Steve Trimmer

The Lunar Hare; A Dreaming

On a cold day in February, at eventide
A shaman cast a circle deep in the wilderness
At a sacred place; called Jack Pine Grove
Many ‘s the visit hath he made here
He calls out to his Muse Il- Briga

From the cone of power doth She ascend
Into the southern quarter of his Holy Round
She whispers words of solace in an ancient tongue to him
Words that his modern incarnation can barely reckon
Yet, his Higher Self hearkens these words inn tearful joy

She takes his hand and guides him to the nearby portal of The Dreaming
Now in Tir na Nog, land of the young
He transmogrifies into a red-eared white hound of The Otherworld
A Cu (Hound of Annwn) he is
He runs, and runs ‘til he spots a White Hare
She says; “Catch me……and catch thy vision of truth”
Across the planes of Elysian Fields they chase …………and chase
And chase

At a Jack Pine Grove they tarry
The Hare says to The Hound;
“Rancour and trepidation besets thy heart methinks?
No? ..........A malevolent weasel plots to destroy thee
To destroy thy faith, thy trust, and thy very soul

Do not give in to hate my friend
Take my form, as a Lunar Hare”
I take to this form as She decrees
I have much to learn on this revery it seems

She then doth quoth;
“Feel no fright my child, for what ye now lack in muscled strength
Shalt be recompensed with the cunning of the meek
Use the weasel’s strength against itself
In power of 3, in power of 3, in power of 3! ”

I awake to these words…………..In Power of 3
As of yet, nought hath destroyed me or mine own faith!
Ah! Yes. For hate is for the weak.
An’ Love champions the strong who art
Verily pure of heart

Steve Trimmer

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, June 1, 2010

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