Fire Dancing Volcano

The sun was high in the sky when we set out for our journey

to make our offering to the Spirit of the Volcano.  We were

unashamedly fearful, and the women seemed to sense this,

gathering as they did among the humid lilies in the garden,

to hum and sing.  As we went along the path up to the high

lands, the humming and singing grew in tempo, until we

found ourselves running.  Voices from the undergrowth

whispered about rolling stones gathering no moss, and wise

things about fear and running, until our motion became

more rhythmic and we danced.  The acrid smoke never

ceased pumping from the vent, and ash fell along our path,

as the wind rose and we ascended the foot of the volcano.

We could hear drums now, along with the hum and song of the

women, becoming ever louder, until we almost had to cover

our ears.  The roar of the funnel high above the treetops was

unceasing and relentless.   “When will we give our offering?”

asked Faerie Wren, flapping his wings on my shoulder.  Then

suddenly a monkey ambled across our path, screeching and

jumping up and down to the beat of the drum.  Faerie Wren

screeched, “Give him the nuts!  The nuts!”  I was startled,

and when the creature bared its sharp teeth, I delved into

the bag and took out the large store of nuts in shells and

threw them at it.  Swiftly the creature caught it with both

hands, grinned slightly, and disappeared into the thick

undergrowth, never to be seen again.

The heat from the volcano was increasing, intensifying the glare

of the high sun, and steam began to rise from the undergrowth

around us, which seemed to whisper again, about the

terrors of Pompeii and other incidents where the earth had seemed

to catch fire.  Was there any way to appease such an unknown

power?  The only thing we had left to give in our bag were

the chilis, and we prayed they would be sufficient.  We danced

faster, running crazily in the rising heat, the increasing drums echoing

across the valley.  “We must survive this, Faerie Wren”, I said,

making sure he was still safe on my shoulder. 

“What if one of us falls in, that perpetual sacrifice to the volcano

story has no charm for me,” he said, recalling his readings from

the Spanish Mission library.  “Luckily they don’t do things like that

anymore…” I said, before stumbling on a rock, from being

dazzled by a kind of red haze, or fire.  Faerie Wren shrieked and

shuddered, fluttering his feathers.  When we gathered our wits, we saw

the reason for our awe, — it was the Volcano Spirit herself,

resplendent in red.  We kept dancing out of nervousness, not

knowing what to say.  Was she the one who hurled people into

the vent, to perish in the flames?  But then she smiled, in a

glowing, fiery kind of way, and said:

“It is enough that you have come.  It is enough you were

brave enough, and wise enough to pay homage,” she whispered,

small flickers of flames coming from her mouth,  “You must

leave tonight, as the cone must release pressure of the earth.  It is

enough that you have come.”

“We have nothing to offer but these,” I said, handing over the chilis.

“Well, these are quite perfect, I love the heat and hot things.  These

will do nicely for my dinner.  Go now, and do not ever return here…”

hissed the Volcano Spirit, flaming away to her high altitude again.

Faerie Wren and I needed no further encouragement, we ran and

ran, to the rhythm of the drums and song, back to the Mission.  We

reached the women among the lilies, telling them the cone would explode

tonight, and they prepared to leave the valley for the highlands until the

danger was over.  “The Spirit of the Volcano looks after us,” they said,

and we swiftly left the Mission, for a destination we did not know…

 

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Volcanic Mission

 

The old, Spanish-style, Mission which now housed many old women of

Kerith in the valley we descended into, was surrounded by a vast

garden of tropical lilies and flowering plants.  The women could be seen at any

hour, we were told, tending the humid blooms.  It was daylight, and the

huffing and growling of the angry volcano could be seen in

clouds of acrid smelling smoke which belched out from its vent, and

wafted across the valley.  It caught in the lowlands, but the seasoned

women paid it no heed.  It was strange, thought Faerie Wren,

flying to the window to sit on the wrought iron which framed it

to watch, how people who were accustomed to constant danger

seemed to become immune to it.  Or lived in some kind of strange tolerance

with it.  I could tell his intellect was at work over these thoughts, so I let him

be.  Relieved by the still, convent-like hush of the dwelling of the women, an

old missionary house afforded a strange peace.  If the walls could speak,

there would be many a tale to tell.   Admittedly, last night it was

frightening, seeing the glow of the larva in the pitch darkness,

not knowing when it might spill over, and run down the valley. 

We knew we could fly out of here if trouble threatened, use the wings,

but that would just mean we had to repeat our journey once again. 

