Druid Journal

Meditation on the Four of Swords

The chapel for the vigil is in
A wild forest, a wild stony river, bugs and birds.
Heat, but the breezes are cool.
The sound of water everywhere.
The chapel is a stone hut by the river, right where it turns;
Its window has a view of the lands downstream, very hazy now.
He blesses me and leaves me here to meditate.
Inside it is somewhat damp and dusty.
I lie down, take a brief nap, and when I wake the sun is setting;
everything is red and hazy gold.
I feel the birds in the air and the fish in the stream.
They speak languages I have not heard before.
I feel called to go outside the hut and plant seeds in a circle around it.
When the sun sets I listen to the water and the crickets.
A wind picks up and tosses the trees.
The night is quite dark — no stars.
Silence comes and goes, following the night’s hunters on their rounds.
This is wilderness, but it is full of voices.

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