My own shepherd, Ranger the dog, reminds me that the human shepherds were half asleep most of the time. It was the dogs who stayed awake and alert all night, guarding the flocks. The human shepherds depended on their dogs to sound the alert if anything out of the ordinary happened. It isn't recorded if the dogs barked at the angel, rousing the shepherds out of their slumber. But I think it's likely.
Half asleep and half awake—in Celtic mythology the state of being "in between" is both sacred and magical. In the shadows, at twilight and at dawn, when we are neither here nor there, we can slip easily between the worlds. While the rest of the world lay in deep slumber, the shepherds were only half asleep. Neither awake nor fully dreaming, they were in just the right frame of mind for a message from the sacred realms.
Monday, November 30, 2009
December 1
The shepherds speak to me of feminine, earth-centered religions, deeply rooted in the cycles of the seasons. Druidry. Shamanism. These regional, tribal traditions rose up out of the earth itself, and grew in the hearts of evolving humans.
The kings, with their intellectual understanding of the cycles of the stars suggest a more masculine, cerebral religion which sprang from the evolving consciousness of humans. A sky religion.
The kings, with their intellectual understanding of the cycles of the stars suggest a more masculine, cerebral religion which sprang from the evolving consciousness of humans. A sky religion.
Christianity and Buddhism, which appeared at a much later stage of human development, are both sky religions. Just as a child bonds first with his mother, then with his father, both the earth and the sky religions are equally important. In fact, if we divorce one from the other, they lose much of their power.
The sky religions provide something that is not found in nature. It's frequently said that nature is unforgiving, and indeed it is so. Forget all the nonsense that the Church added later, Christ taught that there is a loving, forgiving presence at the heart of the universe. Even though that message was hopelessly bungled over the centuries, this was a great leap forward.
November 29 - Shepherds and Wise Men
In the Nativity story, the shepherds and the wise men both arrived at the same place. The shepherds just got there first. Their presence was the result of being awake, outdoors and in nature, while other people were indoors, in bed and fast asleep. Night after night, the shepherds were out under the stars. Unlike most people they were awake and conscious in the darkness. Their arrival at the sacred place was largely the result of simply living so close to nature. Nature is the first place to look for the sacred. There's no need to be literate—like the shepherds we can read the universe's entire story of death and rebirth in the cycle of the seasons. It's all there when we turn back from darkness and the sun is reborn on Winter Solstice. Energy is neither created nor destroyed, it just changes form. The shepherds lived this mystery.
In the story the word "wonder" is used to describe what they were feeling. In the old sense of the word, "wonder" suggests contemplation. Was it used to suggest that they came to a new level of consciousness as the result of their experience? Humankind evolved over thousands of years. There were many moments when our consciousness took a great leap forward. This story suggests that those of us who stay closest to nature, are most likely to eventually look beyond the cycles of the earth and turn our eyes to the stars.
Shepherds = nature, simplicity, reverence
The magi, or wise men, were already contemplatives. Their observation of the stars led them back to earth, to nature, to a mysterious light born in the darkness of a cave. Through their intellect, by their observation of the patterns of the stars, and by their wit, arrived at exactly the same place as the shepherds. The shepherds found their way by looking up from the earth to follow a star. The kings looked down from the stars to find their way to a cave in the earth. Did they appreciate what they saw in a different way?
Kings = thought, intellect, appreciation
Neither path is any better than the other, and both lead to the same place. This is cause for wonder.
If the shepherds represent oneness with earth, and the Kings represent consciousness and an appreciation of the patterns of the stars, what do the cows in the stable represent?
Breath. The breath of cows in a cave, warm and moist as the breath in our own bodies. What a mystery is breath. It is what gives us life. With no thought at all, the cows breathe as peacefully as a zen master.
Neither path is any better than the other, and both lead to the same place. This is cause for wonder.
If the shepherds represent oneness with earth, and the Kings represent consciousness and an appreciation of the patterns of the stars, what do the cows in the stable represent?
Breath. The breath of cows in a cave, warm and moist as the breath in our own bodies. What a mystery is breath. It is what gives us life. With no thought at all, the cows breathe as peacefully as a zen master.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Cows! Then More Cows!
