The Camel Mind
bound, it wanders…
let loose, it remains.
Something untoward is about to happen
on the edge of Langsett Forest…
The Langsett Foxes have their Fire Festival
usurped by a Pack of Hellish looking Hounds…
And you think Charles James Fox will be okay with that? …
Bone-white winter gleams in the moonlight. Silent shadows hunt in the night…. The Hunter’s Moon sails above dark hills, caught in the empty fingers of the treetops. A mysterious company gathers to kindle the flames of the dance; arcane patterns of fire woven in the blackness to the beat of the drums. Silent as ghosts in the darkness, others follow their trail, lurking in the night to watch… and wait… seeking their chance to usurp the forest throne… Old Fox wanes with the fading year, his fur touched by the silver of frost. Can he hold his realm against the ghostly challenge of the Demon Dogs? Yet all is not lost. They have seen it in the smoke… three magicians use their arts to breathe life into the spirit of Fox…
For more details of Mister Fox, visit his earth…
Had there been any doubt about where we were going next…
Which there wasn’t.
For once, our destination proved quite easy to get to.
A car park was suggested by the guidebook and in the car park were easy to follow directions.
Not too far away to be too uncomfortable.
But just far enough away to deter commercialisation.
These are all metaphors.
And the metaphors continued at the mouth of the cave.
Whose approach to the interior provided an effective deterrent against the casual tourist.
But not to us because we are not.
The thing about caves…
You never want them to end…
But they always do.
Which is why we deal in metaphysics.
The way beyond the end of the earth is Geometry.
Which does not so much measure the earth.
As inform it…
Beyond the forest’s leafy shade,
The hooded one, with giant’s pace
From pinnacle to pinnacle
Leap’t silently, in moonlit grace…
In eremitic solitude
In caverns deep to meditate…
Within, the riddle of the night,
A key that will elucidate…
Beyond the stones, to four once nine
To where the goddess meets her mate
And heavens dance at winters turn
Bends earthwards to illuminate.
It has been our policy for some time now to ask Companions to bring readings for inclusion in our Landscape Weekends…
We first tried this on the Glastonbury Walk-and-Talk weekend and were delighted with the results.
The energies of the earth it seems respond favourably to the human voice, especially when it is utilised to bring forth heartfelt emotion.
…Our readings to date have ranged far and wide over a spectrum of traditions and forms although it seems that the shorter pieces, generally, have more effect.
On the now distant ‘Circles Beyond Time: Seeking the Seer’ weekend one of our Companions chose to give a rendition, unaccompanied of a Robin Williamson composition, October Song.
Coincidentally, we were due to attend a Robin Williamson concert later that week and so the opportunity to tie these two events together became irresistible…
It is a relatively old song now, if age has any meaning for a song, and it was once described by Bob Dylan as ‘quite good’.
‘I’ll sing you this October song,
Oh, there is no song before it.
The words and tune are none of my own,
for my joys and sorrows bore it…’
‘…Beside the sea
The brambly briars, in the still of evening,
Birds fly out behind the sun,
and with them I’ll be leaving…’
‘…The fallen leaves that jewel the ground,
They know the art of dying,
And leave with joy their glad gold hearts,
In the scarlet shadows lying…’
‘…When hunger calls my footsteps home,
The morning follows after,
I swim the seas within my mind,
And the pine-trees laugh green laughter…’
‘…I used to search for happiness,
And I used to follow pleasure,
But I found a door behind my mind,
And that’s the greatest treasure…’
‘…For rulers like to lay down laws,
And rebels like to break them,
And the poor priests like to walk in chains,
And God likes to forsake them…’
‘…I met a man whose name was Time,
And he said, “I must be going, ”
But just how long ago that was,
I have no way of knowing…’
‘…Sometimes I want to murder time,
Sometimes when my heart’s aching,
But mostly I just stroll along,
The path that he is taking…’
October Song, Robin Williamson.
I rather think that the stones of Carl Wark enjoyed our Companion’s rendition of this song, and I’d also like to think that Robin would have been pleased with it too…
“You’ll know it,” he said, “by the stone stairs and the hawk’s head over the lintel.”
I was expecting a carving, or a painting, or possibly even, an offering, not half a cliff-face…
Nevertheless, it had still been a bugger to find.
The light was fading when I tip-tipped down the stone steps and stood before the crudely imposed entrance.
I stepped inside…
A dim glow lit the interior and the odour of old incense, clung…
He stood and turned, a huge bull of a man.
“What took you so long?”
“I got here as quick as I could.”