We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

Gangani​,​Come To The Path

by Davóg Rynne

/
  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

    For best experience listen to complete album with earphones and a cup of tea…enjoy!💚🙏🏽
    Purchasable with gift card

      €10 EUR  or more

     

1.
2.
The Song of Amergin II I am the stag of the seven tines; I am the bull of the seven battles; I am the boar of the seven bristles; I am the wide flood cresting plains; I am the wind sweeping deep waters; I am the salmon swimming in the shallow pool; I am the dewdrop lit by the sun; I am the fairest of flowers; I am the crystalline fountain; I am the hawk shrieking after its prey; I am the demon ablaze in the campfire ashes;  I am the battle-waging spearhead; I am the vale echoing voices; I am the sea's roar; I am the rising sea wave; Who else knows the ages of the moon? Who else knows where the sunset settles? Who else knows the secrets of the unhewn dolmen?
3.
The Lords of Light,Newgrange Before metal seeped from slag or crucible, When night-light was rush Fired in tallow Or fear-scarred moon, This was raised. Megalithic hoarder of secrets; Its piling, reverberant On the incus of race, Tells of hirsute forebears Grimed in sweat, And grunt sounding the tally Of scavenged stones. Who cyphered these great stones Saw their geometry spiral To amaze posterity, Shunned all approximations To engender the dense Precision of their art, Craving each moon’s connivance, The punctuality of suns.
4.
A Solstice Ceremony For Yule Since the beginning of time, we have gathered in this season to celebrate the rebirth of the Sun.
On the Winter Solstice, the darkest of nights,
The Goddess becomes the Great Mother and once again
gives birth to the Sun and the new yearly cycle,
Bringing new light and hope to all on Earth.
On the longest night of winter,
and the dark night of our souls,
there springs the new spark of hope,
the Sacred Fire,
the Light of the World.
We gather tonight to await the new light.
On this night, the Maiden, who is also Mother
and Crone, prepares to welcome the Sun.
Let's now prepare to welcome the new light within I light this fire in your honour Mother Goddess
You have created life from death, warmth from cold
The Sun lives once again, the time of light is waxing.
We invite you, Great Mother, to our circle
Bring us new light, the light of your glorious Son."
"I come to you as Maiden
Young and free, fresh as springtime
Yet within me a yearning stirs to create and share
and so I become... The Mother
I bring forth the fruit of my creativity
Yet an ancient prophet once told me, as I stood with my son,
A sword shall pierce through thy own heart also
And I knew that I must become The Crone
The ancient wise one, Lady of Darkness
We three - in - one who brought forth that special child
as long ago, also anointed him for burial-
A bright light that grew and was sacrificed to be reborn
as a new light." "Ancient God of the forest, we welcome you
Return from the shadows, O Lord of Light.
The wheel has turned. We call you back to warm us.
Great God of the Sun
I welcome your return
May you shine brightly upon the Earth." ~Consecration of the Yule Log
 "Yule is the end of the old solar year and the beginning
of the new one. Traditionally, the end of the year is a time
to look back and reflect. It is a time to look ahead
to the future, to make plans and set goals." On your piece of paper, write something you hope to accomplish during the coming year. When you are finished, attach the slip of paper to the Yule
"We toast the new year (sprinkles wine on the log) and in token
of its promise, we consecrate this sacred wood as a focus for the
energies through which we accomplish our tasks and manifest our
desires during the coming cycle." "You who have died are now reborn. Lend us your light through
the winter months as we await the spring. Let us now light the Yule Log.
Once having burned with the Yule fire, these candles will contain the luck
of the log throughout the coming year."
5.
Danu 05:33
