marked out heart

"Of course you know it isn't going to be that easy," the bees buzz. As I'd now shed my skin, they are free to fly around me for the first time. I am touched that they don't make a big deal out of this, or berate me for hiding them from view. They seem to understand that our symbiosis is not an easy one for me.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, walking naked in the world is not easy for humans, never has been," they explain. They are happy to let their wings buzz freely, and sit quietly on my shoulders, my skin as I walk.

"Humans who take such risks have been prone to ridicule and misunderstanding, and some have even been thrown into jail," they say.

"I take your point my dear hive, but this is a different place, and my nakedness is more about the opening of my heart than anything else," I say.

"We were just getting to that actually...don't you think we know you by now?"

I wonder what they mean. It's true, the bees have always been with me. Or almost always. They made their appearance as I came into puberty. It took me years to understand my relationship with them, long hard years that resulted in stings, rashes, battles that left me scarred. And then, after the first six year cycle, falling in love, honey released through my skin, I understood. They knew my heart better than anyone.

"You do understand what's coming, what's involved?"

I stop on my path, my first faltering step ever since I started the journey.

The mapping of my heart.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I sat down to do this, I thought I knew what the outcome would be. I thought it would be about the heart breaks, I was prepared to write about ex-lovers and wrenched goodbyes and premature endings. Nothing prepared me for what actually happened. First I drew a picture, and it didn't turn out like I expected, but then I knew that it was true, because that's just what life is like. I studied it and realised it looked like the surface of a moon, marked out by craters and spots.












I knew I had to take a deeper look, and decided to do a word map of my heart. Inspired by the suggestion below by Faucon of Sakinel, I typed words at random on a blank sheet of paper. Then I freewrote responses to each word. Imagine my surprise when it turned out that most of what I wrote was about my mother. My heart seemed to be all about her. And what I was writing was not pretty. I got negative, dark, angry. But I made sure I ended in a good place. I made sure I ended with the words opening, doors, path, grace, love, heart, now. Because that is where I am.

So it's turned out to be both map and unburdening, which I now offer to the Rainbow Priestess on this humbling journey.

Crossing the Threshold

Any event that occurs at a threshold becomes an omen, a sign. As I come into my own I become much more aware of borders, thresholds, and liminality, the in-between state where things change shape. Like a cat approaching a door, I become very careful of the images that emerge from this in-between state, where, literally anything may happen. The threshold may be the first step out of the door, the beginning of a journey, the passage from one stage of life to another, the transition from sleep to waking, from the known world to the unknown, the beginning of a relationship, the approach to a crossroads. All are a dark door or portal into the unknown and images that emerge at this time are charged with importance.

Over time I have cultivated a stream of consciousness that calls to an awareness in the events of my everyday life. The two thresholds I cross everyday are the border from sleep to waking and the threshold of the house. Upon waking I take the time to remember the last images I had as I move into the day. Similarly, crossing the threshold of my home I become aware of any happening or image that reaches out to me, that strikes my attention. I have learned to carry these images with me to see how they connect with events as they unfold in my daily life. In turn, I entertain these images and let the connections emerge, allowing my intuition to unfold.

Gretchen (c)

mirrored selves

shedding the skin

As I set out on this road that beckons me, I prepare myself for the journey like I have prepared for no other. I may be a seasoned traveller, have a nomadic heritage, but this isn’t a journey like others have been. On this path, I will not need to pack up all my belongings, taking the weight of my life with me, to set up home elsewhere. I will not be asked to go somewhere against my will, against my own desire. I will have choices, starting from right now. And best of all, I really can travel light. I have always had hope and excitement at the start of every journey, but I have also had a stubborn determination to forge ahead, trampling all the while on everything that has gone before, lest the grief, the sadness, those feelings I should have let myself experience, held me back. And I’ve had the burden of what awaits me to face, the expectations of others, a new group of new faces. So I’ve learned over the years to wear a mask, to be as far as possible what others expect of me, to hide the flaws, hide the scars, hide the darkness, to be the person that will elicit smiles, friendliness, the person who fits in. Not on this journey. On this journey, I will leave this mask, which has indeed become like a skin, behind in the surrender box. It may have served me before, but it does not belong on this journey. On this journey, I will set out naked and free to be the person I am.

