Monthly Archives: March 2017

I have a notion…

Sun in Gemini

I have a notion

That eons’ light and dark

Have left their mark

Upon our inner ocean

I have a shadow

Whose lengthening crease

Is cast on mood and body’s peace

When walking muddy meadow

We have duration

The dog and I endure the grime

Of Cumbria’s winter prime

Intent on silence in privation

But then…

Like surgical precision

Spring’s herald of the special day

Will set that spiral switch to ‘play’

In alchemy of healing human fission

Enduring soul, dark knight

That through the darkening days

Must hold and trust in its own ways

Embraces reborn outer light

©Copyright Stephen Tanham 2017

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Mother of all Living…

*

The Spirit planted a garden on its holy mountain in the east.

It was sown with trees whose fruits were blazing jewels:

diamond, sapphire, and agate, emerald, sardonyx and cornelian, opal,

beryl, and topaz, malachite, garnet and amethyst.

*

In the centre of the garden grew the tree

of life; four streams, of milk, honey,

wine and oil issued from its roots.

*

The golden leaves and bright, crimson jewels which adorned

its branches, surpassed in beauty all the other created things,

and its glorious crown threw a radiant shadow over the garden.

*

The garden in the east was tended by Yva, the mother of all living.

 

Hidden tales

The Silent Eye

A veil of silence closes around the stories of my day. They are stories of love, and of loss, and of the heartache that we each experience at some point in our lives. Of the tragedies played out behind staid lace curtains or ultra-modern blinds, in the quiet precincts of home or the corridors of aseptic impersonality. They are all our human stories that mark the rites of life and the seeds of growth, defining the learning curve of emotion. And they touch us all, as soon as we open ourselves to love in any of its myriad guises.

What is the alternative? A bland life lacking in the emotional peaks and troughs…? While we think that we could happily live without the heartaches perhaps… without them would we be able to look up to the heights and appreciate their beauty? You only see the true glory of a mountain…

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Tipping the scales

Shamanic Paths

Field mouse (Found on Pinterest)

I hadn’t really thought it through properly, had I?

It has been a long, hard battle; over twelve years and counting; to control the problem. No, not mice – the cats!

When we moved into this house, whilst aware that the property had lain empty for over two years, we never imagined that, in that time, the local cat population would have, in our garden, established a de-facto latrine.

We were completely unprepared for the daily visit from every Moggie within prowling distance. Their right to befoul the entire area was never in doubt, in their minds at least. The derision with which they treated any human daring to enter their domain was, in equal measure, both frustrating and funny. Finding their little, fetid “presents” snuggled amongst the plants, underfoot, sprayed in your face, as the lawnmower picked up a fresh one, was…

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Exit in Trance…

*

…Face of moving water

Breathing in water

The water a breathing face…

*

Today I will speak to you

For, today, we hold a race

A sprint to the death

Whose spirit yields to the swiftest

The fleetest of foot…

*

He, who with the most fateful

Imagination of mind

Can picture the year

Bearing fruit

through a carnival of fear…

*

It is he whom we call great

He, who grants freedom to stars.

Magic in the night

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

A long time ago in a decade far, far away, a little girl sat enthralled, reading her way through the Giant Golden Book of Elves and Fairies.  She already knew that these were ‘fairy tales’…  real faeries were very different; not tiny winged fashion models, but something far deeper and older. The stories were good, though and anything that lived between the covers of a book was always magical.

There were tales of missing mer-children, silver slippers and all manner of poems and folk-tales. The only poem I remember was a tale of fairy music, calling as the fairies danced in the moonlight and the only line that always stayed with me was, ‘when a ring’s around the moon‘.

I looked it up. That’s the magic of the internet, right there. As soon as memory resurfaces, our fingers can trace what our conscious minds have lost…

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unfathomable and vast

dhamma footsteps

POSTCARD #256: New Delhi: No memory now of the journey, the three-legged hop from Chiang Mai, Bangkok to Delhi. Nor the specific sense of my wormhole through space-time, large enough but no bigger than my body size, songs of the mind, and belongings – things we cling to/ clings we thing to. The urgency of speed, an immense engine sound deafened, hidden, obscured and bubble-like enclosure built over it, designed with the dynamics of flight … the same plane flying to and from the same route all of its working life, and the ‘to’ becomes the ‘from’… no end, no beginning. Maintenance crews service the parts when it lands. From the engines’ point of view, everything is stationary. It’s the world that moves.

Arriving at the Delhi house then, with ears sucked out and everything familiar yet creepy, the coldness of known objects that’ve been unheld for all this time…

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Running on Empty? #writephoto…

*

Yva followed on Abadam’s heels, “O Abadam,”

she cried, “you have walked in the garden in the

east, where every precious stone was your covering.

             *

You were a sealer of the sum, whose works and trappings were

prepared, and set all about you, on the day you were created.

*

You were a guardian of the Holy-Mountain,

anointed in the shadow of the Sacred-Tree.

*

You were perfect in wisdom and filled with beauty,

and you walked with the Spirit amidst the stones-of-fire.

*

Yet, for me, you have relinquished all of this.

I will come with you, wherever you may go.”

*

https://scvincent.com/2017/03/23/thursday-photo-prompt-empty-writephoto/

Photo prompt round-up – Deep #writephoto

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

The photo for this week’s prompt was taken at Stump Cross Caverns in Yorkshire. About a quarter of the known four miles of the caverns are open to the public. Fossilised bones of bison, wolverine and reindeer have been found in the caves that were formed 500,000 years ago, when the ocean covered the land. I used to love visiting these caves as a child with my grandfather and mother, both of whom would spin stories around the strange formations of the stalactites and stalagmites. There is a story that one of the explorers found and underground lake in the caverns, but sealed the entrance when the owners refused him a share of the profits. There are still caverns yet to be explored… who knows what may yet be found.

Thank you to everyone who took part this week. There are so many wonderful contributions! Please click on the links

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The blurb

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

Image: Coyote walking by Sue Vincent

“We already have the blurb!”

“We do?”

“We do!”

“‘Coyote is a Native American culture hero, buffoon, and trickster figure who mixes animal and human traits to mostly comic, often catastrophic, and sometimes salutary effect.’ Not quite how I’d have phrased it, but… ‘The world in which Coyote moves can be conceived as a parallel to the Aboriginal Australian Dreaming and to the worlds of most other early indigenous mythological story cycles and systems’ …this is the most boring blurb ever… ‘including those which are native to our own shores.'”

My companion was head in hands. It was difficult to determine whether the shoulders were shaking with laughter or tears. Nevertheless…

“‘Wherever and whenever our world is perceived as a sentient being’ … it’s a graphic novel… ‘and the pervading ontology’… pervadingontology?” He howled. I hoped it was laughter. “‘…  is animistic in nature; wondrous…

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