Cycles End, Cycles Begin, The New Year Comes Back Around To Us Again

“As the nights grew imperceptibly longer my visions of clarity and order of the dreamtime became more penetrating. The unifying forces of the sun and the moon moved me easily through the transformation that would mark my rebirth to the Death Clans. The harvest was in and my endless trips for wood were over. Guardian spirits had taken over to protect our effort, we again at the mercy of the Winter Wait. Last came the ritual slaughter of the boar, ram, and bull that had given over their lives that we might persist through it. Their death was sweet and and swift at the hands of those who claimed their blood. The tribe feasted on a small portion of the meat, putting up the rest in smoke huts. The last of the old mead was mixed with the new for the healing magic of a good harvest. We celebrated our success and joy, our long journeys and safe returns. We went to the springs to be reminded that there ran a thread of harmony and balance even in disorder and desperation. We played the last of the ritual summer games, giving over our lives to whatever rebirth we anticipated after the Death Spasm. Before my departure to the valley of the caves the tribe honored the twin spirits that allowed us to stand guard over the Winter Wait, and the Twilight Women who taught us to exist in two worlds. Accompanying my mother, we went to gather the bones, and feast with the Ancient Ones of Clan Oak. I also took in the blessing of the great rut of the Stag.”

Excerpt from Ancestral Airs


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