A Map To Guide Us

Lori has been doggedly mapping our journey and by George she has it now. We all know that more will detail will need to be shown on the map, and we are still to locate the Cave of the Ancients, but this will be a boon to any confused traveller.

After the Surrender

I'd just dumped my timidity and fear in the surrender box but when the painted tangle of snakes on the door began to writhe, I passed through very quickly and did not look back.

"Ah, sunlight!" I found myself sighing in relief.

"They were just trying to get a rise out of you," rabbit offered, but I noticed it gave a furtive little shiver.

"Will you be coming with me?" I was surprised to see it still by my side.

"Uh, well, I guess that's up to you and your ride," it answered as we dodged out of the way of a camel who'd nearly plowed into us. Several dromedaries and twenty or so braying donkeys were milling about the wide roadway trying to connect with excited tour members. I noticed a few old friends among the many new faces, but conversation was impossible amid the noise and chaos of people, animals and belongings.

"Who ya' looking for?" my new friend asked.

"Oh, someone who's not here, I guess. I traveled with Geraldine last year and I'd so love to see her again."

"She's uh, out to here right now," it told me, sitting and patting it's belly,” but her daughter's around somewhere, I just saw her hat." Rabbit sat tall, all of fifteen inches or so and scanned the crowd.

"Georgina?" The moment I called, an adorable little jenny in a straw hat with red flowers whinnied and pushed her way through the crowd toward me. "Oh, my gosh, you look just like your mother! How is she?"

"I hope not, " she giggled, "she's having twins, but she's content and told me to look for you. Hey, Belinda!"

"Hey, Georgie Girl, first trip for le enchanteur, whoo hoo, this should be fun!"

I was wrapping my mind around "Belinda" as a most unlikely name for this feisty rabbit, when suddenly the noise ceased, the chaos evaporated, and we three remained alone with nothing but the dusty road serpentining into the distance. Poor Georgina looked about to faint and I felt a bit dizzy, but rabbit was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"That was so cool!" it said, thumping its' back foot in exuberance and breaking into song, "On the road again, it feels so good to be on the road. . . . . . . . "

This was going to be one interesting trip!

Blank Map

There is a special excercise of self-discovery --
useful for mapping heart, soul or even dilusions.

Take a single piece of white paper and a good pen.
Sit somewhere comfortable and isolated,
perhaps outside 'neath a tree.

When you put pen to paper you must write
NON-STOP until the entire sheet is full --
never lifting the pen or editing your thoughts --
just let it flow. Later, look at this flow of ideas,
but also images formed by the shape of the lines,

like inkblots, or
smudges on your mirror.

Mapping My Heart

I imagine my heart is a mountainous place, much like the Blue Ridge I love. The hills are rolling up and down, some with deep valleys and some just shallow coves. They aren't craggy mountains, they have been worn smooth by time. In its most alive seasons, my heart is full of color- brights and deeps. In the resting time, maybe the dark time, my heart is silent. I'd rather be in the alive time, but I realize that the resting time is necessary for me to live. All part of the cycle.

My heart is green in the summer, juicy and vibrant, even the hard parts become beautiful, scars growing over the bad places carved out over the years. Little caves in the mountains house the skeletons of my life, the ones I don't want to see but have trouble letting go of. Those skeletons are buried, but sometimes when I am trekking through my heart, I stumble across a sharp bone and cut myself. It would probably be easier if I got rid of the bones in the rivers of my heart, let the water carry them away, but then how would I remember what the skeleton taught me when it was a living thing? Would I forget the lesson, the feeling of each scar created?

