Mrs Morrison's Hotel

The 100% personal official blog for Patricia Kennealy Morrison, author, Celtic priestess, retired rock critic, wife of Jim

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Location: New York, New York, United States

I was born..no, wait, sorry, that's "David Copperfield". Anyway, I was born in Brooklyn, grew up on Long Island, went to school in upstate NY and came straight back to Manhattan to live. Never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to. Got a job as a rock journalist, in the course of which I met and married a rock star (yeah, yeah, conflict of interest, who cares). Became a priestess in a Celtic Pagan tradition, and (based on sheer longevity) one of the most senior Witches around. Began writing my Keltiad series. Wrote a memoir of my time with my beloved consort (Strange Days: My Life With and Without Jim Morrison). See Favorite Books below for a big announcement...The Rennie Stride Mysteries. "There is no trick or cunning, no art or recipe, by which you can have in your writing that which you do not possess in yourself." ---Walt Whitman (Also @ pkmorrison.livejournal.com and www.myspace.com/hermajestythelizardqueen)

Friday, May 01, 2009

La Fheile Bhealtinne Sona Dhibh!

Which is to say, Happy Beltane!

I must say, the high holydays of our faith always give me such a wonderful feeling of continuity back to our ancient past...as the song sings it...we're still doing as our long-ago ancestors did, and even allowing for modern quirks and tweaks and retconning, they would still recognize what we do today. A joy and a comfort, to be sure.


Cup of Wonder, Jethro Tull


May I make my fond excuses
for the lateness of the hour,
but we accept your invitation,
and we bring you Beltane's flowers.
For the May Day is the great day,
sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay
will heed this song that calls them back.

Pass the word and pass the Lady,
pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom,
pass the Cup of crimson wonder.

Ask the Green Man where he comes from,
ask the Cup that fills with red.
Ask the old grey standing stones
that show the sun its way to bed.
Question all as to their ways,
And learn the secrets that they hold.
Walk the lines of nature's palm,
crossed with silver and with gold.

Pass the Cup and pass the Lady,
pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom,
pass the Cup of crimson wonder.

Join in black December's sadness,
lie in August's welcome corn.
Stir the Cup that's ever filling
with the blood of all that's born.
But the May Day is the great day,
sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did lay
will heed this song that calls them back.

Pass the word and pass the Lady,
pass the plate to all who hunger.
Pass the wit of ancient wisdom,
pass the Cup of crimson wonder.

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