A Tantric Meeting with the Horned God at Beltane

    by Sequoia Starr

    Flames in your eyes, a longing holds you like a fragile bud in temperance and the flavor of antiquity tastes like evergreen pleasure.

    There are fecund seconds in the significant lapse of reality when in divine eyes the whole world changes.

    Life in all of its enigmatic elegance breeds a new hope without reason and with total rapture. It sends sensuous tremors all through your lush body.

    Suddenly, anything and everything is evoked by the miracle of existence, and the smile is that of the Horned One.

    He appears with a crown of green foliage and antlers like branches, firm and free in every direction.

    His green cape drapes over strong immortal skin and brown locks fall across his chest. Master of the hunt and keeper of the trees, he exudes lusty rebellion and masculine fertility.

    His flute is long and lyrical and a deep desire to play it enthralls you. He is Cernunnos, Pan, Herne, the Green Man.

    You become enchanted by his raw royalty and exquisite worship of the land. As a wild woman you too move with fervent grace and speak in untamed poetry.

    There is delicacy in this love which grips you with nostalgia and the unknown and known meet each other at the foaming estuary.

    This is the wild man you’ve been dreaming of, the conscious warrior and protector of the woods.

    Your saliva thickens and pools under your tongue and the warmth crawls through your skin, divining the future with phantom hands.

    There is this zesty wistful wanderlust that leaks deliciously and quenches your thirst for excitement like nothing else.

    You know you have moved beyond tripping through thorny tendrils, that you have made it home to the blooming rose.

    You know that there is neither need or attachment in the sacred meeting ground, and that each tender moment is an untold story.

    In the light you see him, hoofed and heroic and wildly misunderstood. You drink his tears as the dew of the Oak tree.

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    You intuit when the time is right to lay with your soft sheepskin by the fire’s light.

    The sensation is like gazing into a sky full of stars with a devouring desire to merge with it, to know it intimately.

    You wonder how all of those stars fit into one impeccable and godly form.

    Yes, this sweet yearning drips innocently like sap from the maple, so taste each droplet with reverence.

    It cascades like in a perfect rush from the waterfall. There is no need to rush out of presence, though, for he is always there in the deep forest green.

    There is no vision rigid enough to dilute the inevitable love in the wild unknown.

    You see him in the flame, scrying and moaning in ecstasy. You know the craving is satiated by rising winged from pure longing and you know all magick is born of imagination.

    The stories you tell are inked with devotion, and the dreams you weave are alive.

    This is the love story you have been inscribing since you were a young maiden. This is the sacred marriage of your ideal incarnation.

    This is the high hand-fasting and the most elevated magick. This is your prince of cups mounted on a great stallion who has come to collect you from the castle.

    This is the prophetic bard who has come to sing poetic invocations to you and through you.

    This is your bearded wizard with rugged staff who has come to make divine love in the grassy fields of your inner world.

    And he lives there, wild woman, in that burning flame in your eyes. He lives within you.

    image source



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    About the Author:

    Sequoia Starr is the creatress  of The Witches Spiral – a goddess sanctuary for inspirational witchcraft and mystic word weaving. She is a writer, tarot reader and workshop facilitator who specializes in Earth Magick as a path of empowerment. Check her out on Facebook and Instagram!


    featured image via Deviantart



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