Candles Moon is Live!

[wickedgoddess]

Candles Moon is live at Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab and http://www.blackphoenixtradingpost.com/lunacy.html!

 

 

 

 

CANDLES MOON 2012

To-day is the Day of Bride,

The serpent shall come from his hole,

I will not molest the serpent,

And the serpent will not molest me.

 

The serpent will come from the hole

On the brown day of Bride,

Though there should be three feet of snow

On the flat surface of the ground.

 

 

 

Moonlight shining on the Quickening Tree, the heat and wax of sacred candles, the milk of ewes, Brigid's blackberry, the sting of keening wind, and the last flutter of the Cailleach's winter snow.

 

 

 

 

 

THE IDES OF MARCH 2012

The Ides marked an auspicious time in the Roman calendar. Depending on the month in question, the Ides fell on the thirteenth or fifteenth, and usually marked the Full Moon. As we all know, it was not an auspicious day for Julius Caesar, nor was it fortuitous for H.P. Lovecraft, who also met his maker on this infamous day. Tu quoque, Brute, fili mi! A mixture of springtime greenery and classical Roman cologne: rosemary, bergamot, lemon rind and vervain with costus, benzoin, coriander, rosewood, gray amber, cardamom, white narcissus, dark musk, and iris.

 

 

 

 

 

THEOTOKOS

Άξιον εστίν ως αληθώς

μακαρίζειν σε την Θεοτόκον,

την αειμακάριστον και παναμώμητον

και μητέρα του Θεού ημών.

Την τιμιωτέραν των Χερουβείμ

και ενδοξοτέραν ασυγκρίτως των Σεραφείμ

την αδιαφθόρως Θεόν Λόγον τεκούσαν,

την όντως Θεοτόκον,

Σε μεγαλύνομεν.

 

 

 

It is truly meet and right to bless you, O Theotokos,

 

 

 

Ever-blessed and most-pure mother of our God.

 

 

 

More honourable than the Cherubim,

 

 

 

And beyond compare more glorious than the Seraphim,

 

 

 

Who without corruption gave birth to God the Word,

 

 

 

True Theotokos: we magnify you.

 

 

 

 

 

Calla lily, Egyptian amber, frankincense, chrysanthemum, daphne, and red roses.

 

 

 

 

 

++ THE BARDS OF IRELAND 2012

Irish bards were members of a hereditary caste of learned poets. They were officials of the courts of their chieftains and kings, and served as historians, storytellers, and satirists. They were immersed in the rich history of their clan and country, and learned the intricacies of their craft from birth. Their words held so much power that it was believed that a glam dicing, or satirical incantation, spoken by a bard held the magic of a curse.

 

 

 

THE FAIRIES

Up the airy mountain

 

 

 

Down the rushy glen,

 

 

 

We dare n't go a-hunting,

 

 

 

For fear of little men;

 

 

 

Wee folk, good folk,

 

 

 

Trooping all together;

 

 

 

Green jacket, red cap,

 

 

 

And white owl's feather.

 

 

 

Down along the rocky shore

 

 

 

Some make their home,

 

 

 

They live on crispy pancakes

 

 

 

Of yellow tide-foam;

 

 

 

Some in the reeds

 

 

 

Of the black mountain-lake,

 

 

 

With frogs for their watch-dogs,

 

 

 

All night awake.

 

 

 

High on the hill-top

 

 

 

The old King sits;

 

 

 

He is now so old and gray

 

 

 

He's nigh lost his wits.

 

 

 

With a bridge of white mist

 

 

 

Columbkill he crosses,

 

 

 

On his stately journeys

 

 

 

From Slieveleague to Rosses;

 

 

 

Or going up with music,

 

 

 

On cold starry nights,

 

 

 

To sup with the Queen,

 

 

 

Of the gay Northern Lights.

 

 

 

They stole little Bridget

 

 

 

For seven years long;

 

 

 

When she came down again

 

 

 

Her friends were all gone.

 

 

 

They took her lightly back

 

 

 

Between the night and morrow;

 

 

 

They thought she was fast asleep,

 

 

 

But she was dead with sorrow.

