Happy Birthday Heather!

~Lucrative~

~Bath Dreams~
In a moment of less than conscientious
I ride the fin of a river fish.
Wrapped in royal blue waves she
takes me under the green surface.
Plants nestle and sway to a silent orchestra of cellos.
Shells settled among the rocks keep time
to the hollow sound of drums.
An octopus plays piano to the carousel sound.
Gentle bubbles escape my lips, my hair
flows to the east.
Long slender vines tickle my feet ...

I awake to a kind indiviual messaging my feet. They are covered in teal cream and smell of fresha and camay soap. The rough dry skin gently peels away. My toe nails have been trimmed and buffed to a matte sheen. This often neglected part of my body is coming alive into wellness. My feet will carry my body to another place. I am led down a path and given oversized stripped towels of blue and white. They feel warm to the touch. There is a porcelain tub in a wooded area full of clean water and dried lavender floats on the surface. I remove the blue robe and step carefully into the tub - the water steams, the smell of lavender is poignant, strong. I wash my hair twice, once to remove the dirt of everyday and again to feel the newness of clean and smell. The bar of soap is filled with tiny chips of stone, the lather is thick and glistening. I hear the tinkering of wind chimes somewhere in the distance. My eyes are heavy with sleep. There is a small water pump next to the tub. I stand and fill the creamy colored water pitcher with fresh water and rinse away the soap. I sit in the morning sun and dry my hair. I linger on the small stool taking the view of blue mountains, the sunrise, and the violet mist that surrounds them. I enjoy my aloneness and savor residing in this very moment.

Ms. Lovelace ( Patricia )
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Unsettling Travels

I left the Hermitage feeling like the rabbit in Alice and Wonderland. "I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date!" My donkey and guide were patiently waiting for me at the quay. I don't know how many days they have been waiting. I find the patience of others in this amazing land to be quite astonishing. No one is ever perturbed about me taking as much time as I need, even though I'm running behind schedule. I know my capacity for patience needs to improve, so maybe they are all teaching me a lesson.

I stroked my donkey and climbed aboard, but not before I placed my colorful, fluffy wig on the donkey's back. I could sware the donkey giggled when she saw it. After finding my spot on the donkey's back, I leaned over to her ear and introduced myself and thanked the donkey for carrying me to my next destination. She made the sound that donkey's make, kind of a "Hee-haaaaaa" sound, and within it I heard, "Me-Dawn." Well, it was quite fitting that I be taken into the dawn of the next day by a donkey named Dawn.

Off we traveled for many miles. I enjoyed the quiet and soaked up the beauty around me. After being in the bath house for way too long, I felt like a wet noodle. I knew if I let myself doze, I'd slide right off of Dawn's back. I leaned down for part of the journey and whispered into Dawn's ears all about my adventures. She nodded her head and Hee-haaaaa'd at the appropriate places, so that I knew she understood what I was saying. I showed her my walking stick and a tear came to her eye at the site of Mother Nature's image.

We stopped for a moment at a water's edge for Dawn to get a drink. I had no idea where we were or what body of water we were at, but it didn't matter to me. I love all bodies of water. I slid off Dawn and was about to wade in to cool myself when Dawn grabbed the back of my shirt with her teeth and pulled me back. She nudged my head with her nose so that I looked down at the surface of the water.

There, on the surface of the rippling water, instead of seeing a distorted reflection of myself, I saw the striking face of a woman who told me her name was Marika. She said she was a Water Healer (http://www.water-consciousness.com/teachers.htm). I don't know what that is, but I listened to her words for her eyes had me locked in her gaze. She said had planned to meet me along this road to give me a message of healing, but now she also had a message of warning. She said to listen very carefully and memorize her every word.

"AshleyShea, you have learned much and traveled far to make this journey. What you have seen is just the beginning. There's more to come, some not so pleasant, some more pleasant than you've ever experienced. Continue to be like a starfish on a wave. Float where the wave takes you. Do not resist.

"My original message for you was to spend some time here at these waters to reflect upon your reflection. I know that you are haunted by voices that tell you you aren't good enough, not beautiful enough, not young enough, ...not enough, period. Those voices only serve their own purposes. They hold you back. They hide your glory...your strength. They fog the pathway to your inner self. Whenever you hear these voices, dismiss them. Tell them you no longer need their opinions because you have it on much higher authority that they are wrong.

"I am also here to give you a warning. Your traveling companions have entered the woods before you. They were met by hooded figures and taken off to places untold. I have it on good authority that those who struggled and fought their hooded figure were taken to places I would rather not speak of. They are fighting for their lives as we speak. Those who released themselves to the hooded presence were taken to a place where they are learning a life lesson they need to learn. Honestly, both groups of travelers are learning. One group is doing it the hard way. The other group, while it may not be all joy and roses, are learning their lesson with much less pain.

"I believe there is one more hooded creature waiting for you in the deepest darkness of the woods. Do not be afraid. Let the creature take you and, I promise, you will not be harmed."

As Marika's uttered the last words, her face faded into the water. I didn't have time to ask anything more of these hooded creatures and where I might be taken. As her face faded, I saw the reflection of my own face. Just as Marika's gaze held me captive, I noticed, for the first time, my own striking looks. I found it hard to smile, nervous about what destiny was waiting for me, but I did feel a twinge of joy inside as I pushed away the "not enough" thoughts and saw my own radiance.

Dawn brought me back to the present by tugging on my shirt. I climbed on her back and allowed her to carry me into the woods. Nervously I kept watch. At first I jumped or twitched at the slightest sound, but soon I became accustom to the sounds of the woods. I could see the light recede as Dawn carried me deeper into the woods. A distance before me I could see no evidence of light. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the hooded creature. I relaxed on Dawn's back. I bent over once more and whispered in her ear, "Wish me luck," just as a hooded figure swooped down from the trees and took me to....Who Knows Where.

Donkey riding2

Donkey riding2
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

Here we are on our journey. Mehitabel was a most excellent donkey.

The Donkey Ride

My donkey calls as I reach the Quay
My name is Mahitabel, follow me
I’ll wander around but find the path
prepared for us by a friendly giraffe
Now that’s a problem for a very short mount
for the top of the trees have very few leaves
but the bottom is covered with bushes
O dear Mahitabel what shall we do?
Look in your bag, silly, she gave it to you
just for this predicament, I fetched forth the wings
that fitted Mahitabel’s ears, she wriggled the things
and we flew to the top of the very tall tree
a post where the pathway was easy to see
No problem for donkey, but I held on tight
to the saddle, for flying by donkey
for a very old lady did not seem quite right.
We managed quite well through the daylight hours
although dear Mahitabel did eat the flowers
from the tall eucalyptus, and dodged around towers
where someone was watching but a crow showed the way
until nightfall. Mahitabel had no night vision
I searched that dear bag, expected derision
but tied those spectacles
onto the nag. That’s better she told me
Let’s get on with this, when the night rider
grabbed me, I gave him as kiss
and he blushed, as who wouldn’t at such a bold old lady
He gathered us up in his long black cloak
called “gee-up” to his steed
and dropped us quite close
to the House of the Serpent
but he wouldn’t come nearer
I don’t care for snakes, said the darling, I’ll leave you
there’s a lady nearby, who will surely retrieve you
but don’t tell my boss, who might just believe you
and I’m already in trouble, I rescued a girl
and I want to go home and give her a whirl
around the big dance hall down by the barn
where the young raiders play. I gave him the anchor
felt he might need it. So with my dear donkey
I stepped through the gate
and you will all be glad to know
I’ve given up rhyming, and halting rhythm
tripped over the mat
kissed my donkey goodbye
and collapsed into bed.

