Manufacturer: the Divine Make: Female Homo sapien Model: 071219xx
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The Voice of the Raven
I am the Voice of the Raven Upon Wind. My harsh cries echo long upon the Earth and Air: Nothing is Forever, Not Life, not Love, not Death, nor Loss. Only change is eternal, and only destruction can the seed of creation form.
My wings bear me between Darkness and Light, Land and Sky, the Garden and the Wildwood.
I perch upon the Threshold of the Worlds, both flesh and spirit, gifting the Brave Seeker with Visions and Magick of the Otherworld.
To face me is to face your greatest terror, the Shadow of yourself, the unknown and dangerous. In chancing destruction, your fear loses its power to destroy. For only in acceptance of Mortality will you learn the ... Secrets of Immortality as I, the Raven, possess.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ author unknown
Note: Click the image above the poem to go to the page from which I obtained both. The person who owns that page found The Voice Of The Raven in the Llewellyn 1998 Almanac.
A Cosmic Cookie from Gerardus Grist:
The Energy within us... is the Creator's Energy.
The Creator's Energy will heal us for it will heal the World.
The Creator's Energy will enlighten us for it will enlighten the World.
The Words we speak are the Words of the Creator.
The Creator in Mankind is Awakening.
AWAKENING IS A CONTINUAL PROCESS
Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind Blow over me--I am so tired, so tired Of passing pleasant places! All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed; Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long Over my shoulder have I looked at peace; And now I fain would lie in this long grass And close my eyes. Yet onward! Cat birds call Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry, Drawing the twilight close about their throats. Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees Pause in their dance and break the ring for me; Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant, Look back and beckon ere they disappear. Only my heart, only my heart responds. Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side All through the dragging day,--sharp underfoot And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs-- But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach, And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling, The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
--Edna St. Vincent Millay (Second April)
Loreena McKennitt - Dante's prayer (from Book of Secrets, released in 1997)
When the dark wood fell before me And all the paths were overgrown When the priests of pride say there is no other way I tilled the sorrows of stone
I did not believe because I could not see Though you came to me in the night When the dawn seemed forever lost You showed me your love in the light of the stars
Chorus: Cast your eyes on the ocean Cast your soul to the sea When the dark night seems endless Please remember me
Then the mountain rose before me By the deep well of desire From the fountain of forgiveness Beyond the ice and the fire
Though we share this humble path, alone How fragile is the heart Oh give these clay feet wings to fly To touch the face of the stars
Breathe life into this feeble heart Lift this mortal veil of fear Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears We'll rise above these earthly cares
Please remember me Please remember me, ...
The following rhyme, written by Dean Swift or one of his friends (it’s not said specifically which) appears in a volume entitled “The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe” by James Parton [1822-1891]. You can find the link to the Gutenberg etext from which it was excerpted here.
ON A CIRCLE
I'm up and down, and round about, Yet all the world can't find me out; Though hundreds have employ'd their leisure, They never yet could find my measure. I'm found almost in every garden, Nay, in the compass of a farthing. There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill, Can move an inch except I will.