It’s the opening of the Scottish Play, of course. And if the director is old enough to be haunted by distant memories of childhood’s Christmas pantomimes, the three witches will be shrouded in rough black habits. They will be squatting round a fuming cauldron and their steeple hats will sway from side to side as they cast their infamous spell.
Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw,
Toad, that under cold stone
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter’d venom sleeping got.
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
And now they are all on their clumsy feet, gyrating wildly as thin clouds of foul smoke rise from their loathsome stew and swirl about in ever-increasing shapes. Shadows grow darker and darker as they too join in the witches’ dance.
And if the director is so inclined, and a suitably endowed actress has emerged from the dozens who so eagerly displayed themselves for audition, the oldest of the hags will be naked under her robe which falls wide open as she dances, with her elongated flattened dugs flopping and flapping and her skinny arms flailing as she ponderously whirls about in an obscene parody of a teen-age go‑go dancer.
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What an imagination had the Bard. Mayhap it was thus in his doom-laden day.
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But today, on those nights when the moon is full, we are no longer beset with stereotypical projections of the imagination. For there are real witches who venture abroad : gentle folk who live in harmony with the rhythms of the natural world; who know the spirits of the wild wood and those too of the ancient sacred landscapes; who care for their fellow human beings; and whose watchword is ‘an it harm none’; and whose abiding precept is ‘perfect love and perfect trust’. They observe the phases of the moon; feel the twice-daily ebb and flow of the ocean’s tide; and welcome the monthly cycles of their womenfolk as a sign of ‘as above, so below’.
Once in the month, and better it be on a night when the moon is full, they assemble in some secret place and as a sign of their freedom, their love and their trust, they cast aside their clothing and stand in the age-old alternation of woman and man, joining hands in a circle; feeling the Earth’s powerful energy pulsating, passing from one to the next; creating their world between the worlds.
The High Priest makes brief introduction, bringing them into tune with the trees round about them and the moon riding high in the starstrewn sky above. They turn to the East, honouring the Power of Air, the breeze that is the breath of life. Then to the South, honouring the Power of Fire and the noonday sun which guides the procession of the seasons. To the West is the Power of Water which cleanses and refreshes the physical shell. Finally to the North, honouring the Earth, the timeless Great Mother of all, who nurtures and sustains.
The circle reforms. They join hands and move in stately patterns to the left, the left, and ever leftwards; sunwise even as the hands of a clock upon a marble mantelshelf. The earth energies rise. They move into altered states of consciousness. The Goddess manifests in the person of the High Priestess. She speaks words of love to her children on the Earth and gathers to them the freedom of the streams and fields round about, the wide expanses of the natural landscape, and the benisons for each individual home. They turn their thoughts to the needs of their near‑ones and ask for a blessing on their own individual endeavours.
The High Priest takes up the chalice of wine. The High Priestess displays the sacred athame.
As the cup is to the woman
And the blade is to the man
So may they commingle in ecstasy of love
The priestess is the first to drink. The priest offers a toast ‘to the Old Ones, from times past, times present, and times to come’. The chalice circulates sunwise with a kiss and a blessing, each partaking of the wine of the loving-cup. They dance for joy in the moonlight. They share a generous feasting.
When all is done, the High Priest calls them together again. In turn they face to each of the Guardians of the Four Quarters, thanking them for their presence and bidding them farewell. They reform their circle and clasp hands for the last time. The High Priestess offers the traditional exhortation and all join with the final strophes
Merry meet.
Merry part.
And merry meet again.
So mote it be.
People return to earth consciousness. There are heartfelt expressions of mutual support and good will. They resume their everyday clothing and gradually depart, leaving nothing behind save the atmosphere of love and tenderness generated in their ritual.
The forest once again is silent. And the moon continues its unvarying pulsation from full to waning, to velvet darkness, to the first silvery burgeoning crescent, and the waxing to the majesty of fullness.
francis cameron, oxford, monday 8 may 2000
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