[A Poetic Narrative Frolick on the 9th
Day of the New Solar Year!][1]
I.
Last
night I dreamed a dream of rabbits and the Master of Poets; four rabbits in a
hutch at the house of Mabon![2] This hutch was located just outside a cellar
entryway, which I intuited was the Dark Hunter’s Wine Cellar!
Mabon
our Cellarer had left the keys to his ever-full wine-racks in the keeping of
his four furry guards! _And I knew this
was “The Hutch of Mystery’s
Cellarer!” I spoke to them and
they seemed to hear; their large ears standing up erect, making these luck-besotted
beings seem like strange pookahs, though in all other respects they were just
ordinary jack-rabbits; snow-booted and tan-gray furred.
“I
sensed that they were full of Poetry’s New Magick!”
Mabon
the Cellarer of my Vocation then came, proffering me— the Wine of Poetic
Communion. I declared, “I am unfit for
the offer,” to which he retorted: “Come to my cellar and drink as you please, any time.” Once more I affirmed myself unfit for
the offer, to which he plaintively plied: “Come to my
cellar, and my jack-rabbits will boot you up for a good slog-and-sloshing.”
I knew I
didn’t understand this, and so I
stood there, speechless. Yet Mabon
invited me a third time to partake of the wine he’d stored away in his cellars,
saying: “Come, and I will gift you a good sherry to
light the fire in your poet’s heart.”
For the
third time and last I insisted I was unfit, and so he solemnly said: “I am the Wine Press and the Cellarer of Poetic
Mysticism. Everyone who gets drunk on My
Vintage shall know New & Ancient Truths. Come to my Cellars anytime, therefore Poet, and
drink!”
II.
Runed in the hutch of Mystic Life
I came to witch out the
Truth,
accepting the keys, rhyming the Riddles
and setting the Jack-Rabbits free! 1
Mabon the Cellarer of Poetic-Truth
there appeared to me—
stripped of all his
mythic togs;
with a toast he called unto me! 2
I stood upon his threshold
tarrying in the
Invitation
—thrice offered—
unfit for the service
into which Mabon my Vintner
had enthralled me! 3
Potent and braying
with the burden of my
faults,
I called out for a reprieve_
and got a good Brandy to go! 4
“Take this liquor, my brother,
for I am the Cellarer of Mystical Vision,
and you are the Uninvited Guest!
Take my liquor and be my sop_
for I have the keys
to that blue ek-static adventure
that is and has ever been
open to all Mused seekers!” 5
Taking up the goblet he offered me
I accepted his libation
and felt the liberation
of a good spiritual
buzz! 6
“Hail, Mabon my Cellarer!
Clear my head
with your ever-hallowed Sherry,
and I will follow you –
stumbling and ever-grape-ful –
round the Wheel we go again;
until you call off the party!” 7
Everything was reeling—
the world then turned to Schnapps
and I found myself
thrice three-days hence_
born-again in his besotted image!
Anem!
[Burp!] 8
III.
All day long,
drinking from the Bottle of Sherry
that Mabon had proffered me,
proleptically_
I came to the Place of Peace;
the Internal Nemeton—
where I am who I am,
and no one else. 9
Here, I find my Self, coming
into fluid existence
somewhere just beyond
the limitations
that have held me
prisoner
for two cycles running. 10
I am free,
and there is a Rune
in every snowflake
that falls
on my tongue this
evening! 11
Mabon speaks_
in wined-up and dined-out metaphors
to my Heart,
which ambles out
to some Crannog of
Love,
not waiting to be stopped
by a makeshift mock-up
of the Three Policeman of Yore! 12
“Yet no one will stop you!
Ramble! Amble!
Saunter! Wander!
Savor life and its fullness!” 13
“There are Rabbits in the Hutch
of Wisdom’s Cellar!” I cried.
I saw the rabbits dancing, then –
four jack-rabbits in a hutch
near the dark door
where Mystery was
Presencing,
and as I approached the house again
where Mabon appeared to dwell
(ever the immanent
Cellarer of
Resourcement)
I received a Balm of Remembrance
and began chanting the magical names
by which the Door may be opened: 14
“Mabon—Aengus—Jesus—Bran!”[3]
It was then I heard_
a Choir of Pagan Angels
at some distant Nativity of the Self,
singing:
“Blessed be Mabon the Cellarer,
for he has
distilled the perfect Wine;
unleashing
our best imaginings
and causing us Divine Drunkenness!” 15
And at this hymn my Heart burst
into Flames of Mystic
Love,
and I knew that I was ‘Home’ again,
where I have always been;
in the Nemeton of Earthen Poets
where I have sometimes
forgotten to find myself. 16
“Mabon—Aengus—Jesus—Bran!”
IV.
Here I
long-ago planted a root of earthen faith.
“You are fit to enter here,” Mabon said, and I reeled once
more! I saw the door open before me, and
knew somehow that I was fit enough,
though I feared the wine-dark passage and what it might riddle me, for the
Master Cellarer is ever-allusive and deeply paradoxical!
But
alas, it was only an old false-self that feared; not the Blue-Woad-Self I am
becoming! The four Jack-Rabbits of Mystic
Presence then began to chant an Angelus,
and as they did so, I felt a teary and fibrous veil fall from my mind!
_So, soon I began to sing the Angelus, too, the Four Jack-Rabbits harmonizing with me – all of us
gone polyphonic! – as I proceeded through the Door! There I found rack after rack of aged old
brews, Burgundy, Sherry, Ales and other delectable beverages of Mystic
Delight! Mabon said:
“Here is your liqueur
of naturalistic mysticism;
have your conversion
and drink it
too!
Drink and be Drunken with Me,
and – once in the visioning way;
we two shall go dancing
out across the Heathen Hills
toward Tomorrow’s World—
across the Faery Sídhe of Wonders.”
It was then that – down
deep within the Wine Cellar of the god himself; on a rack hidden from the
mundane light – I found a bottle with my
name on it; engraved beneath the
fading label; inscribed in the green glass of the bottle itself! And I heard Mabon, my host, declare: “Take, and Drink!”
And I
did; Anem! (Burp)
“Mabon—Aengus—Jesus—Bran_”
“Mabon—Aengus—Jesus—Bran_”
“Mabon—Aengus—Jesus—Bran_”
…
[1]
As we are approaching the end of the Yule—Winter Solstice—Christmas Season, on
the 9th day of the new solar year and the 5th Day of
Christmas, this story – a frolick (a fun, entertaining romp) – represents the
desire to discover some new depth or path as we journey and adventure through
the Season. Here we meet a “Master of
Poets” named after the Celtic god Mabon;
a hunter—singer—seeker who is guide to many of those who go out on pilgrimages
or quests.
[2]
Mabon is one of the ‘gods’ born at Winter’ Solstice. He has become, for me, one of the symbolic
personas of the Poet. He is associated with
rabbits as he is a son of the Great Goddess, and they are her ‘avatars,’ in one
way of looking at the myths.
[3]
There are all names of gods born at the Winter Solstice. Aengus refers to Aengus Og in the ancient Celtic
tradition, a young god of love. Mabon is
likewise the puer eternis; eternally
the divine child of winter Solstice.
Bran is a dying and rising god from the Welsh Celtic tradition who
symbolizes self-sacrifice and wisdom. He
is likewise usually portrayed as a youth.
Jesus’s birthdate was probably set at or around Winter Solstice, as his
followers saw him as the new and ultimate ‘divine child’ and ‘dying and rising
god.’