 

 

 

They have kept her ever since

 

 

 

Deep within the lake,

 

 

 

On a bed of flag leaves,

 

 

 

Watching till she wake.

 

 

 

By the craggy hill-side,

 

 

 

Through the mosses bare,

 

 

 

They have planted thorn trees

 

 

 

For pleasure here and there.

 

 

 

Is any man so daring

 

 

 

As dig them up in spite?

 

 

 

He shall find the thornies set

 

 

 

In his bed at night.

 

 

 

Up the airy mountain

 

 

 

Down the rushy glen,

 

 

 

We dare n't go a-hunting,

 

 

 

For fear of little men;

 

 

 

Wee folk, good folk,

 

 

 

Trooping all together;

 

 

 

Green jacket, red cap,

 

 

 

And white owl's feather.

 

 

- William Allingham

 

 

 

Supping with the Queen of the Fae: apple blossom, white clover, huckleberry wine, dandelion sap, milkweed, primrose, thyme, pink moss, thorny thistles, and opium pod.

 

 

 

 

 

IN THE FOREST

Out of the mid-wood's twilight

Into the meadow's dawn,

Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,

Flashes my Faun!

 

 

 

He skips through the copses singing,

And his shadow dances along,

And I know not which I should follow,

Shadow or song!

 

 

 

O Hunter, snare me his shadow!

O Nightingale, catch me his strain!

Else moonstruck with music and madness

I track him in vain!

 

 

 

- Oscar Wilde

 

 

 

A wild, passion-inflamed skin musk with black pine pitch, brown leather, black clove, copal, white sage, oakmoss, patchouli, and saffron.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LIADAIN AND CURITHIR

When thou art hidden fears throng into my heart:

 

 

 

I am as one who has found a treasure of gold

 

 

 

Whom the stars watch

 

 

 

And the winds threaten

 

 

 

And swords wait in the dark.

 

 

 

Or can the dream break, Curithir, into the cold dawn?

 

 

 

Do not even the angels tremble gazing on us?

 

 

 

For only within God's Dún such joy can live.

 

 

 

Come let us dream, love, that we sail to the west

 

 

 

And in enchanted islands are free of the sun

 

 

 

And the cold blind eyes of the years that pass unheeding sorrow.

 

 

 

O by the sweetness of love and joy like the piercing of spears

 

 

 

I have known the vain life that dies beaten back to the sod,

 

 

 

And the moan of all impotent things cries in my heart;

 

 

 

For that which can wither the budding trees can wither love.

 

 

 

O Curithir hast thou bidden the birds to sing of thee?

 

 

 

They have awoken me to the grey sweet skies

 

 

 

And the out-breathed light stealing over the stars.

 

 

 

There is no bird whose song is not of thy love

 

 

 

No laughter of sudden dawn winds whose joy thou art not -

 

 

 

O that the world could know thou lovest me, Curithir!

 

 

 

- Moireen Fox

 

 

 

An hour of love, all-too-fleeting, set against the tumble and crash of the somber seaside: honeysuckle, ivy, white moss, and salty spray.

 

 

 

 

 

STRINGS IN THE EARTH AND AIR

 

 

Strings in the earth and air

Make music sweet;

Strings by the river where

The willows meet.

 

 

 

There's music along the river

For Love wanders there,

Pale flowers on his mantle,

Dark leaves on his hair.

 

 

 

All softly playing,

With head to the music bent,

And fingers straying

Upon an instrument.

 

 

 

- James Joyce

 

 

 

White sage, white musk, honey myrtle, galbanum, lilac, and everlasting flower.

 

 

 

 

 

This weekend, Pink Lace and Mourning Lace go live at Dark Delicacies.

 

 

 

 

 

MOURNING LACE

A contemplation of death: fragile vanilla blossom with polished oak, bitter clove, frankincense, myrrh, and green cognac.

 

 

 

 

 

PINK LACE

 

A sweet prelude to grief: delicate tea rose and strawberry-laced vanilla stained by tobacco, champaca incense, and white cognac.