Epilogue: OakWyse Writes in His Journal
This latest journey to hell and back was certainly one of the more interesting. I wonder whether many people will ever understand the peculiar and challenging demands of priesthood? Ever since the Victorian Age, it seems the same thing has been happening to priests as to angels. Few now remember the ancient angelic image of raw power, manifest in in a sword-wielding warrior of etheric realms! In those days, the first part of every angelic greeting had to be "Don't be afraid!"
Today, no one fears the domesticated angelic mythos. People have forgotten the warrior angels in favor of more manageable chubby little children with absurdly small wings, or insipid women who are hardly worthy of femininity -- both images conjured up by less than competent males who are looking for assurance of their dominant place in the cosmos.
So, too, with priests.
Once, with Brendan, Aiden, Moluag, or Godric -- with women doubtless in priestly office such as Brighid and Hilda -- they were earthy, rollicking, whiskey loving folk who found a fierce delight in the close relationship between the earthly and the heavenly, between This World and the Otherworld. But humankind have domesticated priests as well as angels, to protect themselves from the threat of the numinous. Today the priestly stereotype is like the insipid angel, but worse yet. Whereas the insipid angel often adorns the Valentine card and at least suggests
to humankind the joys of earthly love, the mythical priest of today seems something of a cross between a nerd and a prude -- condemning in others what he is afraid to experience in himself.
Ah, well. Many clergy have themselves bought into this error, and so participate in bleeding humankind dry of its zest for life.
How many people, I wonder will dare to understand the power and magick of this latest journey into hell? How many will giggle at the scene or condemn it -- OakWyse, the Priest and Druid, standing, sans vestments, with a dirk in his teeth, in the center of a spinning vortex created by half a score of unclothed females? Who will understand the subtle interplay of eros, philia, agape, humor, and sheer fun; the mythological constructs of a hot tub in hell, the Foggy Duck, and a circle of mushrooms?
The Holy is far more untamed than most people think it is. So, too, with Priests who become Druids. Or Druids who become Priests.
Well, I'd best see if those blasted bagpipes have dried out. I feel like a round or two of "Paddy's Leather Breeches."