Joe was out doing an inspection this morning on a country road. He glanced over at a small herd of cows, grazing in a wooded pasture alongside the road. He did a double-take when he realized that one of them had four little feet protruding from underneath her tail. He called me immediately. Naturally I was torn, wanting to run over but thinking that I wouldn't make it in time for the big event. Ten minutes later he called to say that the cow had laid down, and the baby had slid out with a characteristic bovine bloop.
All of the other cows meandered over to see the baby. Joe reported that mother cow was exhausted and didn't immediately lick the newcomer, who was still in a sack. The farmer wasn't home. As many of you will remember, I have some experience with cows and this didn't sound right. I called the vet who said the membrane had to be broken pronto because otherwise the calf wouldn't be able to breathe. Joe went wading over in the mud to do the job. He was halfway there when the membrane broke and the new calf was welcomed in to the world by the other cows, who mustered up about as much excitement for the blessed event as cows ever do.
I went over there about two and a half hours after the birth and saw mother and baby, standing side by side under the trees. The calf was up on all four feet and nosing around, and while I was there he nursed. The herd were mostly belted Galloways (those black and white cows that look like OREO cookies) but mama cow was all black with a white face, and baby cow was all brown with a white face. There was a great peace in the field, in the little shelter underneath the trees. There always is a sense of great peace in the first few hours after a birth. It doesn't matter if it's an animal which comes in to the world, or a human, that same feeling of peace attends. Sometimes this peace is be felt in a room where someone is about to die, or has just departed. It's a very palpable feeling, an energy if you will, but it is fleeting. This is why I went over as soon as I could.
All of the other cows meandered over to see the baby. Joe reported that mother cow was exhausted and didn't immediately lick the newcomer, who was still in a sack. The farmer wasn't home. As many of you will remember, I have some experience with cows and this didn't sound right. I called the vet who said the membrane had to be broken pronto because otherwise the calf wouldn't be able to breathe. Joe went wading over in the mud to do the job. He was halfway there when the membrane broke and the new calf was welcomed in to the world by the other cows, who mustered up about as much excitement for the blessed event as cows ever do.
I went over there about two and a half hours after the birth and saw mother and baby, standing side by side under the trees. The calf was up on all four feet and nosing around, and while I was there he nursed. The herd were mostly belted Galloways (those black and white cows that look like OREO cookies) but mama cow was all black with a white face, and baby cow was all brown with a white face. There was a great peace in the field, in the little shelter underneath the trees. There always is a sense of great peace in the first few hours after a birth. It doesn't matter if it's an animal which comes in to the world, or a human, that same feeling of peace attends. Sometimes this peace is be felt in a room where someone is about to die, or has just departed. It's a very palpable feeling, an energy if you will, but it is fleeting. This is why I went over as soon as I could.
Driving back home I thought how it was exactly one month to Christmas. Now I think we all know that the Christmas story is indeed a story, rather than historic fact, but it's a good story. Stories are a lot like dreams. A good story originates in the same part of the mind as a dream. We can examine a dream and learn something about the individual dreamer. We can look at a story that is held in the collective consciousness and learn something about human kind.
In the nativity story, the only witnesses to a birth which was the fruit of a marriage between earth and heaven, are the cow and the donkey. These gentle, placid beasts are stabled in a cave. The first people to witness the child are shepherds and their flocks—simple people who spend a great deal of time alone, in the pastures by day and beneath the stars at night. The actual birth is witnessed only by animals. It's the arrival of spirit born in to nature, represented by the animals. The only people to share in that great feeling of peace which attended this birth are the shepherds. Anyone who came later—and this is basically the rest of the world—missed those first bright moments. I don't know what this means, but I like the shepherds. They came upon the birth as simply as Joe came upon the birth this morning. He was alone, and he witnessed something wonderful. They are blessed in a way that the kings, whose journey was the result of a great deal of thought and intellectual calculation, are not.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Kolyada - Winter Solstice in Ukraine
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YoJoUz2_f8Y&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hzGXXjMq9E
Kolyada is the Midwinter celebration in Ukraine. It combines elements of Christmas with pagan customs. The kolyada are ritual carols and songs which are sung door-to-door. The first clip shows mummers in Ukraine. When Paul Kerlee was the squire of our Morris team, he brought back small mummer's bells from an eastern European country as gifts for everyone. The mummers in the video clip are wearing larger bells in the traditional shape.
