 |
| Photo by Arian Levanael |
Today, I want to introduce her to you more formally, and also tell you how I came to fall in love with this amazing author, witch and person extraordinaire.
Copyright note: The excerpt below is copyrighted to the author and shared here with her permission. To protect her rights, all copy/paste has been disabled on this blog. I'm sure you understand.
Don't you love the picture to the left? It was taken by Arian Levanael, a good witch friend of Ly's and a fabulous photographer. Click here or under the picture to see his site.
By Way of Introduction:
Ly's bio: I'll post a small excerpt and then send you the link to her site where you can read her rich and full biography.
"Grew up by the coast in Sydney, Australia, lost amongst the rocky cliffs between Balmoral Beach and Chinaman's Cove. I became a book addict very young.
Won Book Week of the Year for Australia when I was eleven. Had my photo taken with the mayor of Mosman and was awarded a pictorial dictionary which, of course, I read from cover to cover because it was, after all, a book.
My grandmother moved in that same year. My grandmother's name was Marionna Potter and originally she sailed from Co. Cork, Ireland to America, from there to New Zealand and then to Sydney. She ran the Rembrandt Hotel in Kings Cross back when the Cross was cool. She read cards and tea-leaves and rocked my world. Other things that year? Two near-death experiences (drowning and electrocution), the reading of "A Hundred and One Ghost Stories" to name just one book of the supernatural genre; I had a strange, ghostly visitor in the dead of night (he wore a top-hat and an over-coat) and I held my first seance. Oh, I also started to get interested in boys.... (read more here)"
One other piece of her bio.. "What am I passionate about? The art of clear communication, history, mythology, the legends of 'Celtic' ancestry, debating with strong-willed, good-humoured people, all the wild things and all the wild places, the sea, the sea, the sea, and a sense of humour. I'm known to be rather outspoken on matters pertaining to the sustainability and guardianship of earth and the rights of all species to self-determination and I prefer the company of animals to most people."
Then, I began to explore some of her earlier works, and not much longer after that, she published a few more (we'll get to those later).
I once joined a group she hosted from her website and found even more to love about her. While I eventually left the group because I felt I couldn't adequately contribute my fair share at the time, it was one of the most positive experiences of my life. If I'm ever feeling a bit "lost" or "disconnected", I pick up one of her books and am reminded of who I am again (that, and a trip to the woods with my wolf-dog does the trick).
Whenever I've had the opportunity to read a chapter of one of her books to someone, they too experienced the same connection and love that I felt, so I wanted to share this experience with you, too. I'm still in awe of the fact that Ly has allowed me to do this. I hope you'll enjoy this week's experiences. Please do share feedback in the comments and/or on Facebook. I'm looking forward to hearing from you all on this.
When I See the Wild God Description from Amazon:
Deepen your knowledge of the sacred mysteries . . . enter the space where nothing begins and nothing ends . . . reclaim your pagan heritage. A unique blend of witchcraft instruction, Celtic mythology, and urban fantasy, this work goes beyond ordinary witchcraft manuals. Ly de Angeles provides insight into the Celtic perspective of sacredness, and presents invocations, visualizations, and urban magic rituals for the equinoxes, solstices, and the four Fire Festivals. Other magical theory and practice explored in this handbook:
• Law of Three
• logos and mythos
• animism
• pantheism
• the Four Worlds
• death and timelessness
• the Elements
• shapeshifting
• Tuatha dé Danann
• the Quicken Tree
Literary, eclectic, and infused with a masculine sensibility, When I See the Wild God is your guide to the Déithe and draíocht-the gods and magic that exist within and around you.
Excerpt
Preface
The cairn of dolmen stones-mosses and lichens covering the swirls and patterns that mark a forgotten ancestry- stands silent and brooding upon the barren hilltop, sentinels that guard an ancient gate that opens onto elsewhere.
Today draws to a close, but the signs of summer, subtle as they are, can be seen, felt, and heard all around.
The sun dips toward the western horizon, creating mysterious depths and hollows within the rough circle of still-warm stones as they cast their long shadows upon the ground.
I always wake from the sleep of the light between the sunset and the dark, when the world gets just a little calmer. At first glance, the place seems empty, its stillness unbroken, its ancient unseen power thrumming quietly within itself.
But, then I see him move. (He was not a shadow after all).
A huge dark man, dressed as though he were a ragged crow-with dreds that fall in a cascade, all threaded here and there with black bird feathers that catch the fading light in their blue-black sheen-stands as still as the stones themselves, facing into the sunset. I see him from my silent watching place and know at once just who he is.
