeper of Time
I am a Steward of Man
I drink the Blood of the Martyr
I fashion Rivers of Destiny
I wound those who will guide
I give Victory to those who will wield
I call to the Hunter
My sons and daughters are many
My song is eternity…
I am the Spear of Many Names…
I am the Spear of Destiny
The Spear of Longinus
The Spear of Doom
The Spear of Time
The Bleeding Lance
The Piercing Lance
The Spear of Lugh
The Gae Bulga of Mighty Cuchulainn
The Spear of Mordred
The Herald of All Mighty God
I am the Flaming Spear of the End…
I am the Bleeding Lance…
I am the Bane of the Dying King…
I am a Staff upon which you lean
I am a herald for the banner of Truth
I am a Keeper of Destiny
I am a Bridge between Worlds.
Sit quietly and allow yourself to commune with the spear. Continue to listen to its tale.
Silently thank the Lordly Ones, the Keepers of the Grail, for this vision.
Make your way back out of the room and down the hallway. Descend the staircase to the main hall of the castle and move outside into the crisp winter night. Move slowly towards the narrow bridge. At the far end of the bridge you see a path. With a step, you are upon it and walking towards your own safe haven. Take three deep breaths and count three strong beats of your heart. Open your eyes: you are safely within your own world and in your own time.
Meditation 2: The First Blessings
(Rhiannon, Guild Herald)
Incense: Oak, Grail incense (see Part Three), sassafras
Oil: Grail (see Part Three), rose
Close your eyes and sink deeply into meditation…
With your inner gaze you find that you are back in the forest. This is a familiar path; you have been here before. You see the sun dapple down through the leaves on the trees and hear the crickets and bees. As you walk along the path, you notice the dry autumnal dust that kicks up with each step. You feel the heat and humidity of the day.
As you walk, the humidity and moisture become heavier, beginning to form into fog. The dappling of the sun is gone now, but you are walking through the white cloud, the path just visible through the mist.
Now the path takes an upward incline, but it is gentle and your feet feel sure on the path. As you continue onward and upward, the fog becomes heavier, and it seems as if your path is leaving the heavy forest behind it as the trees become fewer and farther apart. This is confirmed as you look up to see the fuzzy orange glow of the sun through the fog.
Your feet take you a little farther up the path. You are unexpectedly greeted by a bright, nearly blinding light as you come out of the mist. The air is cooler and drier, the sun is bright overhead, and the path appears to lead directly to a hilltop a few yards ahead.
When you arrive at the top of the hill, you notice it is flat. There is a circle of standing stones and the ruins of a structure of some sort.
In the circle of stones is an altar with something lying upon it that is covered by a rich gold and red cloth. Behind the altar is a woman dressed in armor as for battle. Her face is gentle and kind; however, the sword she wears reminds you that you should tread carefully around her.
She looks at you inquiringly and with a sweep of her arm indicates the altar and what is on it. You step forward and fold back the cloth on the altar to reveal a spear. You notice the wood of the long handle. You notice the shape and keenness of the spearhead. You notice small spots of old blood dried upon the spearhead.
As the lady watches, you realize that you know of this spear. You can see its life as if you yourself were the spear. You can see the battles of which this spear has been a part and the healing it has brought. This spear has seen fiery deserts and icy mountains and fields of green and cliffs of ocean. It has spilled blood and healed wounds.
You look up from the spear to the lady in armor, who has a tear running down her cheek. She smiles at you and recovers the spear from your hands. She takes your hand and puts something into it, closing your fingers upon it. You close your eyes and give thanks, and when you open them you are alone and once again facing the path.
Looking down the path, you see that the fog appears to have thinned and you start back down the path. You see more and more trees as you go back down the path until the land flattens out again in the forest. As you walk along the level dirt, you open your hand to see what you have been given by the armored lady…
A few more steps bring you back to where you began on the path through the forest. Three deep breaths bring you back to your own time and place, feeling refreshed and awake, and bringing with you the memories of this time and place and the gift you received. You may return here anytime you wish.
Meditation 3: The Wounded King Lies Sleeping
(Eibhlean, Guild Minstrel)
Incense: Red sandalwood, rosewood, and myrrh
Oil: Clove and Peru balsam
Closing your eyes and sinking deeply into meditation, you awake to find that you are standing, unhurt and without pain, in the heart of a fire. Roaring flames stand all around and inside you. An all-consuming passion, this fire can both create and destroy.
What rages inside you?
We all hold a flame within us. We are all connected to the fires of creation that molded the world and set light in the stars. This raging flame lives in us all, with the potential to create or to burn utterly. We can transform the raging fires of our passions by giving them shape and purpose. We can control them and give them direction so that they can be used to heal. Because the fire will find its expression, if not to create, then to destroy.
Have you found a purpose for your passion?