The second clip is just a good Midwinter's Eve bonfire, again in Ukraine. The torches where a circle or square is imposed over crossed bars is an ancient symbol for the sun. The four dragons, in the very last frame, are also a sun symbol, as is the celtic cross.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hzGXXjMq9E
Kolyada is the Midwinter celebration in Ukraine. It combines elements of Christmas with pagan customs. The kolyada are ritual carols and songs which are sung door-to-door. The first clip shows mummers in Ukraine. When Paul Kerlee was the squire of our Morris team, he brought back small mummer's bells from an eastern European country as gifts for everyone. The mummers in the video clip are wearing larger bells in the traditional shape.
The second clip is just a good Midwinter's Eve bonfire, again in Ukraine. The torches where a circle or square is imposed over crossed bars is an ancient symbol for the sun. The four dragons, in the very last frame, are also a sun symbol, as is the celtic cross.
Irish Mummers
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFOLxpnstSc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eruiBsmyuQ8
Two links. The first video clip shows Irish mummers, or Strawboys as they are also known. A year or so ago, towards the end of the Yuletide season, I had the opportunity to try on one of these straw mummer's masks—an original from Ireland. The world was transformed by the mask. While in the mask you are in the world, but the world isn't in you anymore. You can make contact with your audience, but because they can't see your real face, they can't really make contact with you.
The second link is to a Revel's performance. I love Revels, but I prefer my mummer's plays in the streets or in the kitchen. Or in my bedroom, for that matter.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eruiBsmyuQ8
Two links. The first video clip shows Irish mummers, or Strawboys as they are also known. A year or so ago, towards the end of the Yuletide season, I had the opportunity to try on one of these straw mummer's masks—an original from Ireland. The world was transformed by the mask. While in the mask you are in the world, but the world isn't in you anymore. You can make contact with your audience, but because they can't see your real face, they can't really make contact with you.
The second link is to a Revel's performance. I love Revels, but I prefer my mummer's plays in the streets or in the kitchen. Or in my bedroom, for that matter.
Thanksgiving In Brooklyn
As a special, special Thanksgiving Day treat, the wine glasses came out of the china closet and the family had a glass of wine with dinner. There was some sort of toast. The wine glasses rarely came out of the china closet otherwise and wine hardly ever came in to the house. There was always a bit of excitement about the wine—these were a people who received communion in a diminutive cup of Welch's grape juice. I can't comment on the quality, although I was always allowed a sip.
On Thanksgiving Eve, my mother and grandmother received corsages from their husbands. The big chrysanthemums, bedecked with a russet and/or yellow bow, depending on the color of the flower, were carefully stored overnight in the already over-full refrigerator. The ladies wore the enormous, cumbersome spider mums to the table, pinned to their best dresses with great ceremony. It all felt very formal to me, as a child. It was definitely a ritual, formal meal—outside of ordinary time. An "occasion".
The cut-glass pepper and salt shakers came out of the china closet as well. They were wiped off, and the tarnished silver tops removed and polished. In the belief that "pepper doesn't go bad" we used the pepper that was still in the shakers since the last time they were filled—probably some time before the flood.
This is accurate if you're from Connecticut, where the Great Danbury Flood of 1955 is still frequently referenced. The pepper came out four times a year. My grandparents were Scots/English. They used pepper with tremendous restraint. It was never poured directly on food, rather, it was meted out pinch-by-pinch in to the palm of the hand first. Only after the volume had been measured in this way, was it judiciously sprinkled on the festive plate. "Don't use too much now! It's very strong" my mother would caution. Occasionally a family member grew reckless, following that single glass of ritual wine, and actually shook pepper directly out of the shaker on to the food. But they usually regretted it.
By my calculations, the pepper that was in the shaker on the Sunday of my confirmation in to the Protestant faith, would have lasted at least through my high school graduation. As my Catholic husband said "to the Protestants, pepper is an 'exotic' spice—the only one they know." We lived like medieval peasants, at least when it came to pepper. The way we used pepper, you'd think it was hauled to Brooklyn by overland camels.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
November 21
When a star falls from the sky
It leaves a fiery trail.
It does not die.
Its shade goes back to its own place to shine again.
