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Eponalia (18 December in the calendar of Roman Feast days)
The Sun sits low in the sky and dips even lower as his year draws to an end. The pale light of day soon passes to night. The tide ebbs. Each flower, each tree, each head of grass and grain, has shrunk to back to kernel: to hard seed, to nut, to reserved essence, biding the time until the light grows again and roots find a way through nurturing soil. For now, Epona traverses the paths of the dead, riding through the dark, through earth and sea, each life that has passed moving with her, finding the way that she opens for them, losing the memories she closes behind them. The Sun will return and a new year begin, but now is the time of repose. Epona, we are with you in the time of waiting, we pause with you now in the dark of the year. We mark the time until the longest night when you stir the deepest well of the darkness like a river rising from the caverns of gloom. A candle is placed on the altar unlit, marking this time of darkness. It is a dark candle and when lit it will be scented and burn low and slowly. Another candle is placed there beside it, a large red candle for the rebirth of the Sun. This will be lit at the Solstice and burn through the longest night. Some holly and some ivy are also there. Darkness falls on the ivy leaf Yulelight glistens on the holly bough As red fire stirs in the kindling. We count three days to the longest night Three more till the glimmer of a longer day Then seven to the eve of New Year Calends These days we count from the Feast of Epona First festival of the Year’s turning. The candle for Epona is lit. The candle for the Sun awaits the Solstice. |
In reply to this post by Heron
Epona, I wrote this poem for you after the blood moon in 2015 and read it aloud to you at a ritual held in your honour that autumn. I offer it here as a written dedication at your shrine.
Apples For Epona The blood moon: an apple in a goddess' eye drops and I think of the windfall crisp autumn mornings when we released the horses slipping from their halters twisting away in leaps and bucks with piquant glint-eyed excitement to the trees where they'd drop their heads whuffle up the crispy moons of green and red. Some days before we turned them out we whispered to them "apples" and they knew exactly what we meant... The blood moon has passed. The horses are staying out late this year. Yet the sun has gone down on my stable-yard: baling freshly-cut hay, stacking barns with hard-shouldered labour, stuffing stretching nets for hungry mouths. As I cut the meadow and gather orchard fruits I reminisce about the rural life that didn't last. When the horses are tied behind bar and bolt tugging at hay with meadow-sweet muzzles I will feed them apple-moons from my open palm. |
In reply to this post by Heron
I ask a blessing from the Horse Mother and give thanks the she is here.
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In reply to this post by Heron
EPONALIA : 18 December in the Roman Calendar of Feast Days
Awakening from a dream In the half-light of a winter dawn The vision of a white horse Bright against the starkness of the day The Sun riding low on the saddle Of a ridge shrouded with mist |
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In reply to this post by Heron
![]() A relief from your shrine in Trier where I visited especially to be with you. |
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In reply to this post by Heron
The ways beyond the world are open to you
You hold the key for departing and becoming. |
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In reply to this post by Heron
![]() Identities lost and found as shapes shift On the paths of the dead, finding New ways to be alive as forms fuse One to another : human to badger, Bee to wolf, bear to otter; from one to many. On these paths anything goes (or goes). What might we become along these trails? All is fluid, molecules of liquidity like Hydrogen and oxygen in water sliding From one identity to another in the dark, Tripping over each other to find again The way to the light which beckons Far off yet, but welcoming whenever And wherever she will guide you. |
In reply to this post by Heron
Epona, Horse Mother, you were revered amongst the people of Lancashire thousands of years ago, as you shall be today. 'Mamm o March e trev Rheghed'
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In reply to this post by Heron
Gwylnos y Gaeaf
On our lands the light dwindles, So we hold our vigil for Epona - Her vigil is long, night after night Until something stirs from the cauldron of night, Epona sits astride her mare. |
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In reply to this post by Heron
This seems like an appropriate time to re-post this.
![]() Identities lost and found as shapes shift On the paths of the dead, finding New ways to be alive as forms fuse One to another : human to badger, Bee to wolf, bear to otter; from one to many. On these paths anything goes (or goes). What might we become along these trails? All is fluid, molecules of liquidity like Hydrogen and oxygen in water sliding From one identity to another in the dark, Tripping over each other to find again The way to the light which beckons Far off yet, but welcoming whenever And wherever she will guide you. |
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