Pagan Godspell

Bless’d and Gude Lammas to you, friends Pagani! Come drummers and dancers! The Mama has laid a feast on her summer table!

The Rigs O’ Barley by Robert Burns

It was on a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon’s unclouded light,
I held away to Annie:
The time flew by, wi tentless heed,
Till ‘tween the late and early;
Wi’ sma’ persuasion she agreed
To see me thro’ the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi’ right good will,
Amang the rigs o’barley
I ken’t her heart was a’ my ain;
I lov’d her most sincerely;
I kissed her owre and owre again,
Among the rig o’ barley.

I locked her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o’barley.
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She ay shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o’barley.

I hae been blythe wi’ Comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu’ gath’rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a’ the pleasures e’er I saw,
Tho three times doubl’d fairley
That happy night was worth then a’.
Among the rig’s o’ barley.

CHORUS

Corn rigs, an’ barley rigs,
An’ corn rigs are bonie:
I’ll ne’er forget that happy night,
Among the rigs wi’ Annie.

—————-

Feast and celebrate and mourn the death of the Beloved! There is the smell of bread in the kitchen and the fields are full. Blessings of First Fruits and love in the barley! Everything, everwhere! The fullness of the Mama as she lets down all her shining hair!

A Prayer for the Beloved on Lammas

The scythe is sharp, Beloved.

I am a cup rimed with sweat -
the day was shorter than it was the day before.
The bread rises in the bowl,
I am full.

Do you see Her?
The Red Women opens her arms
like a sheaf of corn unfurling.
The earth is dark as blood,
I am full.

Oh, I am full, I am full.
All this and I am poured out
unto the Roots of the World for You, Beloved.
In the darkness folding in on our hands
and our faces, we are grateful.
We look for the seed of you in the stag
and the reckless light
and the curl of heat
in our hungry mouths.

Oh! The Beloved is Dead!
The Beloved will Come Again!

There is a cry and holy shout
in the fields and in the swollen fruit.

I am full.