Archive for fertility ritual

Tingling Bells

Posted in Lucerne Village, Mystical Experience, Organic Farming, Sacred Geometry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on August 30, 2012 by javedbabar

Sami touched his own face with fear, and shouted, “Guru Baba! What has happened to me?”

His cheeks were now hairy, his eyebrows met in the middle, and his teeth were sharp. Even his fingernails were curved and pointed. He scratched his own skin and shouted again, “What has happened to me?”

Guru Baba was also different. He was sharp and hairy too.

One night each year the citizens of Lucerne shape-shifted and became Hounds of God. Known commonly as werewolves, they were thought to be evil and feared.

In truth there was nothing to fear. The spring moon caused this transformation, bringing people back into tune with nature. It reminded them of their reliance upon the holy land.

“Look at the cherry trees,” said Guru Baba. “Look how they bow down. It is also their night of humility. It shows the great debt they carry to Mother Earth, which can never be repaid.”

Sami was panicking. “But why is it happening? Is this why you brought me here – to change me into a monster?”

Guru Baba reached out with a furry hand, and Sami drew back his claws. “It’s precisely the opposite of that, Sami. We do this to avoid becoming monsters. We reconnect with nature. We become whole and true.”

Sami was shouting without meaning to; he couldn’t control his thoughts. “Then why all the robes and mumbo-jumbo? You tell people to repeat mantras, to meditate, to pray. Why do they need all that? What good does that do?”

He wanted to stay far away from Guru Baba, but dark shapes emerging from the forest caused him to draw closer to the sage. Guru Baba put his arm around Sami and said, “It gives you peace of mind. Tonight is what gives you peace of heart.”

The full moon bathed the field in brightness. All around them dark beings advanced, heading towards the circle of cherry trees. The Headman of the village, the seventh generation of a pioneer family mixed with native blood, came towards Guru Baba. He bowed and said, “Master of the Holy Ceremony, shall we begin?”

Guru Baba said, “Yes, let us begin.”

The dark beings adjusted items on their bodies and came forward together. Their tingling bells frightened evil spirits away. Their clashing sticks announced the fight between good and evil.

Guru Baba crowned Sami with a wreath woven of cherry branches. Sami’s body then seemed to move of its own accord. He weaved in and out of the thousand dark beings converging, and led them to a tall fir tree. They decorated the tree by hanging bread soaked in beer from its low branches, and poured more beer on its roots. They lit and stamped out small fires around it. They passed around a bowl of herb liquor, all taking sips. They sang bits of nursery rhymes together, and then Guru Baba produced a shotgun from beneath his robes.

Sami’s heart fell. So this was it.

Guru Baba smiled as he shot the gun in the air to wake up the tree for the coming season. He was greatly honoured that Lucerne’s citizens had asked him to oversee their yearly fertility ritual. Yes, he was a famous holy man, but he was also quite new in town.

They tied bright ribbons around the tree and danced in rotation.

The ribbons all wrapped around the trunk, creating a colourful, spiralling pattern.

The code of life was cracked for another season.



Posted in Organic Farming, World Myths with tags , , on February 8, 2012 by javedbabar

“I’m going to make you look divine,” said the beautician. “Just you wait and see. I’m not saying that you’re not a looker already; you are, babe. But today is your special day. Don’t you worry about a thing, girl. You just relax and enjoy yourself. Leave all the work to Aunty Marge.”

Simone sat in the purple-padded salon chair quietly. She had no choice; this woman never stopped talking. “Now just lean back a little, sweetheart; a little more; that’s it. Relax your neck. There’s no need to get stiff now is there, on your special day? Close your eyes if you want. Dream of beautiful things.”

Marge turned the cold knob, then the hot knob, testing the water. “Ooh! Aah! Ooh! Aah!” she said, and pulled her hand back. “Excuse the monkey noises, dear.” She turned the cold a little more, and tested again. “Just right now.” She pulled Simone’s hair together and ran it through the water. There was a citrus scent; lemony-grapefruity.

