A border is an in-between space, a No Man’s Land, an opportunity for magical infiltration, a dream within a dream. In the borders between Fairyland and reality live Titania, Oberon and Puck – and all the rest of the Fey.
When we approach a border in our own lives, whether literal (as when passing from one country to another) or metaphorical, we become, for an instant, citizens of both – and, excitingly, of neither. We are, for that brief moment, suspended, landless, open to anything.
The Border areas of countries are often impregnated with the wild and raw screams (both pain and joy) of the past, especially when such a border is a physical barrier like Hadrian’s Wall. They have received blood and battles, tribes and tribulations, kings and warlords, King-makers and Peace-makers.
Borders collect the psychic, and actual, music of a culture, of a people – and it is no coincidence that some Morris Dancing teams have a name with the word ‘Border’ in it, for they, too, live and dance on the edges.
Beltane Border Morris are a good example. The name alone grabbed my interest:
This to me speaks volumes about borders in every sense.