this is the end

Goodbye Caledonia, See you later Bonnie Scotland

As I am leaving, I feel the urge to write in English for Once. This has been my main language for months, The only times I would speak French were when calling family members or when stuck with French people, using me as a translator.

Yes, I have been avoiding speaking French. I love this language, it is the only mother tongue I still have (I used to be more than Bilingual). I have adn always will have a little something for our beautiful language, us that were luckier than the scots with theirs (it is partly our cousin’s fault)

As you may have seen my pictures from Beltane, you saw that I lived a wicked Night, seeing demonic fire folk against the pure and white queen followed by her warriors.

The crowd was huge and I didn’t get to see everything. Running between part of the history for a pee, for pictures and just to see something.

I was wearing the Kilt, a new one I had bought the same day. My luck, an artisan batik *ask me was is a Batik when you’ll see me*, made of wool, made in Scotland, made by a scot, and cheap as madness.

Yes folk, now I have 4 kilt (black watch – Stewart – Macdouglas –and a random one not really linked to a clan, even the clerk didn’t knew) and 2 of them bought in Scots land.

The wee folk surrounded us that evening, and the Christian God was forgotten for one night. We gathered on Calton Hill, drinking, smoking *for some*, chatting. I was alone, unfortunately, reminding me where is buck when I want to spend time with him? I am going to force him to see those fest if he goes to study in Glasgow, force him, in the name of Lugh.

It was a fest, a feast, actors or fairies, spectator or spirits, everything melted. Dance, music, trance, it was magic, it was the dream I had of a world where those spirit come to us again, where reason leave to let the instinc live.

I fell in madness, I renew my respect to the fairies that night as I saw the most tribal scene of my short life. An Horde of red demons of fire, running, sliding trought a hill to fight the white warrior who each them repelled them. It was pooring rain, the Body of the horde, naked and red, was fuming from the water that fell on them as the white ones looked untouched by the elements. Dancing, taunting the warrior, they never made it trought. The crowd, Shouting, rowing, howling, soaked, drunk and stoned would see that this was the fate of the season. The earth would live again, summer would come as the White Queen survived the night.

This my friend is what my life should be. Living those things. I want more rituals, I will instaure them in my tribe, as I believe they would follow me. I am borned in the wrong Era, or waiting for the next one.

I then Left for the Bond fire, the ashes flying and burning my hands, the colors astonishing me. I started to laugh

Laugh to what? To Me, To my life as it is good. I got to see Marvelous things, I got to become Who I want to be, I had the chance of been raised with my own choices. I had the chance of been beating my up, making me stronger, I had the chance of been rejected.

Why was I lucky? Because I met them

Buck, Fred, Philipp, Kevin, Julien, Arnaud, Anelo.

My tribe, Ones That I believe and trust.

Others may join, but I will always remember the last years as those idyllic to me. Watching movies, playing larp, trowing Kevin in the snow, arguing with Julien on anything, telling Arnaud to get out of my bed, competiting with Fred, simili fighting with Buck.

And Anelo, I didn’t forgot you, I always saw you as a little voice of reason in our madness, you have a lot to tell, but sadly you keep it to yourself. You are the first women of the Tribe, act like it.

So my laugh, has my hood, my kilt and my skin are soaked and covered in ashes, I just saw the world as dancing women, a dancing flame.

I should never be again a spectator, But be a part of this flame, the flame of my world, the one I created.

Music should be my voice, our voice, our hair the fire and our light, our skin the expression of the old gods and old ways.

The crow, the Boar, The lion, the Bear and the wolf, surrounding us will be.

The crow is already a part of me. As I sometime lied, especially from my own tattoo. It is not a bird of Prey, it is a messenger of the gods, of the fairies as both are the same spirit. Yes my back is the branch of a crow as the rest of the body will be part of the Other ones.

It took me time to acknowledge who I had given a part of my loyalty by scarifying my skin for the first time, but not the last. Crows have been following me everywhere, looking if I was worthy. I hope I am, I have been looking for the world of knowledge, I have been learning about this fragment of their world. In the end, I saw less and less of them. I think it was a sign that they didn’t needed to look more.

there isn’t much else to say on that matter, only to show truth to myself and stand by it.

Goodbye Caledonia, you have told me so much.

I am now sitting in Edinburgh’s airport, waiting to bring me to a city worth of a few wicker man, or worth to fill a few, London or Lugudunum.

I am thinking about the sword I almost bought yesterday, but Instead, I’ve put my money on a kilt and a third bottle of Scotch (wich was actually cheaper than where I founded it elsewhere).

So I have 3 bottles, hopefully the ones in my bag will survive the journey (I made the bag go trought the fragile aisle, at least.)

A StathIsla
A Highland Park
A Jura

3 kind I liked, 2 of them for my surrounding and the other for me.

I will let them decide wich one they want to taste.

....


I am Home, Well, in the air right now, but in Canada. As I finished writing my custom form to enter the country, I can’t wait to see my family, waiting for me. At last, they will stop asking me to come back, haha.

so this is the end of this Blog, on this 6 month letter where joy, sadness, boredom and booze were part of.

Be this my best memory and not the last time my foot touched the Scottish land.

see you later, I know you will be looking forward to my comeback, as the King on the other side of the water.

Failte to those who are coming back to my life
‘’santé’’ to those who will live the dram with me
Bonnie are the men and Woman of the Tribe