Truth undefined

Does the title I’ve chosen seem an unlikely one?

I would posit that, after much searching,

the hard rock of truth is more the fleeting glimpse of shadow,

than stone edifice.

That the archetype Truth is a myth without independent existence,

beholden to specific conditions, which are, themselves impermanent.

Truth is fluid, changeable. Any given definition

reflects the truth of a moment only, gone before it is even fully realized.

Truth indeed is not discovered by firm grasp, instead it reveals itself in letting go.

 

 

 

 

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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.

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Tell Me, Knight

A serpent’s hiss from an oozing pestilent mouth,

” What weapon will you choose, when you come to challenge me in the dark?”.

“What armor will guard your soft organs from my jagged claws, my ripping fangs?”.

“Will the heft of the axe comfort your approach?”.

“Perhaps the keen bright edge of a well honed blade?”.

“Will you come with the stride of a gun’s weight on your waist?”.

“Tell me, Knight!”, the Thing gleefully, horridly cackled, certain of It’s victory.

The Warrior stepped from shadow with barefoot, silent tread.

No armor betrayed his approach.

No axe or long knife encumbered his hand to ring off the stone walls.

No gun unbalanced his gait on the rough ground.

Striking the small light he held in his left hand, he stood before the Thing.

“What madness is this? The thing spat, coiling in surprise.

Calmly, without anger the Warrior spoke.

“No madness, I’ve carried with me all I need.”,

“A heart without fear.”,

“A light to find the path.”,

“A glass to reflect the truth.”.

The polished glass in his right hand, raised aloft,

caught the Thing’s eye for but a heartbeat,

it was enough.