Hey! I Have A Question….

Dance Time!

I had totally forgotten this song until the other day when the line “I don’t want your money honey I want your love” popped into my head. So I had to search the web and found the Uber-trashy, NOT punk by any stretch of the imagination,  Transvision Vamp. This was their only decent song and I dedicate it to Alien Boy and who ever else has a nice 6 pack and smile….if I was clever I could have put together a vid of my own with said 6 packs and Alien Boys wafting across the screen to the music. Alas, I have no time for such japes so you’ll just have to make do with the wonderfully trashy Transvision Vamp…..

Himself and the Girl Next Door

A little Irish humour wafts up from the floor…I based this on the only joke I know – or at least, can remember.

Himself went into Confession, and knelt in the Holy stall.
He said, “Father, forgive me, for I have sinned – shall I start with the great or the small?”
The Father said, “Now listen, son, I’ll tell you where to begin,
We’ll save the best for last, and you start with the smaller sin.”

“Well, Father, me brother has a farm, and he brings me meat for me dish,
And I eat it on a Friday, for, God Help Me, I can’t stand fish.”
“Now God doesn’t care,” the Father said, “if the man owns a couple of dairies.
You can’t eat fish on a Friday, so that’ll be three Hail Marys.

Now tell me about the other sin, though I fear for the state of your soul.
If it’s any worse than the first one, you’re looking at Hell’s black hole.”
So Himself said, “It’s my neighbor, she looks like that Sharon Stone,
“With lovely blonde hair and a killer shape, and she just won’t leave me alone.

“Each day when I’m making my dinner, I see her out on her lawn,
“And, Father I swear she has nothing at all but little bikini pants on.
“She’s giving me lustful thoughts, and Father, I’m in such a state,
“For here I am a married man with more than enough on me plate.

“I’m having to fend for meself these days, while me wife is at her mothers’,
“The old lady’s sick, and the worst of it is, me wife has four big brothers.”
The Father scratched his chin, and then he nodded and said,
“Three Hail Marys is not enough, I’ve got to get into your head.

“There’s a trick we priests have often used, which I’ll pass on to you,
“You say to yourself these powerful words, until you believe it is true –
“’You’re not a lovely young girl, says you, you’re a withered and wrinkled old crone.’
“If it worked for me with Sophia Loren, it’ll work with this Sharon Stone.”

Next Friday came and the Father was passing down the street.
He thought he’d call in and see if Himself was eating meat.
The door was standing open, so the Father went inside,
And found your man in the kitchen, and crept up to his side.

Himself was cooking his dinner as out of the window he stared,
At a lovely young woman sunning herself, and his lips were moving in prayer.
And this is what the Father heard, as Himself reached for the dish…
“By the Holy Crook of St Patrick, you’re not a steak, you’re a fish.”

Gail Kavanagh

Pirate Women Need Only Respond

Just hanging out…and and looking to have some fun

You know…

FUN.

As in not taking every little thing in life seriously.

Except for things like

Alien Boy

and

those guys from CSI

and Pirate Songs.

Of which the world needs more of.

So if you can’t sing, guzzle Margaritas and duct tape skinny Scotsman to trees with a hangover in your left eye…um…sing, guzzle Margaritas and borrow some tape from Lori or Jane, Heaven knows they’ve got plenty because Cle is always stealing MINE and giving it to THEM.

Ha.

Like I couldn’t figure it out.

So cheers, and if anyone knows where the floor is, be so kind as to point me in the right direction.

Thank You.

A.M.

“The Pirates That Don’t Do Anything”

we are the pirates we don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

well I’ve never been to Greenland
and I’ve never been to Denver
and I’ve never buried treasure in ST Louie or ST Paul
and I’ve never been to Moscow
and I’ve never been to Tampa
and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall

we are the pirates we don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

and I’ve never hoist the main sail
and I’ve never swabbed the poop deck
and I’ve never veered starboard, cause I’ve never sailed at all
and I’ve never walked the gang plank
and I’ve never owned a parrot.
and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall

we are the pirates we don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

I’ve never plucked a rooster
and I am not too good at ping-pong
and I’ve never thrown my mashed potatoes up against the wall
and I’ve never kissed a chipmunk,
and I’ve never gotten head lice
and I have never been to Boston in the fall

(pirate captains log 2002
who be this band relient k
and why they be so full of contradictions)

we don’t know what he did
but we’re down with captain kidd
we don’t wake up before lunch
but we all eat captain crunch
we don’t smoke, we don’t chew
we watch captain kangaroo

and I’ve never licked a spark-plug
and I’ve never sniffed a stink bug
and I’ve never painted Daisies on a big red rubber ball
and I’ve never bathed in yogurt
and I don’t look good in leggings
and I’ve never been to Boston in the fall

we are the pirates who don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

we are the pirates we don’t do anything
we just stay at home, and lie around
and if you ask us, to do anything
we’ll just tell you, we don’t do anything

The Were Pen’s Gift

   Were Pen was hovering madly like a possessed bee.  She was so angry she was spitting ink and making quite a mess. 

   “What’s the matter now?” I asked warily.

   “You – I – you have the nerve to ask what’s wrong. As if you didn’t know.”

   “All I know is you’re acting weird, even for you.  What’s wrong?”

   “I just think it’s unfair, that’s all.”

   “What’s unfair?”

   “The way you represent me in the Were Pen stories.  Like I’m some mean old muse, a wicked writing witch with a whip (which is hard to say fast 3 times in a row, BTW).  Sure, Gertie gets to be the wise woman everyone loves, with her cozy quilts and her china teacups, but they just think I’m out to aggravate you, to “really sock it to you.”

   “If the shank fits…”

   “I may say one or two tiny harsh words, just to keep you on track, but let’s balance the picture a little.  I’ve got a good side, too.”

   “I know,” I agreed.

   “Then why don’t you tell all those readers about the good things I’ve given you.”

   “Such as?”

   “Well, what about that very special present, that pebble in your pocket.”

   I instinctively reached into my pocket a touched the smooth river stone.  “Yes, that is a very precious gift, something I try to appreciate each day, and when I forget, it’s a good reminder.  I owe you, Were Pen, and I will tell all Lemuria.”

   The Were Pen became still, and seemed to take on a brighter shine, as I told the story of the Pocket of OK…

 

    “Once upon a time, there was a woman who worried too much.  She was afraid she wasn’t good enough, smart enough, brave enough, talented enough – you get the picture.  She knew bad things happened to good people and she hoped it wouldn’t be her turn any time soon.  So one day, as the woman, whose name was Kezza, sat trying to think of something to write in her journal, she thought, “The Muse must hate me! Or worse – the Muse doesn’t know I’m alive and trying to channel some inspiration!  Or worst – She knows and she doesn’t care because she thinks I’m no good, I’ll never be a writer, or an artist, or even a good email buddy…”

   As she sat there, writing a few words and crossing them out despondently, she heard a voice.  “Hey, take it easy!”

   “Who said that?” she asked.

   “Me.  Your pen.  Your Were Pen, to be exact.”

   “Were Pen?  Like a Were Wolf?”

   “Yes, or like Ged’s magic blue were light in Ursula K. LeGuin’s Earthsea Trilogy.”

   “So you’re magic?”

   “I like to think so,” replied the Were Pen.

   “Can you help me with creativity?” Kezza asked.  “Help me get inspired?”

   “I can do more than that.  I can give you a priceless gift.”

   “What do I have to do?”