The Indians sometimes find the small stars
where they have fallen in the grass.
—Menomini, Native Americans of the Great Lakes region
It leaves a fiery trail.
It does not die.
Its shade goes back to its own place to shine again.
The Indians sometimes find the small stars
where they have fallen in the grass.
—Menomini, Native Americans of the Great Lakes region
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
November 17 - The Sun Puts The Woof On The Coyotes
Some years back I was in Santa Fe, by myself, for an extended period during late winter. On the day before a snowstorm was predicted, I hiked up the Audubon trail on the outskirts of the city. Surrounded by Ponderosa pines, I could see at least a hundred miles away across the high desert and the mountain ranges. It was so warm that my jacket was looped around my waist, but in the distance I could see a blizzard raging over the Jemez Mountains.
From my perch, I watched the sun emerge and chase the storm northeast. Although it was dark where I was, in the distance the rivers and arroyos began to catch the sunlight. In the summer most of the high desert waterways are dry as bone, but this was the end of winter so they were rushing with the run off of melting snow. As the clouds receded and the arroyos caught the light, it looked like a cup of molten silver had been poured out by the benevolent mountain spirits to flow across the land. Pueblo silversmiths pour liquid silver in to jewelry molds carved from soft rock. On this day, the river beds and arroyos were nature's own sand cast mold—and the sky, her touch of turquoise.
The sunlight advanced over the earth like a blessing. As the light approached Santa Fe, the coyotes on the outskirts of the city began to howl. Their song rose over the city like a wave. The dogs joined in too after they figured out that something was going on with the coyotes. It was four in the afternoon, but we had passed from deep winter shadows in to brilliant sunlight, and the coyotes greeted the day star as if it was the dawn.
If you've ever hiked in the mountains, you will know that sound carries upwards. From my perch I saw this wave of sunlight pass over the land, and heard every coyote as clearly as if he was in my own backyard. Their many voices came together in one song, ecstatic and beautiful.
As I keep my vigil in midwinter darkness, anticipating the Yuletide sunrise, I will keep this image in mind.
From my perch, I watched the sun emerge and chase the storm northeast. Although it was dark where I was, in the distance the rivers and arroyos began to catch the sunlight. In the summer most of the high desert waterways are dry as bone, but this was the end of winter so they were rushing with the run off of melting snow. As the clouds receded and the arroyos caught the light, it looked like a cup of molten silver had been poured out by the benevolent mountain spirits to flow across the land. Pueblo silversmiths pour liquid silver in to jewelry molds carved from soft rock. On this day, the river beds and arroyos were nature's own sand cast mold—and the sky, her touch of turquoise.
The sunlight advanced over the earth like a blessing. As the light approached Santa Fe, the coyotes on the outskirts of the city began to howl. Their song rose over the city like a wave. The dogs joined in too after they figured out that something was going on with the coyotes. It was four in the afternoon, but we had passed from deep winter shadows in to brilliant sunlight, and the coyotes greeted the day star as if it was the dawn.
If you've ever hiked in the mountains, you will know that sound carries upwards. From my perch I saw this wave of sunlight pass over the land, and heard every coyote as clearly as if he was in my own backyard. Their many voices came together in one song, ecstatic and beautiful.
As I keep my vigil in midwinter darkness, anticipating the Yuletide sunrise, I will keep this image in mind.
Peculiar Youtube Morris Clips
Morris Dance clips from:
(a) 1950s TV show
(b) 1920s in Hastings on Hudson
(c) Dr. Who
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffa27QSN--s&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuqhEix8lGY&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aQCSy6ruaM&NR=1
(a) 1950s TV show
(b) 1920s in Hastings on Hudson
(c) Dr. Who
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffa27QSN--s&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuqhEix8lGY&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aQCSy6ruaM&NR=1
November 17 - Singing Up The Sun
When I was in New Mexico for the celebration of the Winter Solstice holy days, I stayed in a little outpost along the Ancient Way. This is the old trail from Acoma to Zuni pueblo. The hamlet was no more than a coffee shop, a gallery and a campground with cabins plunked down at the base of a rock outcropping in the middle of a place where the earth whispers audibly. When the stars came forth in the late winter afternoon, it looked like one of the Navajo silversmiths had left a trail of silver dust behind after finishing his days work.