It was that way in Lemuria, because everything about it

went in circles.  What was not done once, had to be done again.  We

could use our magic bag, but that didn’t mean we didn’t need to think

for ourselves or observe the local traditions of the places we went.  To

show disrespect, even to the volcano, would be looked on poorly by

these brave old women, who had moaned against these walls for

centuries for their husbands, long gone away in wars and strife.

The history of the Mission showed it was once occupied by only

men in robes, and it was oddly interesting to find now, that the

situation was reversed completely.   Sitting down at the table, near

the window where Faerie Wren kept up his contemplation of the

constant rumbling, I spread the contents of our bag onto the wooden

table top.  We had to decide with what, and how, we would

appease the volcano…

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Hermit Home

We woke early to find the hot springs and the home of the

Hermit Crab.  It wasn’t hard, because being part hermit,

all we had to do was follow the idea of solitude.

The hot springs were filled with salty water,

with many minerals from the activity of the earth

over millions of years.  We dreamed a dream,

and then replaced it with another, and the salty water

seemed to vapourise into steaming clouds of

illusion, such were thoughts of old we had contained

in ourselves.  Visiting the Hermit Crab Guardian nearby, who

appeared very fierce at first, was aided by our

knowing of solitude, and waiting until the sign on her

door “Do not Disturb” was removed.  She yawned, blinked

her eyes, and seemed pleased as we bowed in greeting

to her.  Fumbling in the bag of supplies, I had an idea

how to appease her.   We had read that by nature the

crab regularly shed its covering for renewal and that it

also replaced its shell as it outgrew the old one.  So it was

logical to produce the lovely red onion from our store,

with the added sentiment of layers and shedding skins,

yet always remaining onion or crab, at core.  So nothing was

ever lost, and the Hermit Crab showed a secret grin

of knowing, grateful to have the lovely shiny skinned onion

in her store.  She waved us onward, rubbing together her

claws, to alert her friends we were passing through.   We had

to continue on to the Volcanic region,

by way of the Kerith River, and while heartened

by the solitary Hermit Crab’s allowance for safe passage,

we could not help but be unsettled at the rumbling

that began, and the eerie glow of the larva flow, as we prepared

to spend the night on high ground…

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Stocking Up At Rainbow Beach

 

Flying back to Rainbow Beach was

like crossing from one territory, or rather reality,

to another.  Faerie Wren wanted to see

his friends, the canaries, and I politely suggested it

might be more social at the Rainbow Beach Drive-In

this time of year, with the good

weather and all.  Besides, we couldn’t afford any

more diversions, and there were many

things ahead on our journey that

were pressing.  We felt a strange sense of deja vu,

viewing some of the scenes from the film,

“Singin’ in the Rain”, and then were well prepared

for any terrors ahead with the scary movies

with all aliens and zombies.  At one point, Faerie Wren’s feathers

stood up on his little head and he did a kind of

bird scream.  Mercury gave him some free bird seed

coated Faerie Floss he seemed to like,

and it calmed him down.  We met up with the

other travellers and friends, and saw the

“Milky Bar Kid” up way past his bedtime, racing

around in his pyjamas in the playground, while his

parents watched the films.  As we were

leaving, we passed through the village and met a

guide who was giving out talismans and supplies for the

journey.  It was a kind of lucky dip affair, he had a

large basket of items we had to choose from,

not knowing what we had chosen until we got back to the

lodgings in the village.  When we took the banana leaf

wrappers off them, we laid them out on the table, just so,

and wondered about them, before we went to sleep:

an onion, some dried chilis, and nuts in the shell…

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

The Poet’s Dream

 

Castles in the air bring interesting dreams, which soon became evident, in

the memories Faerie Wren and I had on preparing to make the

journey back to Rainbow Beach.  We felt the inspirations of

poet’s dreams, read about them in the vast library,

 including T. E. Lawrence on dreaming and living.

Though Faerie Wren did want to underpin the

magical with a few facts for the intellect.  Yet the dream really

needed no thought at all, beyond the dream…

which was really perfection itself.

 

 

(Thanks You Tube for the vintage clip, Cyd Charisse and Gene Kelly,

dancing the dream sequence from “Singin’ in the Rain“, 1952.)

 (altered clipart courtesy karenswhimsy online.)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Giants, Laws and Magic

“Every action has an equal and opposite reaction” said Faerie Wren,

given to science at times, well aware of his tendency to logic, and seeking

out the laws of Newton, and others besides.