The fire of the spear is power and inspiration combined. It is the gift of the ancestors that allows their blessing to be shared by all. If we can break free from our self-imposed prison of fear and stand in the flow of power and inspiration, we will be able to face the fierce rage within. If we fail this test, our spirit will die.
How are you holding back the gift of your power?
Energy, excitement; the desire to be, to live; passion and creativity. This power can overwhelm.
What skill do you use to serve your people?
The Wounded King teaches the alchemy of smithcraft. He shows us how to purify the rough iron ore of our talents. He asks us to choose a vocation and a practice as a mold. He teaches us to hone and work on our skills until they become good tools that are of use to our people. The only way to do this purification and shaping is by using and faithfully practicing our creative skills and being true to our craft.
What craft do you practice for the good of your soul?
The Wounded King speaks with the voice of the Beloved. He can guide us through darkness and storm into the forest of our creative calling. His teaching gives us the freedom to fly with our skills and create liberally. We can be creative by not being too ambitious too soon but opening to the flood of inspiration. We must be true to our practice, rebuilding it when it falls into disrepair, so we can follow the calling of our soul.
He lies and sleeps under the hills. He is the spirit of the land turned inward, gone quiet and secret. As he sleeps, only the very skilled listener can hear his breathing. He awaits our trumpet call. He awaits the time when he is called to life again. He has suffered everything for his land. He has a deep connection with the life-force that lives within the land. And as the waters dry, he suffers. He is attuned to the cycles of life and goes within when life fades.
What is asleep in you?
The Wounded King is our own power waiting for us to call it and awaken it. It is time to accept the power we admire as our own and make the call. We can call on our power if we are in great need but also if we stand in the joy of life and know that we are meant to truly live. This sends out a trumpet call that awakens our soul’s power and the spirits that support it.
How do you attune to the cycles of life?
The Wounded King is the power of growth in the land who fought to defend his realm but was wounded. He is wounded by all things that are limiting, indifferent, discordant, and alien to joy. He will now set sail to the otherworld, from whence he will mediate power and inspiration to this world. That way his wounds can be healed until he is ready to come again, reborn.
What must we do to bring freedom, desire, harmony, and belonging into our lives, so that joy may come?
The Wounded King is the power of the land that has been wounded by limitation. His gift is communication between the worlds. We can embody his energy by following our star of hope. Healing cannot come if you ignore the wounds. When we embrace what has been wounded, the waters of power will flow again.
What vulnerable part of you needs to be embraced?
This king helps us to see our pain as a gift. Our wounds are where we carry our energy. If we accept and embrace them, that energy can flow freely again. This is a reversal of common attitudes.
The Wounded King takes on the destruction and pain of the world. The spear has a mysterious double-edged quality; it is a spear that both heals and wounds. Passing through the pain of the wound through compassion allows love to descend and healing to occur.
The Sleepers
(VC)
The previous meditations concern the spear that both wounds and heals. It opens us to the themes of the Wounded King, the making of the Wasteland, and the causes of the Dolorous Blow. It brings also to mind the story of the Sleeping Lord, Arthur himself and others before him, whose presence in the land acts as both a protection and a promise of hope to come.
The importance of the magical sleepers is often overlooked. We know the tales of Arthur’s sleeping in Avalon, but much like the Grail seeker when he or she first enters the Grail Castle and fails to ask why things are as they are, we miss the point. We leave the Wasteland and venture onward. We leave the sleepers as they are, content that they are asleep, unaware of what it is that they do for us.
Looked at in this way, Arthur becomes the Sacrificial or Harvest King, gifted with the honor of becoming the Sleep Lord for having served for his entire earthly incarnation as a protector of the land. He returns Excalibur, for he no longer has need of it, and as a reward he is taken to Avalon, where he will sleep.
Arthur’s death was a ritual death; we know that he was “wounded unto death” by his son, Mordred. We also know that Arthur, in turn, slew Mordred. Two deaths. A ritual battle. A ritual death with ritual weapons.
It is generally assumed that Arthur used Excalibur to slay his son, but the legends point more to his spear, Rhongomyniad, which means “the Hewer.” Using Excalibur for this final encounter between Mordred and Arthur would have been a blasphemy to Avalon. It could not be Excalibur that dealt Mordred the wound. Mordred was as much a child of Avalon as Arthur, and using the sacred sword would have been like the Dolorous Blow, which leaves the Grail King impotent and the land a Wasteland.
The point of this double sacrifice was to heal the land and dream it to health and fruition. Arthur is slain by either a spear or one of his own swords. Mordred is, in some versions, using a sword that also belongs to Arthur; Clarent is its name, and it was stolen from him. Other weapons are needed, perhaps ceremonial weapons that serve this purpose exclusively.
The intense battle is a facing off between one who is Pendragon and one who lays claim to the throne by birthright. According to the majority of the legends, there are only three warriors remaining near the climax: Arthur, Mordred, and Bedivere. Arthur and Mordred duel, and as Mordred strikes and fatally wounds his father, Arthur strikes as well, fatally wounding his son. They must have fallen very close to one another on that bloody field in a final, haunting embrace of death.