DANU In the merry berried night In the last of the light Carried in a raven winged bowl All the world in dusky darkness while DANU flows through Clippity clippity cloven clop Faery folk grassy and talismanic Hold blessed candles tied by wick Swing and sing on Danu's tunic Tales of amber holy stones Rolling around their minds Long sagas of insect chirping Sounding up the elemental colony Clippity clippity cloven clop All air earth goddess sweetened Danu's love Divine one breathes out All breathe Maiden Mother Baby Crone Wisdom interlocked All breathe in the astral light Ravens beaking the light to flight Blended rising cosmic chants Votive smoke black mark the stars Clouds paint a lightning mask Danu in sidhe (shee) invocation Replenishing the atmosphere Waxing Full Waning Tuatha de Dannan throw their torcs to the aura DANU still alive in yesterday's shadow In the seeds of tomorrow 's growth In the eyes of the wolf birthing Engulfed in soil reincarnation Everything flowers as Danu As every Bain's cord combed from the plaits of Danu Trees ..the eye of Danu sees from beneath its bark The landscape in its ritual winds Leafs of compassion Danu Fall as pentacles On the raising faery footed dust Pastel incandescence surrounds this omnipresent tribe As last light carried Flickers the face of Lugh Gargan-tuan hammers Alchemical tongs thither Beat for their celestial travel Clippity clippity cloven clop On the revered swaying anvil an abstraction of Danu On any reflective surface the first sight seen Before our own Danu Clippity clippity cloven clop The hope of wet wood burning Dirt on our hands from fresh potato Danu Her healing enfolds our senses Quells the mortal fear of death Following Danu Her track raven footed crow stepping It is the seeing of the owl Is the pawed knotted straw throw The wash of divine free salmon roe Clippity clippity cloven clop The earth spins from behind her back Her radiant hand does the spinning The last light dancing now Goddess flaming Miming gold on the ashe Fire glazes her glowing Clan in hypnotic smoldering light Earth mother is ancient triad Is triple goddess Danu opens her arms and she beams Beams cascading the slumbered valleys All hearthstones draped in her beams Display her bestowal of light Inflorescence of her devotional axis Clippity clippity cloven clop The omniscient mare moon full Births her hallowed aurora foal Soil begins to warm the pagan soul Tepid still blood flushed alive This morning ocean in fish eyed wonder As it be on every tide From Lag na Sionna The sacred Shannon mixing far into the deeps Swirling Uncovers a salt idol of Danu Every new day DANU Clippity clippity cloven clop
6.
8. The Battle Of The Trees The tops of the beech tree have sprouted of late, are changed and renewed from their withered state. When the beech prospers, though spells and litanies the oak tops entangle, there is hope for trees. I have plundered the fern, through all secrets I spy, Old Math ap Mathonwy knew no more than I. For with nine sorts of faculty gifted onto me, I am fruit of fruits gathered from nine sorts of tree — Plum, quince, whortle, mulberry, respberry, pear, black cherry and white, with the sorb in me share. From my seat at Fefynedd, a land that is strong, I watched the trees and green things hastening along. Retreating from happiness they would fein be set in forms of the chief letters of the alphabet. Wayfarers wandered, warriors were dismayed at renewal of conflicts such as Gwydion made; Under the tongue root a fight most dread, and another raging, behind, in the head. The alders in the front line began the affray. Willow and rowan-tree were tardy in array. The holly, dark green, made a resolute stand; he is armed with many spear-points wounding the hand. With foot-beat of the swift oak heaven and earth rung; "Stout Guardian of the Door", his name in every tongue. Great was the gorse in battle, and the ivy at his prime; the hazel was arbiter and this charmed time. Uncouth and savage was the fir, cruel the ash tree — turns not aside a foot-breadth, straight at the heart runs he. The birch, though very noble, armed himself but late: a sign not of cowardice but of high estate. The heath gave consolation to the toil-spent folk, the long-enduring poplars in battle much broke. Some of them were cast away on the field of fight because of holes torn in them by the enemy's might. Very wrathful was the vine whose henchmen are the elms; I exalt him mightily to rulers of realms. Strong chieftains were the blackthorn with his ill fruit, the unbeloved whitethorn who wears the same suit. The swift-pursuing reed, the broom with his brood, and the furse but ill-behaved until he is subdued. The dower-scattering yew stood glum at the fight's fringe, with the elder slow to burn amid fires that singe. And the blessed wild apple laughing in pride from the Gorchan of Maeldrew, by the rock side. In shelter linger privet and woodbine, inexperienced in warfare, and the courtly pine. But I, although slighted because I was not big, Fought, trees, in your array on the field of Goddeu Brig.
7.