Ancestors cabin

Ancestors cabin
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

By the year following their arrival the grandmother had a place for her family and a wide verandah where her pupils came for school.

~Dress Rehearsal~

~Dress Rehearsal~
I have had some private moments this day with the Enchantress. I would really like to remain here, but my heart insists I move on. I hope it comes from my heart and is not an ~ego~ based decision.

The Enchantress is all knowing, comfortable in her own skin. She listens carefully as we sit on large rocks by a quiet stream. I talked with her about poetry or rather my reasons for the writing of it.This poetry is my deepest emotion - it stays in layers, these buried parts of my authentic self. As I write a shift occurs within my rational mind. The layers peel back and flip quickly exposing bursts of words. Sometimes, I explain, the words seem angry, perhaps misdirected. They, my words don't have bad intentions. They are the excavated parts of myself the human race does not see. ~Not for Daily Consumption~ would be the title of my poetry book.The Enchantress nods. Her eyes are smiling which I take to interrupt she understands. And so I read her my composed piece -

~Ancestors~
Ancestor of two generations ago
bloodline continues the flow.
Female pink bundles explode
Five daughters long, born twice.
Young strong women
You just don't know.
Curling brown hair
Green stern, bright eyes
Tall, lean bodies a glow.
Just like you,
piercing lips of anger
Injustice takes hold.
Heads and wire rimmed glasses in books
Labors of ten hour days.
Plowing up fields
Computers, cell phones, and books
Strapped to their backs,
They guide Chevy's not horsesUp and Down the roads.
Babies of your dreams
Emerging patterns explode.
Married to limbless men
From necessary wars
Masking their feelings,
Climbing into bottles,
with new friends,
Bud, Jack and Jim.
Comfortable residents,
Female pink bundles explode.

She smiles, this is enough for me. I tell her I pulled these words from lost ancestors, women I miss, their bloodlines are mine, too. I thought so many things about them, and my own daughters this past week on my travels here. Their strengths are many. Their burdens a different form, but are still burdens.Again, she understands and judges not.

She asks to see the costume. I carefully remove it from the box. She knows immediately the era I chosen the dress from. The Regency. She feels the soft pink muslin. She suggests perhaps I need a cape or long coat.

We walk back through the woods to the entrance. My horse is waiting. A message has arrived and some change in plans has occurred - I am to venture on to the ~Isle of the Ancestors~. A bit confused I add the note to my maps. The Enchantress points the way, with a parting gift. I know we will meet again.

Ms. Lovelace ( Patricia )

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Dancing from the Soul

I don't know why I hesitated visiting the Gypsy camp. I was certain I would be eaten alive by mosquitos, but that's nothing new. I had such a lovely time, I didn't want to return to the Hermitage.

It was enchanting to walk by the light of the full moon from the Hermitage to the Gypsy camp. I was surprised by the coolness of the evening, and so, too, I guess, were the mosquitos, because I saw narry a one of them. The cool air on my skin was a welcome change from the heat of the day. Still so, I was quite chilled by the time I reached the camp. The blazing fire was dazzling, mesmerizing, and a welcome source of warmth.

As I sat gazing alternately into the fire and then at the glowing, full moon, a gypsy sat beside me, put a shawl around my shoulders and a deck of cards in my hands. I held the deck thinking of the many hands that had held this deck before. I touched my walking stick and its image of Wisdom with one hand as I chose a card with my other hand. This is the card Wisdom felt I needed to see most.

I smiled knowingly upon seeing this card. Art. What could be more appropriate. Art, I have come to realize, is a more truer form of communication for me than any thing else. Art is what gives me life. Art brings messages from my inner soul to the surface.

Finding my way to art has been a long process over many years. I get close enough to feel its warmth and I back away saying, "No. I am not worthy." Just as the Gypsy's fire gives my body warmth on this cool evening, I can feel the warmth of art again. I'm traveling the path to art's door. Slowly...carefully...and then I pause. I wonder what I'm doing here. I say there's no time. There are more important things to do. I was about to turn away from the door again when the Gypsy's cards reminded me. This is a door I must pass through. It's not an option. The invitation cannot be refused.


Coming back to my present surroundings, I notice the gypsy's dancing. My body takes this as an invitation and doesn't give me a chance to refuse. I find myself dancing, without knowing the steps, without knowing the song...my body is moving on its own expressing all that is within...all I need to know. This moment is bliss.

In the halls of my ancestors

I found my ferry soon enough, “Dark Ferry Woman row me across the river, row slowly so that I may see the distance spaces, the edge where sunset meets the sea, the golden clouds that grace the summer sky. I want to feel the wind that pushes this small craft, this boat with rainbow sail that billows full and freely. As we reach the further shore I wave farewell and ask you to be ready at end of day to take me back to the pine covered mountain for I have been asked to report.

I wander slowly up the dock into the island centre where a great golden gate is lit by the rising sun, this gilded gate carved by the centuries of finest workmen opens before me and I find myself able to dance again, to carry the silver torch, to trip as lightly as I did in childhood up the long stairs, into the sacred hall. There is hope in my step and in my heart for this is the place of my own people, these are the hallways walked by all who walked before me through all time.

Here in a deep forest by a lake I find a small log cabin surrounded by a kitchen garden. October colour everywhere, deep crimson leaves fall from above and crunch beneath my feet. I knock. A soft voice calls, Is that you, my dear, I have been waiting here that we may talk.” The accent is familiar, just a hint of old East Anglia, the dialect my father knew and was forbidden to use. “ I met your dad long years ago, he passed by on his way to his own family shore. He was from Norfolk but not Norfolk born as I am for I am your mother’s people. Come tell me, why this quest for your time has not yet come although I see your aging as I watched your childhood.”

A thousand questions, questions, questions too personal it seems to ask this woman with the bright eyes that see into my mind. What made you grandmother-twice-back-and-more cross the great ocean to this place in deepest wood? Why bring your sons and leave a daughter at home? “So many why’s my dear.”

“Did you not move across an ocean? leave a son behind? stay in a country where the accent was not yours? We have much in common you and I. I crossed the sea for love, for a proper place for sons, for their father’s sake we built and grew. My daughter was well cared for, her father claimed the child. She would be safe, safer than a yeoman’s child and learned. “

“ My sons grew tall, broke their own land, and made their way no longer laboured in the fields of some descendant of King Williams thieving clan. I taught them well, my daughters too, those younger ones, and all the others too in the tiny school we built. Dear Dr. Strachan, dear old kirk where learning was allowed for all who came.”

“ Did you see our school house ? We had four rows of benches, a board my husband painted every September. The Bishop was generous; every child had his own slate, a bible and a first book. My pupils learned to read, and write, and, on the winter’s nights lit by fire and candle taught their parents too. When harvest came our sons, all of the sons, could count and claim all that was rightful, and give thanks for freedom and bounty.”

But all this does not reply, I see that one question too intimate to ask.”

“Why? I’ll try to answer. I was a gentle cousin in his lordship’s house, kin without status, a pretty girl I think. We touched, we loved, a child was born. I lost my place within propriety. The child was taken, I was given to wife to my yeoman. My great fortune, we brought four sturdy sons to the new country. You have his blood and thus most dear to me.”

