My thought is that we are afraid afraid of the wild heart that we will not look into the fire directly. We live our job-protected lives behind the ramparts of a life insured and keep the wildwood at bay. Curious how our devil sports horns, goat's feet and dragon's tail red his favourite colour, whilst our hero is St George. My thought is he's science, scepticism his sword, hypothesis the lance that pins the dragon's head. Legend has it, when she of the three-fold way was lost to us, the Merlin held the magic, but then was lost to lechery, therein losing himself, No form now breaks the surface of the lake where Nimue sleeps. Would that we could throw her not just sword, but lance and armour too, and walk this magic land, naked to the wild wild wood.

We are, perhaps, only half-emerged from the religious paranoia of the past where pagans and heathens were slaughtered not only as ungodly, but as sub-human; the words and concepts live on in mass consciousness, and the habitual assumption remains, that the divine, though one spirit, only exists within the human heart. It is this that must be healed.