There are versions of the Battle of Camlan where the cause of the conflict is presented as a huge misunderstanding. In one version, a serpent appears in the grass near one of Arthur’s warriors, and what was becoming a peaceful resolve results in a bloody battle when the warrior near the serpent draws his weapon to slay it. A misunderstanding…or was it? A serpent suddenly appears in the grass when a peaceful resolve is about to take place? Coincidence? Perhaps Mordred and Arthur are fearful the rite will end both their lives and are trying to work out another way? Perhaps someone or something intervenes by placing the serpent in such a convenient location? Perhaps this particular warrior is terrified of snakes and it is known that he will draw his weapon, thus causing panic and havoc and, ultimately, the ritual battle? There is this version in the Mabinogion (translated by Lady Charlotte Guest):
“I am Iddawg son of Mynyo, yet I am better known by my nickname.”
“Will you tell us what that nickname is?”
“I will. I am called Iddawg the Churn of Britain.”
“Chieftain, why are you called that?” asked Rhonabwy.
“I will tell you. I was one of the messengers at the Battle of Camlan between Arthur and his nephew Medrawd (Mordred). I was a high-spirited young man, so eager for battle that I stirred up bad feeling between them: when the Emperor Arthur sent me to remind Medrawd that Arthur was his uncle and foster-father, and to ask for peace lest the sons and nobles of the island of Britain be killed, though Arthur spoke as kindly as he could I repeated his words to Medrawd in the rudest possible way. Thus I am called Iddawg the Churn of Britain, and that is how the Battle of Camlan was woven.”
Perhaps the serpent wasn’t a real snake but a person who, playing his part as initiator of change, ensures that the battle takes place. Mordred and Arthur slay each other and lie dying on the battlefield. Arthur insists that Bedivere take Excalibur and return it to the lake, which Bedivere finally does after two failed attempts. As soon as Bedivere does this and the sword is taken, a barge from Avalon appears and Arthur is taken to his sleep.
There is, of course, another sleeper, though of a different kind. Merlin is a prime mover for both Uther and Arthur. He orchestrates and maneuvers until finally a Pendragon sits on the throne of Britain to protect the land against the invading Saxons.
Merlin has an interesting history outside that of the Arthuriad in that he at one point goes mad and is very much the Wild Man of the Forest. He has a very close relationship with his prophetess sister, Ganeida (Gwendydd), and it is when she begins to prophesy that Merlin takes his leave of Camelot and Arthur.
Most people forget that Merlin makes his exit from Arthur’s physical world of Camelot very early on during Arthur’s reign. He orchestrates Arthur’s birth, ensures that he is tutored and prepared for his role, gets him on the throne, and then departs very soon thereafter. Of course, he gets Excalibur and the Round Table for him and stays around long enough to get the Grail Quest underway. Then he retires to his tower of seventy windows and seventy doors, where his sister and he now dwell. Camelot, meanwhile, endures for another thirty years or so.
Merlin has worked long and hard on the Camelot project, and many believe he has a history and other lifetimes that include Atlantis, but even if that is not true, he worked with Vortigern, Ambrosius, Uther, and Arthur. Merlin was moving and arranging things for a very long time before Arthur was even conceived. Understandably, he was tired and due for a rest, and he left things in the capable hands of the Lady of the Lake and her priestesses Nimue, Morgan, and the otherworldly women. But in the end, according to some stories, he too is sleeping, hidden within what a more recent writer, Mary Stewart, termed his “Crystal Cave”—a story so powerful that many people believe this to be the original tale rather than one devised only a few years ago.
The Ritual of the Sleepers
The following ritual remembers the rememberers and the sleepers themselves. Although this rite concerns itself specifically with the Isle of Albion (the ancient name for Britain), it can be easily adapted for those who work with the energies of the land in other parts of the world. Directions can be reversed for the Southern Hemisphere and place names altered to suit the circumstances. Or you might wish simply to follow the words written here, for Albion has its own magical reality that can be accessed from wherever we actually live in the world, and the sleeper within each of us may be awakened as well. So much magical energy comes from within the land that to ignore this is to lose an immense degree of strength imparted to every magical action we take.