   “Just close your eyes and open your hand.”  I did.  I felt something small and hard and round and smooth placed into my palm.  “Open your eyes.” I did, and I saw a small worn river stone, marked with one word, written in bold black ink.  It said “OK”.”

   “’OK’?  I don’t understand.”

   “I am giving you this gift to remind you of this simple message:  Everything is, or is going to be, OK.  You, as a person, your life, your writing, is, or will be, OK.  You may not realize every dream, or travel to all the places you wanted to, or meet all the people you wanted to meet, or win a literary prize, or get published by Random House, but everything is going to be OK.  When you start to worry, and you forget that, just touch the stone and remind yourself, ‘Everything is going to be OK.’”  And it will be OK – eventually.”

   “Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully.

   “Would a talking Were Pen lie?” she asked, slyly.

   So Kezza put the rock in her pants pocket so she would always have a pocket of OK, wherever she went, and she lived OK ever after – some ups, some downs, but basically OK, and she always tried to remember what a wonderful gift it is to have an OK day.

 

By Kerry Vincent © 2008

Jingle Asks A Question

Her name is Jingle and his name is Milo

and they have come home, just before Halloween like

 they always do-

which is by sunset.

Only this year

their hometown is empty and the drive in where Milo asked Jingle to be his wife has fallen into disrepair and the food in the freezer at the Twilight  is rotting away in the darkness

just like the rest of the town.

Milo follows Jingle through the empty streets and he is almost afraid to look at her, but he stops her and puts his hand on her shoulder and turns her around and she says, ” where is everybody Milo? “

And both of them stop and listen to the silence, waiting for an answer and the silence does not answer them back.

Not this time.

Tapestry unraveling

   Gertie and I were sitting on her back porch, relaxing, drinking iced mango tea and watching clouds form and pass on. 

   “Gertie?”

   “Yes, Kezza?”

   “Isn’t someone supposed to show me my life tapestry while I’m here in Mudjimba Island?”

   “I think Enchanteur did mention that once.”

   “Are you the one who will tell me what it all means?”

   “What do you think, child?”

   “I hate when you answer a question with question.”

   “I know,” said Gertie, chuckling softly.

   “I wonder where my tapestry is?” I said.

   “It might be inside my house, in my old cedar chest.”

   “Really?  It’s been here all along?  Can I see it now?”

   Gertie sighed and took her time answering.  “Yes, dear Kezza, you can see it whenever you want.  But are you sure you want to?  You might see something you don’t like.”

   “Hmmm.  I know, but I’d rather know, so I can deal with it.  Even if it’s bad.”

   “Sometimes we look for answers, and then find out we were happier just asking the questions.”

   “You may be right, but I am a curious cat!”

   “Like Here & Now?

   “Why Not?”

   The animals heard their names, slightly raised their heads, and went back to sleeping in their sunbeams.

   “Wouldn’t it be nice to be content like them, not caring about the future?”

   “Yes, but I’m not like that.  Gertie, please show me my tapestry.”     

   “If you insist.”

   I followed Gertie inside.  She went to her old cedar chest, lifted the lid, and brought out the most beautiful tapestry I had ever seen.

   “Oh!  It’s lovely!”  But I didn’t see any pictures, no clues about me or my future.  “What does it mean?”

   “You see that teensy bead right there, Kezza?”

   “Yes.”

   “That’s you.  Everything else you see – those glorious colors and shapes and textures and patterns – that’s the whole of life.”

   “And I’m just a little speck?”

   “You are tiny, but you are a beautiful pearl, connected to the whole of life itself.  You are part of the design.”

   “Not a very big part.”

   “You don’t have to be big to be part of something wonderful.”

   “Oh,” I said quietly.

   “You sound disappointed, Kezza.”

   “I am.  I thought my tapestry would tell me how I fit in, what to do, where to go next.”

   “You’re here.  That’s enough.”

   “Is it?”

   “What do you think?”

   “You know how I hate when you answer a question with a question…”

   “I know, I know.  It’s part of the Wise Woman Creed – “Never give a straight answer when a mysterious one is more confusing.”

   I looked at the beautiful tapestry – and my tiny part in it.  It was beautiful.  I was part of it.  I tried to convince myself it was enough.  

   …But I still felt like no one would notice if one tiny seed pearl went missing…

 

Kerry Vincent © 2008

Meeting Triton

 

Settling into a steady swim with broad sweeps of her powerful tail, Thalia moved quickly over the ocean floor strewn with shells, little fish seeking food, a discarded can here and there previously tossed onto the beach by someone careless and taken out with the tides, pieces of beach-washed and eroded glass of various hues from old soda and beer bottles.  She wasn’t exactly sure where she was headed so she ranged along the shoreline a bit, looking for something that would show her the way.  There was enough of the human in her to be annoyed at people throwing things away rather than recycling or at least placing into garbage bins.  The fish part just observed the objects as part of the landscape.  Until one gets caught in a plastic ring holding a six-pack of cans togetheror swallows a metal tab from a can.  None of us seem to be really aware until us, or someone we love, are hurt.

 

She entered a current leading away from the beach, a current of warmer, faster moving water.  Deciding to follow that for a while, Thalia changed direction with a flip of her tail and her fins, and basked in the warmth of the water.  She could see lights flickering in the distance and assumed it was the play of sunlight on the surface, reflecting down.  But she could discern colors in the light as she approached, colors becoming increasingly vivid and tantalizing.  The colors of the rainbow!  Here is where the rainbow intersected with the sea.  How beautiful!  But the other fish seem to be avoiding the area.  I wonder why?  It would be like my time of riding the rainbow to Rainbow Beach.  All that color and light surrounding me, embracing me.  Dare I risk it?  Will it be the same or is there a problem? 

 

 

 

She circled around and around the area where the crayon-lights penetrated the water, watching the fish as they approached.  It was almost as if there was a barrier: they would swim up to a point, then turn around and dart away.   The colors sparkle!  It looks as if the light-crystals would penetrate into whoever or whatever was in its path.  Light therapy!  Let the body be immersed in colors of all hues to help heal and become whole.  But there is also a hum, a sound, emanating from the rainbow.  Light and sound therapy!  So each organ and body part takes what it needs to move to the correct vibration, whether of light or sound or any combination it needs for wholeness and wellness.  Each being knows what it needs.  This would allow each part to receive the frequencies necessary for its growth.  Synergistic!  The whole is equal to more than the sum of its parts.   The merging of sound and light—what could be better?

 

Thalia edged into the whirling mix of colors and sounds, arching this way and that to be sure all parts of her were exposed.  She wound up automatically twirling in the encounter, not sure what she was seeing or feeling or hearing.  Closing her eyes momentarily, she gave herself up to the experience.

 

Once again she was riding the rainbow.  But this time she was not only riding the rainbow ever upwards through the ocean, she continued the ride into the air as the rainbow curved around the earth, then up into the heavens.  It was all part of her, one with her.  She was that and that and that as she encompassed all things.  She rose so high she was now coming back down, around the earth again, and then up through the earth and emerging into the ocean again.  She was back where she started, but was no longer who she was when she started.  She recalled the quote by TS Elliot: …the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

 

 

 

 

Then suddenly, the colors and sound disappeared.  In their place was darkness and silence.  She waited, holding on to the sense of wonder.   The smell reached her before she could see what it rode on.  A putrid, disgusting, overwhelming smell of fumes and sulphur and noxious toxins.  She recoiled reflexively as her gills reacted to the smell of decay and corrupting flesh.  The darkness thickened, shimmered and took on a hideous form.  Was this the Triton she heard about?     Half man and half fish?  Exacting a price to allow anyone to pass to the Island of Mudjimba?  She remembered pictures from mythologies, teeth bared, grotesque smile. The better to eat you?   

