The Wine of Mabon the Cellarer (30 December 2018)

[A Poetic Narrative Frolick on the 9^th 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_”

…

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^[1] As we are approaching the end of the Yule—Winter Solstice—Christmas Season, on the 9^th day of the new solar year and the 5^th 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.’