Exploring the Human Condition: altered states of consciousness

Loreena McKennitt sings a beautiful Irish song…

And now I direct you to the actual poem which inspired the song…

The Secret Rose

by William Butler Yeats

Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose,
Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those
Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre,
Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir
And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep
Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep
Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold
The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold
Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes
Saw the Pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise
In Druid vapour and make the torches dim;
Till vain frenzy woke and he died; and him
Who met Fand walking among flaming dew
By a grey shore where the wind never blew,
And lost the world and Emer for a kiss;
And him who drove the gods out of their liss,
And till a hundred morns had flowered red
Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead;
And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown
And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown
Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods;
And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods,
And sought through lands and islands numberless years,
Until he found, with laughter and with tears,
A woman of so shining loveliness
That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress,
A little stolen tress. I, too, await
The hour of thy great wind of love and hate.
When shall the stars be blown about the sky,
Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows,
Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose?

Maybe we’ve almost forgotten the places we loved, the land we watched change, as we changed, and times carried us forward… but as all things cycle, so have we come home once again, and soon the balance will be restored and people will remember what love was, and the smiles on little children will once again brighten our hearts…

Remembering who we are, brings us together, united again, as we wait for our hero, our Champion, he will never forsake us, even in our darkest hour, and when his magnificent horse takes the final hill and then he is surrounding by the tribe, all our men returned, and we will rejoice as we hear the stories, both brave and sad…

The red-haired lass keeps her eyes down as she not get too close, as he speaks with such passion, and his hungry eyes finds her watching, and later when the moon has gone down a bit, they meet in a quiet embrace, so innocent, so sweet… And again the trees in the forest know the love that is all there is, and all there ever will be…


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