Starbreaker
‘Starbreaker’
“Where truth and honour are placed into the ‘World of Man’, obstacles will rise out of the ground, like weeds in a field; thorns will tear at their flesh, tho’ all that is wild, will hunt alongside them, attacking all who stand in their path.”
We fall, by default within the barren landscape. In this hostile environment, our vision spans a plane littered with the ‘Mighty Dead,’ towering above those wounded men, prostrate, inert, dead to the sight before them. These are the ‘lost,’ severed from the Muse, and bereft of Her deep Wisdom. Crippled with ego, and misunderstanding, they may not rise to take the cup that hangs upon the belt of the bright and dark Hunter, whose eyes burn like coals as He stares through them.
Unable to drink from the Source, they exist only upon thorns and polluted water. Fortune favours them not, Fate decrees another course – man becomes the beast that tears at itself and others. Truth purges doubt, searing through a thousand layers of felt, and within the barren landscape many oases stand to refresh the traveller drawn to its bright beacon.
For the Source may be found in the ‘High Place’, where it flows, freely accessible to all who seek it, a stream imparting all that is needful to those who perceive its vital course, particular to it. Direction is the gift of its Egregore; access through its totem; all recognizable keys, providing the optional barrier, a vital shield wall to those who might defame it. One Source only, feeds all men, the ‘demon and the saint;’ She cannot be owned or controlled. But we can touch, see, taste and know Her; yet like Mercury She cannot be held onto without difficulty, a cunning ruse to prevent stagnancy. And thus She must continue to flow.
A cup full can be drunk, but the ocean cannot be swallowed. She shifts, moving around all obstacles, flowing around everything, avoiding that which is not able to embrace Her freely, fully. Tho, She can still shape all that She touches, molding them to Her Will over time.
So am I humbled before humanity, for when I see Truth in the eyes of another, I see the Great Ma, of pure love flowing back to the Source. It tells me She is still here, that my own foolishness and ego are transient, and I am reminded that I am still only a child. I am a wanderer in Hela’s field, facing a barren humanity, who, in holding back their tears, are blinded. Without Compassion, all are lost to fain beauty; yet for the pilgrim, the seven veils are lifted, the intoxication of the Mother’s milk clears all vision to Her ‘real’ Beauty that surrounds us all.
The purpose of the Traditional (Craft) for myself as one of the People, and for my Clan is, simply that: Tradition, it is no more and no less than a system for the Work; it is a Craft, the vehicle in which, and by which each of us may travel: ourself.
Robin the Dart
MAY THE WORD PROTECT YOU FROM THE LIE!
People of Goda, the Clan of Tubal Cain 
Beautiful words with so much meaning , Thank you Robin for sharing.