“All I can remember is dancing on moonbeams, and now we

are blessed with castles in the air, and know not why…” I said,

glad our bags had been restored to life by the moon.  Our glasses

were working, but a bit foggy, due to the attempts of the intellect

to grasp the meaning of why we were safe, now.  The castle we now

dwelt in was in the air, and it hovered above Old Woman Island.

 

 

The Giants, the Amazons, had heard our

pleas for help, yet could not come until we slept,

and were assisting the boy with the golden goose, informing the trees.

“To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,” said Faerie Wren,

and as he read, and understood, his glasses became less blurred. 

The castle had an endless library, full of books.

“I see, are you talking about the laws, the karmic laws?” I said,

turning the small unicorn over in my hands, and contemplating it.

“In a sense, it seems to say, they are interrelated, hmmm…”

“The Giant was not much of a match for the Amazons, it turned out…”

“Yes, that much I can remember.”

I became pensive, thinking of Rainbow Beach, and the

journey so far.

“You know, we can’t stay here forever, in this castle in the air,”

I said, yet knowing a return.

“Yes, but things have changed, and we understand it, — it was just

an equal and opposite reaction…”

“I am beginning to understand it,” I said, and then Faerie Wren

stood up and puffed out his chest and started to sing.

(clipart courtesy Karen’swhimsy online.)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

 

 

Critical Thunder

(The Uninvited Guest - Marillion.) 

All of a sudden, the dance abruptly ended with an ominous sound

of loud drumbeats that seemed to reverberate all

over the Island, an unmistakeable warning.  The visions of the clearing

quickly vanished, the wonderful bard, the spinners and weavers,

as Faerie Wren and I were grabbed by

the scruff of our necks, by rough, giant hands we

couldn’t see because our eyes were closed.  Our glasses

had vanished, and all we could see when we opened

them was the still water of a cove miles down from the cliff we

we hanging over.  And two rocks, one big, one small. 

“One for each of us,” said Faerie Wren, grinning darkly, having

remembered an experience like this in another incarnation,

as Belenus the donkey, only that time the force wasn’t so big…

“It’s that sky, that dark sky, it’s angry at us for looking at the

mysteries, I didn’t realise it was a trick.  Now look at us,” I whispered,

about to perish on the rocks of our own curiosity…no wonder the

Gods are angry with us.”

“No more dancing,” said Faerie Wren, “no future, no more joy…”

“It was so lovely, what cruel trick is this, to steal our joy from us as soon

as we’ve seen it for the first time.”

Thunder rumbled heavily, clashing and bashing in the sky, like

tumbling rocks in a huge, echoing chamber.   Rain started to pour down

on the water below, making dancing patterns we thought we

would never see again. 

“Remember,” said Faerie Wren, staring hard at the raindrops,

“it’s what we focus on, it gets bigger.  That damned intellect running

unbridled without his bride…havoc in the heavens and below.”

We could feel the massive hands on our necks squeezing harder,

making us choke. 

“Change, remember the dance, the unicorn,” I said, “and stare at the

raindrops playing on the water, it has to be true, what we saw…

doesn’t it?  Or was it all a dream?”

“I know it was real,” said Faerie Wren, “but this feels more real.”

 

We were frightened, shaking — all our magic was gone, and

terror was all that remained in the iron grip of the Giant who shattered

the quiet peace of the idyllic island.  Where was the Triton?  Where

were the magical women of the Island?  Our journey had been

for nothing, but to taste briefly the possibilities of the future, only to

be harrowed and brought close to annihilation by critical thunder.

“I can’t do this anymore,” said Faerie Wren, panic stricken,

“If there are any more adventures like this, I’m not going.”

“Shut up, I can hardly breathe with your bleating and narrow mindedness,

think about the dancing raindrops on the water…”

“But none of our magic works in this darkness, with the critical

Giant at our throats.  And that booming voice, telling us how

wretched, lowly and worthless we are.”

“Oh, I can’t bear it,” I said, wriggling and struggling,  “And how guilty we are,

“it’s ugly, yet none of it true.  It’s as if we were intruders in the mysteries, when I

can remember distinctly being invited on this journey by the

Great Enchanteur herself, and welcomed by the Old Woman.”

“It’s the Giant that’s not welcome, not invited,” said Faerie Wren,  “We mustn’t listen.

We mustn’t be crushed on the rocks below.”

Amid the constant rumbling and ground shaking, the sound of a wooden

spoon banging on a saucepan was heard.  It was almost as loud as the

thunder, and stirred the Giant, at once diverting his attention.