 

 

 

The smell and sight was so overpowering, she wanted to recoil from him.  Not just odious, but a sense of evil emanated from him.  The hell-fire red eyes added to the sense of evil.  Was this Triton?  Or something else?  Much worse?  The smells became suffocating, and the baseness, the heaviness of his presence seemed to drag on her.  Repelling–yet drawing her as a magnet of negative pole draws one of positive pole.  Lumps all over his face and body, maybe tumors?  Black, sharpened teeth.  Arms outstretched as if to welcome but seem more ready to envelope and annihilate.       

 

And yet?  She knew she was that, too.  She needed to relax her fears and extend love to this creature, whatever it was.  A few deep breaths, a remembrance of the rainbow experience and the connections to all things, “this, too, oh Lord.  I am that.”  She could feel the love fill her from Grace, and pour out of her, from Grace.  She reached for the black crystal in her hair and offered it to him, in love, in connection.  His aura altered as he graciously received the crystal, and held it close to better see.  Thalia could observe the crystal first enhancing the red fire from his eyes, but then changing it into many colors, like the rainbow, and finally, into sparkling white light.  

 

His appearance changed.  Long seaweed-rope hair, crystal ocean-blue clear eyes, human upper body and arms with green fish tail.  Still strange but more familiar.  His words bubbled out:  Sirrssle…welcome home!  You’ve been away for a long time.  We’ve missed you.

 

 

 

What do you mean?  Who are you?

 

I am your father, Sirrssle.  You disappeared many, many tides ago.  We could find no trace of you.

 

My father?  How can that be?  You now look familiar, but…

 

I gave you this black crystal when you matured to the egg-laying stage, to protect and remind you of your ocean origins, no matter where you travelled.  And now you bring it back to me.  I am the Guardian of the Deep.  Those who are frightened of me in my other form, flee.  Those who can accept or even love, are allowed entrance.  You have returned to your family, from once upon a tide.

 

But I am human now.

 

You did not appear human as you swam here.

 

I am able to shape-shift.

 

Can humans do that?  I didn’t know that.

 

They can if they focus and are able to move beyond themselves and what they think is their identity.  Most don’t.  But I don’t look like you.

 

He held up a polished piece of glass, now a mirror.  She could see herself, no longer all fish but now a meld of fish below with green scales on a fish tail with human features.  Well, not exactly human—my face would be considered ugly by human standards. My long, rough rope-hair looks rather coarse and ungainly, and is such an odd shade of brown with green highlights.  And my skin is really slightly scaly with protrusions that I thought were tumors on him.  No, I would be considered ugly.  But somehow he…father? Doesn’t seem so ugly now.  He seems natural, like a mer-person.  Pre-Atlantian or future earth… or both? 

  

 

 

Come. 

 

He swam off, to who knows where?  She hesitated, looked in the mirror again, then followed.

 

Thalia had met the Triton, and he was her.

 

 

 

Thalia   (http://healinghaven.wordpress.com)

Tapestry Revealed?

Tuiren motioned me to sit on the bench.  I looked around the weaving shed – there were canvases and looms with tapestries both stitched and woven in various states of progress.  Also hanging on the many hooks which lined the walls were large hessian bags with initials on each one.   I looked at the tapestry which was directly in front of me, the one I had seen on entering.  Tuiren smiled and shook her head, “This is not yours”, she said.   She wandered over to the bags and selected one which had a J inscribed on it.   She also picked up a canvas which had some indication of stitching upon it but with loose threads hanging.   She brought both over to me and sat down beside me.  She laid out the canvas on the table before us, looked at me and said,

“Well, what do you think?”

I sighed deeply already getting the significance of what she was showing me.  I had come here expecting a completed piece of work but, of course, I am a work in progress so the tapestry would naturally reflect that.   I looked to her and smiled saying,

“I understand.  These stitches are the steps I have taken already…..the threads hanging are those steps I have yet to complete, the stories I have yet to finish, the words I have yet to speak.”

Tuiren handed me the hessian bag.  I looked inside to find spools and hanks of different coloured yarns and threads.

“You are to take the canvas and the threads with you and as you continue through your life, record the steps, the words, the pictures.  Are you disappointed?”

Surprisingly I was not and said so, “Actually no…after the experience of my first night here and how you explained that to me, I have a greater understanding of what the message of this particular journey is and it is basically this: I am in charge of my own destiny,  hence there is no completed tapestry, no final picture or story, how could there be, I am still living my life and in that I continue to journey.  I also am acutely aware that there are stories I want to tell to complete my own healing.  The reticence I have felt in doing so is lifting.  You are showing me, both with the adventure last night and this weaving shed that the connection/s I thought I had lost are still alive, they are where I left them when I stopped ‘stitching’ and all I have to do is to pick up those loose ends and continue where I left off.  I have everything I need.”

Tuiren packed the canvas into the thread bag and handed them both to me.  She then embraced me in a way that felt totally complete.

“Time for food”, she whispered as she let me go.  We walked back to the cabin, the smells of cooking wafting down reminded me how hungry I was.  I was feeling very calm and at peace with myself for the first time in a long while.  It felt good.  Katha dished up plates of herb rice with beautifully spiced vegetables whilst Danu poured the tea.

“There are many places for you to visit within Lemuria – do not be in a hurry to leave, tread the path that many before you have travelled, along the Soul Food Silk Road.  I would recommend you visit White Owl Island first, followed perhaps by Ithika -  you will find much to your liking I am certain.”

“Oh I will, thank you,”  I replied.  There was indeed so much within this domain that I wanted to explore and experience.

I remembered that at some point I was supposed to join with the other travellers to continue our journey up the Kerith.   I had no idea where anyone else was or what they were up to but it felt like it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Jill

http://wyrdspirit.wordpress.com

Double Rainbow

 

     Gertie fed me a wonderful dinner of greens and cornbread.  She had already informed me I would be spending the night at her cottage, no arguments.  So at least for now, I knew where I would lay my head, and what I would do for the rest of the evening.

     “Rest up, child, you don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” Gertie said.

     I helped Gertie clean up and then she said, “There’s nothing more I love in this life than to watch the sun go down, with a glass of wine in my hand.  Join me on the back porch.”

     We walked outside to an evening that was cool and pleasant, with a slight breeze.  It had rained while we were eating supper, so there was a fresh scent in the air, and the glittering of crystal droplets on the grass and leaves.  We sat down, poured wine, and clinked our glasses together:  Gertie announced, “A toast – We made it through another day.  We witness today as it draws to a close – and we are thankful to be here.”

     “Amen,” I said, taking a sip.  Looking up from my glass, I saw the most beautiful sight before us:  a double rainbow.  “It’s a miracle!”

     “Every day is a miracle – this day just happens to have a frame around it.  The rainbow is a blessing – all those colors, embracing the light…”

   “Sometimes I think the world is such a bad place – so many bad things happen – and then I see something like that…”

   “You know what they say, it takes both rain and sunshine to make a rainbow…The world is both good and bad, delicious and devastating – but it’s the only one we have, so we have to honor it and protect it.  This is it  – for better or worse, love it or hate it.  I choose our world, this life – the whole package – rainbows and tsunamis, falling in love and breaking your heart, getting a baby to smile and saying a last goodbye to a pet in too much  pain – we take the bitter with the sweet, the joy with the sorrow.  The best we can do is to be present each day, and, like my mother always said, do our best to make the world a better place if we can.”

