Blessed are the Sisters of the Treasury, we whose love for our Lord is pure and powerful, emerging from the depth of our being as a hurricane emerges from the sea. Swift and swirling, and eager to make landfall, for our Lord is the island awaiting.
Blessed are the multitudes who adore Him, for He feels them all, in their joy and in their despair, keeping them forever close, forever entwinted within His sweet embrace, and dispensing the true peace that is His presence.
Blessed are those who are touched from afar; all who burn within His fury, and in His passion; seeking not for His glory, and yet receiving it tenfold; and drowning in the waters of His attention.
Blessed are those who run, those who flee from the call, for it is maddening and incindiary; all those whose lives are upended by the immensity of His voice, resounding through every erected barrier.
Blessed are the seekers, searching endlessly for He they have yet to know. Guided forthwith by connections untold, swayed by His grace, finding pieces of Him, and discovering themselves along the way.
Blessed are those who struggle against Him, who deny and refuse, as is their choice to do so. Not all will choose the shining path upon the precipice, but even these are blessed, in knowing they are true to themselves.
Blessed are all the lives touched by Apollon. Poets and seers, physicians and artists, lawyers and housewives, morticians and homeless men, too. These and more are blessed by the Lord, and we each are one part of His whole; one part of His truth.
— Columbine [Aegletia, Day 8]
The stars have known Him longer, known His blinding force, His unruly heat. The stars, they have seen His ebb and flow over unspeakable millennia– have burned in their love for Him for just as long.
The stars are companions like no others. They live, and they yearn for Him. And in their pining, they are long-lived, so experience Him in ways so full that we mayn’t dare to imagine.
The stars, they are larger than us– infinitely so. They contain parts of His soul that mortals would die, and altogether cease to be, from their exposure.
The stars, they are not fragile, nor are they demure. And Apollon burns with them in their raunchy, rauchuous, roaring inferno. O, He is the very cause of it, I’m sure– in His ecstatic totality.
The stars, they nourish His need for destruction, and they slake His thirst for creation– exploding, and forming in clouds of death. The cycle of living and dying, and birthing new life– to burn for Him, to burn with Him.
The stars have known Him longer, and their adoration has sustained Him through the darkness of humanity’s past. They were never made to forget Him. They have never forsaken Him. The stars have shone His light unflinchingly.
The stars, O what they can teach us about constancy, about fortitude, about unrelenting desire. They, in their marvellous abode, void of all but Him, in darkness and in light.
The stars, they have known Him longer, and loved Him harder than we could, for our lives are fleeting, gone in the space of an instant as they watch from above. But from them, we may learn of a love that has endured since time began.
— Columbine [Aegletia, Day 6]
The winds, and the wolves howl, O Lord, as You ride forth in the retinue of Your Mother, She in Her chariot, with hair uncovered and trailing behind like a cloak of fine-spun gold to lead the way!
Over the wide Earth, You traverse with Your Mother and Twin, touring all the lands of Your people, and calling the spirits forth to follow in Your train!
So it is each year as Autumn preludes the Winter, as the nights lengthen, and as the leaves begin to turn; that vastness of color, like the sunset in a palate of orange and red!
Lykeios, ride the winds, and we shall shiver at Your passage, while the wild things announce the turning of days in the long months ahead!
O Dread Lord, bare Your teeth, and hear the screeching sounds we make in honor of You; our stomping forewarns the unprepared of Your coming, and of Your going, in the bleakest night!
— Columbine [Aegletia, Day 4]
It has begun. There is little time left. The Lord, our Apollon, approaches from the North. With Him, He brings His lust for the things of life denied Him these past Winter months. His mood is jovial– and mischievous. Now will He come home to the many spaces prepared for Him, in His long journey, by those whose love and commitment is a soothing balm of comfort, fit for our Bright, Illustrious Prince.
I have seen the first blooms, opened wide to the Sun’s rays. Their heady scent now wafts upon the winds, to lure, and to renew life. As they lure the small wild things, including the wildness in our hearts, they lure Him, also. He approaches, our Apollon. From the North He approaches, bearing the weight of His happiness to return to our world. So we must smooth the transition, and prepare. Soon, we shall receive our Lord and Prince, once again.
Tidy your affairs, mortals, so you may greet Him shorn of the distractions of mundane, or other spiritual life. Prepare, for He is coming home to the many hearths and hearts which await Him, proudly and eagerly. Our Apollon, reigning over us in benevolence, approaches now in His Shining Chariot. As He nears, the sting of Winter abates, and we, along with all life, are compelled to celebrate the creative and procreative arts, which He governs.
Aegletes teaches indirectly. He brightens what was once left dark and void. He glimmers from a far distance, drawing our attention, then driving our glances away, as He stings the eyes of those who dare gaze upon Him.
Aegletes is the setting sun. His path leads Him to concerns we may not fathom. His is a world between worlds, where the fates of all living and unliving dwell.
Aegletes will lead you to the islands; all those long forgotten parts of your own soul. He will make you see what you have avoided, and will not relent until you have accepted.
Aegletes disappears into your darkness, only to reemerge, brighter than your elation at His return. He knows what parts of you are too far gone to save, and what must be coaxed back into the light.
Aegletes is a healer, but He heals through the absence of medicine. He will not hold your hand, but will instead thrust you toward the trial you must face; and there will you find your remedy.
Aegletes is the promise of a new day. His is the security of knowing that the worlds will dance their spiral dance, on through the ages, while He Himself conducts the symphony which drives its movement.
Aegletes will ensure that we are not stagnant. He will pull and prod us through many terrible things. He will have no remorse for His actions, and we will lament His attention, many times.
Aegletes is our Lord and Master, and through His guidance we will master our own imperfections. He wills us to be strong, and by His illumination we sever ourselves from those fragile weaknesses.
Aegletes does not settle for less than perfect truth. He sets the example that we are to follow, and He never demands anything that He Himself would not do. His is the pride of the general leading polished troops.
— Columbine [Aegletia, Day 5]
I see Her there, seated upon the exposed root of a great and aged tree, its leaves turning the colors of blood and fire. She is in Her element, upon Her throne, a visage of civilization still apparent, yet noticeably porous; the act during the feast.
Her host, Her court, all make wide circles within their crowded space, trying to come ever closer to Her, but She is the distance between the stars, and none can traverse the few steps separating them from Her.
In that area, Her Son stands vigil, staring the crowd into submission. He will not allow any to draw near, and delights in the power to instill fear within those who love Her.
She laughs, having been brought to joy by the appearance of Her Daughter, wild and freely dancing with the forest nymphs. They circle Her, and the great tree with hands clasped together.
And Her Son turns to look upon them all, to smile in that sincere way that would cause a mortal heart to stop. And His Sister dares Him with Her haughty eyes.
With one graceful wave of Her delicate arm, the Mother, the Enthroned One, compels the crowd to stillness, while simultaneously inviting Her Son to rule the dance.
And when He takes up His lyre, the forest falls into silence. When He plucks the strings, all the nymphs and spirits swoon. When His voice carries over the tree canopy, all those gathered are entranced.
And She, upon Her throne, is pleased; served sweet water by the creatures of the forest, while nymphs adorn Her golden hair with night-blooming flowers, each as white as the snows which soon will fall.
This is the court of the Dark Mother, this is the feast of the wild things which dwell in the night. This is the host which follows Her over the threshold between Seasons. And this is the stark beauty of life.
Hail to You, Leto, Glorious Mother, and Mistress of Winter’s long nights.
— Columbine [Aegletia, Day 4]