The Star Snakes

 

The Star Snakes

The Light had shattered before it

Followed the Ash of the World-Seed

Throughout the once-empty Void.

Connecting itself to the closest

World-Seeds scattering through the Heavens

With tender bonds of Silvery Love.

The Shards of Light slowed

As they found a Resting Place

In the now-filling Void.

The World-Seeds danced around

The Light Shards that loved them.

In the Shards Eyes opened slowly,

Lit by Inner Flames and Love.

And so it was that the Star Snakes

Were awakened, and give home

To the World-Seeds that they loved.

The Star Snakes breathed across

The World-Seeds and freed them

From frozen Prisons of Ice.

Now warm and free the World-Seeds

Waxed impatient, wanting to be filled

With burgeoning Life.

Blessed by the Star Snakes.

 

First card of The Enchanteur’s Journey Deck.

In the Beginning, was the Void. 

Empty and waiting for fullness.

The Void waited for the generosity of Life.

Life brought forth a gift for the Void. 

In Awareness the Great World-Seed was born.

The Void welcomed the Great World-Seed, 

Containing all realities and possibilities.

The Seed floated in Nothingness,

The perfect dark and silence.

The Nothingness was broken by Light.

Light burned the Seed to ash,

Which became uncountable World-Seeds,

Still lifeless, the World-Seeds waited, feeling cold .

At last came Warmth, comforting the World Seeds.

The World-Seeds hung in silence,

No sounds came to them. 

They were dry, incomplete and barren.

On the Cusp of Everything

Float the World-Seeds. 

Hail the Promise of Seeds

 

 

Full Moon

Rosary of the holy lamb

Did your hand run across it?

O Saint of fire and light

Did your feet run in the meadow

With speckled dingoes and sheepdogs?

Were the beads dipped in blood?

Did your hand draw back with

The flesh all but gone?

 

Did you say your prayer

Amidst the smoke, sirens and the pain?

Was the moon rising full

Over the trees and outback?

 

The faerie queen danced just outside

My back door last night.

The angels cried when they saw your wounds,

Archangels bringing green/gold flames

 

Bring me my sword, Joan

Bring me my shield and armour

Bring me my spear and all the horses

Of my ancestors.

Under the full moon we will be warriors

If he can’t heal you

I will find the God who can.

MotherBear

 

Kindling…

Kindling The Fire ~This morning

As I kindle the flame upon my hearth,

I pray that the flame of Christ

May burn in my soul.

I pray that no envy or malice,

No hatred or fear,

May smother the flame,

I pray that indifference and apathy,

Contempt and pride, may not pour

Like cold water on the flame.

Instead, may the spark of Christ light

The love in my soul,

And may it burn brightly through the day.

May I warm those that are lonely,

whose hearts are cold and lifeless

So that all may know the comfort of

Christ’s love.

Mother Bear

Distractions

Soon, m’Lady Emrys will join us here –
reaching out from the Parlor of Riversleigh
where she is known a bit –
and by my words …

and we may provide a unique voice
as a conjoined couple,
yet so individual in experience
and creative spirit.

Some sisters have spoken of dispair,
discordance and depression –
and we can offer some the pain
of our growing together
as seeds of solace and cherish.

faucon
…………………………………………

Distractions

November 2003 –

I sit here in distraction of purpose,
drawn to half-heard tunes
of discordance,
marked more by disturbance of sought silence
than any rhythm of life –
or spirituality.

The world near and far –
of ’til and when –
is aswirl with confusion
that seeks no solution
save self-enhancement –
nay — self-dilusion -
that what happens within the limits of this attention
is more profound
than the breath of a flower.

Are we then trapped
in some fetid game –
in which reason and congruencies
are condemned
and the moral ‘bar’ lowered
— ever again until —
a man’s worth is measured by the footprints
on his soul’s back –
while be lies debased
in mudded, befouled despair?

How, my love
does one go meekly to this ‘honor’?
If it is to my call –
to serve as exampled proof
that even simple honesty and charity
is a source of fear and shame,
then perhaps the crumbling
of my spirit’s hope and yearning
will be known –
that others may hope –
just to be left alone
in peace.

This too will pass — thy will be done!
My brief sorrow is not of this –
but that thee have now questioned my adoration
thrice this past day — little one;
and such seeds of doubt
bring trembled tears –
for naught else matters –
save that I am your champion.

So — I can but know by empathic draw
and flickering lantern glow
that you are drawn to fears and needs
not yet shown or shared
or — challenged.

I will be patient — yet ever near.