     “The world is a better place because you’re here, Gertie.”

     “And you, too, Kezza.  The world needs you, whether you know it or not.  You are at the nexus of here and now, of being and meaning.”

     “I am?  I’m just me.”

     “That’s good enough.”

     “Really?”

     “Yes, I think you’re good enough, Kezza.  Smart enough, strong enough, kind enough, capable of darn near anything once you set yourself loose!  I think you’re pretty good, Kezza, just the way you are.  And you know what I always say…”

     “Pretty good is hard to beat,” I said, quoting Gertie, and laughing with her.

 

(c) 2008 Kerry Vincent

Blessed Birthday!

Le Enchanteur

Mystic Cantor

Mistress Raven

Creative maven

Using her Aussie strine

And her clever mind

To each one teach one

And each one reach one

Encouraging students to take flight

As they draw or paint or write –

On this marking of Heather’s birth

We gather to celebrate her worth

A special presence on the earth!

(Kerry)

Many Happy Returns, Heather!

Wishing the happiest of returns for your birthday, Heather,

and for the coming year.  Thank you for all you are to us

and Soul Food Cafe.  This greening vine is a special symbol

of all that is built up here, and for the future. 

Love, Monika (Imogen)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

The Ravens are Speaking

The Ravens are speaking and they are saying

 

Happy Birthday, Heather.

 

Love, Lori

 

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

 

A Gold Medal Performance

In honor of the Olympics, a gold medal performance:

Enjoy.

Lori

Go with the Flow, Lemuria-style

            Gravel Gertie’s cottage was just big enough for Gertie and her pets.  She had two cats, “Here” and “Now”, and a little beagle named “Whynot”, which Gertie told me was short for one her life philosophies, “Why the hell not?”  When she opened the back door, all the animals came streaming out, a knee-high but determined speeding train of cat hair, dog slobber, and rambunctious good will.  “Do you business, and get back inside,” Gertie commanded.  The pets obediently ran and emptied their bladders, but they were not ready to go back in the house right away.  Gertie called them, “Come, Here!  Come, Now!  Whynot!?!”  The dog did a few freedom laps and the cats ignored us, until Gertie yelled, “Come, Here, Now!” and finally, the parade returned and we all went inside.

            The back door opened to Gertie’s tiny kitchen, a small room painted sunshine yellow, with red gingham curtains on the windows and overflowing herb pots on the sills.  “Sit down, I’ll put the kettle on,” Gertie said, lighting her little gas stove.  I sat at the aluminum and red formica-topped table, no retro chic remake, but an original from the 1950s.  My chair was covered with red vinyl, rubbed white in spots from years of wear.  What meals had been served, what intriguing conversations had taken place at this old table?

            “Here you go, good old Lipton tea,” said Gertie, setting two white mugs on the table.  “Oatmeal cookies?  They’re a little stale, I don’t get out much,” she apologized.

            I sipped my tea and nibbled at the hard cookie.  “Thank you.  Everything is wonderful.  You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

            “It’s my pleasure.  A toast:  Here’s to Kezza, and her trusty Were Pen, and whatever adventures lie ahead!  May your days be interesting and your nights be safe!”  We clinked our cups.

            “But, Gertie, I am a little worried.  I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go, or how I’m supposed to get there, or what I’m supposed to do.  I want an itinerary, a program ,or an outline.  What’s the A, B, & C of all this?”

            “No one ever gets their lives mapped out for them,” said Gertie.  “I try to live in the Here and Now, I remind myself of that every time I see the kitties.  They live from one sunbath to the next.  We could learn from them.  We should be flexible, go with the flow, you know…”

            “I hate not knowing what’s coming next!  I can deal with something if I know it’s coming.  I can plan for it, study up, get ready, prepare myself.”

            “And how often do you get to live life that way?  Almost never.  No, it’s better to embrace the unknown, not fear it!  ‘Nothing more constant than change.’”

            “But what if something bad is coming?”

            “What if something good is on the way?  You don’t know.  You might miss a good opportunity because you’re afraid it will be something you won’t like.”

            “I can handle what I know; I don’t know if I can handle what I don’t know.”

            “You don’t know you can’t handle something new until you try it.  You don’t know your own strength, until you have to use it.  Then it’s like adrenalin – you can lift a mini-van off a child.”

            “I don’t know…”

            “It’s not easy, but we can choose to say yes to life, whether good or bad, or live in a hidey-hole and hope everyone leaves us alone.  I don’t know about you, but I need room to grow.”

            “But what if I fail?”

            “So?  What if you do?  Then you try again.  You think these silly cats of mine give up because I stop them from running out the door once or twice?  No – they just wait till their next chance, and then they try something sneaky.  Sometimes the cats win, sometimes I do.  It’s a game – the important thing is to keep playing, win or lose.”

            “But I’ve failed before.”

            “You and everyone else.  You just keep trying.  Don’t live in the past.  Respect where you’ve come from,  but move on.  Look over there.”  Gertie pointed to three plates that hung in a scrolled ironwork holder.  The top said “Honor the past”; the middle read, “Cherish the now”; the bottom plate, “Create the future.”

            “Whynot,” Gertie crooned, calling her pooch.

            “OK, OK.  Past, present, future.  Balance.  I’ve got it.  But it still doesn’t tell me where I’m going.”

            “Does the destination matter as much as the journey?”

            “I don’t know, Gertie!  I was taught you always started out with a plan.”

            “Plans aren’t bad – it’s just that sometimes they change.  The trick is knowing when to stay the course and when to go with the flow…Let’s take a walk outside, Kezza.”  We went out the back door, accompanied by the happy petting zoo.   I followed Gertie over to the clothesline.  “These homemade quilts are so beautiful!  The colors – the designs – the fabrics!” I exclaimed.

            Gertie touched the quilts gently, like the dear old friends they were.  “I could show you the slip-ups I made on each one – there are so many – but I learned from each and every mistake.  The important thing is I kept on sewing, learning, growing.  Stitch after stitch, till my eyes watered and my fingers ached.  Sometimes I had an idea in mind and sometimes I didn’t.  Sometimes I started out doing one pattern, but it didn’t look right, no matter how hard I tried.  So I quit forcing it, let the work have its own way, and then things flowed – turned out better than I could have ever planned myself!  Often we just have to get out of our own ways, and let things happen, let the creative force flow its natural course.  If it turns out, great!  If it doesn’t, we start over again, tired, maybe, but smarter, we hope.”

            I fingered the soft cotton quilts.  Maybe there were a few tiny flaws, if you looked very close, but overall, they were phenomenal.  “Gertie, these are wonderful, just the way they are.  When you see the whole picture, the whole quilt, it looks as though you planned every scrap, every stitch.”

            “But I didn’t.  I did my best, made adjustments along the way, and it all worked out, more or less.”           

             “The results are beautiful,” I agreed.

            Gertie smiled.  “Thank you.  I think these are dry now.  How about you help me take them down, fold them, and bring them in?”

            Gertie and I folded the quilts and lay them in her wicker basket.  “Time to go,” she called.  “Come, Here! Come, Now!  Whynot!”  I picked up the basket and followed her back inside.