The Circle and the Flame The Circle and the Flame for Imbolc Wolf moon rises, broken promises are healed and the feast begins: as they say, “in the belly”, the wintry light is pregnant with Summer’s milk and flowers; ewes’ udders waken light and all the wights delight; Tribe and Land, language and rocks, meet in the circle of this flame: the bones of earth, elemental nooks of all the circle’s measure hold the ancient tribes in bondage to the laws of fealty; knowledge of this old way begins in words borne of valor: deeds of ancient warriors dying for the people of the Land; remembrance of this light, the women show their troth sewing banners of the woolen cloth with twisted threads of memory to hold the thoughts of poets strong; spider, asp, and wasp; thistle, gorse, and nettle: all children of the goddess lands: keepers of its mysteries; Niall of the Nine Hostages knows this truth: the Old Crone cast her eye upon him, and he recognized the green spark of goddess tears; the center holds, the Bilious, the World Tree: golden leaves waving above gathers the tribes into the inner circle; so in the dead month, under the wolf moon we celebrate in feasting, when raven’s nest and lark’s sing, and rain brings lambs to birth; for then the Old Woman of the year, Cailleach, rises with her white wand, a bride of spring, breathing power into the Winter King, releasing him from his dour sleep of harsh snow, while serpent lords scatter to the four winds of time, knowing their time is at an end; then the “Exalted One”, Brigid, golden haired, encircled by children comes among her people to celebrate the Feast of Imbolc!
8.
The Tale of the Vulnerable The line at the beginning Of the old tale comes from the lips Of the beggar king as he waits In the doorway of old myth, His crown beside him is all rusted and worn. The day breathes a sadness and A wonder that only children of old know. The rhythm of footsteps holds the march Of men who trampled on the wildflowers Of spring but, among the sounds, a bell rings so quietly. She is there; She is there with eyes of love that humility tempers. Prayers are made with each footstep. Mantras are chanted by the smile that leaves the lips. Surrender is a storm that never comes And the cracks in the sidewalk are the tunes For the ballads that keep getting sung in glens Where the desolate houses still breathe. Off and away the farmer is walking His dog to oblivion As the rosary of existence Is said by the hands of the last fires. What will the tale be when the old man Of the mountains passes silently into the mist? Who will hold the soft hands of the ancient knowledge When the alarm of emptiness rings above the city’s sorrow? Tragic days without rain I want to tell you the new tale but my heart Does not know the way to the pass where innocence resides. Tell me how to whisper to the king so I might Show him where to drink from the well that renews. Show me how to meet The soft doe of the woods so that I might Run with the warrior and stand with the woman Who rules the city where the crystal guards the threshold. Tell me how to live with the ancient son whose tribe Knew how to preserve the gentle star at the end of the world For only now do I know what the beggar king tells with his eyes.
9.
The Púca 03:34
The Púca The midnight hammer strikes its mark the belfrys tone relayed. This night has been disrupted in its echoing serenade. A gloom fills this midnight hour with each resounding strain, evil dreams are brought to life as the Púca marks his claim. Beyond the town on a wooded hill prancing in eager delight, Demon nostrils, flare and blow, hooves hammering with a spite. Tossing head and ruffled mane, his purpose sets to a run. No longer can he refrain to draw out the chosen one. He charges ever forward blazoned eyes are gleaming, his coat black as shadow behind his tail is streaming. Eerlong to arrive at the chosen home, calls out his victims name. No one can refuse a Púca’s call, or an evil curse remains? The family wishes the fated one well as they send him out the door mounts this horse without a saddle, a ride he must endure. This Demon suddenly bolts away frantically around boulder and tree, the rider screams, for all seems lost as the horse runs madly free. He tells him of his personal fate. Reveals his future to the riders dismay, of his scheming friends, who wheel and deal and of loved ones who will pass away. He reveals the graves where all will lay and you will lie over here. The horse vaults his rear in the air and flings the rider clear. Miles from home and full of fear as he stumbles from his midnight ride. Then the Púca leers back with blazon eyes, time is on his side.
10.
