Happy Mabon! With a poem and a prayer.

"Autumn Lord" by Selena H, found here

While I do not consider myself Wicce, there are aspects of the mythology behind Wicca that I admire and utilize in my own practice. Particularly the metaphor offered in modern Witchcraft for the passing of the seasons strikes me as beautiful and poignant. The story of the Earth, pregnant in winter, giving birth to a bright baby boy in spring, who grows up to be her lover in the summer, and then begins to die in the autumn. I think it's absolutely gorgeous. Thus, in honor of the autumn equinox and the start of my favorite season, I dedicate this poem I wrote in my International Law class today to the Dying God:

The Forest Lord is getting old.
His beard is starting to fade;
the whisps of gold, now pale wheat,
were once bright as flame.
He walks among the withered stalks
of a harvest full and past,
while amber leaves scatter behind
the prints his boots have cast.
He wraps a scarf around his neck
and shakes his antlers fair
when he sees his lover, maid and mother,
silently standing there.
She spreads her arms, and to him she cries,
"Come home to my warm hearth,
for you've traveled long and with you I'll share
the bounty of the Earth."
He nods with pride, and with glittering eyes,
he takes her hand in his.
Together they walk through the wood
with the chill of the wind's kiss.

I'd also like to share a prayer I wrote last Mabon, which I observed quietly in my room in Russia before heading out to a pub with some of my friends to celebrate in a more traditionally youthful fashion. In keeping true to my obssession with scented votives, I lit a candle, made an offering of a pastry from a street vendor (I didn't have access to a stove to cook anything), and meditated on the cycles of life. I'd like to do something similar this year, although I think I'll incorporate the poem I wrote today as well. As I've mentioned before, I consider my artwork and my poetry--depending on the subject, of course--a form of worship: both the execution and the dedication of a final product. In fact, I think I'll try to rent that key to the Chaplain's Conference Room to ensure I'm not disturbed *for once* and to spare my roommates having to leave our room. Thus, without further ado, here's my Mabon prayer:

As the leaves turn the golden red of the dying sun,
And the wheel of the year turns to autumn,
I turn my own thoughts toward change.
Wise Ones, Wild Ones, Gods and Goddesses of Old,
I ask that you walk with me as the air grows cooler,
And the nights grow longer,
And the green things prepare for their winter dreamings.
Tonight I celebrate the summer's harvest,
I drink to the season past and the season to come,
And I pray to learn the mysteries of the fall.