I waver in my devotion to the gods.
My theism feels like an incoming tide, coming on in waves and falling back again – but always steadily advancing towards the shoreline where I stand, uncertainly, on the threshold of experience. And from the crest of the waves the white horse beckons.
Whenever I fall back into timidity, or the embracing reassurance of the intellectually defensible, the white horse calls me back. It might be at a pub with Uffington Bitter on tap, or through a card drawn at a ritual, or under the boughs of a blossoming hawthorn. She beckons through what could be called coincidence; what I call synchronicity. And I follow her because it feels… enchanting. She gives my soul a song.
Recently, for the first time in what feels like years, I have let myself be curious again. I have journeyed in pilgrimage to holy places in my local landscape and in my psyche, in the realms beyond, and found myself flooded with the feeling that everything is right – there is a current behind me sweeping everything before it; awen flowing through my life again.
And as I click to close my browser, I notice an addition to the theme I chose as background: a white horse in the corner of my screen.
Hail, Great Queen.