With the clamor of harsh Winter a storm of waves is roused along the world's edge. It spreads on every side, tearing at beaches and rocks, and rushes back to the sea, mountainous and raging. The fishes are roving as wave after wave covers the shore.
Far beyond those waves, there is an island, around which glisten the horses of the sea, a fair course upon which the white wave surges. We will voyage tonight to Emain Ablach, leaving for a time this mortal land. Come, children of the Celts, and witness that land which awaits beyond this life, as islands in a sea. Here before us await two vehicles to carry us on this journey: to Mannanon, the intervening sea is a plain strewn with flowers, he has sent his two-wheeled chariot drawn by a stallion with red mane and green legs to carry some of us and sweet Aini has sent her silver boat with a sail of gold trimmed with pearls, to carry others. Step now into the chariot, into the boat, feel the freshening wind, feel the strength of the red-maned stallion, as we begin our voyage.
Coracle may race against chariot on the plains of this sea, those in the chariot seem to be racing through a meadow upon which many blossoms fall, red tipped flowers without blemish. The coracle breasts the purple troughs and white crests of the waves, Aini's tresses they are called, we move over a host of waves breaking on the clear sea. We smell the mingled scent of plain and sea, the honey scent of blossom and fruit, the tang of the salt wave, together we come to the Blessed Isle. We stretch our legs and move swiftly onto the island before us.
On Emain Ablach the teeming Summer holds life in its arms, strewing flowers on the face of every hill. Here it is always like May, the month of strawberries, of fair weather, of wild garlic, of delicate roses, of prosperity. A wondrous land is the land I tell of, youth does not give way to age there, in the many-coloured land of surpassing beauty. Sweet warm streams flow through the land, the choice of mead and of wine. Purple the surface of every plain, a mossy cloak upon its crags, gold and silver shine the leaves of the trees, a marvel of beauty shines this lovely land,
We enter into a great hall with pillars of bronze shining through aeons of beauty, where splendid people without blemish dance together and the light glints on white teeth and dark brows and every cheek there is the color of the foxglove. Here, there is neither "mine" nor "thine"; unknown is wailing or treachery, no sound here is rough or harsh, only sweet music striking on the ear. We know that they dance as we dance before the feast, dance now until you feel that Emain Ablach is aligned with our circle between the worlds. When you can hold both places within you, when the Fair Folk sit to feast, sit you also with your coveners here.
many are crowding onto the shore of Tir na Nog, awaiting the boatman
he traverses the dark greatness of the womb of the great mother as the doors are opened
the veils between the worlds are lifted,
we remember their names - their many sacred.names.........they made me who i am now.
david.great grandma james.fred.bob.patrick.dusty.the-names-icannot/willnot recall-or-remember.
all remembered, in one or in many ways, one way or another.
we greet the dead, we embrace those from the Otherworld. we are reminded of who we are by those
who came before and who have gone to another place.
lives of hope
the stuff of human-kind and of
welcome, blessed samhain!
we are darkness, lightness, and all in.over.around.through.under.by.of.for.
we embrace earth, each other, ourselves.
ancestors of-many-kinds, visiting in-many-ways.
a Samhain blessing of wholeness and water and heart --Jim Lovette