Welcome newcomers, and old friends alike!
The moon is waning, letting go of the arrows released and spells just cast.
Though these days the forest is often dark with strife,
or aflame with burning bush,
We, the animals of the woods,
know strength and tranquility
through our shared lore and kept council.
Hail the sacred woodlands!
The magic of the faery glade
shimmers and sings in my heart ~
I offer you this somewhat simple, even a bit silly, piece of Organic Faery Music magic to shimmer between us! This is the first full length release from my dungeon synth project “Iarwain”, named after the silly old ancient god of the Old Forest in Tolkien's “The Fellowship of the Ring”:
Now, let us venture back to the Fifteen Deer Wood, a place of origin for this bemusing earthen experience we share here today ~
“We work with being, but it is non-being that we use.”
Wandering the Fifteen Deer Wood in wintertime held a number of special beauties. Though the trees were thick and of many species; tangling, reaching, intertwining... when the leaves were laid all in decaying sleep beneath the snow... yellow baubles of light could be seen here and there, flickering between the boughs. As evening waxed, the character of the glows grew a certain ancient comfort.
Though the grey north wind would bluster, piercing through the hills, fields, and groves of the town, here in the Fifteen Deer Wood tranquility bade the air not forget its peace.
Though deep into the indigo darkness of the winter evening, even the ever-high starlight would be welcomed to illuminate that blessed wood's paths, winked and twinkled right back up by the white crystal blanket She pulled snug over the forest floor.
I was blessed to be among such shimmering company. While in those days I usually would have spurned the signs of humans, I could appreciate those lights at the edge of the wood as hearthfire. Cradled carefully, contained and collected. A natural light of ancient roots. Even in Spring, Summer and Autumn, I never met the folk who lived at the edge of the woodland that was my spiritual haunt, but I communed in Winter with them by those lights. I knew love of them, and could thank those houses for protecting this place from the abrasions of what lay further beyond.
Still though the winds had been made, the icy, black cold of mid-winter beckoned all into its clutches. Feet numbing with each step upon the rock hard dirt path, I traveled swiftly back from the deep forest glade I had spent the past few hours in toward my own waiting hearth. This path wound directly on the south side of the creek for a lengthy stretch. The stream barely flowed in this season, most of its waters held in jeweline crystals of winter's grasp. Yet in such prevailing silence, even the smallest trickle was sung clear.
I came then to a small dam of rocks and one fallen tree; the place best to cross the stream, where the path began to lead out of the wood. It was too dark to balance on frosty stone or wood. The ice would have to be trusted.
Quickly and with light step, I hovered over the frozen creek. A seven pace ordeal. On step 6, my foot crashed through the unseen glassy patch. I clambered up the ridge with a searing cold gripping through my boot, locking up my knee. Now I would really have to hurry.
As I turned to make all haste, however, I heard a low, strange grunt in the other direction. I turned for what was intended to be but a glance. Four legged footsteps shuffled through the underbrush away from me, and my eyes followed their disappearing sound into branches forking into blackness.
The night had settled in, creating space in winter darkness. The starlight and hearth fires could not reach this place. The trickling of the stream behind me had grown silent, and gazing into the deep forest darkness, the cold, stiff branches held me captive to the tenebrous scene.
Emptiness. Stillness. True darkness. The void. The place before creation. The place after total annihilation. I realized I had been longing for this place. Death. Rebirth.
When in the world outside of this woodland sanctuary, I knew an underlying sense that “this should not be.” These schools, these churches, teach sandcastle ways. These houses, these roads, angled and colored in bland defiance of nature. These people, this culture, seeming so contented, yet why did the words, the games, and the work seem so contrived? I was only beginning to put words to this feeling. To me, the idea of end, tragedy, mortality, and disappearance held a certain tranquil allure. For what was built out there was on the shakiest of ground, and existing within it was to drown ever so slowly in sinking sand. It would be preferable to just get it over with.
I was overcome with relief to be here finally in nothingness. Cradled by ice and bare branches into the womb of inner-space. The song of no voice, archaic and pure. Sung not at all in response, but from the center of all things.
Nothing to be done.
Nothing to be said.
Nothing to hold on to.
Nothing to escape.
Nothing is wrong.
Nothing is right.
A temple of no god.
Silent Temple.
My body was probably not long there, for the icy teeth biting into my foot snapped me back to the material realm, where indeed I had to escape this cold. I summoned all my knowledge of the woods and marched intuitively down the paths in matte, dark grey shadows. I thanked whatever creature allowed me entrance into their dark realm.
I would have to find a way to return.
I would find that darkness, silence, and stillness
were a path to the truest self.
The deepest part of us
is empty.
Like a simple, wooden cup.
Like an ornate, bejeweled chalice.
Like a hovel made of dirt.
Like a castle made of stone.
Thank you for reading, my friends ~ For exploring my memories with me!
Though they are not all happy and bright, I hope you find value in them.
I am honored to share this space and time with you!
Until next week,
~ Compassion ~
~ <3 Trolli <3 ~
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