I have opened my window on Beltane eve and heard the bells ring amongst rose trees, sea fog, stars. I didn't look out, of course; I didn't want the faeries to catch me. And so they rode on, leaving me with a longing, a strange sorrow at being left behind, although I did not want to go.
Beltane (like Samhain) is a threshold time, a coming together time, when the liminal spaces disappear - the spaces that lie between natural & supernatural, man & woman, winter and summer. The energies seep into each other. We fasten hands, merge bodies, connect the layered worlds with a maypole, relight fires, and hold our breath as something stands in the night behind us - smiling at us, far too close for comfort.
I myself believe that every dawn is a Beltane, every evening a Samhain. Someone said to me today that maybe the birds sing at sunrise & sunset to shut the magic away for daylight, and open it again for the darkness. I think I will always hear that sorcery in their song from now on. I will always understand why dawn makes me a little sad, and why night thrills me to the core.
At Beltane, we humans (at least, the traditionalists amongst us) sing our own opening and shutting of magic - faery magic, sacred magic, sex magic, simple flower and food magic. We spend a day and night deep in edgeless, hourless Life. Six months later, we do something similar for Death. It's a wonderful time.
Then again, I also believe that every smile is a Beltane, every sigh a Samhain. We constantly cross thresholds of fear to come together in life and in longing. All of us the the god and the goddess, the light and the loam, the girl and the wild faery king, the silence and a song.
Blessings of Beltane to everyone in the south, Samhain in the north.
Also, over at her Rosehip Hearth, Lesley Austin shares a conversation she & I had about blogging.