To get to the high parts of the mountains, the scenic vistas, I have to climb, sometimes hard, sometimes in and out of the caves. But it is so worth it- the high parts. From the top I can see the happiest days in the past, the joyous days to the future, and then parts of my heart that make the climb a requirement on the bad days.When the trekking is hard, I cling to trees for my life, wishing that I could have just stayed at the bottom, hiding in the lushness. Sometimes I let others trek with me through my heart- because I want them to or because I need their help along the way. But mostly I trek along, because I don't want them to get hurt in the caves or slide down the mountains as I look on helplessly. It's a dedicated climber that can make it through the forest to the top of the mountains of my heart.

The life breathes all around me, growing my heart,even as the craggy pieces of a skeleton may poke me along the way.

I like to think my heart is growing, breathing, becoming vibrant and then sleeping as the seasons do. I need those dead things to make the growth happen. Without death, life will not continue.

Walls

Day by day
brick by brick
a wall was created
that enclosed my heart

Night by night
brick by brick
I mourned the loss
of my innocence

Day into night
night into day
the wall came down
to create a bridge

Patience and Sox

"She's gone!"
"Where?"

The donkey and the dog looked at each other in alarm.
"You don;t think........?"

Patience looked out to sea where a ship was disappearing into the distance. Sox nodded.
"Just like that. Who'd have thought it?"

The two animals stood, folornly, surveying what had been their campsite.
"S'psose this is the end of our quest."

Patience let her head droop a little, and Sox licked the tear that had fallen down the donkey's muzzle. The animals stood until the ship had completely vanished and turned into the forest.
"Where now?" asked Sox, breathelessly returning from chasing a squirrel. The donkey did not reply but continued to plod miserably onwards. They made slow progress, the woods seemed to grow thicker and thicker around them, and several times they had to turn back and retrace their steps to regain the path.

Several hours later, a raven flew overhead and called out to them to follow him. He would help them find food and water. Never have a donkey and a dog been more grateful to see a raven. Patience brayed with delight and Sox ran around, chasing her tail in joy.

The two animals came into a clearing where another donkey was having ....bagels???
"Evening," muttered the donkey, spitting crumbs in their direction.
"Oh good evening," said Patience, politely.
"Don't stand on ceremony," said the strange donkey, " there are bagels enough for everyone so go and help yourself."

When Patience and Sox had eaten enough, they turned to the donkey they had just met.
"I'm Albert," he told them. "You two are far too well behaved and polite. Your lady has gone on a ship to learn to listen ......Follow me but don;t get too close in case there are rules about two donkeys to a human. If you come with me we'll get where we're going.."
"Which is where?" asked Patience politely
"Going going....going walkies," shouted Sox, rushing around excitedly.
"Mind your own business madam."

Albert ambled off and Patience and Sox followed but at a distance. They were safe. They would find their beloved mistress again. And - she would know what they were talking about. Perfect. Or was it????

mapping the heart breaks 4

My heart split into splinters the day my husband died unexpectedly. I have written about the event elesewhere so I will not go back over the details.

I do not know, even though I love another man deeply now, whether it is possible for a heart to heal after such a momentous break. The scars run so so deep.

Love is helping.
Time is helping.
Writing helps enormously.

Today I read a book called "the five people you meet in Heaven" by Mitch Albom and these words went straight to my heart.

"Lost love is still love..It takes a different form that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. ....Life has to end....Love doesn't."

I will write in honour of all those I have lost.

I have to put down the burden of my past losses to enter the gate, and to continue to celebrate the life I have been given, my wonderful new love, my two children and my little dog Martha who gives me a run for my money every time I take her on the beach!! I must celebrate the chance to write that has been granted to me.

I will live and laugh again. I will mend my heart. It may have sticky tape and plasters everywhere, there may be cracks apparent, but then I have lived and loved and lost several times and the cracks are a badge of honour.

I am going to celebrate being 54, feisty, and ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am going to celebrate still being young enough, wise enough, LUCKY enough to be loved and in love. I will celebrate life itself, being a survivor.

