Green Book Of Meditations Volume 6 The Books of Songs - Student ...

By Scott Stearns
The cruelest joke
played by the gods
upon man
The Cruelest Joke
is not a winter's day
the sun shining like never before;
yet the world is frozen
and dead
Nor is it autumn
when the leaves turn brilliant
yet they soon die
in splendid agony
Nor is it spring
when the earth is being renewed
yet storms do rip
all the land asunder
Nor is it summer
when the sun is nearest the earth,
yet the heat does scorch,
and all the land turns brown
No, the cruelest joke
that not even the Trickster
in all his malevolent mischief
could surpass
is life.
The Friend of the RDNA
Words: Sam Adams, ArchDruid of St. Olaf.
Tune:Ystwffwl (Welsh, in "English, Irish, Welsh & Scottish
fiddle tunes" by Robin Williamson.)
Here is a song I sang at a Mistletoe Rite of the Henge of Keltria in
Minneapolis. It was more or less commissioned by Mec.
The Druids and Mages of earliest times
Kept the Wisdom of Ages in memorized rhymes
But they lost all their files when the System went down
If they'd kept the hard copies, they'd still be around.
In the year '63 there were Druids again
And they wasted no time putting paper to pen.
They saw the Reform, and they thought it was good
And they all started writing as fast as they could.
Epistles and Libers and Writs and Decrees
By thirty years on they'd come up to our knees
In the Carleton Archives there's shelf after shelf
With half of them needed for Isaac himself.
But many were tattered and battered and lost
To find and replace them would be of great cost
But then came the grace of a well-lettered friend
To make sure we'd not lose our Druids again.
Here's to David, and David, and Norman, and Tom
And Richard, and Robert, and Isaac and Don
And our love and our blessing and a hip-hip-hooray
To Tony, the Friend of the RDNA.
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(The men in the last Stanza were prominent early members of the
RDNA (David Fisher, David Frangquist, Norman Nelson,
Thomas McCausland, Richard Shelton, Robert Larson, Don
Morrison and Tony Taylor of the Henge of Keltria. The
regrettable lack of women is due to the regrettable sexism of the
early RDNA; there were great women leaders throughout, but
they did more ritual leading than Scripture writing. Which might
just explain a few things about the Christian Bible.)
By Mec 11/22/92
The Search
Do I aimlessly wander the silent hills?
Are my sylvan prayers better spent in church?
Can an outsider cure the world's dark ills?
Will I ever find That for which I search?
By Fer Horn
When I grow up,
I want wings like a seagull,
That ripple as I fly,
Starting at the body
And spreading to the tips.
To soar low above the waves,
To swoop up and then plunge
Into the water
And then bob up like a cork.
To fly far and fast,
Never touching the shore.
By Fer Horn
When I Grow Up
A Hand Print
A hand print is an interesting thing
To leave on the wall of a cave.
What else so eloquently says,
"I was here. I Am."
To put your hand there
And leave the mark of your passing.
A hand, reaching out from the past
To the people of the future,
Who will come and think
On those who Were before
And touch their hand to yours.
"Yes, we Are."
Dancing Winds
By Fer Horn 10-1-91 Tuesday Queenscliff, Victoria
Storm driven winds howl through my mind.
So like a stormy night at home.
It sounds the same in different trees,
Whistles in the alley, screams along the sea.
It even has the same feel;
Of power beyond control,
Bringing creatures not seen
Out to dance with the blowing trees.