blood and the old gods

New memories.  The fact that we are so transfixed with all that is ancient and wise and the fact that we live in a new age of science gives way to a new epoch.  We overthrow the simplicity of the old ways without losing the intent and we incorporate the new information to hone our skills and learn new things.  Our past may seem tenebrous but we have layered ideas, thought and language.  We have learned more and have more to learn.  Blood, it is said by some, is the defining factor in the calling of the old gods.  If one was born with some form of bloodline, then they are more likely to hear the call of a particular tradition.  I argue that blood may have less to do with it than our collective memories.  These things are what we remember and how we are.  And although I am not a true reconstructionist and my ideas, thoughts and beliefs live only in my head, I strive to put into practice the old AND the new.  My ideas may seem old but they are not and they are very much married to science.  In essence, my creations cannot exist without the natural world and the changing seasons.  It can not exist without the sun and the moon and the stars.  All these things are very tangible.  I impose my own inner truth on a constant and universal truth; the natural world.    I have always had a thing for the man in the moon.  He was probably the first personality I created in my head.  If I open the door to the absurd and see a face there, where the moon should be, I'm falling into an altered reality.  The door closes and I'm in.  There is no going back.  "Moon man!"  Someone is shouting.  Obviously, this 'someone' is not just anyone.  I see the large black figure lurch forward in the darkness, however it can not come too far as it is attached to the ground, quite permanently.  "Moooon maahn!" I hear the gravely voice continue.  It sounds as if it is choking and yet spits out the words rather well.  There are crashing branches and deafening sounds around.  The tree that talks is angry.  And he is sick of being rooted to the spot.  "I see you," he says.  His eyes glint in the darkness, catching a reflection from the shining orb above.  It is almost too bright.  But the forest is still dark and the tree is embedded in the deep.  Only glints of the moonlight can be seen through the brambles.  Something is falling from above and yet it is not falling with gravity.  It is falling and yet floating.  It is silver and shedding its skin.  When it lands upon the earth, it is a man.  He is not awake.  The tree bends down.  There is a strange sniffing noise coming from within the forest and the tree opens his trunk and pulls forth a shining orb.  It lights everything around it.  The face of the tree is rather terrifying.  And it offers the orb to the man who lies prostrate on the dirt floor.  The orb hovers and descends and falls into the chest of the visitor.  The natural spirits can call the high energies when they wish.  The ancient wisdom knows that the sky and forest are not separate worlds.  Each visits the other.  Lena lives on the edge of a mangled forest.  She has a small house and small garden.  It is a simple life and there is no access to most conveniences.  Yet, she is happy to have the sky and trees all to herself.  Across her small field is a pond.  Her small home is a happy one.  Lena has no children and she did not marry.