Dramatis Personae
The Poets
- William Blake/Merlin
- William Shakespeare
- John Langland
- John Masefield
- Michael Drayton
The Animals
- Eagle
- Stag
- Salmon
- Dragon
The Three Heroes
- Sendaf (pronounced sen’daf)
- Morfran (mor’fran)
- Cynfelyn (cun-vel’in)
- Lady Sovereignty
The Seven Sleepers
The Seven Hills
- Y Wyddfa (with-va; Snowdonia, Wales)
- Eildon Hills (Scotland)
- St Michael’s Mount (Cornwall)
- Arthur’s Seat, Dun Eidyn (Edinburgh)
- Malvern Hills (Worcestershire, Herefordshire, and Gloucestershire)
- Lud’s Hill (London)
- Hill of Glaston (Glastonbury, Somerset)
The Seven Rivers
- Represented by dancers
Arthur
Ritual Equipment
- Chalice, candles, and incense for the altar
- A basket of acorns, seeds, or small glass pebbles,
enough for each member of the company
Note: Some of the words in this ritual were written by the poets themselves. The sources are as follows:
Richard II by William Shakespeare
Piers the Ploughman by John Langland
The Polyolbion by Michael Drayton
East and West by John Masefield
The Sleeping Lord by David Jones
Songs of Experience by William Blake
The room is quiet. Everyone is in place. We hear the following description of Albion’s isle described by the Greek traveler Strabo in volume II of his Geography (Loeb Classics, 1923).
Opposite that part of Gaul which lies on the ocean and directly across from the Hercynian Forest, as it is called, which is the largest of any in Europe of which tradition tells us, there are many islands out in the ocean of which the largest is that known as Britain.
In ancient times this island remained unvisited by foreign armies; for neither Dionysus, tradition tells us, nor Heracles, nor any other hero or leader made a campaign against it; in our day, however, Gaius Caesar, who has been called a god because of his deeds, was the first man of whom we have record to have conquered the island, and after subduing the Britons he compelled them to pay fixed tributes. But we shall give a detailed account of the events of this conquest in connection with the appropriate period of time, and at present we shall discuss the island and the tin, which is found in it.
Britain is triangular in shape, very much as is Sicily, but its sides are not equal. This island stretches obliquely along the coast of Europe, and the point where it is least distant from the mainland, we are told, is the promontory which men call Cantium, and this is about one hundred stades from the land, at the place where the sea has its outlet, whereas the second promontory, known as Belerium, is said to be a voyage of four days from the mainland, and the last, writers tell us, extends out into the open sea and is named Orca. Of the sides of Britain the shortest, which extends along Europe, is seven thousand five hundred stades, the second, from the Strait to the (northern) tip, is fifteen thousand stades, and the last is twenty thousand stades, so that the entire circuit of the island amounts to forty-two thousand five hundred stades.
And Britain, we are told, is inhabited by tribes that are autochthonous and preserve in their ways of living the ancient manner of life. They use chariots, for instance, in their wars, even as tradition tells us the old Greek heroes did in the Trojan War, and their dwellings are humble, being built for the most part out of reeds or logs. The method they employ of harvesting their grain crops is to cut off no more than the heads and store them away in roofed granges, and then each day they pick out the ripened heads and grind them, getting in this way their food.
As for their habits, they are simple and far removed from the shrewdness and vice which characterize the men of our day. Their way of living is modest, since they are well clear of the luxury that is begotten of wealth. The island is also thickly populated, and its climate is extremely cold, as one would expect, since it actually lies under the Great Bear. It is held by many kings and potentates, who for the most part live at peace among themselves.
As this ends, William Blake rises to address the company.
BLAKE
Here, in the heart of Albion’s isle,
We stand at the junction of two ways.
Behind us stretches the complex shape and pattern of history.
Before us rises the steep hillside of a new era.
Between these two we stand in a place of forgetting,
A place where the power of the land is neglected.
If we are to begin the path of the new day
With feet firmly planted, eyes wide open, hearts awoken,
We must waken the Sleeper within, the one who guards the land,
Who has done so since time immemorial.
Arthur, some name him, though he has other names:
The Sleeping Lord, long known in the hearts of the people.
Our task this day is to undertake a journey,
To call upon those who remember
For the sake of those who forget
The ways of the land,
The secrets of Sovereignty,
The voices of the wells.
Turning to each of the four directions, Blake calls upon those named in turn.
I call out to my brothers, poets of the land,
To evoke the memory of Albion’s earth.
In the west I call upon Master John Langland,
Who sang of this green earth long ago.
Rise. Sing us your wisdom!
LANGLAND
In summer season, when the sun was soft,
I went out in this land, wonders for to see.
All on a May morning on Malvern Hills
A marvel befell me, from Fairyland I thought.
Being lost and spent I rested a while
Under a broad bank by a riverside.
And as I lay, leaning over the waters,
I fell into a slumber, so sweet was the sound.
And my forebear named me by my name and bade me take note
Of the wonders of this world, and so understand.
On a mountain in Middle Earth it seemed I stood.
And I was shown within my dream,
Through each creature, my own forebear to love.
BLAKE
In the north I call upon Master William Shakespeare
Who sang of the bright glory of the land
And taught us all to better know its burden.
Rise. Sing us your wisdom!
SHAKESPEARE
This royal throne of kings,
This scept’red isle,
This earth of majesty.
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war.
This little world, this precious stone,
Set in a silver sea.
