The Program

We carry with us the sacred hearthfire, the heart of the tribe. The ancients believed that everything in the mundane world was held to have it’s counterpart in the archetypical world of sacred reality. The true home, our tribal land, lays just beyond the Veil. But in ThisWorld we wander as nomads. Only so much can be done, when all of our accomplishments lay untethered to be cast upon the winds. It is time to place roots. It is time to call forth the true home of our sacred reality, and manifest it in the here and now. The tribe is ready to come home. But where?

With a whirl of blades and the thrash of drums, we bring new life into home of the ancestors. The tribe sings to the earth, hoping to awaken those slumbering spirits who may have thought themselves forgotten.

No matter where we rest our heads,
the sacred HearthFire acts as a beacon to draw the tribe as one. In the ruins of the past, we mingle the ashes of yesterday, with burning hope of tomorrow.

But things are not as they once were.
Where once we howled at the moon, now dark spirits roam with abandon. Even the land herself shudders in the face of an impending threat. We must show them reverence and consideration for their trials to come. Best to lay low, biding our time and gathering knowledge. Now is the time for us to remember the past – to entertain the tribe and the spirits through stories, music and good conversation.

How can we know where we going if we don’t know where we are?
We raise our eyes to the heavens. The celestial canvas unfolds like clockwork, revealing hints of the
divine order of Creation.

Poetry is more than words. Poetry is what’s left when words break down. Often more can be said with silence than with speaking. Still the flurry of our everyday lives, hush the business of the active mind, and listen to the whisper of their inner self.

The tribe has much to discuss. Poets go by many names.
In history they’ve been known as bards, skalds, storytellers, and artists. But the Poet isn’t a professions, it’s a way of understanding and being in tune with Creation. Fields as diverse as Mathematics, Science, Medicine, Contruction, Marketing and Customer Service have all had their share of true Poets. For poets all have one thing in common – the ability to listen, and a profound awareness that things are rarely what they seem. And it doesn’t take the sensitivty of a Poet to realize the summer has been particularly hot and unforgiving. Withered crops and the promise of a bleak harvest tell the story well enough. Perhaps the tribe was too hasty in the killing of the Winter King? With the scales tipped, could we come to regret what’s to follow?

Every place, person and thing has a story to be told.
Those with keen ears for listening can often pull them from the whisper of the wind, the rustling of leaves, or the sigh of rain drops. Stories are meant to be told, and with no one to hear or tell them, they wither and die like orphans. Some stories are unpleasant to tell, but they must be given voice none the less. We’re all gifted with the ability to hear the voices of the unspoken. We all have the ability to cast aside the noise of the everyday, and listen to the whispering wellspring of life. But some are more attuned than others. They are the Oracles, who speak neither for Gods or the dead, but for everything in Creation that transcends common speech or understanding. Do you hear the whispers? Can you recall the stories long forgotten by the living, or those never spoken? The true home beckons, like a Siren beckonning to the sailors on a perilous Odyssey. And like the sailors, our journey is not without it’s dangers. Who amongst us will take the first footsteps to more profound understanding?

We came seeking help from the land spirits,
but they have troubles of their own. The land spirits are under siege. The land is threatened with destruction. Like the stories of old, a bull rages, sowing destruction in it’s wake. It is fueled by the uncontested King of Summer. So strong and mighty is the bull, how while the tribe be able to stop it? Where swords and axes fail, perhaps music could soothe the savage beast?

We gather as a community.
We gather as one – the tribe, the ancestors, and the spirits of the land.

We live in the now, and dance like there’s no tomorrow!

As darkest night blankets the land, there is more work yet to be done. Some prepare, while others rest their weary limbs and share camraderie by the fire.

Listen to the voice of the spirits through the rustling leaves,
the wind on the hill. The tribe has come seeking answers from the ghosts of memories and the spirits of the land. But such relationships require an exchange, the spirits have their own goals and dreams, beyond simply servicing our curiosity and desires. We have honoured them, and helped to strengthen their land. But as they have given us their hospitality, we should in turn do the same. At blackest night, when the Veil between worlds lay at it’s thinnest, the elders of the tribe seek to build a gateway between the ancient lands and the true home of our sacred reality.

The beauty of the land shines with natural majesty.
Having strengthened old friendships and alliances, we can take the opportunity to listen to the stories of the land itself.

The tribe packs, ready to depart on the final leg of their journey.
Our time here has been a fruitful one. We’ve given back to the land that has nourished us for so long. We’ve given our respects to the ancestors. And in turn, we’ve been given a guide to lead us to the true home.