Daily Archives: May 16, 2017

Unexpected Shaman (5) – Life and Death on Kukulcan

Not quite the conclusion of Steve’s personal odyssey into the Mayan Mythos…

The Silent Eye

Kukulcan1

The count had reached forty steps by the time the newfound realised what was happening. Below him, the rising air from the plateau smelled, newly, of summer grasses and deeply-perfumed flowers. 

The sun, near vertical overhead, beat down with a ferocity that touched skin which seemed naked; and yet fed, unburnt, from the sky-borne radiance. It was summer’s height and yet, at the same time, it was midday. Disbelieving eyes blinked, as the import of the snarling lines of light bore into what had been his brain.

Eighty steps, and the ground below seemed to be falling away. Ninety and it was a distant memory, yet still there. His legs were walking in the air, in large circular steps, as the Jaguar sought and weeded out the pale image of a calendar on his study wall, replacing it with a movement that involved his whole body in ecstatic, radial motion.

The…

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High-Way to Tara…

*

Fin Mac Cuill stood on an out-crop of rock and surveyed the Fortress of Tara…

Brightly coloured banners ran from the breeze over her ornately carved roof-poles…

Long had Fin yearned for this moment, Tara before him and his feet upon the High-Way that led to her…

There was no need now to hasten his steps.

Fin allowed his thoughts to wander…

His mind penetrated the long-roofed halls of Conn, beloved king of his father…

The long-roofed halls where Goll now lorded it…

Goll, Lord of the Fianna…

Goll, slayer of Cuill!

“A heartening sight, is it not?” mused a voice close by him.

Fin turned swiftly in alarm, regretting the loosening of the fetters which normally bound his mind.

The stranger smiled, “Feast your eyes while ye may, stranger, for tomorrow the sun will rise on the charred ruins of that fortress.”

“What man utters such a dire prophecy?” demanded Fin.

“Daatho, utters this prophecy, a man with lands and thralls here. Were you not a stranger you would know that every third Sarwen, Alain, son of Mithna, burns Tara to the ground.

“One man burns Tara to the ground, you say, Daatho?” grinned Fin, disbelieving.

“He is a Crafty One,” said Daatho, “and those that know, of such veiled things, say that he dwells on Smithies Height.” …

to be continued

A Monday in Bakewell

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

The Monday after the workshop, we headed for Bakewell. Nick was happily ensconced in a hotel in the centre of the Derbyshire town while Alethea and Deb were tucked away up the hill. We were to meet at the church but, with Nick’s electric wheelchair still at the Nightingale Centre, being too big for the car, we were obliged to get out the manual chair and push.

Anyone who knows Bakewell will understand when I say that this was an act of pure heroism on the part of my companion, who rose to the occasion and got the chair right to the northern entrance of the church. It is no mean feat.; the hill is deceptively long and steep. I was already feeling the first intimations of the cold that was to cause so much trouble, so was very grateful not to be behind the chair for once.

Bakewell church…

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