The ancient man, hunter, blessed of the fair folk. I smile. He is still alive, despite how many folk have tried to cut him down.
It's been a long, long time since he has come to my gate. A thousand years or more spent wandering the ancient trackways to remind the earth that she is precious and he guards her still. I sense the others not far away and I know they'll keep the fires burning against a night not mine- not clean.
At the moment of the sun's disappearance, in a splash of molten gold, in a crimson and pale mauve sky, he raises his arm and begins a low, strong, beautiful song. The words are in the old tongue-potent- meant to evoke yearning in the memories of those who think themselves forgotten.
Darkness now hastens to claim its own time, and as the last of the light fades into dusk Hunter turns to face inward into the rain, bringing the calling to a close.
I can't read his thoughts, but I understand the sad and haunted light beyond his black, steady gaze. Ah, well, there's all the time of the night to hear his story. It's fortunate indeed that I am here now.
He pauses a moment before he moves to close the circle in the ring, shutting out the other world.
Night has almost fully spun its web of deeper mystery, and I sense the feelings of loss, and relentless determination in the face of so much tragedy, that dwell behind the iron-strong discipline. The draiocht of the Lord of Life and Death, the fire of inspiration, all the legends and the patterns and the spells- the whole him...yeah, I know it also. For I am the Watcher. And He knows that I am here- but I am not the one he seeks.
The moon is rising now, above the sacred stone that is his altar, and she casts her silver glow into the ring. The familiar scene becomes unearthly and filled with the older mysteries.
This is the time between.
This is the time, in ages past, when he would normally leave, abandoning the shrine to the dark, to travel in that other world along with the pack he calls "The Band," searching for the Lost or the hated- their fate determined by the scent they emit.
Yet this one time he remains- motionless, watchful, waiting. I hear his breathing as it becomes a little faster, just a little harder, as the presences other than both of us arrive-Guardians of the Stones and Whisperers of Ancient Magic and older still than any of us.
There! Within the deep shadows of the farthest dolmen arch, a small figure-robed, it would seem, from the swirling darkness of itself; a darkening and thickening of the shadows, and as black as the deepest, sunless sky.
The figure walks into the ring and he sees that it is, perhaps, a woman's form. Though whether mortal or sidhe, or the one he seeks, he cannot tell.
In his customary quiet voice, he asks, "Are you...?"
She smiles and moves, and from within the dark folds of her cloak, tiny, brilliant points of light shine and twinkle like stars within blackness, mists roil and swirl like forgotten ghosts, and a murder of ravens swoops from the depths with a rattle of wings and a hundred conversations, to fly mad and carefree upon the wind, to places in the mortal world-messengers, oracles-to those who still know how to read the signs.
"You know me, Hunter." Her voice is soft and deep. "I am the hidden depths. I am silence, and patience, and stillness. I am the Dark Womb and the Peaceful Tomb and we are one. I am the bare bones of all that is, and I am the time it takes to crumble them to dust. And the earth that claims them for her garden.
"I am the quiet stone and the rich, damp soil beneath their feet. I am the mystery of the dark and bottomless well wherein they look for visions.
"I am the longing and the hunger for what they think they have forfeited."
“I am okay" sighs Hunter, the things he's seen laid open for her to know, for no other could look and not be frightened for the future.
"I am your grail, Hunter- You know that. Drink deeply for draiocht, and know the taste of me upon your lips, because it's not over yet for us- we are still here, and therefore life continues."
"I am tired, Lady..." says Hunter, finally able to relax the burden of keeping wonder alive within a tangle of human disdain.
"Be with me awhile. This night. Tread the steps of the dance of a new day, so that you might feel the pleasure of forgetting for a moment-a little gift I'm good at! And so that I can breathe the forest that I smell upon you.
"We all pay homage to the Dance of Life and Death, so let us dance it fearlessly for does not this earth, these rocks and stones who listen so intently, invite us?
"In the morning you'll remember that to each of us, and everything, there is bequeathed a time and purpose. Your purpose is not opposed to mine, nor mine to yours, for there is no day without night- and where, I ever wonder, is there thought of separation?"
"And herein lies the mystery..." says Hunter, smiling.
"It's love, Hunter. You know about love?"
"Yeah, I know about that, Lady."
The wind rises and carries the distant sound, first of Matt's piping, then Willie's fiddle, then Alan's bodhran.
I smile. These folk are mine!
You can purchase "When I See The Wild God" at Amazon here.
Please do visit her website: LyDeAngeles.com. She's not just an author. She's also a kick-ass film writer, producer, and director. One of my favorites is called Wings:
More to come tomorrow!! Enjoy!