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

 

 

The Dance of the Drying Crabe

the whole tale begins with my grandmother deshaw passing away in her 70s she had 2 daughters both of them very emotional and passionate

unfortunately they hadn’t been getting on before this happened so instead of drawing them together it shattered their bonds

matt had had to show me the work of max cannon the creator of the red meat comic strip he had recently purchased one of max’s books and what he showed me set us off

it was a takeoff on the old dick tracy comic strip but this tracy is fired from the police force for being an anachronism and too violent it shows him descending into a skid rowlike environs

in a vain attempt to cheer himself up he paid for a prostitute unfortunately the poor bugger caught a case of the crabs from the fallen angel

the image of the faux dick tracy was done in such a manner that he looked like a sillhouette

the crabs were white and crawling all over his raincoat in the final scene he growls oh no crabes which is how it was spelled by max cannon

matt and i got very silly and were joking about some poor person catching those crabes size wise they were about the same as a fat chihuahua

the day of my granmother’s wake i was doing fine until i went to iron my pants and a childhood memory caught me broadside

when i was perhaps three or four i asked my grandma deshaw to show me how to iron grandma smiled approvingly as did grandpa

standing next to grandma deshaw with the little ironing board and grandma’s broken iron that was barely warm at its hottest.

i had a stack of grandpa deshaw’s handkerchiefs and as I pressed them i would pause look up and say ise eyening gumma ise eyening

grandma was doing the real ironing next to me she stood there slimmer her hair a thick glory of honey-blonde locks always perfectly coiffed and nails carefully manicured

as soon as i pictured this i started crying and mum came bustling out of her room in worry to see what i was doing

as soon as she saw me at the ironing board she started to cry too we just held each other and cried for as long as we needed it

after we had stopped crying we were joking about it being a good thing we hadn’t done our faces yet then went back to readying ourselves for the wake

the funeral had 2 sets of people divided along which daughter they were friends with and neither group wished to speak to the other

everyone knows how those family feuds can go underground and become a hidden glacier that freezes to death everything above it

the next day was the funeral that was quite stressful and everyone was glad to leave the hot shadeless graveside and return to their air-conditioned lives

mum and i went over to matt and doreens and had some wine and little more wine then we ended up at the pool in mums manufactured home communnity and jacuzzi

as mum doreen and yoli talked all at once matt was talking with me and bobbing in the water when we noticed this poor little beetleybug slowly drowning in the pool

ever so carefully we slid our hands under the beetle and lifted him above the water and gently deposited him on the rough decking around the pool

matt and i talked of little things what his latest new band was the concerts we were planning to see as we watched this nondescript beetle clean off his midbrown carapace and then dry his dragonfly like wings

he saved his antennae until last and with exquisite care and slow movements he dried and then adjusted them to fit perfectly again

he seemed to wave a foreleg in our direction before he trundled carefully away from the pool which set matt and i to wondering if the beetle thought us benevolent and warm deities

later in the evening we went back over to matt and doreens and had a lovely london broil dinner matt fell asleep early being sun-baked and beered

i did tarot layouts for doreen and yoli it seemed that the only one paying attention was pebbles yolis long coated chihuahua

yoli taped a portion of the tarot layouts then a animated short for matt and then i began the tale of the dance of the drying crabe

i soon realised that words would never do the image justice so i got on my hands and knees to demonstrate

mum doreen and yolie were laughing helplessly while doreen kept calling to matt matt get up and come ova heehr gwen looks jus like a bug

by the time i was demonstrating the beetleybug drying his antennae i could barely remain kneeling on all fours i was laughing that hard

to this day we still laugh about the dance of the drying crabe, so when mme laenchanteur turned me into a crab that is what i saw in my mind

Facing the portal

I stand in front of the Portal, drawn and repelled at once. Drawn because of the need to escape the knowledge I carry, and impeded because the knowledge cannot be ignored.

The portal itself is awesome in an offbeat manner. It is built after Stonehenge, but this henge’s stones lean at unnerving, drunken angles and no two arcs are the same.

All of the stones other than The Portal itself are carved in the same manner. Originally, they were rough-hewn; but, all Portals are places where dimensions intermingle and they are known for the violence of ferocity of their storms.

Time and the abrasive elements of this side of The Portal have smoothed the towering stones until sharp cuts are become smooth undulations, almost glassy in texture.

All of the stones must have been mined from the same place, for they are all the some colours, veins of a shimmering silvery tint, and the grey of the rest is somewhere between moonshadow, and the night sky at MoonDark.

Once upon a time, the runes were carved deeply into the stone, and could be read from an incredible distance. As I stand here they are a ghostly Braille and my sensitive fingertips barely feel the cut that remains.

The Portal is a carving from one enormous piece of pure white stone. The base narrows, one soft step at a time until it reaches the the doorway. The ‘doorway’ looks for all the world like the snake swallowing his own tail, the sideways 8 that is the symbol of infinity.