Another giant, a woman, was running across the top of the cliff,

calling out that someone had stolen their golden goose, bidding

her husband come and chase the villain, a young boy racing across the

land and disappearing into the pine tree forest.  It took the Giant

only a moment to decide Faerie Wren and I were of no value

compared to his golden goose.  We were shaken free of the iron grip

so abruptly we almost tumbled over the cliff edge, but glad to be breathing again,

relieved by the unexpected magic of diversion and what could

only be seen as divine intervention.   The boy would be safe, and the trees

would never let the giant find him, but that was something we’d

keep to ourselves.

We were bruised and shaken, and did not know when the magic

would return, the land was still dark but the thunder abated.

We could only wait.  We would wait and dream and sleep, watched

over by the moon, with the hope of the sun rising.  Our magical

bags were laid out by the light of the full moon to be made enchanted

again.  It was too frightening to think of what might have been, and

we remembered to trust in hope, and then something else

we couldn’t see…

(Thanks You Tube for “Uninvited Guest” clip by the brilliant Marillion.)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

 

A Fertile Clearing

The women from the caves seemed to urge us to a nearby clearing,

…after they had shown us the future, quietly, with their wise eyes…

…so we put our glasses on, so we would see things differently,

…and came to a tropical glade, where

oleanders bloomed after fresh rain,

…and listened to a magical bard, singing about beautiful things…

 

…And this was written on some paperbark,

tacked to a tree in the clearing…

Faerie Wren and I just danced and

danced when we read it…

The Dance
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

I have sent you my invitation,
the note inscribed on the palm of my hand by the fire of living.
Don’t jump up and shout, “Yes, this is what I want! Let’s do it!”
Just stand up quietly and dance with me.

Show me how you follow your deepest desires,
spiralling down into the ache within the ache.
And I will show you how I reach inward and open outward
to feel the kiss of the Mystery, sweet lips on my own, everyday.

Don’t tell me you want to hold the whole world in your heart.
Show me how you turn away from making another wrong without abandoning yourself when you are hurt and afraid of being unloved.

Tell me a story of who you are,
And see who I am in the stories I am living.
And together we will remember that each of us always has a choice.

Don’t tell me how wonderful things will be . . . some day.
Show me you can risk being completely at peace,
truly OK with the way things are right now in this moment,
and again in the next and the next and the next. . .

I have heard enough warrior stories of heroic daring.
Tell me how you crumble when you hit the wall,
the place you cannot go beyond by the strength of your own will.
What carries you to the other side of that wall,
to the fragile beauty of your own humanness?

And after we have shown each other how we have set and kept the clear, healthy boundaries that help us live side by side with each other, let us risk remembering that we never stop silently loving those we once loved out loud.

Take me to the places on the earth that teach you how to dance, the places where you can risk letting the world break your heart.
And I will take you to the places where the earth beneath my feet and the stars overhead make my heart whole again and again.

Show me how you take care of business
without letting business determine who you are.
When the children are fed but still the voices within and around us shout that soul’s desires have too high a price,
let us remind each other that it is never about the money.

Show me how you offer to your people and the world
the stories and the songs you want our children’s children to remember, and I will show you how I struggle
not to change the world, but to love it.

Sit beside me in long moments of shared solitude,
knowing both our absolute aloneness and our undeniable belonging. Dance with me in the silence and in the sound of small daily words, holding neither against me at the end of the day.

And when the sound of all the declarations of our sincerest
intentions has died away on the wind, dance with me in the infinite pause before the next great inhale of the breath that is breathing us all into being, not filling the emptiness from the outside or from within.

Don’t say, “Yes!”
Just take my hand and dance with me.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer 
http://www.robinsweb.com/inspiration/dance.html

(Poetry courtesy Lisa from GMS, copyright Oriah Mountain Dreamer.

Video, the brilliant Marillion track “Beautiful” sung by

Steve Hogarth, from You Tube.)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Spinners and Weavers Evolving

…as the spinning and weaving women continued

to evolve the story, we sat transfixed,

to the amazing conclusion

and sat in the cave for a very long time,

without speaking…

(Thanks You Tube and Lisa from GMS for the healing clip.)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Weavers and Spinners Continued…

Deep in the cave of the spinning and weaving women,

the Futures,

Faerie Wren I watched in silence as

the patterns unfolded…

and continued to unfold…

(Thanks You Tube for the healing clip, and Lisa from GMS.)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Weavers and Spinners

After all the fun, and exploring Rainbow Beach and its wonderful

diversions, it was time to visit the ladies again on Old Woman

island.  Faerie Wren and I flew, following the path of the Kerith

River, with all its fertility, seeing giant turtles in pairs, and

numerous other animals, swimming two by two along its flourishing

flow.   There was so much nourishment in the creative waters there,

and we knew this would bode well for our journey back to the island.

