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TO HONOUR OUR SACRED FRIEND
Light green is the mistletoe, which we hold so dear;
clinging to the trees above, reaching for the skies that are clear.
Oak, poplar or apple trees, it shall find its home;
watching down at the little people, mammals, insects and stones.
But what’s so special about this plant, it looks like
any other?
It’s the mysteries inside, that makes it like a lover.
Cut down by the ancient Druids from their sacred and mighty
Oaks;
not allowed to touch the ground in case the magic from plant to ground should
soak
All Heal is the ancients name, it can take away ones life;
but prepared, blessed and its spirit asked, it can work better than the surgeons
knife.
In deep suspicion the churches hold, of our inspiration and
mistletoe gifts;
but undefeated does mistletoe grow in culture, land, and myth.
Close not the book of mistletoe, there is so much more to
learn;
we will never understand all, even with the help of wild Hearne.
So what do we have here? Doctor, Guide & Lover;
bringing close the polarities which attract and repel each other.
Raise your glass in toast to thee, we proclaim you essence
of our land;
we bring forth your seaman to the mother trees in your revival that we have
planned.
We ask your guidance, help and blessings, for the work we
wish to do;
help bring the inspiration to our minds, clear and true.
Blessed are the ancients who used to perform this rite;
may we receive their guidance and the clearest of light and insight
Watch the moon, the quarters here, of growth beginnings and
starts;
lovingly we will tender you, as is written in the stars.
May peace prevail and mistletoe be our sign of the work in
life we do;
may we learn, discover inspiration and be to ourselves true.
So don’t forget this Yuletide to honour our sacred friend;
remembering each kiss we share, a berry the mistletoe must spend.
Rising Sun /|\
December 2004
Drualus
Mistletoe
On the Sixth day after the full moon
A procession of village folk.
Gathered to seek a special boon
Underneath the ancient oak.
They spied a clump of mistletoe
High in the oaken canopy
The berries gave a milky glow
Against bare limbs of the winter tree.
A white robed Druid climbed the boughs
With his golden sickle blade
A green circlet of ivy ‘round his brow
His long dark hair caught up in a braid.
Extending his body along a stout limb
He could just reach the holy plant
Anxiously below they waited for him
And began their sacred chant.
Uil-ioc! Draoidh-lus!
Sùgh an Daraich!
Stretched beneath the gnarled wood
A sheet of white linen was spread
For the herb to touch the ground would
Be an ominous omen of dread.
Deftly the Druid cut the stem
And the herb fell upon the sheet
A cheer rose from within the glen
And the deed was declared complete.
A white bull was sacrificed that night
And a midwinter feast was held for all
The herb was preserved for a holy rite
A gift from the venerable Druids of Gaul.
Gaelic words for Mistletoe:
Uil-ioc - All heal or make whole
Draoidh-lus – Druid’s herb
Sùgh an Daraich - Juice, sap or dearest of the Oak
Susa M. Black
August 2006