“Now tell me”, she asked, what have you done, to make me proud?”
I thought for a moment and said that I had loved to learn and tried
to teach my students honestly.

“You have your answer. “she said, and laughing, “We’ll have a cup of tea, share stories of those children we have known, and fill the time until the ferry woman calls you home. Don’t be afraid for you will come again. We will be friends.”

I give my gift, a tiny book of poems as I wave farewell

Endless Journey

While walking through the woods en route to the Gypsy Camp, many things were going through my mind, not the least of which was the journey. Not necessarily the journey of the moment as much as the bigger journey … the one we all take in our time.

Endless Journey

Upon this sphere of sun-warmed rock called Earth,
I lay,
nude
beside a sparkling stream.
Tall pines share their fragrance
while, on the ground, their cones are waiting
for a conflagration
to urge them into life,
to feed,
to build anew,
stately forests of the future.
The sphere of rock on which I lay,
wrinkled,
warm,
invites me to press my naked self
into Her blue-green reflecting body,
to feel Her reassuring surface,
to be one with Her
as She makes Her endless journey,
to watch the ever changing mountains
as they become a million, billion, trillion noble specks
of sand upon a beach.

All living things have their niche;
The womb,
then birth.
With birth, we start to die,
but first, we live, ignite the fire
of love and caring
for those traveling with us upon this earth,
two legs and four,
feathered, finned, and scaled,
then, like the ever-flowing stream,
we move onward to our destiny
until, we too, are but fossils in the rock.

Vi
©August 13, 2005

Cancel the Dance of the Knives

Good evening everyone

Gracious, I must appologize for my absence the last day.  Salish and I were just settling in to our room at the Hermatige when a carrier pigeon flew in the window and deposited a note on the desk.  It was from my son Connor begging me to perform my famous "Dance of the Knives" for the Queen.

I did pack my knives and my costume (made up of no less than seventy veils in all sorts of bright jewel tones).  Now how shall I explain this?  Well bother, I may as well jump right in and be honest with you all.   I do have some stage fright, and I was so terribly excited to perform for the the queen that when I was practising in front of Salish (and I had all 9 knives in the air) I tripped over three of my seventy veils!  I went flying, the knives went flying, and, well, you can see what happened to poor Salish.  Frankly, he came out of it better than I did.

I have decided that it is best if I play it safe and perform one of my favorite poems told to me as a child by my mother.  I will be posting it shortly.

Bobbi & Salish-the-Owl-on-the-injured-list

~Travels~

~Map to the Hermitage~
Arriving at the Hermitage was not an easy journey. I passed through many strange and curious places.

Leaving the cave my first stop was The Land of Prey. Incrediable birds of great girth and height reside here. Their main oject is the hunting of cats. Yes, cats ! I am relieved I gave second thoughts to bringing my dearest friend, Big Moma. My journey would have been very short.

Second Stop - District of Dolls
Third Stop - Village of Dwellings

Forth Stop - City of Chairs. I had to show identitification, have my passport stamped, a finger print was taken, and my small baggage checked.

Thinking I had plenty of time, as the Hermitage was only one hour away, I took Heathcliff to a nearby blacksmith where he could be watered and fed oats. I walked across the street to a diner, washed up in the rest room and sat in the most elegant of chairs to order a proper meal. The food was delicious. The wine and cheese after dinner seemed to revive my spirits. I was ready to continue.

I must have read my map wrong, as I ended up in the township of travel. I asked an elderly gentleman for directions. His manners were that of a prince and he was so well spoken. His directions were none of the above and again I was to become lost in the Village of Crowns.

I took some extra moments to study the map carefully. As I traveled back I once again noticed the elderly gentleman. This time he was riding in a vintage car, waving and smiling as he left me in a cloud of smoke and dust.

I reached the Hemitage around midnight. My first thoughts were for Heathcliff. I am thankful there was a groom to meet me. To say the least, I am tired and in need of a comfortable night's sleep.

Ms. Lovelace ( Patricia )
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Performance

Elizia borrows a dress


I do not wish to impede the progress of the group, so I am ready to preform. I wrote this, but I do not sing. At least . . . when I do sing, someone usually tells me to stop.

I walked down into the Gypsy camp when it was almost morning, when the last wisps of white smoke from the campfires had dissolved like spun sugar into the tangled green of the overhanging trees and the blackness of night began to pale to pearls of grey. I found him sitting with his back against a tree playing a Bach concerto on a piccolo. He stopped and looked at me.
“I’m looking for a harpist,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like a harpist?”
“Yes.”

He wore unrelieved black; black breaches, tall black boots, a black poets shirt. His long black hair was pulled back with a length of thin black leather.
“And what is it you want with a harpist?”
“I need someone to play and sing a Ballad while I dance. A performance with a fairly large audience.”
He raised the other eye brow. “You’re a dancer, are you?”
I narrowed my eyes. The piccolo flew out of his fingers and up into the tree. But not before it had rapped him sharply across the forehead.
“I am.”

His hand went to his head, his eyes following the small silver sphere as it hurled up through the branches and out of sight. He looked at me again, his own eyes narrowed. “Yes, indeed,” he said softly, “I can see that. I suppose you wrote this Ballad yourself? The one you want sung?”
“I did.”
He pursed his lips for a moment, considering. “How bad is it?”
“It’s actually quite good, but it’s very long.”
He nodded slowly. “I have no problem with that, my memory is excellent regardless of . . . regardless. The problem would be that I haven’t a harp. My last one somehow found it’s way into the hands of a wine merchant.”
“I have a harp,” I told him shortly, “small. Celtic. A knee harp. You sing for me and play well and I’ll let you keep it.”
Both eyebrows went up together. “That is quite an offer. I sing one night and get to keep the harp?”
We will have to rehearse, of course,” I said, “and” I added flatly, “I said, play well.”
He smiled, showing white even teeth beneath a clipped black mustache. “That you needn’t worry about. I always play well regardless of . . . regardless.”
“Fine.”
“He glanced up into the tree. “What about my . . .” He was struck squarely in the center of the head by a falling piccolo. He caught it on the second bounce, laughing silently.

He unfolded like a cat stretching, coming easily to his feet and executing a deep bow from the waist all in one smooth movement. The piccolo remained clenched in his fist. “Very well, my Lady. You have a harpist. I am Alejandro.”
“I know.”
He nodded, a smile playing around his lips. “Of course you do. And you are?”
I smiled. “The Ballad is in first person feminine. Do you have a problem with that?”
He thought for a moment. “No. I will merely be a sounding board for what you are doing.”
“Exactly.”
Another eyebrow went up and he smiled slowly. “No problem at all. I can sing anything, regardless of . . . regardless.”

