Each young man or woman comes at some point to an understanding of the
indwelling inspirer, giving them a unique insight, for men, of the Divine
Feminine, and for women, of the Divine Masculine. Maidens flocked here to
this stone to seek that very experience in dances and revels not unlike
those Dionysian orgies so abhorrent to the 'civilized' mind. But adolescence
is a timc of ecstasy and, besides, who said that learning should be dull?
As I retrace my own steps to this stone I recall with what difficulty I
arrived at an understanding which would have been obvious in a more primitive
society. The touch of the inner inspirer is a magical secret in one's youth;
at first it was easy to draw off his generous gifts and assume that this
wonderful face would be that of my future lover. How many men and women
frustrate their lives by falling into this snare, overlaying the image of
the inner beloved onto the human partner who has neither the wit to realize
nor the ability to reflect such ideals? Redeeming such mistakes brings wisdom,
but how hard it is!
The Inspirer, as master, taught me discipline, technique, application of
my creative skills. He also initiated me into sexual fulfilment. Beyond
the reciprocal love which enveloped our inner relationship, I sensed also
an awesome perspective and received a deeper understanding of the Mother
which as a woman I instinctively drew upon. The Inspirer was also her inspiration
and she his. What matchless partnership was I engaged upon?
The true polarities are like this and so subtle and so easily missed or
misinterpreted. We need to focus on this deep dimension so urgently. So
many human relationships misfire because of such misunderstanding.
Latterly the Inspirer has shown me another face, that one of the Youth,
Mabon, Son of the Mother, who is both brother and son to me also; child
of joy and strong talisman against despair and imprisonment of all kinds.
When sunk in a ditch of uncreative unlovingness, my fingers clamped across
my despairing eyes, he has shone through, plaguing me with his music till
I opened up enough to laugh or cry. Like a child who prises his mother's
fingers from some grim daily task for an instant game, he has restored me.
He is a younger version of the Inspirer and though is old as the first dawn,
he keeps me young. All young women dream of dark lovers under this stone's
shelter, just as all young men dream of endlessly various mistresses under
the Queen's Stone. These inner inspirers are dream keys to a wider realm
of being and also correctives to an increasingly less creative world.