To write a religious ceremony? A statement of events. Chronologically? Or a piece of prose purple in the print with mystic metaphors?
How can we really write the unspoken words of the devout as they communicate with the Goddess? How put down some message from the meeting when nothing was said? How, without making a mockery of the moment?
Yet I promised to write something.
Riding down to Suffolk I thought of the matter. Lets discard even a pencil note on the back of an envelope. Have no set idea, just the broad framework everyone knows.
No set ritual.
And so it was.
Symbols. Well we had some around, the ones we knew would be right for May. They would do. And anyway, the meaning of the ceremony was known to all the participants.
So we finished our drinks and drifted out into the garden. There was no need of a beginning as it had all begun long before. Positions were taken. Libations were poured. Prayers were said by all and in private. Each person found they had a role to be. Dances took place. The mystic Marriage was celebrated. More dances, frequently hilarious. Then fire was added, and flaming branches danced about the garden, or traced bright arcs against the star-filled sky.
Now, I don’t remember if all that is in the right order, but it was the First entirely spontaneous Regency Meeting. How can you write up a happening. Only the broad lines were laid down… and within that… well… I did kiss the bride.
Published in The Waxing Moon, new series, 3, Midsummer 1971
© The Estate of Ronald M. White