The Gateway to Tir na Og

A Ballad of the Sidhe


I went up from the Derbane Dales
When the green had just begun
As sweet, young Spring unrolled herself
I walked into the rising sun

A path I found through the Dryadwood
Beneath the sound of birds
My journey out into the wide world
Questing for radiant words

Searching for words like thin rare glass
So a touch would make them ring
Seeking for new ways to weave them
Into plaits that will sparkle and sing

I carry the tools for this gathering
At my side in a small velvet sack
An empty book hungry for markings,
My harp in its case at my back

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

I followed my footsteps pattern
Though the paths that I knew disappeared
I left behind the well known wood
And began up the Mountain of Wyrd

Looks are black toward this mountain
From the folk of the lush Derbane land
Mistrust, fear and suspicion
For something they don’t understand

For ‘things happen’ up here on the mountain
Where forces unknown hold sway
So they spit on their fingers and turn them
To keep the Wyrd of Wyrd Mountain away

Yet here’s where my foot steps led me
And I followed, my mind flying blind
Knowing that what I would find here
Was exactly what I would find

Knowing that what I might take here
Would be several kinds of chance
Knowing I’d take all that followed
Searching for words that would dance

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

I came to a hushed bright hollow
Where I stood silent and very aware
There was enchantment in every rustle
A witchery in the bright air

I held my hands up to the sunshine
No, not witchery per se
I took a breath of the trembling air
What I tasted was something fey

I saw nothing move in the brightness
I heard not a sound on the breeze
Except for the drowsy droning
Of butterflies, sunshine and bees

But that sunshine was thick with magic
The air had a sharp smell and taste
I knew I had come to a turning
That the Children of Dana had graced

Like being at once in two places
I gazed at an old, sleepy tree
I smiled and said to no one
“Ah! A gate to the land of the Sidhe!”

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

One doesn’t trifle with Tir Na Og
Or find these portals for free
The clearing spun; a kaleidoscope,
Or a rainbow on some drunken spree

Colors flew and sang and filled
My ears with a insane buzz
And I found myself facing a yellow moth
Somewhat bigger than I was

He flew into the whirling colors
And when at last I coulds look around
I found only about three inches
From my head to the loam covered ground

Beside me the tree soared skyward
And I saw what had been there before
As a tiny crack at the tree’s base
Was a vaulted and towering door

And standing in the dark opening
All smiling and serene
Was a beautiful red haired woman
Dressed in wide silks of green

Her voice was like cream on moonbeams
Like stars on sweet sea foam
“Welcome,” she said, “to our dwelling
Our Home Away from Home

So glad we are that you’ve joined us
We hardly know where to begin . . .
A feast is prepared in the dwelling
Come in, my dear, come in

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

I knew it was never this easy
Soft words to entangle, entwine
But I’d known all along what I found here
Would be precisely what I would find

So I smiled at the beautiful lady
And I entered the darkened doorway
To find a hall so majestic
That my breath was fair taken away

The walls were covered with carvings
Of stars and beasts and flowers
Which glowed from inside with the soft light
Of golden kissed moonbeam showers

A feast was laid there on trestles
Full marvelous to behold
Vines twined ‘round plates of silver
And goblets of wine made of gold

“Come break your fast!” said the clear voice
“Here’s all that a mortal desires
Bread soft as heaven, and sweetmeats
Mulled wine come just from the fires”

I smiled as I looked at the trestles
And I said, “What a feast here for free!
But I’ve heard it’s unwise to unthinking
Partake in the food of the Sidhe”

Here smile only deepened
She looked down at the carved wooden floor
She said, “you might as well eat, dear,
Your mistake was to walk through the door”

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

I turned back to the dark doorway
To find it had quite disappeared
The walls were all covered with carvings
Of the towering Mountain of Wyrd

“A mortal who walks through that portal
Returns not to Valley or Dale
You’ve crossed over into a new land
You’ve walked through Tir Na Og’s veil”

I smiled at the beautiful Lady
“I did recognize your veiled portal
But I'm not really sorry to tell you
You’ve captured a . . . not quite a mortal”

One delicate eyebrow raised
Said I, “I hope this explains . . .”
And I held out my open hand to her
‘neath a tracing of bright green veins

She threw back her head in laughter
And took my outstretched hand
She laughed, “This is so delightful!
The best trick I ever planned!

Look just what I’ve done here!
Unheard in the tales of the Shide!
By my well woven ruses and wiles
I’ve a Dryad trapped in a tree!”

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

Our eyes were both full of laughter
As we stood there holding hands
Then she laughed, “your not off the hook yet,
I’ve still got a few demands

You have walked into my portal
Now you must give something back
And if I am not mistaken
That’s a harp there at your back.”

“It is,” said I, still laughing
“Though that guessing isn’t hard
Though I am Dryad of the Woodland
I am also a wandering Bard

Are you telling me I can win freedom
For the price of a well turned song?
That is surely something worth doing
I don’t see how I could go wrong”

“We’ll make a barter pact,” said she
What is it you most require?
What would you ask of the Fair Folk
If you had your fondest desire?”

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

“I can give you a tune as soul soaring
As the song of the rarest of birds . . .
And what would I ask in return?
What I seek are enchanted words”

The smile fell from her face
And she dropped my hand
“Though you may come as a friend here
There is something you must understand

The secrets of Tuatha De Danaan
Are never to be bought for a song
We’ll give no magic away here
To someone who doesn’t belong”

I smiled and shook my head
“I seek for no such chance
The enchanted words I am questing
Are the kind that make poetry dance”

“Ah! That is a different story”
She looked at me in thought
“That kind of enchantment we could share
Though its something that couldn’t be bought

So, I’ll make a trade with a Dryad
If you will take this final chance
Besides your song, you must feast here
And beside me you must come and dance”

I laughed and I said, “I agree then
I’ll accept your ‘final chance’
I looked down at my traveling clothes
“Though I’m not dressed at all to dance.”

She laughed, stars sparkling on sunset,
And said, “this is no distress
It seems you’re as small as I am
I’m sure you can borrow a dress!”

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

So we feasted into the starlight
And I played them my sweetest tune
And in a borrowed gown of lilac
I danced ‘neath the light of the moon

Beside the beautiful lady
Of the Tuatha De Danaan I danced
I Never have spent such charmed hours
Enchanted, enthralled and entranced

I was, in truth, unsure of the outcome
Though ‘chance’ was the way that I chose
But I awoke in the morning
Clutching a blood red rose

Leaning against the trees trunk
Just the right size I should be
With nothing else at all to show
I’d spent the night with the Sidhe

‘Til I opened my sack, and opened my book
To find bright dancing words there penned
And at the end, in life-green ink
‘From Roisin, your friend’

Sing for the words that are wakening
Sing wild for a bright game of chance
Sing for the turn it is taking
Sing hey, For the Dance, For the Dance!

Roisin, Daughter of Dana



©Edwina Peterson Cross

The Hermitage on Castle Mountain

Heather mountain
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

When I looked up from the trail I saw the glow
of light and knew that I had come to the home I was to know, to be greeted by loved ones and taken to a place of beauty to rest. My weary wee pony must have been very glad to be fed and petted by the hostess.

Gramma rides easy

Gramma rides easy
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

Arriving at the Hermitage

~Leather & Lace~

~Heathcliff~
Sitting on a bench, with the sides shaped as horses, I am adding the final stitches to my costume. A plain box wrapped in brown paper was left on the writing table in my room. My name was written on the lid. Various printed pink and orange cloth, tulle, ribbons and a strand of pearls are among the contents in the container. A small card lays among the folds of tissue paper. It simply states, 'For your dress. Keep in mind you will wear this at your presentation. Search your heart, search deep and compose a poem to read aloud at the performance. Tomorrow morning wait by the gardens and horse stables for further instruction.'

I clip my last thread and hold the costume out - it's beautiful. I brush the hair piece of brown curls. There is enough material left for a long sash to tie around my head. I sit the curls carefully in the box among the crinkled tissue. I replace the lid.

