*

…The weather is being unkind again.

There are other reasons this time, however, for our sense of anticipation for the first of the Glastonbury talks being perhaps less enthusiastic than it might be. The intrusion of Christmas left little enough time for promotion of the event and then a last minute revision in the form of the talk has added further uncertainty. Morgana appears to have gone missing and Ben too seems to be less than his usual communicatory self. Doubtless he will currently be stranded in Motorway Hell somewhere in the middle of the country. Still, we are back at ‘The George’, which is no bad thing, and have just tucked in to an incredibly easy to demolish dish of braised-pork with apple and cream sauce. The Preceptor from the Templar arras eyes me in a somewhat accusatory fashion and I take to wondering which texts he would have used to bolster the faith of the ‘faithful’ during their long crusades.

“I know which one I would use,” says Wen.

“Go on…”

“And the Lord spoke concerning the mustard seed,” says Wen.

“Which is like the smallest of seeds.”

“But which if it falls upon prepared soil,” says Wen.

“Produces the largest of plants…”

“…And shelters the birds of Heaven,” says Wen.

“And that same evening he said to his followers, ‘Come, let us pass over to the other side.”

“But when they embarked on ship a great storm arose,” says Wen.

“And the followers went to him in consternation saying, ‘We will surely perish’.”

“To which the Lord replied, ‘What is it that you fear? How is it that you have no faith?’” says Wen.

“And the storm was immediately quelled.”

“And if each of us could only adequately answer those two questions,” says Wen.

“Then our sojourn here would be very brief.”

*

*

…I see you.

I called, and you have come.

The time is now.

I know you fear what you will find and the veils you will part.

I see it in your eyes… in your footsteps… in the tilt of your head.

Wind in hair the colour of faded bracken, beside you he who sees the world with the eyes of the heart, while you see with eyes aflame.

I know your name… though you do not.

Not yet.

Not yet, little sister.

Names matter…

*

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