Peace will come
With tranquility and splendor on the wheels of fire
But will bring us no reward when her false idols fall
And cruel death surrenders with its pale ghost retreating
Between the King and the Queen of Swords
Bob Dylan:Changing of the Guard
If you listen you can hear it
It’s the laughter in the street
It’s the motion in the music
And the fire beneath your feet
All the signs are right this time
You don’t have to try so very hard
If you live in this world
You’re feelin’ the change of the guard
Steely Dan: Change of the Guard
Something very interesting is making its presence felt across the land.
Those who flee their dreams are having to confront them, and those who’ve lived ensorcelled in this culture are hearing Her Call.
And it’s sometimes painful.
A colleague has been having vision-dreams of his part in the future, alongside excruciating nightmares of industrial civilization killing, raping and pillaging, while he hides beneath a tractor. He wakes up with his solar plexus on fire, terrified and sweating. All I can interpret from his dreams is their source – the planet has started speaking to him.
Nor is he alone.
For myself, I’m feeling the change of the guard on a highly personal level.
My matrilineal ancestor has been wavering in and out of focus for the last couple of weeks: one moment she’s the middle-aged woman she was when she died, and the next a young girl in plaits, although manifestly the same person.
At the same time, my patrilineal ancestor has been gaining strength to the point where he’s bloody well monopolising my attention of late. When I send out the Call, all I see is his open laughing face, pale eyes a-twinkle, prematurely white hair standing jauntily upright in a precursor of a punk style.
Don’t get me wrong – I love my grandfather Anderson, and am forever grateful to him for guiding my canine friends to doggy Summerland recently. But his presence has become so marked that I’m in real danger of breaking into an Edinburgh burr when I speak. And he’s always reminding me to stand up straighter, blast him.
It seems to me that my matrilineal grandmother is trying to make an entrance. I don’t fully understand how these things work, but I’d be more than glad of her wrinkled-monkey face and deep black eyes watching over me.
I’m riding out this pre-Samhain season fairly placidly, undershot with a hint of curiosity as to just what grandpa Anderson wants.Just watch me lose my temper with the Scots gentleman if he doesn’t get to the point in a couple of week’s time!
Wishing you all peace in your hearts and flame in your souls. whether your leaves are falling and the dark drawing in, or your flowers are pushing aside the soil to greet the sparkling air.