Enough is enough. Time to step out of the shadows and into the light.

HERE I COME!!!!!!

mapping the heart breaks 3

I survived my childhood!! And much to my delight and surprise was accepted as a student at the Royal Academy of Music where I was (and I intend a small brag here for a change) a prizewinner. I loved playing. I thought I would change the world by playing and talking and insisting on the fact that music was THE international language and that I could be a channel for peace......small dreams!!

Studying in London was freedom. I was anonymous, could come and go as I pleased, could befriend whom I liked, and I grew up and began to enjoy life. I had the usual love affairs but when I was 22 I was invited to a party given by a close friend. I wasn;t going to go - wasn;t really in the mood. When I arrived I started to talking to a small blonde man, who at the time was a sailor in the merchant navy. I knew I had met my husband immediately - there was no doubt at all in my mind.

My parents were Orthodox Jews. My husband was in the merchant navy....the two don;t mix.

I was married in 1975 and have not spoken to my parents or brothers or sister since.
For months I dreamt about them, had nightmares about wandering around in a fog.

My heart broke then, and has never really healed, even though my marriage lasted 29 years.

Several years later I had a miscarriage in the year after my beautiful daughter was born.....another shard, another splinter. Poor baby. So unwanted by anyone apart from its mother.

Interior Cartography #6

Interior Cartography #6-- On Labryinths

Crunch, crunch, chrunch....

I jumped, startled as I became aware of Albert standing over me.

"Albert, it's not polite to read over someone's shoulder."

"Thorry." he lisped.

"And don't talk with your mouth full."

"My, aren't we in a mood this morning. "

"Well....yes, I'm sorry. I guess making this map has churned up a lot of unfinished business."

"That's the idea. I was wondering--what's with the labryinth?"

"Oh, yeah....I thought the labryinth would be a good image to use on the map. Back in the Real World, in many cultures, the labryiinth is used as a walking meditation. It's supposed to represent the Journey or pilgrimage."

"A journey to what?"

"Well, anything, actually-- to God, to Transcendence, Enlightenment, Self-Awareness.... whatever the walker wants or needs to achieve. "

Albert nodded.

"And," I continued, "when I would walk the labyrinth at home I would use the walk inward towards the center as a time to unload negative issues. When I got to the center, I would meditate or pray or worship-- sometimes all three-- and then on the walk out I would focus on any insights I might receive. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Indeed." Albert continued to chewing. "So, on your map the descansos on the way in are an 'unburdening' for you?"

"Yes, you got it."

"What's at the center of the map for you?"

"I'm not certain yet. I haven't worked this all out yet. Wholeness? Unblocked creativity? I dunno."

"Maybe the House of the Serpents?" Albert asked as he chewed, crumbs dropping to the ground.

"Maybe, it might----Albert, what ARE you eating."

"Bagels. You want one?"

"Where'd you get bagels out here?"

"From the Ravens. A whole flock dropped by. They thought you might be hungry"

"I didn't see any Ravens. When was this?"

"You were in the middle of making the third descanso. You were muttering and swearing-- in a very bad mood. We were afraid to bother you. Anyway, they were on their way to a bombing mission and couldn't stay long."

"A bombing mission?"

"Yes. Seems like a nasty little gnome named Parsley has been stirring up trouble on the Road. Nothing like a little aerial defecation to make the matter right!" Albert began to whinny in delight.

"Albert!"

"Anyway, they left something else for you." Albert clopped over to the tree stump and picked up something in his mouth. He brought it over and dropped it in front of me. I picked up a gold key, glittering in the campfire.

"It's from the Sibyl. It's the gate key to the House of the Serpents."


