Druids
“Even Menua was concealed; I recognized him by his shape. In the same way, and with a stab of pleasure, I recognized Suits.
And beyond her, Aberth the sacrificer.
Deathteaching. He had to be present, as opener of the gate into the Otherworid.
We were one moon past Imbolc, festival of the lactation of the sheep. The days were growing longer, anticipating Beltaine two moons hence. Above our heads mat sunrise, larks were spilling song into a clear sky.
I had come to the grove to leam about death.
T...he druids surrounded me in a large circle, with a measured space separating me from them. Whatever happened, I would in the most essential sense be alone.
Menua spoke. “Death,” he intoned from his position sunwise of me, “is the reverse of birth. It is the same process happening backward. If we escape death by injury or illness, we grow old, feeble, helpless, infantile. We become as the unborn in preparation for returning to the unborn state.
“Think, Ainvar. Does the idea of being unborn, not-yet-bom, frighten you?MoreLess
And beyond her, Aberth the sacrificer.
Deathteaching. He had to be present, as opener of the gate into the Otherworid.
We were one moon past Imbolc, festival of the lactation of the sheep. The days were growing longer, anticipating Beltaine two moons hence. Above our heads mat sunrise, larks were spilling song into a clear sky.
I had come to the grove to leam about death.
T...he druids surrounded me in a large circle, with a measured space separating me from them. Whatever happened, I would in the most essential sense be alone.
Menua spoke. “Death,” he intoned from his position sunwise of me, “is the reverse of birth. It is the same process happening backward. If we escape death by injury or illness, we grow old, feeble, helpless, infantile. We become as the unborn in preparation for returning to the unborn state.
“Think, Ainvar. Does the idea of being unborn, not-yet-bom, frighten you?MoreLess
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