Westerly winds moan through the larger portion of The Portal, full of a restless swirling of images. If I look without looking I can see all of history in the images.

Here the Runes are as sharply graven as when they were first carved. I don’t know the language or recognise the runes, yes as my fingers run through the silken furrows in the rock, I <i>intuit</i> their rhythm and syntax.

I begin to sing in a well-modulated, expressive alto, what my voice would have been if I could sing. The sounds are unfamiliar, yet I enunciate the syllables clealy.

The runes begin to glow, a tracery of gold (long since stolen) in the rock. As I continue to sing, I realise that I am reading from the bottom left and rightwards up.

Oh!! I want so to slip through the spiralling images in their widdershins gavotte, lose myself in completely different worlds and time.

I am held back, a knowledge so heavy I struggle for each breath. I am confident that I can ’survive’ whatever comes and eventually flourish again.

It is my loved ones I worry over, what would this knowledge do to them. If I need to tell them ere confirmation I will, but I don’t want to upset them if I can help it.

I did not seek this knowledge, nor did I wish its presence in my life; still, here it is, a dark mutant who claims squatters rights to a part of my flesh.

I have refused to utter these words aloud, and they are too much for one spirit to carry.

This, then is what holds me fast on the wrong side of The Portal. A small word really, just 5 letters, yet it smashes into lives and leaves them indelibly marked. It brings such change, and loss with its presence.

I do not aspire to the word ‘Cancer’, I do not contemplate mortality. I seek instead to gather my forces and fight this with everything I can bring to bear against it.

Sibilant as a snake, coiling in fear is the word ‘hysterectomy’. Again I will not give in, I will face it no matter the fear I feel.

Suddenly, at last, as soon as I think this to myself; the swirl in The Portal pulls back somehow, and it takes on the guise of a tornado.

I am sucked through and I land in a glorious place. Everyone here bears their own sorrows, and faces their worries squarely. Their wisdom a healing balm on a spirit worn thin by the amount of worry and stress in life at this time.

I look up, seeking Mme la Enchanteur. She stands beside me, reflecting such beauty of spirit and character I could easily salaam deeply and ceaselessly in honour of her presence in my life.

I am crying, as I did when I began this life, in awareness, anger, and courage. I have friends now, ones I know I can turn to, and trust; with them I am indomitable and immortal.

The tears soon cease, as I am comforted by Mme La Enchanteur, and the shamans that have found their way here. I am become invincible by their support, and planning for a long and productive future.

Mme wraps my fingers around the bag she has gifted me with. As she holds my hands in hers I feel a rush of ozone through my system. Goodness me!!!!

I am transformed into a scuttling crab, armoured, still vigilant and ever wary though. I look at my claws and flex them reflexively.

I am struck by a memory flash, Matt, Mum, Doreen, and Yoli, while Matt sleeps the women chat in the living room. I am recounting the tale of the beetley-bug Matt and I rescued from the pool earlier in the day.

After we had lifted the tiny beetle, no larger than a small freckle, from the water and settled him on the pool decking to dry.

As everyone else chattered and bounced in the water Matt and I watched the beetle dry himself until he waved his antennae in a seeming thank you,and then flew off, unharmed.

I began to laugh, because Matt and I had called the beetle’s cleaning ‘The Dance of the Drying Crabe(A whole ‘nother tale)’.

I was with family, and we all were glowing a bit more than usually, so I demonstrated The Dance of the Drying Crabe to them.

On my chubby knees, and hands I imitate the beetle cleaning his wings, legs, and carapace before his antennae are carefully dried and coiffed.

Mum and Doreen were laughing helplessly, between fits of laughter Doreen yells,”Matt, you need to cammere!!! Gwen looks just like a bug!!”

Yoli had enough sense of mind to videotape that, after taping a bizarre bit of animation for Matt, as well as my doing a Tarot spread, and the only living thing that paid any attention to me was Yoli’s Chihuahua; she sat next to me looking quite Sphinxlike as she would first look at the card I was pointing to, then seem to listen to my words with great interest and attention.

I want to tell everyone that I think it quite funny that I am now a crab (crabe?), then I think to myself, “Self, they won’t understand crabspeak. Just find the nearest computer, there you can whack your message out!”

I took off in my crabwise scuttle, climbing a curtain one clawful at a time, and stand before a computer, claws aloft in jubilation.

I focus my eyes on their stalks on the monitor, must it flicker so?? I may get landsick if this continues. With the smaller claw I begin to write my message one claw-on-key click at a time.

I am not quite up to capital letters, or punctuation, but I can space and ‘return’ so it is a beginning.

“

hello mme la enchanteur thank you for having me here and thank you for making me a crab now i will have a good reason to tell you the tale of the drying crabe

“

gwenguin

Adding meself- take 2

I thought I had posted this already, but alas, I was in error. So we are on Take 2

Quiet on the set!!

I have added my name/category to this blog as HRH GwenGuin.

I have also created a personal blog on WordPress:

http://gwenmmyers.wordpress.com/