Lori Gloyd (c) May 21, 2006

Protectress of the House of Serpents

The Rainbow Priestess is the protector of the House of the Serpents. She holds the key to the gates and will only provide entry to those who have mapped their heart and lightened their load at the Gatehouse. Some travellers have already passed by the Rainbow Priestess and are settling in to the House of Serpents. There will be a banquet to celebrate our arrival and travelling trevere will be asked to amuse the Gorgons with a light hearted, comic presentation.

A voice

Bound tight
gagged and blind
I lost myself

Ideas hidden away
locked, sealed
invisible

A small voice
with no confidence
head low

Beaten down
by words that despise
and hurt

Yet words
are the way
to freedom

Release them
that lay heavy
on my heart

They ooze
like sludge
quivering

timid
shy
unlovable

Word by word
Poem by poem
Blog by blog

A wisp of a voice
grows strong
unafraid

My voice
came as a surprise
like a child

Gurgling
and laughing
with delight

Here I am
not a child

But believing
I can be again

On my terms


Thank You Heather!

Unburdening! Easing the Load

le Enchanteur has been checking travellers and has discovered that many are still carrying heavy loads, burdening donkeys and themselves. Some things simply have to be left in the gate-house outside the House of the Serpents. What will you leave behind?

Map of the heart

I was setting at my desk thinking about this project and just started doodling.
this is the end result.

Interior Cartography: A Descanso

Gold Light

In my mother’s chair I bask at ease
in a square of orange light and hear
magnolias applaud with breeze blown leaves
their farewell dance to Persephone.

Caught in rods of amber light,
dust specks float above the door
refracting sparks of diamond white,
gold squares stretch across the floor.

No hoary frost garlands the jack.
No maples burn with autumn fire.
Just golden light to break the back
of scathing summer’s brazen ire,
While I recline in deceptive ease
to mourn the death of Persephone.

Poem: Lori Gloyd (c) 1996, 2006
Image: Lori Gloyd (c) May 20, 2006

mapping the heart-breaks 2

When I was around the age of 11, my brother, whose Jewish name was Simcha (meaning celebration) was diagnosed for the first time with cancer. He was just 13 months younger than I was, and we were very close.

Our life with our father was not easy. Dad had escaped to England from the holocaust, having lost all his family, and he took out a lot of his anger and despair on his family. We, the next generation, had another burden, being named after dead ancestors. Somehow, we were expected to replace them and more, but we were always being found wanting. It is an impossible burden to place on children.

I have taken a mirror on this quest. I always thought that in the mirror stood the real me, who had seen the horrors of the war, whose spirit had perished in a gas chamber. Most of my life has been a search for meaning and identity....

So my brother and I were close, guardians of cruel family secrets. When he fell ill, the effect on the family was profound. I remember the sessions of radiotherapy and chemotherapy as he battled with his primary cancer, and then the long battle with secondary cancer which killed him when I was just 13. Nobody thought to tell me that my beloved brother had passed away - I found out by sitting on the stairs and listening to a conversation through an open door....I still miss him, still mourn his loss.

Later that year my mother had a baby boy. He lived for 24 hours and had an inexplicable cot death.

I became an old woman at the age of 14. I had started to learn to play the piano and buried myself in music making. This was to be my salvation eventually.

On The Road To Find Out - Walled Garden Meditation

Positive

Negative

Positive

Negative

My meditation proved to be revealing,

as Belenus had said. The way, what I

know is choices, but what I didn't know

is that I didn't have them. Better

the open mind, better the bright

picture. Victorian corsets kept things

in check. But now I am free of them, and

I can breathe and make choices. The

picture I found on the floor of the old

Victorian Mansion told the whole story.

I was glad I had kept it.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Interior Cartography #4

Interior Cartography #4-- Third Descanso (of four).



The pain of loss comes in many forms..............

Image: Lori Gloyd (c) May 19, 2006

Diluted Sunshine - Forgetting What I Know

From reading the other's posts today, I feel I can share some of the feelings.

I seemed to have developed a great sadness inside me that I could not talk

about. It wasn't acceptable to, and even if I did, I never got a solid answer.