My husband went out to Zuni with me last summer, and met the people who lived at the base of Inscription Rock. He marveled at how small it was and how isolated. From my stories of The Ancient Way Cafe, he'd taken the impression that I'd stayed in a town. But this was just a brave little stand of people, dogs and wooden buildings set down in the shelter of the rocks surrounded by open country. (I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the Radical Faeries from the nearby sanctuary who worked there, but went home to Zuni Mountain Sanctuary to sleep.)
I woke each morning just before the dawn and trekked out back in the wilderness surrounding Inscription Rock. In the darkness was a great stillness. Before the dawn there was a rustling, a breath of movement, the small murmurings which allow us to hear the stillness of an all night vigil. The first coyote raised his voice in the darkness and the others joined in. Others joined in and their singing grew stronger—strong enough to lift the sun in to the sky. As the light began to change, the ravens woke up and took to the sky with a great hew and cry, but it was the coyotes who sang the sun up each morning. Most mornings a splash of pale light washed the face of the sky as the sun woke up and rose to rule the day. But there was one morning when the sun ignited the mountains in a blaze of gold against the deep red dawn.
This was the land where the conquistadors believed they saw cities of gold. The earth and rocks here have a rich yellow cast, as do the earthen bricks the pueblos are built from. The pueblo peoples fashioned window panes for their adobe dwellings from thin, nearly transparent sheets of micaceous rock. When the setting sun hit these windows they mirrored the golden glow. Where the indigenous peoples saw holiness, the conquistadors saw fortune. Not all that long ago, the Ancient Way was littered with debris from invading soldiers. On isolated stretches of conquistador roads, people still stumble over one of their swords, or a bit of tack from the horses, or even a helmet.
But the coyotes still sing up the sun as they always have and the seasonal rituals of this land survived even the conquistadors.
© 2009 Claudia Chapman
© 2009 Claudia Chapman
Monday, November 16, 2009
Christmas Stamps
Last summer I made several medieval manuscript paintings. Here are two stamps created with my drawings. © 2009.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
The Christmas Champions
www.bbc.co.uk/radio3/worldmusic/feature_mummers.shtml
I love listening to this. This is why I do the mummer's play year after year.
The Four Hobbyhorses Of The Apocalypse
www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsaM6R_icrs&feature=related
This is wonderful and loopy and especially for John Lippincott.
This is wonderful and loopy and especially for John Lippincott.
Friday, November 13, 2009
What Is Advent?
Ad·vent
1. The coming or arrival, especially of something extremely important.
2. The liturgical period preceding Christmas. Advent is observed as a season of prayer, meditation and preparation. A sacred time.
Derivation: Middle English from Old French.
In Latin adventus means arrival, from past participle of advenre, to come to.
In other words, advent is a journey through time.
In short, it’s an adventure.
When does the advent of Winter begin?
When we feel the change in the earth, the descent in to deep winter darkness. It is the time when the part of our mind which generates dreams comes into season. As winter approaches we enter the season of hibernation and the spinning of dreams.
1. The coming or arrival, especially of something extremely important.
2. The liturgical period preceding Christmas. Advent is observed as a season of prayer, meditation and preparation. A sacred time.
Derivation: Middle English from Old French.
In Latin adventus means arrival, from past participle of advenre, to come to.
In other words, advent is a journey through time.
In short, it’s an adventure.
When does the advent of Winter begin?
When we feel the change in the earth, the descent in to deep winter darkness. It is the time when the part of our mind which generates dreams comes into season. As winter approaches we enter the season of hibernation and the spinning of dreams.
All Souls Day
According to Clement Miles, (c. 1912) the season of All Hallow Tide was still reckoned to be the beginning of Christmas during the reign of Charles I. It is the beginning of the advent journey in to the season of deepest darkness.
During the past year, Joe and I have grown close to our little neighbor Ryan. In love with tractors, Ryan like to come down and sit on Joe's tractor. He comes every day and would come even more if he was allowed to. (His father has explained that tractors actually need to sleep quite a bit, just like little boys, and if the door to the shed is closed it means that the tractors are sleeping.) I'm told that from time to time Ryan gives heartfelt expressions to his feelings, telling his mother that "Mr. Joe is nice".