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England…
BLAKE
In the east I call upon Master Michael Drayton,
Who walked the land and called forth
Its many echoing dreams.
Rise. Sing us your wisdom!
DRAYTON
Thou genius of the place
This most renowned isle
Which lividst long before
The all-earth-drowning flood;
Whilst yet the world
Did swarm with her gigantic brood,
Go thou before me still,
Thy circling shores about,
And in this wand’ring maze
Help conduct me out.
BLAKE
In the south I call upon Master John Masefield,
Who in nearer times than these others
Chronicled the dreams of Albion’s children.
Rise. Sing us your wisdom!
MASEFIELD
All of the hollows where the water bursts
They reckoned holy land,
For there, they said, the gods came, hand in hand,
At midnight, in full moon, to quench their thirsts.
So by the hollow’s western edge they fenc’t
With unhewn stone and hawthorn and wild rose,
A little island as a holy close,
Not to be trodden in by foot unblessed;
And from the harvests rare
Which filled their granaries, they were aware
That the great gods their service recompenst.
THE FOUR POETS (together)
We are awake! The land rises about us!
We are glad to be part of this company.
But tell us, brother, why do you call us?
What is amiss with this holy earth?
BLAKE
The land sleeps.
Sovereignty’s voice is no longer heard.
The Sleeper is forgotten.
With him sleeps all memory of better days,
When dreams had flesh, and walked,
And all knew other ways.
THE FOUR POETS
We must awaken the one who sleeps.
For with him lies the memory and spirit of the land.
BLAKE
We cannot do this unaided.
Others must be called upon to help.
Whom shall we call?
THE POETS
Other powers sleep within the land.
Other voices than ours shall be heard.
Seven sleepers lie beneath the hills,
Each one dreaming of another time.
Let us together call upon those that remember
The ways between the worlds.
ALL FIVE POETS (together)
We call upon the creatures that remember,
The oldest beings in Albion’s earth.
Come forth, as we call you,
And answer to our need!
Between south and west the eagle flies
Circling the woods and fields in search of prey.
Lend us the sight of your unblinking eyes,
Lead us where the first sleeper lies.
EAGLE
Long have I lived in this bright land
And watched the people come and go.
Yet one there is that has always been,
And is, and shall be—
Who sleeps beneath Eiri’s mount.
Let those who seek this dreamer follow me!
Eagle begins a circuit of the hall, the four poets joining it as it passes each one. Finally, at the end of the circuit, eagle spirals in towards center, stopping by first sleeper.
EAGLE
Here is the one you seek—dreaming under rock and earth.
Eagle flies back to original place while the poets form a circle around the figure, who is crouched on the floor with eyes closed.
THE POETS (together)
We who would awaken the One
Call upon the first sleeper,
Who lies beneath Yr Wyddfa’s Mount.
Awake! Speak! Tell us the way
To recover the voice of the land!
FIRST SLEEPER (stirring)
Long have I waited your call!
Long have I watched and listened!
Long have I kept the memory of the land!
THE POETS
What wisdom have you to offer,
To we who seek to wake the One?
FIRST SLEEPER
I have slept beneath this mount
For countless years, hearing, in that time,
All that has passed in the lands above.
This mount, called Yr Wyddfa, has itself become
A place of vision and dream,
Where those with wit to hear
May learn true knowledge.
I call on one among your kin
To be the mountain’s voice,
To speak the oracle of Yr Wyddfa
And this sleeper’s news.
One designated as the oracle of Yr Wyddfa now comes forward and speaks impromptu. At the end, the first sleeper speaks.
FIRST SLEEPER
You have heard the words of Yr Wyddfa.
May they help you in your search.
THE FOUR POETS (together)
We give thanks to the first sleeper,
But more is needed yet.
We must seek the second sleeper
Ere we take our rest.
Let us call again
On the oldest animals who inhabit the land.
They process to the northwest, where the stag is, and address him.
Between west and north the great stag runs
Under the spreading shade of deepest woods.
We call upon the subtle wisdom of your thought
To lead us where the second sleeper lies.
STAG
Long have I lived in this bright land
And watched the people come and go.
Yet one there is that has always been,
And is, and shall be—
Who sleeps beneath Eildon’s Hills.
Let those who seek this dreamer follow me!
Stag begins circuit of hall, followed by poets. At the end they spiral round to where the second sleeper lies.
STAG
Here is the one you seek—dreaming under rock and earth.
THE FOUR POETS
We who would awaken the One
Call on the second sleeper,
Who lies beneath Eildon’s hills.
Awake! Speak! Tell us the way
To recover the voice of the land!
SECOND SLEEPER (stirring)
Long have I waited your call!
Long have I watched and listened!
Long have I kept the memory of the land!
THE FOUR POETS
What wisdom have you to offer,
To we who seek to wake the One?