Something always happened to curtail the sunshine, so it was wise to not

be too idealistic, yet, inside the idealist is alive and well, that wants everything

perfect. And it is also wise not to dwell, but to gain understanding. Also, I have

no power over other people's choices. So, when I was 15 or so my godfather,

only young, was hit by a car on a morning ride and fell into a coma, and died

not long afterwards, leaving a young family. He was a lovely man, and I have

had to go within and heal my feelings of injustice over this event, that happened

a long time ago. Then a couple of years later, my grandmother, who lived with

us, died very suddenly from a stroke, just before my cousin's wedding, that she

was looking forward to very much. I was so upset at the funeral, and I missed

my grandmother, who was always full of uncommon wisdom. Then not long

after that my parents split, so there was a bit of confusion there, too. During

this time one of our friends took his own life, so this was another source of

confusion. This confusion, the diluted sunlight, has occupied my thoughts for

years. Part of me blamed myself for not being there, or being able to prevent

these things that seemed to happen so carelessly, as acts of God. Which of

course was a simple answer at the time, that did not serve me well as the

years went by. My idea of living and life has changed. Now I have to make

sure I don't forget what I know now, which is a lot different to the thoughts

I had back then, which were typical possibly, for my age. And I don't "blame"

myself for stuff as much anymore, but this would go on the map of the heart,

I think.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Breaking Free

As you map your hearts be assured that the ropes that bind and constrain will be released.

DONKEY SONG

So, we are just sitting round the fire,
toasting marshmallows –
(donkeys are not good at this),
and I suggest that Cher-lynn sing a song.
Whoo-eee!
I didn’t know I was creating a problem –
seems no donkey has ever sung
at a Bardic Circle before,
and most folk can hardly deal
with donkey-talk
no less a melody.

I guess I don’t understand people
vary well at all –
it’s alright to use a donkey to fetch and carry,
and even fly you to tomorrow quick,
but then you just let them sit there,
instead of dancing or singing
or playing a fife and drum.

So here is a song,
whether you want it or not –
and then its your donkey’s turn

EVER MIST DOWN

Come down to the meadow -- the meadow my love,
Where the seeds wait the kiss of dawning.
When the mists swirl 'way in faerie dance,
I'll finally see the soul of your yearning.

Refrain:

For the mists are down while the heart is lost,
And your dreams will never be found --
Come dance with me in everbe
And hearken to the ancient sound.

Come ye down to the sea -- the soft sea my love,
Where your fears will wash in the foamin'
The mists will rise up from the churning depths
To come down on the meadow at glommin'.

Refrain:

Come up to the mountain -- the mountain my love
Where the music is found ever more.
The fiddle will play and the harp will sing
To the beat of the waves on the shore.

Ever down She comes and down once more
To rise up with yer dreams and prayer,
You'll nay miss the mists of memories
When you sing loud the music of ever.

Refrain:

Mapping the heart - breaks 1

The first break occured when I lost my beloved auntie to cancer when I was only 7 or 8 years old. The results for our family were catastrophic. She had three children - my first cousins - and throughout my early childhood my mother and my aunt were almost interchangeable. When my auntie died, my uncle remarried and my cousins got the stepmother from hell. She was an unbelievable monster, cruel and vindictive, making the girls wear headscarves in the house so that her own daughter's "beauty" would be apparent. What was even worse was that she would not allow us to visit them, and they were forbidden to come to our house. My cousins - almost my sisters - were lost to me.

The close family unit that had survived the holocaust to arrive in England was shattered irrevocably by this outsider, herself a refugee and survivor, but so so damaged.

Shortly after her death my grandfather died. Two major losses in one year. Two pieces of my heart broken.

Interior Cartography #3

Interior Cartography #3-- Second Descanso

My second descanso is dedicated to my friend Ellen. On my first day of high school, I, the nerd, cowering in the corner of the girls gymnasium, was approached by Ellen. I don't know what possessed her to approach me, but I am guessing that we both knew that Gym class was not going to be a class either of us would excel so we banded together for mutual support and complaint.