“They’re looking over at you. Ooh, they are – the other girls and the customers. Everyone knows, at least around here they do. They’re proud that one of our local girls was chosen. You did real good, darling.” Simone opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Marge continued. “Now don’t speak, honey. Don’t you say anything at all. You save your breath for later. You’ll need it to climb all those steps – how many are there, 108? – so people can see you properly.”

Marge washed and conditioned Simone’s hair. Then she asked her to sit in another chair which was also purple-padded. “Ooh, you’re sitting rather high in this one, aren’t you, love? I didn’t realize you were so tall. I mean, I knew that you were a tall girl; they always are; but not that tall. What are you, six-feet?”

Simone opened her mouth to tell her, but was again interrupted. “Ok, I’ll do your hair real nice, now. You’ve got beautiful hair; I hardly need to touch it. I’ll just give it a little brush up. Some spot relaxer, and a bit of fire. Maybe a touch of hydrogel. And protein coating. And my secret ingredient; I’m sure you won’t tell anyone – black olive oil. How does that sound?” Simone nodded. “Perfect. You just relax there, honey. Aunty Marge is looking after you.”

There was almost a minute of silence, and then Marge said, “I don’t really know your mother, but I see her in town shopping sometimes. What a beautiful lady. I can see where you get your looks from. I’m surprised she didn’t get chosen herself when she was your age. Good job she didn’t, eh?” Marge winked and laughed.

“Ok, your hair’s all done; let’s start on that lovely face of yours. I hardly need to touch it. Let’s start with some cleanser and foundation. Some shading here and there. Maybe a bit more here. And here. And here. And there. Some blush – I’ll just brush it over – there you go. How’s it looking so far?”

Marge continued. “Business is bad this year. We’re barely getting half the customers. These days you need to look better than ever to even stand a chance of getting a job. These women don’t understand the value of investing in themselves. But you do, don’t you love? You’re making the ultimate investment.”

Simone didn’t get the chance to agree with Marge. “I’ll finish up your face now, babe. We’ll go with something classy. How about purple? That’s a regal colour, seems appropriate, doesn’t it? Oh, that looks so good on your eyes! I knew it! I knew it! It looks fabulous! Just hold them still while I do your eyeliner. I’ll bring it out a little at the sides, like Cleopatra, it’ll look dramatic. Oh, the purple looks good on your lips too! So good! Don’t you look beautiful?

“If only our brave boys could see you now. Wouldn’t they march into battle with a spring in their step? Thank God for this holy war, I say. How bad would the recession be otherwise? Providing no tribute – who do they think they are! Our economy is sinking, and theirs is booming, and they say we couldn’t have any! Where’s the sense in that?

Simone wasn’t in the mood for this discussion, and was about to change the topic, when Marge said, “I’ll touch up your fingers and toes, my love, and you’ll be ready. What do you say, purple varnish? With some silver sparkles?” Simone nodded. “The moment I heard the news I knew what to do with you. Make you into a proper princess. Sorry, should I say goddess? You know what I mean, love. The girls here are so jealous. They wanted to help me, but I said no; you’re not a doll being made in a factory by dollar-a-piece workers. You need the hand of a master craftswoman. And who better than your Aunty Marge?” She held up a mirror at various angles for Simone to peer into.

“I’m all for the war, darling. It brings more prisoners for sacrifice, it expands our influence, and brings in wealth. But killing people always makes me sad. That’s why events like this are so important to cheer us all up. I mean, seeing you tonight climbing up to the top of the temple, wearing your golden jewellery and crown, the Goddess Incarnate! And the knowledge that you will happily give your life for us, as part of the ongoing sacrifice that sustains our world. Your body will nourish the soils, and plants, and animals, and birds; and your beating heart will liberate all of our spirits, and reunite them with the sun.

“Oh, I hope I get to consume even a tiny shred of your holy body tonight. But even if I don’t, at least I know I’ve played my humble part.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Forgive me love, I’m getting emotional. Do you want a final blow-dry?”