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Spirit Gardens


Ancestral Airs

by Verda S. Smailer


Ancestral Airs is an adult mythology, taking place in pre- Celtic British Isles. Composed in storyteller vernacular, this manuscript introduces a theory of the possible tribal concepts revealed in mythology and archeology and is based on the belief that in order to live in harmony with nature one must be both acutely aware and ecologically responsible.

Ancestral Airs is strictly for adults, both graphic and explicit; not for the faint of heart.

ORDER download zip copy of the 209 page Ancestral Airs

Below are some excerpts for your perusal.

Chapter 1

I have known a few others like myself, harbingers for the Ancient Ones, waiting for the death rattle of the oppressor. We have stared into that vacant socket repeatedly, apprehensively, and although the glue that binds us to this reality is spent beyond the struggle to remain flesh, we endure and when certain we will cover it with a shroud and be gone. There will be no malingering ascension. We proclaim the rebirth of our kind into the Rapture and the Infinite Present.

Chapter 2

I am Old Dog Dreamer, Clan Greihound, kin to the Twilight Women and sprung from an Oak mother. I am an elder and the twin dreamer for my clan. I have traveled the spiral, the Infinite Present and have seen the passing of my people. Born of the Ancient Ones and destroyed at the hands of strangers, I proclaim the rebirth of my kind somewhere along the whirling arm of Forever Now.

Chapter 3

As a Death Clan elder I no longer enjoyed the privilege of simply walking into the village to be reunited with my Oak clan. I had to gain entree hidden beneath paint and clan magic. My fancy clothes were tired from ritual service and I hid the wear in my deerskin kilt beneath a grey pelt and a fringe strung with clacking claws. The laces of my boots crisscrossed to my knees and to the tops of these I attached little garlands of feathers and bone bits. The Ancient Ones resonating in each treasure rebuked my struggle to remain at peace with my inherent charge, illuminating instead the Ecstasy that had spent most of my life.

Chapter 4

The midsummer ceremony marked the pinnacle point from which the year spiraled almost imperceptibly to the Winter Wait. The magic of the Life Givers rose to its astonishing essential and yielded to its natural passive flow. We were nothing without the sun, the river and the blood of our people borne in our beautiful women. There were hundreds of bonfires spreading a warmth and security that permeated our villages, homes, beds and hearts. Straw torches, bound together with oak and willow, were lovingly placed in the fields, and near the pens of creatures who would give over their lives to us. Hills, rocks and sacred places were anointed with copious amounts of milk, offering our abundance to the Mother who had brought us life.

Chapter 5

Once again, the resident Death Clan was represented by only one elder. He looked at me fiercely with the rhythmic blink of a predator; he was the hag, the prophesier of death. His shrine had a dark and enthralling energy about it. From every available spot hung the glistening silver black of wings and feathers that could only be Raven. Equally amazing were the innumerable claws, heads and bird-bone whistles. The Raven and the Eagle were in cahoots, one ripping away living flesh, the other eating the rotten remains. This old bird could carry me aloft and drop me on the rocks below, keen to the agony of my death before devouring me. The images of his kin always bore the red blood of life on the talons that picked away all evidence of our existence. The Old Raven sat unceremoniously preening newly acquired feathers for his temple and spoke candidly.

Chapter 6

Although the dance had eased my fear of the distant villages, great attention now had to be paid to ritual behavior and dress. Every protocol would have to be strictly followed to gain entree. We could have an ally in the Wolf clan, who would be assembled for their newborn and it was unlikely that Paidin's Star clan would stand against me. We were total strangers to the Moon clan women and the Bull. My greatest concern went to the Forest clan, an enormous group, still wild, who were the keepers of the woods and all the magic contained therein. They had no particular dislike for Greihound, but a blessing designed by them would contain an element of might equal to the power with which they lived their lives.

Chapter 7

The atmosphere of the place was undeniably different. Beneath the feast day happiness ran a volatile current. I had the distinct impression that one false move or minor indiscretion could explode into an incident that could easily escalate to rage. Friendly smiles and affectionate hands did not conceal eyes that were always darting about scanning everything and everybody. Villagers would stop to look at me staring, as though in one simple moment they could sum up my entire existence. Gracious and polite, their manner failed to hide an inherently suspicious nature. The women were no exception. Their eyes were extraordinary, black as night and dangerous. Cuileann was right, they were exquisite. One could revel in that up to the point of becoming prey to some maddening purpose. I hoped he was being cautious, the likelihood of which was probably nil.

