The Western Gate

The Hereditary legend of The Horned God and The Goddess.

(Taken from the Sublime ~ Devas Upanishad, a far better word to understand the gnosis between the ‘witch’ and nature. The discourse of The Witch and the Fae. The Song of Nature. The eternal dynamism until equilibrium is seen)

I sing the turning of the Golden Head,
And the slow climbing of the Pearl-Pale one,
A measured courtly dance, by ancient threads
That bind the dark, is spun.
And which is crowned more high, the lords of days,
Or she who walks the cool and star-strewn ways?

The King in his fierce pride, his burning throne,
Claims all the world of light for his own breast.
But mark the Queen, who walks in stride alone,
And puts his fire to test;
She lays her shadow, cold and vast and deep,
Upon his brow, and lulls the world to sleep.

It was the story old and ancient,
The Godly King, itself the Sun, each morn arose and bestowed life to all below, “How art wonderful Am I!” Declared he so. “None alike me, praise be, bow down and worship me as no other for I, the brightest star, gift all under my radiance, life itself.”
His wife, herself the moon, raised waves and tempests, wind and rain, and nurtured all below. Her dance with the Sun unsure, sometimes to hide and some time to brightly shine the midnight pitch. To all, she said only as it is true to be~ silence, and only women knew her rhythm, not he that raises swords and wields the axe and governs with force and fear.
“See my Queen” said the Sun to She, “Power, might, and strength I be”
Yet still the Moon entered not into the rallying call for argument profane, for discussion who was greater, who declared their gift upon this domain.
“Tis wise,” again called the Sun, ” to be tranquil, humble in sight of my throne, see the shards of light as my crown.”
And more he pestered for her to bow, but still she mattered only for the waves, upon the winds and their rhythm and for the rain.
The more she rose not to his threat and bluster, the more The Sun burned fiercely,
“See!” It declared, “How I can parch the land, dry into a desert, hast thou no fear of me?”
She wandered again, alone, in silence humming with the trees, singing with the breeze.
“Thy art a mouse afore a Lion !” he called to her one time, and in his pride and belittling stride she then stood before him.
Thereupon the earth plundered now into a ghostly dusk, her presence upon him enveloping, blotted out its light exactly.
Without a word, ’twas the Sun now humbled, long has she danced before and after, in shadows and alit, and now before him, Equal and as one ! The great King, She!
Again, she let him be, and carried on her dance, he shone again unto the land, silenced by the Queen, humbled by her stand, without remark of victory cried she, without cause to ridicule, she stepped where he be, and cast her shadow to the land that even though all mothers know her might, she can now be known by man.
Equal be and always.
The fecklers¹ all say Blessed, yet we say Balanced Be.

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1/ Fecklers – Tailors, stitchers, menders, torch makers, those whom walk to create garments and shew their light, Ego Makers. In reciprocity, the ‘wise’ would always say ~be humble, not as a measure of being secretive but because the truth is known and the world is but as a place to witness, all things are equal and thus, are the same.

Header Artwork;- From Casper David Freidrich, “Two Men Contemplating the Moon”, circa 1825