On a Comment by Soulwright

SEED:
“I think I will sit at the creek a bit,
waiting,
listening for the whisper…”

A book of a thousand pages
could never outline a better plan
for enlightenment than this.

A moment set aside for contemplation;
an act of will more than planning …

To get off your feet off hurry-scurry
and be one with now and here …

All water touches the cycle of rebirth,
but a creek is closer to raindrops
than the distant sea …

patience and forbearance
are poorly taught in Western culture;
thus, waiting is a surrender of sorts …

One can embrace awe and wonder
by all the senses –
but never by speaking …

Yes, heed the whisper not the sign –
words writ more than 5000 years ago,
which can still guide the soul …

‘Nishish, nihush ne ziman’
……………………………………..

with thanks, faucon

dream seeds

Where does one come by dream seeds?

how does one know the way

to enter into mists of magick?

letting chambers locked and closed for years

creak…creak… sloowwwwly opening the door…

Enchanteuer my dear, come hither

Is it you have called me here?  May I have my packet of seeds?

May I try my wings? That shall be a sight to see -

 a flying bear.

MotherBear

The Spirit of Riversleigh

The Abbey will now share its role as ‘home base’
for me — and perhaps thee, with the
Manor House at Riversleigh ..

and I encourage you all to flit
back and forth between, –
and anchor and haven for more
adventurous pursuits.

I write then of the
“Spirit” who watches over the Manor House

You May
You may wander within a dream,
or dance, prance
or skip a pace or two –
even fly;
for no one can see or share,
nor would they dare to question,
or limit what can be of thee.

You may share your spirit in song,
or sigh, reply
to a soft whistled tune –
even cry;
for She does not even care,
nor heed melody or verse,
except what is found in your heart.

You may grasp another’s hand,
or wave, behave
as if they are a sister –
pray just try;
for the instrument you pluck
Is held by Her gracious hand,
heard even by distant stars.

You may come to Riversleigh
and breath, believe
the silence of Her singing –
don’t delay;
for the spirit you carry
is needed in fine chorus,
to stir the breeze of time.

faucon

find a feather

Find a feather from a silver hawk this week and press it in your prayer book. Send your prayers up to heaven on its soft small fluffiness.

An Invitation of Innocence

Call to Abbey Dawn

There is, ‘tis true, a complement of glomming –
of blessed awakened dreams and quiet songs of dawn,
where Mother Nature seems confused — nay, bemused
‘tween realms of knowledge practical and conceptual.

The Abbey Lamp has burned in faith and forbearance,
as haven beacon for wanderers of the night –
not needed throughout the day as is our calling;
to be of Light and Welcome Message to strangers.

The wick is pinched and a thread of incense spirals,
and a portal of sorts opens, faintly yearning –
and any question asked of Rebirth or Covenant
must be answered by forthright Current of Ancients.

so join me there,
friends, sisters an all –
just outside the Abbey door
for a confabulation of group will
each dawn profound
while the pirates are away –

and the Lantern will respond
to thoughts and prayers
as thee might entrance
in verse and song
and soul touch.

papa — Lamp Lighter of Lemuria

Serious reflection

They say the mirror never lies and the one in the Abbey is renowned for its infallibility. Tossing coins in my head I knew I had to turn up in my cell by nine o’clock no matter how many temptations tried to lure me away. There are times when you have to pull back and think of the bigger picture; in the Abbey, where possible, you don’t upset the apple cart. It is a privilege to be here so any cart rocking goes on in secret and is instigated by Abbey staff - odd but true. I wended my way indoors but could not get rid of that niggling voice in my head that insisted I go back to the mirror.

The abbey at night is a truly beautiful, historic and spiritual place but joyous; no matter what might be happening, meditation, soul searching, confession even - there is always a hint of joy and celebration. I had a feeling that my stay might be really short this time so I slipped into the chapel. The chapel is the quietest place in the Abbey, possibly in the whole of Lemuria and just sitting in it brings comfort to those in pain and peace to those whose minds are in turmoil. 

I sat in a pew at the back and realised that a small group of residents were taking a break from practising their exquisite choral singing. I had heard them often and to my mind their music is the perfect antidote for those with an unquiet heart. I held my head in my hands and allowed the beauty of their combined voices to carry me away to a place where, for a short while, I could know myself and and accept what I found.

   I ask of you sweet Goddesses that you grant me courage

   A pure heart in all my future endeavours

   Acceptance of whatever befalls or is asked of me

   And remain steadfast in the  knowledge that I am safe,

   Blessed,  and will always find my way home.

I crept out as quietly as I’d slipped in with their music still singing in my ears. Ethereal as a group of passing angels they are truly… heavenly.