Ryan and his older brother Jake came down yesterday evening to see our pumpkins. In years past, we have always lit a Jack O' Lantern on a large boulder in the river that runs past our house, but this year it rained on Halloween. But on the eve of All Souls Day, the moon was full and the air was crisp, so the boys came down to see the pumpkins. Mr. Joe got home last after sunset, and we all made our way down the lane to the bridge. Joe led the way to the river, carrying his own lantern. Ranger the dog led the way. I brought up the rear, carrying a large Jack O' Lantern. The moon lit the path for our little procession. How lovely and peaceful it was. Between the two of us, Joe and I have lived more than a century, but Ryan and Jake can still count the years on their fingers.
I thought "one day Joe and I will be a child's happy memory". On the eve of All Souls day when we remember our ancestors, I looked in to the future, to that time when I would be a memory.
At the bridge, Joe walked down the precarious path to the water and set the pumpkin in place. Jake wanted to go with him, but his mother thought he would be better off watching. Joe told him he could hold the lantern. The dog stood in the glow of the lantern, shepherding everyone. A small child holding a lantern with a faithful dog at his side. The full moon on the water. The shout of triumph as the pumpkin king came to light over the water. A wish when Jake saw the first star.
I thought of distant ancestors, whose names were long forgotten, but whose features are still familiar, our own faces living portraits of the ones who went before. I thought of them walking to a new place, and settling in, deciding to light the fire of summer's end at the base of a particular rock. The children who came afterwards lit their fires there too, because in their lifetime it had always been so. After a generation or so, people who could no longer remember who lit the first fire beside the standing stone, lit their own because the spirits told them to. Lives fade in to memory, memories fade in to spirit.
Perhaps one day Jake will take his family to see the place where he grew up. Perhaps he will tell her about the nice old couple who lit a Jack O' Lantern on the rocks each year. Perhaps Ryan will set a lantern on a rock in a river one day, not quite sure where the idea came from.
During the past year, Joe and I have grown close to our little neighbor Ryan. In love with tractors, Ryan like to come down and sit on Joe's tractor. He comes every day and would come even more if he was allowed to. (His father has explained that tractors actually need to sleep quite a bit, just like little boys, and if the door to the shed is closed it means that the tractors are sleeping.) I'm told that from time to time Ryan gives heartfelt expressions to his feelings, telling his mother that "Mr. Joe is nice".
Ryan and his older brother Jake came down yesterday evening to see our pumpkins. In years past, we have always lit a Jack O' Lantern on a large boulder in the river that runs past our house, but this year it rained on Halloween. But on the eve of All Souls Day, the moon was full and the air was crisp, so the boys came down to see the pumpkins. Mr. Joe got home last after sunset, and we all made our way down the lane to the bridge. Joe led the way to the river, carrying his own lantern. Ranger the dog led the way. I brought up the rear, carrying a large Jack O' Lantern. The moon lit the path for our little procession. How lovely and peaceful it was. Between the two of us, Joe and I have lived more than a century, but Ryan and Jake can still count the years on their fingers.
I thought "one day Joe and I will be a child's happy memory". On the eve of All Souls day when we remember our ancestors, I looked in to the future, to that time when I would be a memory.
At the bridge, Joe walked down the precarious path to the water and set the pumpkin in place. Jake wanted to go with him, but his mother thought he would be better off watching. Joe told him he could hold the lantern. The dog stood in the glow of the lantern, shepherding everyone. A small child holding a lantern with a faithful dog at his side. The full moon on the water. The shout of triumph as the pumpkin king came to light over the water. A wish when Jake saw the first star.
I thought of distant ancestors, whose names were long forgotten, but whose features are still familiar, our own faces living portraits of the ones who went before. I thought of them walking to a new place, and settling in, deciding to light the fire of summer's end at the base of a particular rock. The children who came afterwards lit their fires there too, because in their lifetime it had always been so. After a generation or so, people who could no longer remember who lit the first fire beside the standing stone, lit their own because the spirits told them to. Lives fade in to memory, memories fade in to spirit.
Perhaps one day Jake will take his family to see the place where he grew up. Perhaps he will tell her about the nice old couple who lit a Jack O' Lantern on the rocks each year. Perhaps Ryan will set a lantern on a rock in a river one day, not quite sure where the idea came from.
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