Reunion Eve

Last updated on: December 24, 2013 at 6:24 pm by Aine Llewellyn

Reunion Eve 2013-12-24T18:24:40-07:00 Aine Llewellyn

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Happy Christmas Eve to those who celebrate, and happy Reunion Eve to those in the Otherfaith. Tonight, I’ll be posting a variety of quotes from myths with links, all which connect to Reunion in some way.

from the Founding of the West, which is rather plain in its meaning:

The troop moved onward, pressing until all that lay before them was the steel and building of man and all that lay behind was the forest and field of Faery. Clarice looked in all directions, and with no hesitation slid from her steed and grabbed one rod of man and one root of Faery. She slammed each into the other world, and with a great sigh pulled forth her own heart, burying it between the two.

A great thunder was heard, and a great quake was felt, and in that space where her heart was buried burst forth a gate.

from in June, to December, about the Dierne and Laetha’s reunion after the Laetha’s death:

His hand is so hot in your hand, hotter than his blood was, and he’s alive, he’s back with you, he’s returned to you. And he’s happy, he’s alive, he’s happy and smiling and accepting of everything, like he’s always been. Life has finally changed, and you don’t have to choose between life and love anymore.

from the Marriage of Othani, which focuses on the rebirth of the Laetha (again) and his connection to flowers:

“You have fallen in love with a fire, and that fire has filled you with the only thing it knows,” she said. “No matter how the fire is – tree, stone, man – he will burn you.”

“I know,” Othani said. “But I will not let the fire go unchanged.”

“A boy made of leaves can do no harm to a tree made of ember,” the Clarene said.

“I am not hurting him,” Othani said. “I’m making him bloom.”

from Touch [Trust], which again focuses on the Laetha and Dierne:

His lips are in your mind, and his eyes, and the way he smiled at you with a mouth full of blood, and the strength of his grip when they fixed his nose, and his fingers as they reached for you. He was lying in bed, those same fingers laying against your hips, and his hair mussed, his whole body smelling like morning and crisp sheets that day – his lips were the same, his fingers were the same, but everything was softer, sweeter, and then he left. He was gone with no note or call or message, and it went like that for years. Not that you had something official or labeled, not that you were exclusive, but in your chest you had felt you two were something, tied up in each other, obligated in some deep lovely way to be near each other.

from a Reunion poem:

I am crowned King,
a being great and known,
silver on my head and hair,
o’ mortal lover.

I am called god,
spoken of in hush,
spoken of in pride,
o’ mortal lover.

I saw him the Queen,
all fire smoke and ash,
all forgotten self and sin,
o’ mortal lover.

He took from me my strength,
stole all that was inside,
left me with only silver and a crown,
o’ mortal lover.

I fell so far for love.

from the Ophelia & the Clarene – again, rather self-explanatory:

In the world that blossomed and bloomed around them, the dozens of women the Clarene had wandered with ran free. The hounds and wolves raced to the mountains and cities that cracked toward the sky. But the Clarene remained near the gate, near the branch and steel as they twisted into new forms and flowers, and she waited.

“I have made a world for love,” she said softly. “So, please, my love, be with me.”

And with her hands upon the stitches of silver, her words of hope spoken, the Ophelia blinked her eyes open and clean, clear waters came to the world of the West.

from a post about the holy Mother, the Clarene:

Once, in a time that feels far from me, I knelt before her in awe and humbleness and utter submission. She placed her claws upon me and lifted me up, and in the way that the other worlds work, she crushed each of my bones to dust. She split apart my spine. She burned my heart. And once so unmade, she dug from sweet soil my body again.

I fell in love, and in such love was reborn.

And, finally, a poem not my own – It Has Been One Hell of a Year.

Happy holidays.

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