 Time was passing and I was cutting it fine so I took a risk and raced off to look in the mirror - again.

  Mirror mirror on the wall! Who is the fairest creative of all?

         I am! Yes, it’s still me and I’m ready to fly           

         I’m going on a ship so there’s mud in your eye ! 

         There’s a crew load of chicks manning that wreck 

         And a bird called Matilda - who’d best watch her neck! 

         Squawkkkkk!    

 That was that then. My first look into the Abbey mirror and there’s a giant Macaw just waiting to get out. He looked like a lot of fun but… I wasn’t connected properly, we weren’t  quite as one. Not to worry, it probably happened to everybody the first time. I had dream seeds to plant in a little pot that was going to stay in my cell. You don’t always know what you’ll get when you plant them but they’re reputed to have special powers.

Cocoa and biscuits had been placed on my bedside table and I decided it might be a good thing to eat a couple of seeds in an attempt to make sure that if I dreamt I wouldn’t have nightmares. I felt unnaturally restless but for some reason, even in my lovely, comfortable bed where I usually slept well… the very air seemed to crackle with anticipation.

Oh well, I guessed it would all come out in the wash and after a bout of uncontrolled sneezing, too much time in the gardens perhaps, my eyes felt increasingly heavy and weary. I drifted off as gentle, awesomely vivid fluffy things fell with the silence of rainbow coloured snow flakes all around me…                                                

  Jan                   

On The Road

 

Was it a dream?

On the road to the Abbey I met Silky
at a fork in the road
She has come
from the Faraway Tree
to tell me
that a new land is approaching.

Maybe I will take the road less travelled
climb the tree
and meet all my old friends again.

 

Look for the path,
winding from the Abbey gardens
over the stream of Mnemosyne.
Jump the ditch
and enter
the Golden Seed Grove
You will know the Faraway Tree when you see it!

 

A Wicked Midnight Garden

by Anita Marie Moscoso

I wrote this as part of the ” Faraway” Project and it was inspired by the “Dream Seeds” prompt. It’s one of my favorite stories because from it came two characters I’m very fond of …Mr Nightfall and his companion Miss Praecox.

They’ll be visiting the Abbey soon…very, very soon.

amm

                           
 She waits, does she,
for death waits she
in Midnight cry;
voiceless from wailing –
wasted from weeping
for a visit from Faraway.

                                -   by Faucon of Sakin’el

There is a woman who is voiceless from wailing and wasted from weeping and Death visits her from Faraway at Midnight.

Death finds her in her long dead garden tending to weeds and thorns and sticker bushes and poisonous plants and as she harvests and picks and adds each deadly plant to her basket woven from human hair Death shudders and hides in the Shadows and is grateful the Woman can’t see him.

All the same she knows Death is there and when she senses it, she reaches into her basket and lifts one of the plants to her lips and pushes it into her mouth. She chews and swallows and screeches into the darkness, “ Where are you? Why aren’t these working…someone tell me why this isn’t working! “

Death would squeeze it’s eyes shut if it had eyes, so instead it raises it’s pale cold hand to it’s empty eye sockets and covers it’s face the best it can. It’s fingers press against it’s mouth and it does this to keep from calling out, from screaming because the Woman who is voiceless from wailing and wasted from weeping is a corpse and a shell and once long ago she murdered a man.

He was the husband of a woman who came from a place called Sawajinn, and a very long time ago the former resident of Sawajinn cursed the woman who is voiceless from wailing woman over her husband’s poisoned body

Her curse was simple and horrible.

The Weeping Woman would never die; she would never meet her own Death.

Instead she was cursed to meet her victim’s Death.

His Death comes from Faraway every night at Midnight and watches her from the upper branches of a dead twisted oak tree. Of course his Death can’t take her, it only visits her and then it leaves her at each sunrise.

Before it leaves Death shows her something it carries in its left hand.

It shows her a small bottle of white powder and it holds it up and the Woman sees it. She knows what it is, the little bottle once belonged to her, after all.

She puts her hands out and calls, “ Please, please give it to me, take me with you. I can’t live like this anymore! “

Death can see her in the half light and it can see the maggots and flies tangled in her hair, crawling from the corners of her eyes. It can smell her flesh rotting on her bones and it can hear the skin on her legs and back splitting apart.

I’m not your death. But I’ll visit you, I’ll never stop visiting you.”

“ I can’t.”

And as the Sunlight works it’s way into the shadows cast by deadly sweet blossoms and fragrant green leaves dripping with deadly venom Death leaves for Faraway and the woman who is voiceless from wailing and wasted from weeping begins her wait for Death to visit at Midnight.