Within tempestuous Nebulae

Within tempestuous Nebulae

Stars collide
Within these eyes
Memories seducing
Blood alive
Cosmic shifts
Rip meaning from time…
And I became high
A sweet euphoria
awareness
Pulsating in rhythm
To this
Galactic lullaby

[Featured image: Cone Nebula, star forming region located within the constellation Monoceros; photo courtesy of constellation-guide.com]

Creation

Creation

It came of Frost and Flame, borne of the Abyss
Child of Chaos and strife,
solidity and cold determination.
It rose, pale and dark, against the blood red depths
of the Ironclad Earth
Ice and Fire and breath of dust…
…and rain, never-ending rain
Acid, poison, at first killing the weak.
Then the Ocean cleansed the Sky and birthed the Waves
Those that engulfed the Land
Tides of the Moon and Currents kissed by Wind
and Man, mortal Man, lumbers as the Land’s great host
Mountains will rise, and mountains will fall,
and it will be our story that the world will tell
The women, borne of the goddesses of Old, come to birth
the lines of succession

And we will rise, and rise again

 

~Líadan Rán

 

 

 

 

[Featured Image: Star-Forming Region LH95 in the Large Magellanic Cloud courtesy of HubbleSite Photos]

The Oracle

The Oracle

It’s there, just budding over the horizon, stealing the southern sky. Ares lends his fiery hands to the creation of the occult. Cronos plays his cold eye over the form of Skorpios’s pincers, watching, waiting, to see if the scorpion will strike.

Its heart brightens, myth and hymn of Antares. The notes mingle into form, and she can feel the mix of auric flow, a cosmic shift in the subtle ripples of being. A vibrational change along the strands of the Web.

Her staff thumps in time to the earth; primal drums beckoning her pilgrimage. She calls to spirit, bird, and bone, waking ancient blood within the veins of time.

She burns in fire beneath the silken planes of her flesh. Seething flame licking nerves and spinal distraction. A cold determined glare fixes its stained facade over passionate soul, and she tips her head back, opening her throat in otherworldly incantation. Her vision is twenty-twenty, here among the Others.

The sting of the Scorpion reminds her that she is still living among the Earth. She comes back down, she lowers her calculating gaze toward the blood of Stone.

Emotions roil and rage under the surface, Ares’s charge to battle. But the fire within is covered in dirt, cold soil of the fatherly control of a Titan.

Still she sees and understands, that to smother the flames of this aggression is to meet cold death. Control is necessary at times, but the rising sign of the Scorpion to the south, the god of her name day, they cannot be ignored.

Cronos will convert passion to reason, intuition to logic. And where will she be led to then? When magic is nonsense and the Earth is dying? Who will fight then, if not her?

She thumps her staff in rhythm to the drums once again, calling on her darkened senses. She hears tell of a coming of rage and grief and acceptance. A bloodline not entirely lost, but never found.

She will journey into Hades, a crow for comfort, the bones for company. She will journey until she finds that which she seeks, and ever after be the wiser for knowing it.

-Líadan Rán

 

 

[Featured image courtesy of earthsky.org]