The Gathering

The Gathering.
A stream of lights in midnight blue flows off my shoulders and flies true.
A ruby cloak over all, flies like wings so I don’t fall.
An emerald green is at my throat; its gleaming eye keeps me afloat.
My feet are pale as opal sheen; no one can know where I have been.

The faery mound on mountainside, is where I am bound this airy ride.
There stands the guardian rising free, a very special growing tree.

It’s gnarled and whorled of ancient age,
with leaves dark and light, of green delight.
Its boughs spread wide, twist and writhe, with birdsong and sparkled life.
With blues and greens and red and gold, a powdering of gems the branches hold.

Inside each gem faery children wait the call, of life and so they fall,
one by one from pod to womb, through life, to learn and then to tomb.
From tomb to spirit, more lessons learned, in heaven’s halls, a rest is earned.
From rest and peace, again to feel the plea, of the Faery Queen who seeds the tree...
...with gems of spirit, pods of child, of colours rich from forests wild.
There grows the fruit of love and joy, into each Faery girl, each Elven boy.

Each child is blessed by Faeries all, who bring the gift when they hear the call.
The gift ... a globe within a star, within the darkness from afar.
To touch the surface and for a time, inside a star and so to shine.
To feed their hand inside the shape, to feel the light make its escape.
To learn... light is life and by its needs, it gives and takes... is fed and feeds.

Then as they fall each child is offered the wisdom from the chalice proffered.
The learn to sup before they sip, the nectar deep from chalice lip.
The nectar tastes like honey diluted; Like peaches, like water of life ...all fruited
Upon one vine and turned into warm and amber liqueur wine.

Inside the chalice, a burnished glow, a measure of this to help the flow.
But of this sweetness drink no more than one, or dreams from moon
and dreams from sun will bloom too soon, and die before they have begun.

Each child pod learns the lesson needed, in times upon the tree that’s seeded...
“Take time each day to kneel and pray, for that time throw cares away.
  Look to the light for what you need, within the light you find the seed.
  Inside, outside, above, below. you find  what you need so you can grow.”

I climb the sacred growing tree and don a new cloak that’s just right for me.
First it’s small and new and as it grows, it gathers light and so it glows,
and tattered though it will become, I’ll bring it back where I came from.
then lay my cloak around the growing tree, to feed its roots and then fly free,
till again I hear the faery call, and lodge again in pod to fall
to find myself wrapped anew, in a cloak that’s small and bright and new.

To learn truth and feel compassion, are tools I need to begin to fashion
a stream of lights in midnight blue flowing off my shoulder to fly true.
To laugh with life, and show it kindness, the gift I take for my dying blindness
a ruby red cloak over all, flying like wings so I don’t fall.
To fail sometimes and still keep on trying, its own reward as I am dying,
an emerald green at my throat, a gleaming eye keeping me afloat.
To be brave and take a stand when evil takes the upper hand
with feet as pale as opal sheen, no one can know where I have been.

Always there will be the gathering free, of growing souls at the sacred tree.
As weary as the human grows, we all have a coloured cloak that glows.
Some glow not much at all, their ears blocked against the call.
Some hear but have not yet heard, the light around them that holds the word.
And few there are who light the way, from garbage dumps, and troubled day.
Their cloaks and gowns outshine the sun, one life we’ll go where they have gone.

Therese Mackay       June 12th 2001