Tonight, I will toast my teacher Cora Anderson, who crossed the veil this time in 2008.
Tomorrow, on what I named “International Have Sex With a Worker Day” (Beltane + May Day =…) I will start the festivities by calling in the dawn with the Morris Dancers. Each year, one hundred or so people converge on a hill top in the dark, sipping tea, and listen for the shaking of bells and the clattering of sticks. As the sun lifts from the horizon, we will sing songs of renewal, and call summer to the land.
In the afternoon, I will take to the streets of this amazing land mass, bounded by hills and water. I will walk and sing alongside union members, immigrants, punks, and priests, for that is another tradition – though not quite as old as the Morris Dancers – of long standing. I am Pagan and a child of the working class: I shall celebrate this day of fertility, burgeoning spring, and the right to earn bread under decent conditions.
I wish you joy, strength, and justice. I wish you the glory of flowers and the power of voices raised to the sky.
Today, I stand for beauty. I stand for apple blossom and finch. I stand for sun, and wind, and sky. I stand for the shaking of the fig tree, And the growing of the lettuce and the pea.
Today, I stand for beauty. I stand for music to lighten the soul. I stand for healing balms to comfort wounds. I stand for kind words in the tempest, And a scrap of bright cloth in the mud of war.
Today, I stand for beauty. Heart open to the world. Today, I conjure hope. And strength. With the courage and the love to carry on. Leap the fire with me, In Beauty’s name.
Blessings be upon you. Blessings, all.