 

© 2008 Kerry Vincent

If you were a were pen, where would you be?

So there I was, on the isle of Mudjimba, Old Woman Island, where somebody was supposed to meet me, and make all things clear, and show me the way to go.  At least that is what I had hoped would happen when I got to Mudjimba – so far I was just hot, tired, frustrated, and I had lost my beloved were pen.

I sat down on a bit of stone wall and looked out to sea, hoping watching the waves would calm me down.  “This too shall pass,” I whispered, as the Sand Dreamer taught, although I was still upset.  I tried to meditate, but my monkey mind kept jumping from topic to topic.  I tried to relax and focus on my breathing, but I got get an itch in the middle of my back I had to scratch it now, but I couldn’t quite reach it.  I tried rubbing my back against a tree trunk.  Just as I was starting to get the right spot, I heard a loud, throaty  “Unh-uh-uh.”  Embarrassed, I stopped immediately, opened my eyes, and saw a dark woman wearing a bright flowered sundress dabbing a wet cloth on her ample, wrinkled bosom, staring at me.

“I heard of tree-huggers, but I don’t know what you’d call what you’re doing to that tree – tree humpin’?” she said in her deep, raspy voice.

“I’m sorry, I just had an itch, I couldn’t reach it, so I thought the rough tree bark…”

“You don’t have to ‘splain it,” said the woman, laughing.  “It’s obvious, you needed someone to scratch your itch, but you should have asked for help.  I love a tree same as the next person, but you just actin’ silly.  She smiled broadly and said, “Hello, I’m Gravel Gertie.  Turn around, child.  Where you need that scratchin’ done?”

I turned and pointed to where the hooks of my bra were irritating my back.  Gertie gave me a good scratch, exactly were I needed it, and it was all I could do to keep from thumping my foot like a happy dog scratched just right.

“Sometimes you can help yourself, and sometimes you can ask for help.  This was one of those ‘ask for help’ times.  What’s your name, child?”

“Kezza.  Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, Kezza, but please call me Gertie – ‘ma’am’ makes me feel like I should be an old woman in a church dress and rolled-up stockings.  I don’t mind bein’ old, but I don’t want to be prissy.  I’m a tough old broad and proud of it!  My wrinkles prove I’ve done some hard livin’ – I haven’t just been takin’ a nap down here on this planet.”

“No, Gertie, I can see you don’t take the easy way out.  No offense.”

“None taken.  How about you, Kezza?  How are you feelin’ now?”

“Pretty good,” I lied.  I was feeling a little bit better, but I was still worried.

“Pretty good is hard to beat!” said Gertie, smiling.

I couldn’t help but smile too.

“But something is troublin’ you.  Tell old Gertie about it.  You’ve lost something – something near and dear to you.”

“How did you know?”

“I know lots of things.  I’m almost blind in both eyes now, but I can see things other people miss.  It’s all a matter of paying attention.  Maybe I can help you find what you’ve lost.”

“But I don’t even know where to start looking, Gertie!  I’ve lost my Were Pen – there’s not another one like it in the whole world!  My Pen has been with me through thick and thin, good and bad, highs and lows…I always keep it with me, so I can write in my journal – that is, if I ever get inspired again.  It’s been ages since I’ve had an original thought,” I complained.

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating, you have all kinds of interesting thoughts – let your readers decide what ones are good or bad.  Words take on a life on their own after you speak them or publish them anyway.  Like kids, when some words move out of the house, they never look back.  Readers bring their past experiences to your work, so the stories that you put down may remind a reader of something that happened to them years ago, that has nothing to do with what you wrote, but it means something special to them.  We never know what our words might mean to someone else.  Give your readers some credit – trust them a little bit.  The good ones will amaze you and the lazy ones don’t matter that much.”

“What you just said – your words – are wonderful, I wish I could write them down!”  Out of habit, I reached in my backpack and pulled out my journal.  I gasped.  As usual, my Were Pen was clipped to the journal’s spiral binding, right where it should have been.

“But, but, I could have SWORN I checked that again and again and it wasn’t there before!” I said.

“What’s all the racket?” grumbled the Were Pen.

“I thought you were lost, gone forever, and I’d never see you again, Were Pen!”

“Don’t tease,” it said.  “I’ve been here all the time.  You must not have looked very hard.”

“Sometimes we try so hard to find something we look right by it.  Sometimes, the things we need, are right there with us all along,” said Gertie.

“And sometimes we’re taken for granted,” the Were Pen muttered.  

“Gravel Gertie, meet Were Pen.  Were Pen, meet Gravel Gertie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Were Pen.  I believe this problem is solved, Kezza.”

“Yes, thanks.  Now if I can just figure out where to go, what I’m supposed to do next.  But first, I would dearly love a nice cup of tea.”

“It’s not much, but my home is only a little way from here.  Why don’t you come home with me?  I’ll put the kettle on, and later, if you’re hungry, I’ve got a nice pot of mustard greens that have been simmering all morning.”

 “I’m starving!  If it won’t be too much trouble…”

“Not at all.  I don’t get much company these days; I get tired of talking to the same four walls.  It’d do me good to have visitors.  Besides, it will drive my nosy neighbor Izzy crazy wondering what’s going on!”

So I carefully re-packed my Were Pen and followed Gravel Gertie home to her little white cottage by the sea.  She had a beautiful garden, packed with color, best described as “controlled chaos”.  Beyond the flowers was a trim vegetable patch and a clothesline where the loveliest, most colorful cotton quilts I had ever seen were blowing in the gentle breeze. 

 

(c) Kerry Vincent

Searching for Triton

Talking with the people gathered at Rainbow Beach, Thalia heard mention of others who already departed to travel to Mudjimba Island and the Triton that one has to meet before being allowed entrance.  First arrange for a ferry, then be literally dropped off into the water to meet the Triton and appease him in some undefined way, and then, hopefully, finally getting to the Island.  What a long drawn-out process. The ferry is away on a trip so I would have to wait for its return and then do my own bargaining.   I wonder if there isn’t a quicker way so I can catch up with the others.   Sounds like the more adventurous are already there.  And who is this Triton?  What does he want from me?  I just have some odds and ends in my satchel—I can’t imagine there would be anything he wants.

 

She sat down on the lovely sand, specked with the now-crystal Crayola specks from the Crayola Rainbow.  Gathering up a few of the crystals and watching the interplay of color and light, Thalia decided to look for at least one crystal of every color. 

 

 

How long will this take?  But how beautiful they are.  Definitely worth the time to create a ‘Crayola’ box of 64 light-crystals.  Just read that the box of 64 is now 50 years old after having been introduced on the Captain Kangeroo TV show in 1958.  Crayola says more than 200 million of these boxes were sold containing enough crayons to circle the earth 24 times.  Maybe that is where my Crayola Rainbow Ride came from. 

 

I love the quote by Robert Fulghum?  “Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon.  A happiness weapon.  A beauty bomb.  And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one.  It would explode high in the air – explode softly – and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air.  Floating down to earth – boxes of Crayolas.  And we wouldn’t go cheap, either – not little boxes of eight.  Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in.  With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest.  And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination.”   

 

Yes, wouldn’t that be wonderful—bombs of Crayolas—of color to delight instead of bombs to kill.  Look at how they catch the light and shimmer.  It’s like a kaleidoscope, a light show.   She held the crystals this way and that, becoming totally immersed in and mesmerized by the sparkle.