The vegetable gardens are lovely and bear oversized fruit in between the story book leaves shaped like long hearts. Yellow summer squash gleams in the sun. Two men gently lift one squash from the vine. I see beads of sweat along their foreheads. They shift their balance and tightly grasp the highly varnish vegetable. As they pass me I see morning dew on their prize weight.

The sound of hoofs coming from the white washed stable catches my ears and I turn my head. A white and brown spotted horse is being led by a groom. He stops in front of me and hands me the reins. 'His name is Heathcliff - take care.' He nozzles his cold nose in my hand - his nostrils flare as he breathes in my scent. I scratch between his eyes - what deep brown jewels these are - the color of amber and night. Black oblong pupils stare into mine. His mane is off white, shining, well brushed. One braid shows itself with three dangling bells. It is hard to say how many hands tall he is.

The saddle is English style and smells of soaped leather and oil. An empty saddle bag awaits my custom box. On the opposite side the bag holds a canteen of water, what appears to be a ration of food and a well worn map.

I mount the beast, at once I know I have become his burden as he moves slightly from side to side. I give the time he needs to ajust to my weight. In only a matter of seconds we are off, slowly, surely following the garden path toward an open iron gate.

Patricia ( the picture of the woman in the framed film strip is my Grandmother )
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purple time

purple time
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

As I looked down from the mountain
I could see
through the magic glasses
the bottom of the ocean
and the place the porpoise plays
as he follows my small craft
the day I sail

Distant bells

A distant pounding of earth.
A jangle of bells.
The breathing of a dragon.
I look up and see my ride,
A white beauty with brass bells.
Festive designs decorate her forehead.
Her ears perk forward as I reach out.
I pull out a carrot and flatten my palm.
Her large brown eyes blink those lovely lashes.

My guide hoists me up and we are off.
My beautiful mare runs across a field.
The moon is new and it’s very dark.
Light magically emanates from the trees.
Freedom! Exhilaration!
My hair falls free of braids and feathers.
And we are in darkness moving with the night.
My skirt blows around like a small storm.
I lean in closer to hear her breathe.
In this moment, I feel truly alive.

A Gentle Soul

The smell of well-worn leather and horse flesh excites my senses as I succumb to the rhythmic movement of the line-back dun beneath me. He has a gentle animal soul and is patient with the likes of me who haven't been on the back of a horse for many years. There was a time in my younger days I would have leapt unaided into the saddle and with a 'Hi Ho and away we go, galloped off into the sunset.' But things are different now. I need a boost. When Oliver, that's his name and what a peculiar name it is for a horse, turned his head and stared at me with those big eyes, he snorted and I thought, I'm screwed … he's going to give me a bad time. He's going to buck me off the first time the trail gets close to a drop-off. But Oliver has turned out to the gentle, caring soul he is and I'm able to sit back, relax, and enjoy the journey. Thank you, Oliver.

Vi

My Secret Companion Rides with me

My secret companion, I thought hidden well

Was brought on this journey for stories to tell

For he begged me to take him on this mystery ride

So he could write poetry and song by my side

For grown ups and children, a passion so strong

To write from his soul is what he does long



This owl called Salish, a bird of the night

A shy and hurt being, he must be carried at light

He makes observations from silent high perch

At his home, in the Soul, of the Cafe..... his church

He watches the patrons and weaves story and song

from the wise and understanding conclusions he's drawn


Now Salish and I are being whisked far away

by Wizard and Stallion and owl, Aday

through snow and forest, to where this journey will end

to new lands and adventures, a warm Inn and good friends

Bobbi (and Salish_the_Owl)

The Journey Begins

I'm sitting cross-legged at the entrance to the cave, waiting. I have packed what I am allowed to take into my rucksack. There is not a whole lot of room with the mask I carved from a downed branch and painted with earthen dyes. It was a labor of love and I'm not about to leave it behind. I scouted the area for feathers, leaves, and other adornments and found plenty to authenticate the finished product. I worked the eyes to look like those of an eagle and to make me look fierce indeed when I take my turn dancing beside a campfire.

Ah, I hear the horses in the distance; the jangling of the tack and the creaking of well-worn leather saddles. They will soon be here and the journey will really begin.

Vi

Treasure and Traveler's Tail

I had just completed carving the Asian characters for Wisdom on my walking stick when I was notified that the riders were approaching. I grabbed my backpack and started making my way to the passage way that I traveled, was it only 24 hours ago?, on my way into this cave. But before I could enter the passage, I felt the familiar tug I had felt in the Conference Room (which, by the way, I've changed the name to Wisdom's Lounge). I looked to the hole in the stone walls that lead in Wisdom's direction and something caught my eye. It looked like a piece of ivory amongst the scattered rock. The tug wouldn't let me leave without inspecting.

Picking up the rectangularish ivory shape, I felt warm radiating from it. I knew immediately that it was a gift from Wisdom. It was her tug that made me find it and I knew her radiant love. Flipping the ivory over in my hand, I gasped in surprise.

On the back of the stone was carefully etched an image of Wisdom. I knew in my heart it was her. Her stunning beauty was familiar, even though I hadn't seen her during our conversation earlier in the day. So as not to keep the other travelers waiting, I put the stone in my pocket and made my way out the cave thanking Wisdom for her precious gift all the way.

The bright sunlight was a shock to my eyes as I exited the cave. But the even greater shock was the immediate discomfort in riding the mare. "Hey, where's the cushioned seating?" I wanted to ask of my guide. Just like an American, I thought, always looking for First Class accommodations. I tried putting my mind to something else like enjoying the view or deciding what I would perform for the Queen. But my thoughts were always brought back to my tail bone with each pothole (of which there are many on dusty paths). I decided, "I do not have to ride on a mare like a Princess. I can walk, at least until my legs become to tired." I signaled to my guide to stop for a moment so that I could get off the mare. At first he took it as an insult that I wanted to walk instead of ride but somehow I was able to communicate to him that, for my health, it was better for me to walk, at least for a bit. I gestured to my leg and pretended it had a cramp I needed to walk out -- rather than point to my butt and try to pantemime great pain. I'm not sure that that would have translated as well.

Walking alongside the mare and my guide felt great! My legs were well rested from spending a day in the cave, so it was nice to stretch them. Plus, I had the added benefit of taking pictures along the way -- an impossible feat perched on a bouncing merry-go-round mare.

I took turns riding and walking during the long trip to the hermitage. I'd get on the mare when my legs were tired and got off when my tail bone could no longer stand the pain. I was relieved when we passed a cave with this image painted on its side.

I took it as a sign that the hermitage was getting closer. By the looks of this primative map, the hermitage would be just past a marshy land and a campsite. Sure enough we were approaching wetlands, so I hopped onto the mare's back with glee. It couldn't be long now.


P.S. The image of Wisdom arrived today as a gift in my non-virtual world. It is a transfer on the back of a domino made for me by a friend -- Maureen Doerr.

Hermit Welcomes Travelling Trevere'

Welcome, welcome weary travellers,

one and all,

to practice your fine arts -

may joy and inspiration visit you

while you wander and create within

these peaceful walls!

Imogen Crest - Hermitage Keeper

Ride to Amazon Queen's Camp

Everyone in the cave must have heard the commotion, the clatter of hooves as the riders came into the cave ready to take residents to the camp of the Amazon Queen. There are twelve of them waiting in the stables with stable women.

It will be a long journey and you must travel lightly. You need to bring a light bag with a wig and a costume inside. When we get to the Camp of the Amazons we will be performing for the Queen who I believe is currently preparing a banquet to welcome us and celebrate our arrival.

