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

A mountain's in the middle, with a house on the peak:
'A gnashin' and a thrashin ' and a clackin ' of beak.
Your soul you will be lackin '
When you see that mighty kraken.
Oo-oo! Great Cthulhu's starting to speak.
So come on aboard,
Along the road to Great Cthulhu.
Wen-di'-gos and Dhols
Will make Big Macs of our souls.
Under the sea, ~
Down in the ancient city of Rilyeh,
In the lair of Great Cthulhu,
They'l1 suck your soul away!
(Great Cthulhu, Great Cthulu, Suck your soul! Great Cthulhu,
Great Cthulhu)
In the lair of Great Cthulhu, They'll suck your soul away.
(Here, there is an obligatory saxophone solo, a la Tex Beneke)
Huntress by Paladin
A huntress is She.
In virginal white She fares the pale of night
With carnivore intent: All innocent
Of praise or blame or any virtue bearing mortal name or
measurable dimension....
A moonlit mist-wrapp't rose is She, or so appears to be, Who
Flowering, reveals some wild and iridescent thing
that waits in coiled repose and quite conceals:
Intention.
-–She'd seem to yield––a White Queen's gambit leading surely to
checkmate.
––And lo! springs forth some fool or hero glad to seize upon such
bait
He's lost! His heart
'twill cost him, for:
She feasts upon such things
And mayhap, "Pass the Salt" She sweetly sings to one of Her
exalted company the whiles She dabs Her dainty lips with
samite spun of spider-silk
She's of that ilk at very least that things the world a toy or shake
they sky
But it's Her special Joy, to
Take whatever beast may catch Her Eye:
Her taut bow bent like crescent moon,
Swift arrows, then the boon, She grants, with glee A huntress is
She.
By Deborah Frankel Bender
Winter
Then you come before the old woman. Who is the true head of
your coven. Blindfold, hands bound, naked, (It is lawful for
me to tell you this, since You know it already) And she says
to you "Please me."
Women have a better chance of getting through it.
We've had more practice
Coping with unreasonable demands,
Our resources always inadequate.
Men get bad habits
Dealing from strength:
They tend to stick at the first step
("Define the problem")
Few come out of that room with their own bodies on them.
You come before the old woman Who is the true head of your
coven. Blindfold, hands bound, naked. She is waiting for
you. Small talk, charm, and habits will not help you with
355
her. She has seen it all. She knows more than you do. She is
easily bored.
You must come before the old woman
Stripped naked,
And she says to you,
"You're back. What did you bring me?"
What will you offer her? Clean hands? A pure heart? Hers are not.
She is not. She is an old woman. She has seen everything
done everything, endured everything. She is responsible for
everything.
Then your least fear is knowledge Of the whip by her hand.
Witch, what was your training? Embrace everything. Use
everything. Cherish everything. Fear nothing.
So you come before the old woman and dance before her Made to
improvise. Hobbled by the rope. Tough to keep your
balance. Naturally she laughs. At you wobbling and
whistling. She laughs, reminded of the juggler she loved
once. She sends you out again.
Goddess Gift –Joyce L. Baker
The bodies entwined appear as one,
For this, indeed they are,
The song of love escapes their lips,
Is carried near and far
On the wings of ecstasy,
They rise and they do soar,
This feeling it wit never end
For love will e'er endure.
Two bodies–God and Goddess are United perfectly.
Their joy exposed, so openly,
For all the world to see.
Their feelings are eternal
The same they'll always be,
From dawn of time to man's demise
United–Perfectly.
The fire of Life flows through their veins
Their voices rise and fall,
Their ecstasy–adrift of Love
From she who created all.
-Jeffrey Andrew Young
Winter’s Ending
Come the goat-man, man of Springtime,
Savior of the Winter's ending.
Come from mountains, come and enter
This, the sad, stiff human figure,
For his mind is numbed with Winter,
Lain neglected since rememb'ring,
And his hands are stiffened branches,
Frozen bones that have no feeling.
Strike the fire deep within him,
Fire to melt this icy thinking.
Passion sings within him somewhere,
Laughter lies awake, awaiting
Some necessity inside him:
To awaken him from slumber.
Now the dead man's mind grows restless,
Fingers yearn for warmer flesh,
Rememb'ring souls that once had touched him,
Breathing bodies he was near to.
Goat-man draw him ever onward
Through the slush of dying Winter
Where his memories await him
In Spring's gentle restlessness.