 

*****

 

Atlantis rises again, just as they said it would.  We measure the rise in barely perceptible increments, thus allowing us time to formulate plans and, perhaps, time for us to adapt.  As the ancient ones always said, a world gained is a world lost.

 

We go to survey the changes, Sssss-irl and I.  We will then return and report to the engineers so they can calculate how much time remains now before new evacuations are needed.  Swimming to the rising Atlantis, we scramble over chunks of marble gleaming in the moonlight to the apex of the high temple ruins and measure the distance to water’s edge.  Each moon-pass saw us there, walking a heartbeat’s distance further down the slope.  The incoming waves scour the marble one final time, a final smoothing-out of edges originally rough when entering the deep, and worn smooth over the millennium by the peace of the water. 

 

 

 

I remember playing amongst the original columns and buildings, running lithely, the one who is now Sssss-irl chasing, never quite able to catch me.  Those were the lifetimes when we could run gracefully on land.  Now, all has changed.   We have changed.  But still we play amongst the ruins, swimming and frolicking with ease, enjoying the light filtering through the water as flocks of multi-hued fish glint colors as they bank from one side to the other.  Sometimes the big fish, the Sharp-Teeth Eater, would appear, scaring us into hiding amongst the marble half-hidden by plant-growth.  We wriggle down into the algae, becoming as still as the ancient skeletons of lost civilizations entombed with us. 

 

As we wait, the shadow of Sharp-Teeth and old times passes over us, and we remember.  It is the transitions that are hard.  Over time, we move from one form to another, initially not remembering the others.  But during moments of quiet and awareness, the impact of the whole can overwhelm.  Questions swim and dart like a flock of fish as we wait.  How long will it take?  How long did it take?  What will happen to us this time?  Should we even try to adapt – once again?   We haven’t totally completed the last transition, and now another? 

 

With a long out-breath, hiss of water over gills, I turn to Sssss-irl and observe her legs almost blended into powerful back flippers, remnants of fingers showing from front flippers, eye membrane complete over eyes that have gradually migrated sideways to increase visibility to 180 degrees.  Yes, over the ages we adapted to our watery surroundings, and now?  Now what?  Do we stay below and continue this process, or rise above and start the reversal?  Atlantis rises again. 

 

*****

   

Whoa!  What was that?  When was that?  Who was that?  But it gave her an idea. Why wait for the ferry?  I can change shape and swim to meet the Triton.  Who knows what sights are in the waters around here?  She carefully gathered all the lovely crystals.  Tucking the largest jet-black crystal into her pocket, Thalia placed the rest into a plastic baggie from her satchel and returned the bag of lights into the satchel, feeling sad as their sparkle disappeared from view.  She walked to water’s edge and sat down with her legs extended into the blue world.  Thalia then took the black crystal from her pocket and wound it into her long hair. 

 

A moments pause, focus, intent… and she shifted, flipping to face the water, then squirming deeper into the brine, satchel diagonally across her scaled body, legs now fused with tail flipper.  Another wriggle and the satchel settled into a better placed for long travel.  She was on her way to search for Triton.

 

 

You Little Pirate!

I made my first altered book/card for my friend Tim Cook’s baby, who is due next week – using a “You little pirate!” theme, since they met Captain Jack recently.  Here are the pages:

Inside I am …

 

Inside I am a tree

I want to spring forth

And grow throughout the nine planes

 

I know that there are many lands at my feet

Frost lands and Tropical lands

And many will form in my branches

I spread shade  far and wide

I filter the light

 

The hawk waits to hide herself in my branches

She is waiting for my journey upward

To become a canopy separating earth and sky

 

I wait

 

Inside I am tall and I will reach

My hands up and from them will

Spring leaves

 

Leaves of books, leaves of learning

Leaves to sing and rustle all the music

Of my birth

 

Inside I am a tree.

 

©  image and words June Perkins

I Am The Pirate King

Long before Captain Jack, this guy was my favourite pirate – one time Australian rock star Jon English as the Pirate King in Pirates of Penzance.I saw this show twice,and loved those purple tights!

Were Pen – Where Are You?

   I packed, unpacked, and re-packed.  I wanted to be sure I had everything I would need for the trip to Mudjimba.  The only problem was that I had no idea what I’d need, because I wasn’t really sure where I was going.  

   “Triton’s coral? Check. Granola bars? Check. Change of clothes & shoes? Clean socks & underwear?  Check & check. Sunflower seeds? Check.  30 SPF sunscreen? Check. Chocolate? Check.  Ibuprophen? Check. Water bottle? Check. Extra juice? Check.”  I wasn’t sure what would happen after I arrived on the island, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t starve, get sunburned, or be dehydrated.  I was ready for anything. I hoped.

   I swam through the beautiful blue waters and surfaced on a gorgeous beach, perfect temperature, puffy cottonball clouds, bird calls I didn’t quite recognize.  I had landed in paradise!

Mudjuimba Beach, Queensland

 

   I slathered myself with coconut-scented sunscreen and walked along the beach, picking up pretty sea shells, playing tag with the lapping waves.  I followed the shoreline, and as I came around a cove, I saw her:  the Sand Dreaming Woman.

“Drifting with the Current” – Sand Sculpture in St. Petersberg, Russia (Yahoo News Story), by Tatyana Kuznetsova and Vsevolod Averkiev

 

   I wondered who had built this, and why.  A local woman was standing behind the sculpture and said, “She’s a beaut, all right.”

   “Yes,” I agreed, “but who is she?”

   “She’s the Sand Dreamer.  She sits and she watches the tides go in and out.  Day and night, good and bad, then and now, she’s seen it all.  Whatever happens, happens.”

   “What if there’s a storm?  She’ll wash away.”

   “Then she washes away.  Nothing lasts forever.”

   “That’s sad. They should build a wall, like a levee, to protect her for posterity,” I suggested.

   “I don’t think the Sand Dreamer would want that.  The story goes, Sandra Coomer was a real woman, whose motto was, ’This, too shall pass.’  If Sandra were happy, she knew that joy would fade before long.  If she were heart-broken, she knew, if she could just hold on awhile, some day things would be better.  Even on her death bed, Sandra said, “My life has been a great, strange dream, sometimes odd and frightening, sometimes mysterious and beautiful, like the mesmerizing coral reefs under the sea – but I wouldn’t have missed it – even the hard parts – for anything!  Yet, as I always said,  ’This, too shall pass.’”

   I thanked the woman for telling me the Sand Dreamer’s story.  I reminded myself not to waste time, to stop and appreciate the gift of life often.  “Every day is a blessing,” “Nothing last forever,” “This, too, shall pass,”: I wanted to write these sayings down, like a prayer or a chant, before I forgot them.  I dug in my pack and found my journal, but…

   I couldn’t find my Were-Pen!  “Claire, where are you?  Were-Pen, I need you!  I know I packed you! I checked! Where are you?  I can’t write without my pen.”  I was in full panic mode now. 

   I looked at the silent, serene Sand Dreamer sculpture and muttered, “Yeah, I know, ‘this too shall pass’, but you don’t understand. I’m a writer – I live to write and write to live!  

   “WERE-PEN?  WHERE ARE YOU?” I yelled.