Don’t be daunted by this. You could do a poetry reading, tell a story, sing a song, read her Tarot, tell a fairy story or an old wives tale. The only requirement is that you make a presentation using your distinct voice. This is a stage you see, and I agreed to bring you because I figured you are all here because you are looking for a stage door, eager to walk out into the spotlight and be heard. You could just tell the Queen about your doorway or the vista that greeted you as you entered the cave or do a dance for her. I am sure you will be innovative.

Bookings have been made and we will be staying at the Lemurian Hermitage, recently occupied by a Hermit who will greet us and allow us to rehearse within the Hermitage. The good news is that members from the group who are currently staying at The House of the Serpent will fly in on ravens wings to join the preperations. They will not, however, accompany us on the the Queen's camp.

~My Room~

~A Room of One's Own~
... My finger tips push the door open. Astonished, I try and take the whole room in at once. An impossible task. The flow of calmness and serenity speaks volumes to my soul. It is the colors of sky and water. It's as soothing as the sound of the waves past midnight, this ocean blue room. It is instantly an escape from any world. The room shares my passion for vintage embellishment ...
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Luna's Door

the door

The journey is quicker than I thought.
I find my way onto a gravel path,
that leads to a giant tree.
I circle around
and find a funny shaped doorknob.
Pounding on this door is not the way.
I wait for something,
but nothing happens.
My journal calls to me.
I write and speak aloud my truth,
and with a tiny click, it opens.
Through a small doorway
down the hollow,
I enter a cave.
And there are thirteen doors waiting,
with one for me.

A golden door beckons to me,
I slip inside.
I find a simple room.
It vibrates with anticipation.
The things I need, I find with a thought
Yet, what I sought was not there a moment ago.

Wisdom for the Journey

In a moment's notice we must be ready to leave again. We will be heading out to the Amazon's Camp. Before I make this journey, I decided I must visit the Conference Room.

As I pass through the archway the opens upon this room, I feel the presence again that I felt yesterday. It's a loving, generous, expansive presence. Still, I'm a bit fearful of what may be revealed to me here. I am a life-long seeker of wisdom and have learned that some wisdom brings pain...at first.

I slowly make may way into this sacred place. Out of habits from years gone by, I genuflect before crossing the bridge to the three chairs. I hesitate on the bridge. I feel a pulse coming from the area of the chairs and glowing, warm light. It pulls me in a gentle way. I hear a soft voice in my mind, "It's ok. Do not be afraid. Come sit in the chair to your right. We have a lot to discuss before your journey to the Amazon's Camp."

The pulse gently guides me. I glide as if my feet aren't touching the cold, stone floor and find myself seated in one of the three chairs. I don't know who will sit in the other two chairs, but, at the moment, I don't care. I feel myself immersed in joy and enfolded with love. It's even better than the feeling I have when my bathroom is sparkling with candlelight I am as soaking in lavender-infused water in a bubbling, hot tub. I'm relaxed. I'm a bit heady from a perfume I can't quite identify, thought I know I've experienced it before. I'm in love with lavender. This is 10 times better. This must be the almost drunken state the Sufi's describe in their poetry.

"Welcome. I am proud of you, dear one. You show great courage, strength, and willingness to be guided to whereever your journey takes you. This is a much different you from a few years ago. You have come a long way."

"Thank you. I enjoy the new me much better. Less stuffy. Less judgemental, though I know that's something I still need to keep a watch on. And a whole lot more free to be and share joy and love."

"I sensed fear when you came to this room. With the courage you show, what do you have to fear?"

"I sense that I am speaking to Wisdom itself. Am I right?"

"Yes, dear one."

"In the past, wisdom has come to me as a plank whacked across my head. I know this was necessary because I was asleep at the wheel. I needed a wake-up call. I had gone so far off track, it was very painful finding my way back. I know that I am awake now, but I'm never sure if I might meander a bit off track during a nap. And I'm not quite sure if wisdom can be won without the pain I endured."

I heard a spritely, joyous giggle before the reply. "First, let me assure you. Wisdom does not always bring pain, especially for those who stay awake. You describe your previous state very well. I'm sorry I had to wake you in such an alarming and painful way. But, as you said, it was necessary. If I had let you go farther, it would have been more painful, and likely impossible, for you to wake up at another time. The wakened state is still somewhat new to you, so I can understand your disorientation of not knowing if you have drifted to sleep again. Without a doubt, when you check in with yourself, you are awake. During that check in, you'll discover any times when you fell asleep at the wheel again. The more often you check in with yourself, the less trouble it will be finding your way back to the main road."

"Thank you. That is very helpful. I do check in with myself often. I connect with my inner spirit through words and art and meditation. I have sensed times when it felt more challenging to make the connection, and these are probably the times when I was coming back from having been asleep."

"On this journey you are taking, you are wide awake, dear one. And you have a lot to discover that will bring you great wisdom. I can't promise that some of those discoveries will not cause pain. It'll all depend on how you approach them. Now that you know of this room, you can return to it at any time and talk with me about your discoveries. Please come and share them with me, especially the painful ones. I can help you rub the pain into shining light. If you are not here, physically, in this cave during your discoveries, you can conjure the image of this room in your mind and I will be there for you."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as Wisdom spoke. I was full to overflowing with joy and relief. "Thank you so much. I have even more courage knowing Wisdom is accompanying me on the journey. I know I will have support beyond my walking stick."

Sensing it was time to leave, I knelt and then laid prostrate on the stone floor, which was surprisingly warm. I kissed the warm stone in appreciation of Wisdom, her message, and her companionship. Slowly I made my way from the sacred place.

When I arrived at my room, I knew my mare would be coming for me soon. While I waited, I carved the Asian characters for wisdom at the top of my walking stick to forever remind me of Her presence.

~Through the Door ~

~The Door~
The air this day is hot, humid. I choose the seat closest to the old, rattling fan. The constant hum of the ancient motor is reassuring. My shoulders begin to relax, my eyelids close. I sleep for what seems only for a few seconds when suddenly the driver stops and announces this is where I am to get off.

He instructs me to continue down the alley to the french, blue door. He pats my hand as he hands me a large, black key. The touch of his hand is filled with kindness. I feel a prickle down my neck. This is always the first sign my fear is about to interfere with what I am trying to accomplish. I am afraid. I feel the need to turn back as I view the long alley way. I swallow hard, and slowly walk to the door.

The temperature seems ninety and I shield the sun from my eyes. Finally, I am in front of number eleven. The gloss paint upon the door is lovely. I run my hands across it. It's smoothness and even texture consoles me.

All the hardware is jet black, running around the sides and top of the door. Black nail heads are riveted into it's edges. I play with the key nervously and stare at the over-sized oblong lock. Instinctively I know it's time to go in. I put the key in the hole and turn left, the sound is clanging, permanent. I debate pushing on the tall structure when I feel instant coolness - it draws me in.

Patricia
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My Cave Dwelling

I was surprised by the amount of time it took for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cave after the door shut behind me. After the glare of the afternoon sunshine, the darkness of the cave set the hairs on the back of my neck on end. It felt like an unnatural darkness. Not even being able to see myself, I felt what I can only assume it feels like to be spirit -- completely without form -- except for the cold, clammy feeling.