Chapter 8

The Fish and River clans picked up the story. " You have seen our symbols of whirls and double triangles. The Fish give over their lives to you as well as the Bear and the Eagle. We are the guardians of the streams and springs and the wavy line symbols of the water that sustains all life. The River clan women arbitrate disputes by divining from the currents of the streams and river conjoining them to the women of the Winds and Tides as well as your Oak clan mother. "We know the magic of every spring, made holy by countless offerings from the tribe. One place may be for clairvoyance, another for healing, each for a different blessing. The people pilgrimage, pray, kneel, drink, feast, and make love at the temples we caretake, and leave treasures for our Mother: stone and amber tools, the fire of pyrite balls and sharpened quartz, bones of their sacred animals and flowers and branches of exquisite beauty. We know that you could supplicate at every spring in our domain and wouldn't find one to consecrate your Dreamloop. "We provide the hunting ground for the bear and eagle, they can divine the hunting ground for your fate. We want nothing to do with it but will concede to your need if you survive."

Chapter 9

We returned to the feast, she joining again with the women of her clan. Knowing glances from my brothers were the only indication that I had been missed. Giving up my celibacy had definitely stretched the ritual protocol to the limit. Fortunately as an elder my actions would not be challenged, allowing me to enjoy the prestige of my position and the liberty of bending the rules; particularly advantageous regarding my occasional dalliances. Anyway, Clan Greihound was far more interested in clinching the match and the Crones were no doubt relieved to know that I was capable, the indiscretion probably planned to insure an insult-free environment for later.

Chapter 10

Cycle after cycle we had reaped the abundance of our sacred domain. In return we offered ourselves and the ancestral creatures from whom we had been sprung to insure that we never took carelessly or too much. The blessing for the frugality with which we took of this bounty was lustration in the loving arms of Mother, Lover and Crone. From every womb and swollen nipple poured forth the essence of life coalescing in my people, each of whom were reborn into magician, dreamer, artisan. We didn't leave a trace lest the beauty of the Mystery be ruined for the next ones, never suspecting that the it would be stolen from them.

Chapter 11

It was our good fortune to not have to wait long. Two days after our arrival we heard the approach of the women's party somewhere down the mountain. Most of us hiked down to meet them and carried their gear the rest of the way, their journey having been long and exhausting. We were ecstatic; the Weaving women had kept their pledge so far. Should everything be as proscribed, the ceremony would commence in a few days. When the women were well rested and fed, hopefully they would come to us. In the interim, it was a blessing to have them in our presence, filling us up with their life-giving warmth. They were pleased with the accommodations we had provided, apparently judged excessive, revealing our desperate appreciation.

Chapter 12

As her vision diminished with the onset of evening, the sound and intent of the river became more and more acute. Owls sang the songs of the Ancient Ones. The fire spoke in the crackling sighs of Crones, invoking the primal memory in Gobetween's blood, now unencumbered by the sustained projection of her existence in the daylight. Vespertine creatures closed in bending her spirit more and more out of shape with sensuous urgency. The moon stood high in the sky, unmoving as the night passed away, the Infinite Present vastly more formidable than her fragile and fleeting reality. The whispering babble of the Life Blood bathed her, washing away the years that separated our births. As though lightning struck, she erupted into the world of my people. I, trailing like the tail of a comet, exploded into my den.

Chapter 13

Liabra and I stood in Iceadh's smoke for four nights, face to face, heart to heart. The Ancient Travellers sparkled their approval from the new moon sky, and moved in to envelop us until we stood suspended with them glistening in the blackness. We ascended until the stars twinkled below our feet and the Mother mountain rose into vivid blue sky above them. On the fifth sunset we were called out to stand before six men who had disappeared behind the Greihound. Cuileann and Briain guarded the sacred birth from the ledge.

Copyright © Verda S. Smailer 1994