He turned his wheel and followed the winding road, past farm fields and an old church, and drove through the forest of the mountain again; all to reach his final destination. Before him was a beautiful lake, the crystalline blue water undisturbed by the usual boat that traveled along its length. The parking lot was oddly deserted as well, but that did not bother him, the entire nature trail was his, and so would be his special place. Much like any special place, he did not know who built it. Like Stonehenge of English myth and history though, it did not matter who built this special place, only that it had a numinous quality.
His ears were greeted with the sound of crashing waves like that of an ocean. He knew the wind would be more aggressive up here, and he also knew that this would lower the temperature. Holding his hoodie closer, he stumbled onward, hoping he wouldn't freeze and shiver. The trail was lined on both sides with snow, leaving trail itself as a bog seeded with the footprints of hikers and thrill-seekers. The ground squished beneath him, making him only wish he had brought his boots. However, he had come this far, and the show must go on. And down the trail he walked.
A patch of woods lead to a place where the snow was still on the trail itself, and the bog frozen to ice. Taking a deep breath, he trudged forward, making sure not to slip and fall. Then the wind picked up and a strong gust of wind chilled the air as if it was a tomb. The eyes of the dead were watching, and they were behind every tree, under every rock. The cold air gave him pause, and he thought about turning back. The wind kept whipping at his back, hoping to dominate him. The air was so frigid, even the animals had stopped silent. Death itself was on the trail. However, after warming himself up for a minute, he turned to face Death right in the face, and thinking of others who had faced Death, down the trail he walked.
The ice at this point of the trail, despite still being in the woods, was melted, and the trail was back to a slushy bog. Keeping his eyes on the prize ahead, he trudged onward, toward his numinous, special spot. For the first time on the trail, he had heard the birds sing, as if they had just awoken and sung a morning hymn to the risen sun, much like the Pythagoreans of old. He picked up the pace, feeling the Sun's warmth upon his flesh. However, he would soon think the warmth was a ruse for the wind to once again bite at him. The wind picked up a second time, but this time his foe was not Death, but Doubt. It had been a terribly long winter, as just as it felt like warmer weather had come to stay, the snow returned for one last tour, leading to the cold winds and the boggy trail. Was it worth coming out today? Maybe I should return and come back on a warmer day? However, despite the doubts, down the trail he walked.
Finally, he stepped out of the woods and into the bright sunlight. He stepped onto a side trail down to the shore, and took a quick rest on a fallen tree. And while the wind did pick up again, this time it brought Determination in its wake. Determination that took him by the hand and finally lead him to the megalithic structure that was erected by the shore. This was his special, numinous spot. Here was his altar, not built by his hands, but open to his heart. He fixed up and small fallen menhirs and replaced a feather that was dilapidated and falling apart. He then took a simple shell, filling it with water from the lake, and placed it on a flat stone, and without pomp or circumstance, muttered out to the Numen and to the animals nearby a "happy Ostara." And turning to the Sun, he closed his eyes and lifted his head.
"Unity uttermost showed!
I adore the might of Thy breath,
Supreme and terrible God,
Who makest the gods and death
To tremble before Thee:-
I, I adore thee!"
The Wind grew silent for the first time in his trip.
"Appear on the throne of Ra!
Open the ways of the Khu!
Lighten the ways of the Ka!
The ways of the Khabs run through
To stir me or still me!
Aum! let it fill me!"
The waves crashed on the shore in time with the poetic hymn.
"The light is mine; its rays consume
Me: I have made a secret door
Into the House of Ra and Tum,
Of Khephra and of Ahathoor.
I am thy Theban, O Mentu,
The prophet Ankh-af-na-khonsu!
By Bes-na-Maut my breast I beat;
By wise Ta-Nech I weave my spell."
And it felt like even the Numen, the Genii Loci, took notice.
"Show thy star-splendour, O Nuit!
Bid me within thine House to dwell,
O winged snake of light, Hadit!
Abide with me, Ra-Hoor-Khuit!"
He turned to the shore and turned his mind to the Genii Loci, to the Gods and to Nature. He felt the creativity flow through him. He took the time to read for a few moments, and to enjoy the crisp mountain air. But the wind once again nipped at his face, and he knew that it was time to leave. Not even his coat was keeping him warm. He began his trek back down the trail, this not accosted by the winds. Death and Doubt left him alone, and Determination walked by his side. He didn't speak a word, except to a few passersby to wish them a happy Spring. His mind traveled as he walked, and as he reached his truck, he stopped for a moment to turn and face the lake again. For a moment, he could swear he saw Venus rising from the foam of the waves. Feeling refreshed, and with new found determination, the engine turned over and he drove away.
Happy Ostara!
This is a picture of the "special, numinous place."
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