It is the time of the Great Hunt. It is the time when the Great God offers himself for harvest.
The great god. The beautiful god. The life bringer. The King.
He looks upon his beloved. He sees her face and her form and his desire for her is only outmatched by his desire for his destiny.
It is time.
The calling is strong.
He looks one more time at his beloved. And at the sound of the hunter’s horn, he transforms himself into a white stag—beautiful and complete.
The great god. The beautiful god. The life bringer. The King.
With an answering bugle, he gathers his energies and springs forth to meet his future.
The hunt is long but it ends as it always has ended.
The arrow pierces the stag, scattering his life-force, along with his blood.
The hounds shred his flesh until there is nothing that resembles what was.
The great god. The beautiful god. The life bringer. The King.
The Great Hunt moves on.
Silence and stillness and mystery remain.
But then a light shines from deep in the forest and it grows brighter and brighter. A woman steps forth into the place of death. With a cry she looks upon the place of death.
“I am the Virgin,” she weeps. “I see my King. I see my beautiful God. He is no more. I am undone.”
“I am the Wife,” she cries. “I see my King. I see my husband. He is no more. I gather his pieces. I have begun.”
“I am the Crone,” she exclaims. “I see my King. I see my equal. I know him. I place him within my cauldron. I contain him. Here he will remain until he re-members himself. ”
And it is so.
But it is not enough. Not this time.
For the story goes that the Great King journeys within the infinite cauldron—into the dark, the shadow--bestowing wisdom and teachings as he re-members himself; a light for those to follow. The story follows him into the deep and the dark until the darkest of days, where his light shines upon she-who-is-becoming. And on that darkest of days, the place where he re-members is the same place where she-who-is-becoming rests.
And they meet in that instant, that pinpoint of light, that pause between thoughts.
And they see the mirror of each other’s eyes and they look at their choice as they re-member and become what they have always been.
“The spiral is turning,” she says.
“And we have a choice,” he replies.
“We can continue the old way,” she says.
“I come into your cauldron and go within. I re-member myself. I am birthed. You nurture.”
He winks. “I plant.”
She laughs. “You are good at planting. And then we watch things grow and then we watch things harvest.”
Her smile fades. “The Hunt….”
His eyes meet her and he sighs.
Silence.
“I am Creator,” he begins.
“I am Sustainer,” she answers.
“I am Initiator,” he says.
“I am Nurturer,” she responds.
“I am Design,” he whispers.
“I am Word,” she breathes.
“I am Love,” he smiles.
“I am Power,” she states. “And Abundance,” she adds.
“Power,” He shakes his head and sighs in sorrow. “I give you back your Power. When I take Power, I create Force.”
Silence.
“We will braid ourselves. We will weave ourselves.” She offers.
“We will create a new Spiral.”
“We will dance it into Truth.”
“No more separation.”
“No more Hunt.”
He laughs. “How can there be a Hunt when we are Found?”
Her joy mirrors his own. It is one thing.
He holds out his hand. “Shall we begin?”