A gasp stuck in my throat when I felt a chilling breeze. Did someone walk past me? I wouldn't have known it by sight. Was it an animal? A bat? Or some other creature I hadn't learned about in science class? I stood frozen, wishing for my sight to return, when I realized I wasn't breathing. Ok, first lesson in dealing with stress, b-r-e-a-t-h. I forced myself to take a deep breath and felt as if I was swallowing the cave. The cool air reached to my toes and then shot back up to my head. I had to stay focused. "Keep breathing. Slowly." I reminded myself.

Finally, the oxygen must have reached my eyes and they began to see shapes and shadows. I saw a narrow passage way and a hope of light far off in the distance. Using my trusty walking stick, I felt for confirmation of the path in front of me. Sometimes I discovered I was facing a solid rock wall when I thought I had a few more steps to take before the next turn.

Making it through the maze of rock walls was worth it when I reached my room with a view. My whole body breathed a sigh of relief. The lapping sounds of the water brought down my heart rate and reminded me to breath at my natural rate again. I was home. The ocean always feels like an old friend, and here it was to comfort me. As soon as I regained my senses, I took my digital camera from it's pack and took this photo.

In this room I discovered an elevated area where I'll stay dry even in high tides. I have a wonderfully soft mattress that hugs me. I can't believe the mattress is sitting on a cave floor. A plate of luscious fruits, native cheeses, and a fresh-from-the-oven loaf of bread sat on a tray beside the bed. I'm glad I found this luxury before it was sampled by the other creatures who call this cave home. Honestly, I don't know why it hadn't been devoured.

After eating a portion of the food left for me, my strength, along with my curiosity, was renewed. I noticed a second passageway off my room and thought I'd wander its length to see where it would take me. Without fear, I let my eyes adjust as the light left and soon I discovered a new light to approach. It didn't take me long before my eyes were rewarded with this sight. I knew my camera would never be able to capture the beauty, so I sketched this image when I returned to my room.
What an amazing place! It is completely lit by glowing icicles, stalagtites and stalagmites. It glows with the energy of the earth. I felt a strong, wise, loving presence in the room, though I was the only being I could see. I wasn't ready to sit in one of the chairs and commune with whatever may be there. My senses were already on overload. I decided to return to my room with a view to rest and relax, record these scribblings in my journal, and take a short nap. I'll return to what I've dubbed the Conference Room when I feel more settled.

NOTE FROM CONSCIENCE: The images I have posted in this blog I found on the net. They are not mine. I do not own copyright for them. Since I assume only my few traveling companions will see this blog, I felt it was ok to use these images as this is for personal use only. Please do not share these images with anyone. In future posts, unless I take credit for an image, assume it is not mine.

After joining you on the bus

I've walked the pathways
lost an hour dreaming by the waterway
launched my winged canoe
and floated past the great white mountain
flown across the sea
and painted a few dolphins during flight
but
when this morning I reached the silence of Umbria
I knew I could not go
into the cavern, or any place beneath the ground
unless I was allowed to take the sunshine with me

Now I have made my gate
and posted it twice
I can press it's magic bell
and hope that the enchantress will let me in
with my box and hope that she will let me keep the light
as I wander the strange labyrinth
and seek direction from strangers

My Quarters in The Cave of Enchantress

Inside the Cave of the Enchantress

I stand looking tentatively at the sealed cellar door that leads deep within, to a place I have been reluctant to enter alone. Others have bravely opened their tailor made doors, but this one has been haunting me for many years. I have seen it in there, amid the parched arid terrain, tightly, heavily closed and I have felt an overpowering apprehension. The fate of Pandora and her box has been well and truly etched into my psyche and I have dreaded the thought of opening it, only to release winged terrors.

Right at this moment something is very different. As I stand looking I can hear sounds that I have never heard before, soft voices calling me to explore the expansive chamber below. Intuitively I know that this will not be the last seal to break but I have been released from a stressful work-place and feel a little stronger, more able to cope and those voices are haunting me.

It has been a long day and I am weary. I am standing in harsh, flat, scrubby plains that have little appeal. I am confused! The Sibyl's Grotto is supposed to be in Umbria, Italy and this landscape most certainly is not Umbrian. The enchantress is not going to be impressed when she cannot find me at the appointed spot.

The voices become louder, urging me to lift open this door, at the bottom of stone steps. The steps remind me of an abandoned factory where I played, alone, as a child. At the end of those stairs there was a sealed door and I spent hours imagining what lay beyond. Curious!

With a strident, unfamiliar self confidence I grab the steel handle and pull it towards me. The hinges had appeared to be rusted but the door opens without so much as a creak. Relief washes over me as I pass through the doorway into refreshingly cool darkness. I lightly touch the chilled, stone ledge and make my way down into what feels like a vast chamber. It is the sounds, the smell that reveal the dimension of this place that I have entered. I sense that this is an enchanted, mystical , spiritual place that I have stumbled upon and stand quite still, adjusting my eyes to the light.

A warm hand grabs mine and as my guides flashlight hits the walls I gasp. All around us is exquisite, sacred art, art that is calling up my past. The rocky overhangs have been transformed into magnificent galleries, adorned with hand stencilled images, painted with striking red ochres and yellow clay paint. A thousand eyes turn to look at me, eyes that had been motionless until I made my entrance. Figures turned in recognition, figures longing for life to be infused into them.

What artist painted these halls; carved these figures, shaped the towering rocky overhangs?

My guide turns, looks at me and smiles. I know her immediately to be the Enchantress that had said we were going to Umbria. "This has been a place of celebration and ceremony for thousands of years. These are to be your quarters for the coming months!" she tells me and before I can respond she has vanished.

Still holding my empty suitcase I look around. No longer dark or gloomy the cavern is filtered with a radiant luminosity. This hauntingly sacred place, so full of atmospheric secrecy, has no sign of permanent occupation. It is pristine, the ultimate refuge. Nearby are deep, dark, still pools, filled with reflections and memories by Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory.

I put my suitcase on a ledge, leaving it open, ready to store the stories, images, artefacts and look for a place to rest. I am suddenly beyond weary. I yearn to sleep. The Enchantress is gone, riding, galloping towards the Lemurian Hermitage. A night rider, dressed in black she is sure to return, eventually. I have faith that she will return.

Through the Door

It took many years of stillness, then slowly wading my way through a thick pea-soup mixture of an emotionless land, before I arrived at my door. Just the sight of my door thrilled me. I knew to the tips of my toes that it was mine. I could tell by the way it shimmered and echoed my name. It was beautiful, pristine, not a mark of wear or tear on it.

When I tried to open the door, I was surprised to find it locked. How could that be? This is MY door! Why can I not open MY door? The door
wisely responded, "You must know how to open this door, for it truly is yours. Certainly you know what you must do to open it."

"Open Sesame!"

"Alla Ka Zam!"

"Bibbity Bobbity Boo!"

None of my incantations worked. So I tried, in a smaller voice, "please." That didn't prove successful either.

I pounded at the door. I wailed. I tried to pick the lock. You'll see, the door was no longer pristine by the time I had worn myself out. My
physical strength had nothing on this door.

I sulked away hoping someone in the village would have an answer...or know of a key.

I was pointed down many long paths. I know I took the wrong forks in the road many times. I got lost. I stumbled. I started to believe I
would never find the key. I got so disoriented that one day my meanderings lead me right off a cliff.

I fell for what felt like forever. I thought I was falling into the next world because I saw my life pass before my eyes -- all of my failings, all of the wrong turns, all of the times I could have
been/done so much more. I finally landed with a thud so hard I thought all of my bones were broken.

