Brides of Midsummer

We at the Watch

Who are we, the men playing tonight on the hill under the oaks? Lira and fiddle sing, pipe and buck horn blow. It is Midsummer night; it is St. John’s night; it is the night of the Sun Feast. It is the night without age. The dancing is held around the maypole, around the tree, around the fire, around the godhead with the blood-smeared member. Here is the ring through the years that no one counts. We have gathered here, we, the four spelmen of the same family. We are the ones who are playing. Here, we strike up lira and fiddle , buck horn and pipe, here, we strike up a ring dance that runs through all times. We have returned to our gentle mother, who guards and keeps her own, who leaves no one to be lost in this world, who gathers all her children back into her arms. The world gave us its anguish and its torment. Our mother gives us neither anguish nor torment. Mercifully, she holds us to her soft bosom. She does not chide, she does not take us to task, she does not judge, she does not grieve. We are all equally dear to her; we are all equally safe in her keeping. She is our beneficent spring. We at the Watch  The generations pass through the world, and the gods are exchanged—yet, here, we remain. The oaks flourish in their youth, rot in their old age; yet, we remain as we were, as we are. The grass grows and wilts; the spring flows and runs dry according to the passing of time, yet we are eternal. Here, the same grasses keep whispering , the same water keeps purling, and the same skies will forever travel over us here. Sound, strings and horns! Whirl your rings, ye dances! Here, we keep our vigil. Here, we keep our vigil all through a night without age. We play the tunes that will never be new but will sound forever . Blossoms will open, buds will spring forth, the sun will shine, the rain will fall.We are the ones you hear playing.The wind blows where it will, the leaf rustles, and the wet hand of the morning dew touches leaf and blade . . . We are the ones you hear playing. We are what will never be changed, who fear nothing and who long for nothing, who anticipate nothing, who desire nothing. We are those who know no anguish. We are of the congregation of peace, and we play in the chamber of the unreachable. Throughout the world, the ring of generations still dances with joy and sorrow, with pleasure and despair, with torment and lust. Our dancing circle spans what is beyond anxiety, beyond consolation . We play our strings in a chamber that lies west of sadness, east of happiness. We know neither the past nor the future.We are motionlessness. We are immovable and unchanging, and we keep our vigil here by our mother—the spring that runs up here out of the earth’s nether regions, whose veins no one has yet seen. We are the many who keep our vigil here tonight. We are the generation of the countless. We are the rested ones.  The Brides of Midsummer We at the Watch  We were of the world. We were lost. We have returned. This is our home. This is death. Pipes, flutes, strings, resound! You, our motionless dance, ring around! The night of our vigil is long. One day, you will all keep vigil with us, beyond sorrow, beyond happiness. ...