Faerie Wren reminded me not to forget to use the anchor to descend to

land, so I let it go, and it did the work of grounding us again.

Once on the island, we traded some stories with the people there,

and it seemed they already knew them, and of the merry goings

on at Rainbow Beach.  The Old Woman nodded at us, this time sunning

herself outside the hut, fanned by a huge palm leaf.  She seemed to

glow with contentment, and it was so.  She was a woman of few words,

but everything on the island worked to her silent serenity and wisdom,

and she did not need to say much at all.  It was like magic had blessed

the enchanted island.  We bought a red coral necklace, to support the

local crafts, as we had pledged not to harm the sea creatures when meeting

with the Triton.  It was lovely and would serve as a fitting gift for the

weaving and spinning women.  The Old Woman said we would know

them by the rainbows which sat always above their industrious caves.

When we arrived at their sanctuary, it was a lush and green valley,

catacombed with different rooms etched into the cliff faces, decorated

with exotic flowers that glowed like jewels in the sun.  And then we saw

the rainbows, suspended in the blue sky, no rain to bring them, but it

showed the air had a quality full of moisture, good to breathe, and good

for creativity, it was said to us by the guides. 

“Now you are seeing the future,” they said, before leaving us in the valley,

gazing in awe at the colours, and the many caves.

“How do we know which one is ours?” said Faerie Wren, stretching out his tiny

wings in a kind of shrug.

“Perhaps we need to use our senses, our intuition…” I said.

“Isn’t that your department?” he replied, looking as if he might grin, but then thinking better of it.

“A wise wren like you ought to know he has built in intuition, he just has to use it.”

“Okay, I know what you mean…”

Faerie Wren hopped on my shoulder and we closed our eyes and thought

of a cave.  Then, when we opened them, we looked at exactly the same one. 

The unicorn in Enchanteur’s bag seemed to jump and wriggle around,

confirming its knowing.

We had a climb up the rocky steps, through shaggy, hanging flowers,

wet with dew and shining with their jewel like colours. 

Even though we climbed to a very high altitude,

we could breathe normally, and were amazed.  At the entrance

of the cave, we saw the weaving and spinning women,

working on our futures,

and they allowed us to sit down. 

They were very pleased with our gift, and loved the colour particularly. 

It was cool inside the cave, but not damp.  And in

all places, the rainbow colours seemed to reflect, on the cave walls

in glints of gemstones and mica. 

The ladies continued their work, and we were allowed

to watch.  It was like seeing a film, very strange at first, and hardly real,

but it was only just the beginning…

(Thanks You Tube, and Lisa from GMS for the healing clip.)

(Copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Nostalgic Island Trip

Strange things happen at Rainbow Beach.  Finally able to wrench

Faerie Wren away, sporting a big headache, across in the boat to

Old Woman Island.  The people on the island were so

friendly and welcoming, we were very pleased.  It

appeared our taking part in the local festivities

pleased them, so Faerie Wren was vindicated. 

We asked to see the old woman of the

island, and a guide told us she was sleeping in one of

the huts, and we were not to disturb her.  Yet, said the

guide, “the whole island is an old woman”, that the old Nature

Goddess of old covered the whole length and breadth

of it, and would keep us safe in the treacherous waters,

in place of the Old Woman.   We gave a gold coin

to the guide and were shown the way to the diving

point.  We had to wear our glasses underneath our

suits, so we could see what we were looking for,

the Triton of the Deep…

The conventional diving suit was perfect for use here in

the deep, but Faerie Wren had to morph into his fish

suit, as there were none for birds. 

He can be seen swimming above me, in orange, and

took to it like a duck to water.  So many beautiful colours

and sights to see.  We carefully avoided the deepest parts and

treacherous ledges we had been warned about…

The Triton was not easy to find.  We had to change our minds

about what we expected.  Entering a part of the deep that was

different, we suddenly noticed that everything was huge.  The

seaweed was large and waved around with the underground

currents.  There at the centre of it was a giant golden orange

casket or cave, and we could hear a whispery voice emit from

it.  We instinctively knew it was the home of the Triton.