The Swans of the Great Lake Swans once lived in the washbowl of the Great Lake From them, it is told, humans have descended. And every spring the people would go to the shore to greet the arrival of their good winged ancestors with white steaming milk. This was long ago, it is told. So long ago, that it has turned into a fairy tale. But people have learned to hate one another… They cannot manage to share watering places and land. And he that has more sheep considers himself happy. And the white swans would circle in the sky, not understanding why in the spring no one meets them with white steaming milk. But one day a certain curious boy found out about his swan ancestry. He lifted his eyes to the sky in astonishment. To the empy sky, there were only huge steel birds sinking into the expanse with a roar, silent and sad… He trudged to the Great Lake in search of the white birds. He didn’t notice he had circled half the world. But he had found no swans. So he sat on the hot asphalt and began to cry- The boy had grown old. Squint your eyes into slits, like the mark left by the Mongolian saber, Absorbing the essence of earthy time from the sea of eternity drop by drop Why did the neighing avalanche sweep through… Trampling down the gardens, the fields? The century of super-epic speeds descends upon the steppe like daybreak. And punishment for the galloping of the horses, lasting too long. And for the flash of the swords, blind and raging. I recover my sight in the cities Where signs of the Gobi desert appear indistinctly. And I pass judgement upon the new times according to Europe, covered in birch. I hear the roots act as shaman, and I hear the rustle of the leaves, and the consciousness of a higher kinship Drowns out the voice of my blood
11.
The Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair Harp of Cnoc I'Chosgair, you who bring sleep to eyes long sleepless; sweet subtle, plangent, glad, cooling grave. Excellent instrument with smooth gentle curve, trilling under red fingers, musician that has charmed us, red, lion-like of full melody. You who lure the bird from the flock, you who refresh the mind, brown spotted one of sweet words, ardent, wondrous, passionate. You who heal every wounded warrior, joy and allurement to women, familiar guide over the dark blue water, mystic sweet sounding music. You who silence every instrument of music, yourself a sweet plaintive instrument, dweller among the Race of Conn, instrument yellow-brown and firm. The one darling of sages, restless, smooth, sweet of tune, crimson star above the Fairy Hills, breast jewel of High Kings. Sweet tender flowers, brown harp of Diarmaid, shape not unloved by hosts, voice of cuckoos in May! I have not heard music ever such as your frame makes since the time of the Fairy People, fair brown many coloured bough, gentle, powerful, glorious. Sound of the calm wave on the beach, pure shadowing tree of pure music, carousals are drunk in your company, voice of the swan over shining streams. Cry of the Fairy Women from the Fairy Hill of Ler, no melody can match you, every house is sweet stringed through your guidance, you the pinnacle of harp music.
12.
Ogham Charms 04:35
OakWyse utters Ogham Charms Beginning of Birch, to lead the way, Magic of Rowan, this charm to say, Protection of Alder, in the deep, Passage of Willow in dream of sleep; Integration of Ash between the worlds, And so the Ogham Charm unfurls. “Chastity of Hawthorn, purging well, Door of Oak, where many dwell, Balance of Holly, in battle strong, Wisdom of Hazel, Salmon-song; Apple’s Choice, abundance brings, As this Charm of Ogham sings. “Intuition gives the Vine, While Ivy’s Spirals intertwine; Cleansing Broom sweeps spirits clean, For Fate of Blackthorn to be seen; Renewal of Elder turns aside All that may with Death abide. “Vision of Fir is true and tall, And Gorse now sweetly Gathers all; Healing Heather, grounding fast, Aspen warding, Shields at last;_ Yew Eternity portends, Though this Charm of Ogham ends. “Community of Grove instructs all hearts, Delight of Spindle, insight imparts; Secret of Honeysuckle guards the way, Where ancient Knowledge of Beech holds sway; The power of this Charm shall be As Vast and endless as the Sea

about

Come to the Path
The Spirit’s are calling you,
Come to the Path,
that the ancients knew and
preserved for you,
come to the path

Come to the forest
The Spirit’s are calling you
Come to the forest
Where the faeries run free
And Old Ones be,
come to the forest

Come to the clearing
The Spirit’s are calling you
Come to the clearing
and walk moonlit paths
to circles danced
come to the clearing

Come to the Path,
The Spirit’s are calling you,
Come to the Path,
that the ancients knew,
preserved for you,
come to the Path

Davog Rynne April 2020

credits

released December 14, 2022

Voice,Bodhran,Jaw Harp, by Davóg Rynne
Music and Ambience by Nicolas Pichot
Special Guest Li’ang Zhao on Erhu (Track 11)
And Siobhan Armstrong on Harp (Track 12)

license

all rights reserved

tags

about

Davog Rynne France

contact / help

Contact Davog Rynne

Streaming and
Download help

Report this album or account

If you like Gangani,Come To The Path, you may also like: