ODYSSEUS SEES LIFE AND DEATH ...

Ah, Morrigan, they took war from you, those drunken heroes with their slashing swords and chariots. They took death and re-generation power from you.

They dishonored blood, Smeared themselves and their enemy skulls with it like children gloating.

They took blood from you. Blood needed to recreate the spring and revitalize fertility in plant and man. They weakened you. You fought back. Who else could protect the dead and raise the newborn from rotted flesh and dust? Who else could love the hero without measure and so renew the land?

They took the blood and war from you and drove you mad. Eochaid dreamt it right before Magh Tuiredh. Caoilte killed your Ravens.

The Hound of Culann met the Fates had tea and cakes, then chose the path of a meteor. You fought the Fates. defied their prophetic power which always runs true.

You loved Setanta, and wished to save him from death. Cu Chulainn loved you also as he bathed his hands in your raven’s blood. You wept with unforgiving rage when his enemies savaged him. They took war from you and killed your last and deepest love.

The bastards!

Life hangs like a Queen Bee on the earth's flowering branch, and the four winds, all bridge grooms, clasp her secretly and feel her fuzzy belly gently brim with dreams,
with future joys and distant wings, but the brave mind
can only for a lightening flash, one breath of air, fight with Black Death or troll through chaos and there beget great gods and thoughts, imagination's flights, and give nobility and breed to the earth's puckered hide.

The archer, highest blossom which the world can sprout after most fearful strife with phantoms and gods,
walked the earth with dry nostalgic eyes and said
farewell caressingly to all the living world, until the flowers filled with teardrops and the leaves with dew, He passed through many roads and cut through many woods; how the world shone! as though made virgin, like his soul; rocks laughed as though the sun had pierced into their hearts and the dry white thorn laughed and wept with crystal dew.

He held his heart and mind now like a double ax,
and numberless sweet throated memories soared and perched in the great tower of his mind like cooing doves; women within him cried like seething, chattering towns and hamlets laid their passion-smothered bosoms bare; the flesh got drunk and sprouted souls, and the mind, too,
the famished son of god, got drunk and burst into song.

Odysseus | Melissa | Eternity Perhaps | Good Samaritan | Quanta| Night Beings

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