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There, in the deep forest, there is a light, and from that light form shadows.
The light of the Moon, in silver dress, the shadows of the Earth, shifting wildly.
Through the trees that grow forth through the sky and within them house Nymphs of nature.
Behind the stones and pebbles that are the bones of our Great Mother.
She who bore the mountains, the seas, the valleys, rivers, and brought forth the sky.
There in the shadows, where the holy light of Selene does not strike, a god manifests.
A god of wild beasts and the ecstatic rites of the forests.
With a mane of hair that shifts and shakes in the blowing of the wind.
Horns that curl ever so slightly sprout from his divine head.
And his hoofed feet as of a goat bear him as he frolics in the light.
There he is, dancing and moaning to the sounds of nature.
The cricket’s chirp, the cicada’s song, the hoot of stealthy owls.
And Great Pan dances to their riotous symphony.
Chasing nimble Nymphs through glen and gully.
Phallus ready to put forth his power into the spirits of nature.
Run, run, O wood nymph, as you laugh and grace the earth with the touch of your feet.
Run, run, O horny faun, as he chases you as well through light and shadow.
Run, run, O river nymph, down toward the sea.
Run, run, O Pan, embrace your masculinity.
Run, run, O god of virility, and bless them with pleasure who would welcome you.
There he is, the goat-footed son of Olympian Hermes
Shepherding the divine spirits of the mountain wilds toward the fertility and fecundity of the world.
Where freedom leads to pleasure and pain while nature binds us to her whim.
With the sounds of the syrinx at the fore and your divine erection not far behind.
The song we hear of the wilds and the pleasures of satyrs and nymphs, and above all, of Pan the Great.
Art: The Magic of Pan's Flute, by John Reinhard Weguelin (1905)
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