Mead Making

The origins of the antiquated art of fermenting honey are lost in deep time. Where the first batch made it’s appearance, reported to be between 20,000 and 40,000 years ago, is a mystery buried in eons. Little chance exists that it will ever again be part of our living knowledge.

What remains to us, the process and practice of it’s making, forms a more direct connection to our history than any found among ancient texts. Consider that a brewer today may mistakenly ruin a batch in precisely the manner of a batch ruined 400 centuries ago. Difficult as it is for each to conceive the other’s existence, they are bound together by unbroken tradition.

With a history that can be measured in geologic time, it is right too that mead should derive from honey, the only food uncorrupted by passing years.

May Mabon bless the mead-makers of every age in turn, until the Cosmic day draws finally to it’s close.

SAM_0119

One

An ancient knowledge

a remnant truth

learned in the time

when Man was youth,

 

You are not, or ever were

alone

that feat, my friends

cannot be done,

 

Those tricks we use

to separate

are as dreams

and without weight,

 

These tricks

that cause us so much pain

are a vile poison

in our veins,

 

Leaving us lost, confused

depressed

souring our happiness,

 

We’ve told ourselves

they’re useful tools

but of what use

heart-broken fools?

 

There is not

an Us and Them

there never was

it’s never been,

 

There’s only We

and We are kin

to each and every

living thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Remember Gratitude

It sometimes slips my mind,

when I think of commands my body can no longer obey,

to give thanks that there was a time it could.

In those quiet moments,

when beloved voices long silent whisper in memory,

to be mindful that countless shared moments created them.

In contemplation it seems a grave disservice,

to mourn things lost,

without remembering and rejoicing that they once were.