SECOND SLEEPER
Long have I slept beneath these hills,
Thinking slow thoughts and dreaming great dreams,
As I listened to what passed on the earth above.
True Thomas came and slept a while,
And others of the Faery Host.
All sought wisdom from the earthy realm
And spoke it clearly in the hearts of all.
I call upon one among your kin
To be the green hills’ voice,
To speak the oracle of Eildon,
And breathe this sleeper’s news.
One designated as the oracle of Eildon now comes forward and speaks impromptu. At the end, the second sleeper speaks.
SECOND SLEEPER
You have heard the words of Eildon.
May they help you in your search.
THE FOUR POETS (together)
We give thanks to the second sleeper,
But more is needed yet.
We must seek the third sleeper
Ere we take our rest.
Let us call again
On the oldest animals who inhabit the land.
They process to the northeast, where the otter is, and address him.
Between the north and the east the otter swims,
Diving the deepest water, running on the land.
We call upon the shifting wisdom of your soul
To lead us where the third sleeper lies.
OTTER
Long have I lived in this bright land,
And watched the people come and go.
Yet one there is that has always been,
And is, and shall be—
Who sleeps beneath the Malvern Hills.
Let those who seek this dreamer follow me!
Otter begins circuit of hall, followed by poets. At the end they spiral round to where the third sleeper lies.
OTTER
Here is the one you seek—dreaming under rock and earth.
THE FOUR POETS
We who would awaken the One
Call upon the third sleeper,
Who lies beneath Malvern’s Hills.
Awake! Speak! Tell us the way
To recover the land!
THIRD SLEEPER (stirring)
Long have I waited your call!
Long have I watched and listened!
Long have I kept the memory of the land!
THE POETS
What wisdom have you to offer,
To we who seek to wake the One?
THIRD SLEEPER
Long have I slept and long have I dreamed
Beneath these folded hills.
From ancient times the people have come
To drink the cleansing waters of the springs.
In all this time I have waited,
Listening to the voices of those who came.
Now I call upon one among your kin
To be the green hills’ voice,
To speak the oracle of Malvern
And breathe this sleeper’s news.
One designated as the oracle of Malvern now comes forward and speaks impromptu. At the end, the third sleeper speaks.
THIRD SLEEPER
You have heard the words of Malvern.
May they help you in your search.
THE FOUR POETS (together)
We give thanks to the third sleeper,
But more is needed yet.
We must seek the fourth sleeper
Ere we take our rest.
Let us call again
On the oldest animals who inhabit the land.
They process to the southeast, where the salmon is, and address him.
Between the east and south the salmon swims,
Delving the deepest waters.
We call upon ancient wisdom of your soul
To lead us where the fourth sleeper lies.
SALMON
Long have I lived in this bright land
And watched the people come and go.
Yet one there is that has always been,
And is, and shall be—
Who sleeps beneath the Hill of Lud.
Let those who seek this dreamer follow me!
Salmon begins circuit of hall, followed by poets. At the end they spiral round to where the fourth sleeper lies.
SALMON
Here is the one you seek—dreaming under rock and earth.
THE FOUR POETS
We who would awaken the One
Call upon the fourth sleeper,
Who lies beneath the Hill of Lud.
Awake! Speak! Tell us the way
To recover the land!
FOURTH SLEEPER (stirring)
Long have I waited your call!
Long have I watched and listened!
Long have I kept the memory of the land!
THE FOUR POETS
What wisdom have you to offer,
To we who seek to wake the One?
FOURTH SLEEPER
Long have I slept and long have I dreamed
Beneath the wards of Lud’s great town.
From ancient times when giants roved the earth
To recent days when all is greatly changed.
In all this time I have waited,
Listening to the voices of those who came.
Now I call upon one among your kin
To be the hill’s brave voice,
To speak the oracle of Lud’s gray town
And breathe this sleeper’s news.
One designated as the oracle of Lud’s Hill now comes forward and speaks impromptu. At the end, the fourth sleeper speaks.
FOURTH SLEEPER
You have heard the words of Lud’s Hill.
May they help you in your search.
THE POETS (between themselves)
We give thanks to the fourth sleeper, but more is needed yet.
We have woken the first four sleepers
And have heard their winged words.
The three still lie before us—
To whom shall we apply for news of them?
THE ANIMALS (together from their places)
Three great warriors of the ancient race
Who walked this land in distant times
Walk still in the memory of the earth:
Sendaf Bright Angel,
Morfran mab Tegid,
Cynfelyn ap Tasconius.
These three through Camlan’s dead
Came forth unscathed:
Sendaf for his beauty,
That none might harm;
Morfran for his ugliness,
From which all fled;
Cynfelyn for his strength,
That none might withstand.
Let us ask them how to find
The last three sleepers in the land.
The poets go to where Sendaf stands in the northwestern quarter.
THE POETS
Hail Sendaf, whom men call Bright Angel.