 

Kerry Vincent (c) 2008

Mudjimba – Day Two

I awoke feeling disoriented and with a mouth that felt as though it were full of sand.   As I came to I realised it was full of sand.  I had been sleeping with my mouth wide open and part of the beach had drifted into it whilst I was oblivious.  I stirred my body and stood up, shaking myself free of all the sand that had invaded every crease and crevice .   Oh how I ached, my legs were so sore and the rest of me was faring little better.   Hang on a minute, I am still on the beach!  How come?   I was led up a mountain last night, well a large tor at least.  I saw the village.  I saw the waterfall.  I danced all night with the women and drank a fair amount of something deliciously and seemingly innocently fruity yet lethal!  My head had the distinct feeling of not being securely attached to my shoulders.  What a night that was.   I am definitely in the midst of a hangover here and what’s more I have no recollection of returning to the beach.   I slumped back down onto the sand.  Everything was as I had arranged it before napping yesterday.  Ti was fast asleep still, not that she was capable of telling me anything anyway.   Oh my feet…they are so sore and blistered – I did not do that dreaming! I looked around me with great care, any swift turn of head could be disastrous resulting in my losing consciousness or so it felt.   Nothing.  Well no-one in sight.  The beach was as it was, surrounded by lush green vegetation, lots of sand stretching some three miles or so before curving away from sight.  Turning gingerly to look behind me I could see large hills in the not so far distance.  This is all very peculiar.  Memories from the day before were coming back.  I was sure I had been told that I would sleep in the house of Katha and Danu today and when night came I would be taken by Tuiren to her weaving shed to see my tapestry.    Perhaps it had all been a dream, I may have been sleep walking hence the blisters, but it was all so real.

I sat, there being nothing more I could do for the moment.  I reached for my bag to get some water and fruit out.  My mouth felt truly disgusting and I was very dehydrated.  I drank most of the contents of the water bottle before thinking better of quaffing the lot.  I ate an apple and a handful of berries.  That would do for the time-being, I had no idea how long I would be on this island and had only bought sparse supplies.   I wandered down to the sea to rinse myself before proceeding.  I figured I had better start exploring as I was not going to work out what had or had not happened by just sitting here pondering.  The sea water was wonderfully refreshing for my feet and legs, hopefully I would discover fresh water further inland where I could clean myself properly.
I gathered up my belongings, putting Ti back into my breast pocket and started on up the beach.  Which way to go?  I could see several openings in the vegetation and decided to pick a path at random.   I had gone no more than a few feet when I could have sworn I heard whistling.  I stopped.  I listened.  Nothing, save for birdsong and the sound of the sea.   Sighing I started off again…there it was again!  Oh for **********!  I was not in the best of moods it has to be said.
I shouted hello.  Nothing.   I shouted again…..a whistle came in response.   Honestly I could have cried with sheer frustration, why the games?   Probably a “lesson” in there somewhere for me eh? Humph!  I was not at all best pleased I can tell you.  In fact I could feel my temper rising rather rapidly.   I stopped.  I looked all around me.  I could see nothing but the vegetation which was very dense so it would have been unlikely that I would see anyone anyway.   I sighed to myself.  Might as well go on I guess.   There was the whistling again.  Right that was it! I screamed at whoever it was to show themselves or shut up.  Honestly, yes, there were a few expletives in there.  I am not proud.  I could hear laughter, chuckling .  Oh yes very funny.  Here I am on an island with no means of getting off as far as I know, feeling like the wrong end of a donkey, lost, tired, frustrated and aching all over and all they can do is giggle at me.  Very sisterly I don’t think.    Ok, I say to myself, calm down now, breathe.   I tried to calm myself as best I could, breathing deeply to try and relax. Underneath my anger there was fear.  I had thought this island would be a gentle place with wise elder women on it who would teach me about my future, not a place of teasing wenches getting their laughs at my expense, that wasn’t the deal at all – I moped.  Oh good grief I was actually moping, pet lip included!   I had to groan at myself.

“Okay”, I yelled, “I get the message”.

Wolf whistles hit the air.    First one, then another showed themselves.  I knew I hadn’t been dreaming.   There were Katha, Danu and Tuiren.    They came up and hugged me hard.     I had questions but now probably wasn’t the time.

They led me back to the beach and we walked along it towards the east.  Nearing the point where it curved sharply around we veered off into the greenery again.  There was a very definite path.  It opened out into a clearing with huts, ordinary every-day huts.  Nothing fancy just nice little wooden cabins.   My brow furrowed, I was very confused.

“All will be explained”, remarked Tuiren.  “Let’s get some food first”.

We headed towards one of the cabins.  They really looked like the cabins you get in those quasi-rural holiday parks, sort of wooden prefabs with wooden window ledges and the sort of windows that children always draw, complete with tied-back curtains.    We entered and the inside was a bit of a shock.   The door opened into the main room which was very plush in the way it was furnished.   Beautiful stone flooring with tapestry rugs in bright, bright colours.  Two large deep blue sofas which looked like they would swallow you whole – of modern design but obviously built with comfort first and foremost in mind.  These were set around a large fireplace that housed a cast-iron woodstove.  The walls were covered in all sorts of artworks, large and small and there were massive bookshelves either side of the fireplace which must have housed hundreds of books.   What a fabulous room.  It was very warm and inviting, but was not at all what I had expected.     We went through into the kitchen which had a fabulous butchers block table in its centre around which were four ladder-back chairs.  Katha motioned for me to sit down in one of them.  Tuiren sat opposite me whilst Katha and Danu made tea and some food.

“I can see by your face that you are a little perplexed”, smiled Tuiren.
“To say the least”, I replied, “I don’t understand”.

I was given a large mug of tea .   “You drink that and I shall explain”, said Tuiren.      “When women come here, it is often because they want to know what their future holds, or what lesson it is they need to learn, or what they need to do in order to proceed along their chosen path, or even to find out what that path is.”

“Indeed”, I nodded.

“In a way that is exactly what the tapestries are about, but before we take each one to see their tapestry we have to clear their heads of the romantic, idealised notions that they often carry with them.   Is it not the case that what you encountered last night was exactly what you expected, or would have anticipated?  That is a rhetorical question, it needs no answer.   You expected to meet a community of women living an idealised life, in your case, one born out of romantic notions of the past.  That is not to say that what you know and what you would like to see are not true but more that they are one dimensional.  Everyone living in harmony, with communities of women who are the spiritual leaders and who guard the gateways.  A world far removed from the reality of your modern day one.”

I was beginning to feel a little saddened.

“We took you on a journey last night to that very place.  The one in your imagination, complete with the waterfall which we know you are aware was one of the gateways to the otherworld.   We wanted you to experience your own imagination, your own connection to the distant past.   Don’t misunderstand what I am saying.  I am not telling you that what you see is not true, for it is, very much so, but it does not exist in your world any longer.   Do you understand what it is that I am telling you.”

“I think so”, I said, “You are telling me to let go of the past?”

Tuiren smiled such a warm smile at me.  “I am telling you that you cannot find that specific place in your world any longer, but that does not mean it does not exist.  I know this is confusing for you, but you are in danger of spending many years exploring paths of which you already hold a great deal of knowledge, even though you may not be consciously aware of that fact.  In time I think you will indeed be telling the stories of these places and these times, but there are other things you have to do first, that is all.”

I was beginning to understand what it was that she was telling me.

“I think what you are telling me is that what I am wanting to do is to start at the end, to start with the pure rather than getting my feet well and truly dirty by starting at the beginning with this life I am in.  I need to do the groundwork.”

Again that smile.  “Come with me”.