We offered it a prayer for the good of the ocean life and the

mysteries of the undersea world, and pledged never to

harm the realms there.  This pleased the Triton, and

it sang us a song, in tune with some whale noises we

had heard before.  Faerie Wren was so enchanted he

curled a precious necklace of sea beads around the giant seaweed

that grew around the home of the Triton, and then

we returned to the island, with a blessing from the

enchanted deep…

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Post Script:  These images are part of some senior school art assignments I did at the age of twelve or thirteen, using a watery theme technique on paper to create an undersea effect.  Little did I know that many years later, I would use these again, to be rewarded by a pleasing sense of nostalgia online.  These ideas are still relevant in the intensely technological years, which followed these early works at school, on paper.

Clambake Time at Rainbow Beach

Faerie Wren!  More WEB 2.0

training!  And Elvis, Bill Bixby the Magician, and Food!

Dig in everyone.

Will we ever get to the ladies on

the island???  What did they put in the

waters here???  This pageant sure

goes on forever on the Rainbow Beach

in Lemuria…

(Thanks You Tube for the Elvis Trailer for the film “Clambake”, 1967.)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Faerie Wrens and Sherry Don’t Mix

All this revelry on the island has had its way with Faerie Wren!

Mixing with a group of island canaries,

drinking sherry out of thimbles

has had its effects on the

little one…now he thinks he sees

the boats coming, and he’s seeing

Elvis doing a show for everyone,

even if he wasn’t ever really much of a

fan, the crowds are going wild…

whatever will be next?  A big Clambake??

He insists this important for his WEB 2.0 training,

but I am beginning to have my doubts…

 

(Thanks to You Tube for Elvis footage for this story.)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Rainbow Water Crystals Show

 

Faerie Wren and I were overwhelmed at the sights, sounds and

riots of colour at Rainbow Beach, and the activity there…

and we joined in for the pageant.

There was so much water everywhere, we

wanted to show the beauty of rainbow

ice crystals with some

divine music,

from people living in other places…

relax and enjoy!

 

(Thanks to You Tube for the inspiring visuals for the journey!)

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Rainbow Beach Dawn

On Faerie Wren’s back I sighted Rainbow Beach,

but the name was deceiving, it was dawn, my eyes

were sleepy, and all I could see was the fertile

vegetation of the sea, but no colours.

I put my glasses on as we gradually came down

from the clouds, and saw something

wonderful and red, as the sun rose

and peeked through the clouds…

Getting out my tiny anchor, as we prepared to land

near this wonderful red flower, Faerie Wren was

telling me how auspicious Red Coral was, which was

also the name of this tree, with it’s luscious flowers,

just like coral of the sea. 

“Legend says Red Coral of the mineral kingdom provides

great healing and protection!  It’s cousin in the plant

kingdom is just the same, and welcomes us

on the journey…”

Faerie Wren added that myth told that the red coral of

the sea was once the land coral’s ancestor, explaining

with a tweet and a twitter that it had evolved,

using its own innate intelligence, to thrive onland.

I was rather sleepy, and a little dubious, intending

to think on it a bit more.  I didn’t know in this

land of magic, what was true and what was

Faerie Tale…

 

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Postbox Portal

 After gathering with the other travellers in the Woods,

and paying homage to the Muses,

a strange portal appeared.  It was a postbox slot in

green, shimmering in the sun, covered

with ivy fig.  No sooner had I passed through

the small, narrow opening…

 

 …did a handsome faerie wren appear,

chirping and talking in a human voice.  “Come away,

fair maiden, come away…” it said, with a

whistle and a chirp, and bade me hop on

its back.  “You did want to fly, didn’t you?”

 So it was with travelling robes

and Enchanteur’s bag flying, 

I soared above the Woods, aloft in

the clear sky on the wren’s back.  The regulation glasses

made me see everything vividly, so I kept them on.

Even the familiar paths through the

Murmuring Woods looked different from high above.

Trust Enchanteur to make the journey interesting!

She never fails!   I had my anchor safely tucked

away for any necessary landing, however sudden.

It was not long before we would see Rainbow

Beach, said the wren, but that it would not

appear as I imagined…

On these journeys, nothing ever does!

– Imogen Crest, Travelling Nature Hermit.

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

Clown Portal Amusement

(copyright Imogen Crest 2008.)

(This is some inspiration from a conversation between Heather and

Genece, on portals and circuses.  Millions flock through

this clown mouth every year, to an amusement park near

Melbourne.   An interesting kind of portal, indeed!)