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28 Jan 00 - 10:38 AM (#169712) Subject: Thought for the Day, January 28 From: Peg Hello all; since Peter is feeling poorly I am your self-appointed guest philosopher for the day... I enter my apartment, the first floor of a house, by the back door. Mainly because I recently misplaced my keys, but also because, it being dark these days when I return home, I like to look up at the trees silhouetted against the night sky from my back yard. Also, to check the bird feeders in the quince tree and see if I should refill them. Yesterday evening, as I crunched through the snow (not yet shoveled and covered with a sugary, glassy crust fron recent sleet storms), I searched for the moon...and did not see it. Obscured by an opaque, greyish cloud cover, I thought of the upcoming festival of Candlemas/Oimelc, which is a festival of Brigit, Celtic goddess of poetry, healing, smithcraft, fire and patroness of rituals or blessing and purification...Her garments are white, like gossamer, like winter cloud cover, and she wears a crown of candles to symbolize the returning sun, which cast a glow like oak embers, like the golden lamplight of neighboring windows which make the snow look now blue, now orange, now pale green...She presides over rites that remind us the light is returning...and with it, spring... Thinking on this, wishing the moon was visible, but accepting that it was not, I once again was filled with wonder at the changing sky and landscapes of winter, and the quiet beauty Mother Nature gifts us with... and then thought on this poem by one of those whose muse must surely have been Brigit herself...
Lines Written in Dejection When have I last looked on The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies Of the dark leopards of the moon? All the wild witches, those most noble ladies, For all their broom-sticks and their tears, Their angry tears, are gone. The holy centaurs of the hills are banished; I have nothing but the harsh sun; Heroic mother moon has vanished, And now that I have come to fifty years I must endure the timid sun. William Butler Yeats
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28 Jan 00 - 10:42 AM (#169716) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day, January 28 From: Peg (oops; the poem lost its formatting; here it is again) Hello all; since Peter is feeling poorly I am your self-appointed guest philosopher for the day... I enter my apartment, the first floor of a house, by the back door. Mainly because I recently misplaced my keys, but also because, it being dark these days when I return home, I like to look up at the trees silhouetted against the night sky from my back yard. Also, to check the bird feeders in the quince tree and see if I should refill them. Yesterday evening, as I crunched through the snow (not yet shoveled and covered with a sugary, glassy crust fron recent sleet storms), I searched for the moon...and did not see it. Obscured by an opaque, greyish cloud cover, I thought of the upcoming festival of Candlemas/Oimelc, which is a festival of Brigit, Celtic goddess of poetry, healing, smithcraft, fire and patroness of rituals or blessing and purification...Her garments are white, like gossamer, like winter cloud cover, and she wears a crown of candles to symbolize the returning sun, which cast a glow like oak embers, like the golden lamplight of neighboring windows which make the snow look now blue, now orange, now pale green...She presides over rites that remind us the light is returning...and with it, spring... Thinking on this, wishing the moon was visible, but accepting that it was not, I once again was filled with wonder at the changing sky and landscapes of winter, and the quiet beauty Mother Nature gifts us with... and then thought on this poem by one of those whose muse must surely have been Brigit herself... Lines Written in Dejection When have I last looked on The round green eyes and the long wavering bodies Of the dark leopards of the moon? All the wild witches, those most noble ladies, For all their broom-sticks and their tears, Their angry tears, are gone. The holy centaurs of the hills are banished; I have nothing but the harsh sun; Heroic mother moon has vanished, And now that I have come to fifty years I must endure the timid sun. William Butler Yeats |
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28 Jan 00 - 07:02 PM (#169961) Subject: RE: Thought for the Day, January 28 From: katlaughing I don't know, Peg, he sounds a little dejected to me!**BG** Now, your words were great! Having lived in Noho, I can well imagine what you put so well. Thanks, too, for the reminder that Candlemas is coming up. Brigit has always been one of my favs. Thanks for filling in for poor Peter, too. katlaughing |