I follow her out of the kitchen door and into the garden at the rear of her cabin.  We follow the path through the vegetable garden, the herb garden and the flowers to the shed at the end.    She stops at the door and turns to me.

“I believe you have something for me?”

I grin and rifle through my bag.  My hand alights on the coral gifted to me by the little boy.   I hand it to Tuiren who literally glows with pleasure at the sight of it.

“Thank you.  Come in.”

She leads me into the weaving shed and there before me is the tapestry.

“This is your tapestry”, she says.  “Sit down and we shall discuss it”.

Jill

http://wyrdspirit.wordpress.com

For Lois

Lois, dear.  Here are pictures of Johnny Depp.  The first one is a normal shot.  The second one he is in his most famous role…. CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow!  Swoon.
 

 

Lori

Hilda’s adventures continue- monster truck boys and mermaid girls enter…

Hilda the bear was enjoying her visit at the rainbow beach.  After her run in with the Duck pirates and the Kitten pirates she was up for anything. Then however she came across the Monster truck boys- a modern day version of the lost boys.  These little men of the sea were on their way to see Triton and tell him that he really needed to get a submarine and pimp it up big time.  They even had a decent colour scheme worked out for him.

 

 

Hilda found that these little monster truck boys were very cheeky.  They were in serious need of anger management.  Pirates had productive anger management but these little tykes well they needed to just learn to chill.

 

She tried to teach them to meditate, just as she had before jumping off the plank for the umpteenth time.  They were not getting the hang of it. Then Hilda was in luck because the Mermaid girls had decided they would raid the beach where all this anger management training was going on and a free for all food fight ensued.

 

Nothing like a bit of creamy blackberry pie flying and landing on you to get the furry mind working.  It was then that Hilda decided she really must go and find some of her other bear friends.  Maybe just maybe there was a need for a bit of Honey to get these Monster truck boys to get in touch with their inner selves.

 

The Mermaid girls, well they seemed like they were just having a bit of rolicking fun, although she did wonder if maybe they had just gone a little bit overboard in trying to keep up with the Monster truck boys.  Hilda always liked a good song, and so she sang out loud and strong, the following ditty- just to calm things down a bit.

  

  

Monster Truck boys Monster truck boys

They love to drive their Monster trucks

 

Mermaid Girls mermaid girls

Swimming with the dolphins

Are the Mermaid Girls

 

Now the monster truck boys are swimming in the sea

Yeah they’re jumpin’ and bumpin’ in the sea

And the mermaid girls are drivin’ monster trucks

As if they’re giant seals.

 

Mermaid girls mermaid girls

Super divin’ mermaid girls

Monster truck boys monster truck boys

Super drivin’ monster truck boys.

 

Mermaid girls and monster truck boys

They’re all cool and they love school.

Monster Truck boys Monster truck boys

They love to drive their Monster trucks

 

 Mermaid Girls mermaid girls

Swimming with the dolphins

Are the Mermaid Girls

 

Now the monster truck boys are swimming in the sea

Yeah they’re jumpin’ and bumpin’ in the sea

And the mermaid girls are drivin’ monster trucks

As if they’re giant seals.

 

Mermaid girls mermaid girls

Super divin’ mermaid girls

 

Monster truck boys monster truck boys

Super drivin’ monster truck boys.

 

Mermaid girls and monster truck boys

They’re all cool and they love school.

  (

c) June Perkins – a song

 

 

 

 

 

Pirates of Panama

Thalia inhaled the wonderful, familiar smell of the ocean and listened to the gentle lapping of the waves onto the beach.  Nearby, a group of people were dancing and delighting as the creative rainbow flowed onto the beach and everyone on it.  She was about to join them, but still felt a little dizzy from the marvelous Rainbow/Comet ride from Tholos, so she looked around for a spot where she might be able to sit quietly and gather all her senses back into the here and now.

 

A little ways off were what appeared to be, stone ruins barely visible above the undulating sea grasses.  She ambled along a path and came upon a cluster of old ruins.  Thalia walked over to the closest one, placing her hands on its rough surface.   She then moved from one to the other, touching the remaining stone walls and buildings, feeling the heat the stone captured from the sun.  She sat on a protruding rock, leaned back, felt the solid stone beneath and behind her, great for grounding her.  Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to drift on the still-heard sounds of the nearby rolling tides.  The warm air soothed her skin that had become somewhat cold from the comet portion of her ride.  It felt good to feel the heat to penetrate into her, warming her core.

 

 

 

 

 

She smelled smoke just as she felt a sudden heat blast surging through the rocks and stones into her. Thalia jumped up and was thrown into masses of people yelling as they stampeded for cover.  “Pirates!”  “Pirates are here!  Run for your life!” “It’s Morgan the Pirate!”  Screams, smoke, chaos surrounded her as people scrambled every which way to escape.  She started to seek cover, but then realized they moved right through her, seemingly oblivious to her presence.  She was the observer of this madness—she wasn’t actually there in it. 

 

Thalia then recognized what she was seeing.  Years ago, when she was first married she lived in Panama for almost a year.  While there, she and her husband, and 2 of his service buddies, went to visit Old Panama—Panama Viejo—after a Thanksgiving dinner at their apartment.  She loved walking among the many stone ruins and then reading about the history of the place, which was fascinating.  Old Panama was located near the ocean.  Her husband took many pictures, most of which were turned into slides, with a few later made into photographs.

  

 

Panama Viejo, a World Heritage site founded in 1519 by Peter Arias and 100 other inhabitants, was the first permanent inhabited settlement in the America’s along the Pacific.  After being presented with a coat of arms by Charles V of Spain, the town became an important base where gold and silver gathered from Peru was sent back to Spain.  Much wealth accumulated in the port city. 

  

 

By 1610, the city grew to a population of 5,000 with 500 homes, a convent, a hospital and a cathedral.  At the beginning of the 17^th century, the city had been attacked by pirates, attracted by the wealth, and by the indigenous people of Darien.  An earthquake in 1620 and the Great Fire in 1644 destroyed much of the city, which was then rebuilt. 

 

However, on January 28, 1671, the English pirate, Henry Morgan, attacked the city of 10,000 inhabitants with his 1400 soldiers.  The resulting fire completely destroyed the city, necessitating a new city to be rebuilt a few kilometers away.  Between the massacre and the fire, this action by Morgan the Pirate is still considered to be “the most barbarous atrocity ever perpetuated by a British privateer against Spanish colonies in America.” (Wikipedia)

 

 

Morgan was arrested and taken to England, proved he had no prior knowledge of the peace treaty between England and Spain, so was knighted in 1674 before returning to Jamaica to assume the post of Lieutenant Governor.  He died in 1688, one of the few pirates able to ‘retire’ from piracy.  Errol Flynn’s 1935 film, Captain Blood, was loosely based on Morgan’s life.

 

Panama Viejo was so peaceful when Thalia visited it in the early 1960’s—a contrast to those tumultuous days in 1671.  An even greater contrast was the real damage pirates do compared to the entertainment versions like Mary Martin in Peter Pan where Thalia was thrilled to see her glide across the stage in the play and loved the Walt Disney cartoon-movie version of Captain Hook. And, of course, Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.  The modern version of pirates was presented in Pirates of the Caribbean.

 

Quite a difference between the brutal reality and the romanticized fictional.  But it is nice to be aware of both as each balances the other. 

 

 Thalia got up and walked to join the others on the beach.  I love my time alone, but I also love time spent with people.  Good balance—to be able to ride the Rainbow and to walk the sand.