At first I was afraid to move, and certainly afraid to open my eyes. I lay in a crumbled form on sandy ground. Gently I moved a toe, then a finger, and, since I felt no pain in their movement, I took a deep breath. My lungs didn't hurt, but something in my chest did. I
continued my inspection gradually moving other body parts. While everything ached a little, everything felt intact. The only pain I felt was in my chest.

Still afraid to open my eyes, I used my hands to cautiously touch where I felt the pain. Like a girl in school, my hand immediately went to the spot it knew by rote from all of the times I had said the Pledge of Allegiance. There, right over my heart, I felt sharpness -- it almost felt like shards of glass. Fearing I may be bleeding to
death, I finally opened my eyes.

My first surprise was seeing my heart, shattered in a million pieces, all poking through my chest. Even so, I wasn't bleeding. I looked around to find out where I was and, there in front of me, was my doorway. This time, the door was open.

Astonished by the beauty inside the doorway, and not wanting to risk it closing again, I ran inside. There I found the wisdom that had been
hiding in my heart. I found the voice I knew was mine but could never find when I spoke. I found the instructions for reassembling my heart
-- using some of the old pieces and adding some new pieces -- until the finished heart was more beautiful and stronger than the old. Oh,
you could still see the cracks from where it had shattered, but that didn't matter. It only made it more beautiful.

Today, in the hopes of getting through the cave door, I've created an image of my doorway. I hope the master of the cave door finds it to be true. Or, hell, I guess I'll have to go meandering again to see if I can stumble upon another truth.

by Ashleyshea

Dusk Comin' Down

I'm thinking as I sit here, pleasantly exhausted, after my journey to the cave. I remember another night when magic floated, as it does this evening, in the still air. I believed then that everything was possible. I believe that tonight.

I strolled homeward off the hill
just as dusk was comin' down
and the air was softly still.
Moths fluttered by on double sets of wings,
erratic helicopters unsure of destination.
The only sound … my footsteps on the graveled road
and the rustle of unseen insects in the grass.

Out there, beyond this shore,
the Straits--
calm as a pond in failing light.
Headlands marching one and then another,
slowly vanishing into the night.
There is one more shadow cast,
that of another Nation,
a neighbor and a friend.

I’m tempted to step into a kayak
and paddle toward that distant shore,
but the moths insist they lead me home
before darkness takes both view and sight.

Vi
©August 6, 2005

~Baggage~

A grotto in the mountains of Italy ! My heart is over come with joy. My head swimming with anticipation. I grab my journal bag of canvas cloth, hand dyed orange, tattered lace and ribbon shimmer with a metallic cast that have been sewn with patience on the outsides. It lumps up gently as I lay it upon the bed.My speckled notebook is there half full of painted collage, clippings, envelopes and scratched photos. This is my prize possession. I see well worn brushes and water color pencils, a bottle of glue, and a sprinkling bottle of water. An old notebook with a torn yellow cover I use to record daily thoughts in. I can always fill the other side of the pages. My camera is loaded.

It has been said if one chooses a fictitious name, acts that character, it can build self confidence. On this journey, I am Ms. LoveLace - artist, poet/writer and restorer of antique dolls. A flapper style dress of dark hollyhock pink is part of my traveling attire. Satin ballet slippers, dyed to match are already on my feet. My hat is big, broad,and made of straw. I tilt it on its side almost covering one eye. Fresh flowers adorn one side.

I have soft denim jeans, embroided down the sides of each leg and a simple poor boy shirt. My flight jacket is old, well worn leather and very oversized. Thick socks are stuffed into the hiking boots I place at the bottom of the vintage suitcase.

My night shirt is off white, made of dotted swiss and ties with ribbon n the back. Various unmentionables are stuffed into the pockets.

And lastly, a well worn edition of Wuthering Heights, gardenia body lotion, I so often splurge on, eye wear, my penny doll, a lace hankie and two small silver framed photos of my favorite (male) movie stars whom I shall not reveal are all in a round paper mache box.

I kiss my cat on her head, she stretches and returns to her dreams. I take a last look in the hallway mirror. Ms. LoveLace quietly shuts her front door.

Patricia

Warriors Gate

I needed a gate with a light behind for I cannot go beneath the earth without taking the sun with me.
by Fran Sbrocchi

Cave of Enchantress

"Every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife', he said. 'Promise me this my whey-faced piano player; promise me you'll use all the keys on the ring except that last little one I showed you. Play with anything you find, jewels, silver plate; make toy boats of my share certificates, if it pleases you, and send them sailing off to America after me. All is yours - all is open to you - except the lock that this single key fits. Yet it is the key to a little room at the foot of the west tower, behind the still-room, at the end of a dark little corridor full of horrid cobwebs that would get into your hair and frighten you if you ventured there. Oh and you will find it such a dull little room! But you must promise me, if you love me, to leave it well alone. It is only a private study, a hideaway, a 'den', as the English say, where I can go, sometimes, on those infrequent yet inevitable occasions when the yoke of marriage seems to weigh too heavily on my shoulders"

"I took the forbidden key from the heap and left the others lying there... I felt no fear, no intimidation of dread."
from the Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

Now I do not mean to sound alarmist since some of you have gone straight through the doorways without fear or intimidation of dread. Maybe you have not read Angela Carter's Bloody Chamber. No doubt you have and no doubt, like me you are ready to take the forbidden key, whatever the cost and go past the cobwebs and through the door to that little room.

I was in a bit of a quandary really because I do believe that door represent hope and opportunity, a passageway from one state or world to another. I am closing a door behind me as I leave the Victorian Education Department and opening another as I blithely head off with all of you to Italy and the Cave of the Enchantress. I have often told people that Soul Food is my inner world and so when I think of a door I think of an open doorway. But, we all know there are many doors don't we. 'The entrance to the seven zones of Paradise or the cave of initiation. The three doors of the Cathedral are symbolic.

So I come to another door. This one has been sealed for a very long time. It is set in a space like this.



It is a heavy door with old hinges and is very firmly shut. I mean, really, if I go around opening doors like this I may just end up in a room with book titles like The Keys Of Mysteries, The Initiation or The Secret of Pandora's Box and find myself as an unlikely heroine in some gruesome, sordid tragedy like the seventeen year old bride in The Bloody Chamber.

Between you and me I am just a wee nervous about this Enchantress who is taking us off to a subterranean cave in the Umbrian Mountains. We will see....



As soon as I saw the cave of The Enchantress I knew that I had to make a journal in which to document my stay here. It happened that I had a copy of a National Geographic containing images of some of the most famous caves that have been discovered, particularly in France. So I cut out a number of images and covered an inexpensive, ring binder book. Then I covered the book with contact plastic seal and each day I am putting my notes in it. For once there are no complaints. This is a significant shift from old journal entries where I plotted and planned my future away from the regimentation of a school. This book is filling with ideas. It is becoming a container for my journey of self exploration and the creative treasure I return with.

Life's Doors

Doors of my life (reality & fantasy).  For full sized viewing look here: http://photobucket.com/albums/y7/Nicola_466/?action=view&current=Doors3.jpg

Bobbi 

Oh yeah . . . the garage door where they told me to park the Porsche. Had to be able to open that as well.
There is a somewhat bigger copy of this very convoluted picture here: http://www.outbackonline.net/cross/CrossLove.htm

My Double Doors