We seek to awaken the sleepers of Albion,
And, beyond them, the One who sleeps.
Will you help us find the fifth sleeper
Hidden from our eyes in Glaston’s Hill?
SENDAF
Long have I waited for this day!
Now at last shall the sleepers be woken!
Follow me to where the fifth sleeper lies
That all may hear his wisdom.
He leads the poets around the circle to where the fifth sleeper lies in the southeast.
SENDAF
Here is the one you seek—dreaming under rock and earth.
THE FOUR POETS
We who would awaken the One
Call upon the fifth sleeper,
Who lies beneath Glaston’s Hill.
Awake! Speak! Tell us the way
To recover the voice of the land!
FIFTH SLEEPER (stirring)
Long have I waited your call!
Long have I watched and listened!
Long have I kept the memory of the land!
THE FOUR POETS
What wisdom have you to offer,
To we who seek to wake the One?
FIFTH SLEEPER
Long have I slept and long have I dreamed
Beneath the ancient tor
From ancient times when Druids came
To worship at its crown,
To recent days when all is changed
And seekers come from faroff lands.
In all this time I have waited,
Dreaming of the time to be.
Now I call upon one among your kin
To be the hill’s brave voice,
To speak the oracle of Glaston’s Hill
And breathe this sleeper’s news.
One chosen as the oracle of Glastonbury comes forward and speaks.
FIFTH SLEEPER
You have heard the words of Glaston.
May they help you in your search.
THE FOUR POETS
We give thanks to the fifth sleeper,
But more is needed yet.
Poets go to where Morfran stands in the northeast quarter.
Hail Morfran, son of Tegid.
We seek to awaken the sleepers of Albion,
And, beyond them, the One who sleeps.
Will you help us find the sixth sleeper
Hidden from our eyes in Michael’s Mount?
MORFRAN
Long have I waited for this day!
Now at last shall the sleepers be woken!
Follow me to where the sixth sleeper lies,
That all may hear his wisdom.
He leads the poets around the circle to where the sixth sleeper lies in the south-southeast.
MORFRAN
Here is the one you seek—dreaming under rock and earth.
THE FOUR POETS
We who would awaken the One
Call upon the sixth sleeper,
Who lies beneath Michael’s Mount.
Awake! Speak! Tell us the way
To recover the voice of the land!
SIXTH SLEEPER (stirring)
Long have I waited your call!
Long have I watched and listened!
Long have I kept the memory of the land!
THE FOUR POETS
What wisdom have you to offer,
To we who seek to wake the One?
SIXTH SLEEPER
Long have I slept and long have I dreamed
Beneath the Mount of Michael.
In ancient times the people came
To climb to its topmost tower.
Now, when all is changed,
Seekers cross the drowning sands
To seek the clarity of my heights.
In all this time I have waited,
Dreaming of the time to be.
Now I call upon one among your kin
To be the mound’s brave voice,
To speak the oracle of Michael’s Mount
And breathe this sleeper’s news.
One chosen as the oracle of St. Michael’s Mount comes forward and speaks.
SIXTH SLEEPER
You have heard the words of Michael’s Mount.
May they help you in your search.
THE FOUR POETS
We give thanks to the sixth sleeper,
But more is needed yet.
The poets go to where Cynfelyn stands in the northeast quarter.
THE POETS
Hail Cynfelyn, son of Tasconius
We seek to awaken the sleepers of Albion,
And, beyond them, the One who sleeps.
Will you help us find the seventh sleeper
Hidden from our eyes in Arthur’s Seat?
CYNFELYN
Long have I waited for this day!
Now at last shall the sleepers be woken!
Follow me to where the seventh sleeper lies,
That all may hear his wisdom.
He leads the poets around the circle to where the seventh sleeper lies in the south-southwest.
CYNFELYN
Here is the one you seek—dreaming under rock and earth.
THE FOUR POETS
We who would awaken the One
Call upon the seventh sleeper,
Who lies beneath Dun Edyn’s Seat.
Awake! Speak! Tell us the way
To recover the voice of the land!
SEVENTH SLEEPER (stirring)
Long have I slept and long have I dreamed
Beneath the Dun Edyn’s Seat.
In ancient times the people came
To climb its craggy way.
Now, when all is changed,
Seekers still seek
The clarity of my heights.
In all this time I have waited,
Dreaming of the time to be.
Now I call upon one among your kin
To be the mound’s brave voice,
To speak the oracle of Dun Edyn’s Seat
And breathe this sleeper’s news.
One declared to be the oracle of Edinburgh comes forward and speaks.
SEVENTH SLEEPER
You have heard the words of Dun Edyn.
May they help you in your search.
THE FOUR POETS
We who seek to waken the One who sleeps
Give thanks to the seventh sleeper.
Now we call upon all these seven
Who dwell within the circle of the summer stars,
Those who have kept the memory bright,
Who hold the keys to Sovereignty’s heart
Help us to wake the final sleeper,
The dreamer at the gates of dawn!
FIRST SLEEPER
His slumber is deep.
How long has he been the Sleeping Lord?
SECOND SLEEPER
The buried weeds save him from evil.
The stormy petrel sings his ancient song.
THIRD SLEEPER
The ancient oaks his guardians are.
The hills breathe with his sleeping breath.
FOURTH SLEEPER
The hills are his bed.
His earthly body serves as a place of rest
For those who lie with him.
FIFTH SLEEPER
The deep valleys serve him as a shelter.
They rise above him like the folds of a coverlet.
SIXTH SLEEPER
The land itself holds the shape of the sleeper
The very stones become his dreaming pillows.
SEVENTH SLEEPER
“Does the land await the Sleeping Lord,
Or is the wasted land the very Lord who sleeps?”
(words by David Jones)
SLEEPERS and COMPANY (together)
“Does the land await the Sleeping Lord,
Or is the wasted land the very Lord who sleeps?”
They process to the center, where the eighth sleeper, Arthur, has lain throughout. With the four poets they form a circle around the sleeping figure.
SLEEPERS and POETS (together)
Waken, sleeper, waken,
For a new day dawns.
All who love the land,
Who know the love of Sovereignty’s rule,
Call upon you to rise up,
Returning now in this needful time.
ALL THE COMPANY
Waken, sleeper, waken,
For a new day dawns.
We call upon you to rise up,
Returning now in this needful time.
There is a distinct pause. Then slowly Arthur stirs, sits up, and looks around. He gets stiffly to his feet.
ARTHUR
Who has called me from my ancient sleep?
Is this the time that was foretold?
What is the state of the land?
COMPANY
The land has grown sick
With the works of humankind.
Neglected and forgotten,
Mistreated and despised,
It needs the presence of its lord.
It needs the gift of Sovereignty’s blessing.
ARTHUR
Then let Sovereignty be called
For with her coming
All the land will flower.
Let the rivers and hills
Together sound the call;
Let them dance and sing
In this ancient place.
At this the rivers rise from their places to the strains of music and begin their dance; as they do so, the hills and sleepers sing/chant.
SLEEPERS
Rise, Sovereignty, rise.
Listen to our cries.
We call out to you,
Lady of the land.
Give us back the voices
Of the ancient earth.
COMPANY
We are the stars in the earth,
And we will keep the spirit pure,
We will bring the land rebirth.
As this happens, Lady Sovereignty, who has been among the rest of the company in the circle, comes slowly forward to the center, accompanied by the animals. There she acknowledges Arthur, who kneels to her, followed by the sleepers and poets, who form a circle about her.
SOVEREIGNTY
Your words are heard,
Your dance acknowledged,
Your longing known.
Your thoughts have reached me
In the place where I lay.
Now I am returned
To bless the land.
(turning to Arthur)
King that was and shall be
Do you still serve the land?
ARTHUR
Such is my task while I am needed.
There is always an Arthur
While the land remains.
SOVEREIGNTY
But what of the rest?
Where are the other heroes?
Where are the ones who serve the land?
There are now heard among the company many voices who call out.
COMPANY
We are here, Lady,
We have not forgotten.
Robin Hood is here.
Herne the Hunter is here.
Wayland is here.
Boudicca is here.
Harold is here.
Hereward is here.
Mabon is here.
Cuchulainn is here.
Fionn is here.
Each member of the company calls upon their personal heroes and heroines.
Smile at us, pass us;
But do not quite forget;
For we are the people of the land
Who have not spoken yet.
SOVEREIGNTY
Then I bless you all and restore you
To your homes in these blessed Isles.
(to Arthur)
You are my son, in whom I am well pleased.
Guard well this land for those still to come.
(to all)
All this company likewise I bless.
And I bid you to remember
That only as long as you keep fresh
The memory of the land
Will it be safe from withering.
Forgetfulness is the worst crime
Remembrance the noblest choice.
Receive now Sovereignty’s gifts.
Sovereignty now processes around the room, giving a gift to each and every person there. These may be acorns, seeds, or small glass pebbles. To each one she says simply, “Remember.” When this is done, she takes her place in the central circle with Arthur and the sleepers.
BLAKE
Hear the voice of the Bard
Who present, past, and future sees;
Whose ears have heard
The holy word
That walked among the ancient trees.
Hear the voice of Sovereignty,
Who present, past, and future are,
Whose words have blessed
This holy earth
That blooms amid the world.
I, who once was Merlin, call upon you all
To remember, to bear witness
To all that has passed this day.
And as you depart, I bid you all
Take with you joy
That give light to all the world!
Go now, in light and love.
There is a blessing
On all who serve!
…
With this work we prepare to move onward to the essential embodiment of the Arthuriad: the quest for the Grail. This is the heart of all that is done by those who answer the call of Arthur.