Ellen was sansei, third-generation Japanese-American. I mention this fact only because of all the nisei and sansei kids I hung out with, she was the only kid who was not quiet, self-effacing, and demure. In fact, she had the saltiest tongue I'd ever heard from a kid. She had an "in-your-face, take-no-prisoners" approach to life. On top of that, she was the first kid in my circle of friends to have her own car.

Ellen introduced me to the cultured things of the world. We went to museums, libraries, theatre-- her parents were professional people with a bit more sophistication than mine and supported such activities. Ellen introduced me to The Lord of the Rings, she had pet boa-constrictor, and she read Stephen King before he was popular. And she convinced me to go to college-- at least for a couple of years.

Ellen was also diabetic-- the Type 1 kind. I think she realized, before the rest of us, that she was not going to maintain the quality of life the rest of us took for granted. So instead of going off to a big university like her parents and sister to become a professional what-ever, she went to a local junior college to get some immediate job skills (and took me with her). After two years we both graduated and got jobs-- me, at a university, and her for a VP of a big oil company. Her job there quickly grew into a career in management and she was on a very fast track.

However, over the next three or four years, she got sicker and sicker, lost her eyesight completely, began dialysis, and was facing amputation. I, and another mutual friend, tried our best to keep her spirits up, pretending that she was going to get better some day.

One day, I got a call from her mother. Ellen had committed suicide.

There was no funeral. (Ellen hadn't wanted one). So traumatized from this event, I did not speak her name to my parents or our mutual friends for over a year. So angry was I at Ellen for leaving, that to this day I can't remember the date or even the exact year she died (I was 24 or 25 but I simply can't remember).

Over the years I've come to terms with her life and death, and right now, this minute, is the first time that I've ever committed to writing my thoughts and feeling about her death.

Ellen opened my life to the wonders of the world. Her life was short. My life is richer. God bless you, Ellen.

Lori Gloyd (c) May 19, 2006 (Postscript: I eventally went on to finish college-- thanks in part to her.)

Map Of My Heart

A map of my heart? Wow, this is hard. I sat on a porch one summer evening as my mother said, "I've always hated you." "I know, " was all that I could say. My mother never hid her hatred in my growing years. There were nights when I slept under a picnic table in the park to get away from the fighting, anger, and violence of the place I called home. It gave me a resolve to make things different for my children. When my husband's violence towards me became something I would no longer live with the same resolve and love for my children helped me leave when what I really wanted to do was kill him. Love for my children is the only thing that has kept my heart alive. Their love for me shows me time and again that my life has been worthwhile. My son, John (23), is in the Air Force, stationed in Korea. He sent me the following words for Mother's Day. They're not only a map of my heart but a picture of it beating.

Happy Mother's Day,

Mom,
Everything I've ever needed.
Loving, caring doing everything for our sake.
Only doing what was best for us, even when you
Had your own goals
Daring, brave, strong, the role model of my life
Yearning, for us to be best.

Always there, always.
Dear, great, wonderful
Adventurous, beautiful
My source of greatest strength
Saying always "I love you"

Love you Mom

daily routines

Must clean, must tidy, must clean, must tidy

My consience ticks away in the background.

Fortunately, I have learnt to ignore it.

Must read, must write, must think, must walk the dog, must eat nice food, must experience the sea, must do something in my altered art book or journal, create an ATC......

I must nourish my creative spirit. You know - the housework won;t do itself and when I am ready ...I'll get round to it.

Revelations

Belenus was standing over me. His donkey breath with the aroma of apples, I
knew, was a dead giveaway. I realised I had fallen asleep, making the map...
trouble ahead. "You weren't supposed to sleep for THAT long," he said, moving
away, satisfied that I was awake. "I think you might have taken a bite of the
wrong apple..."

Puzzled, I looked at him, and was surprised to find that it was dusk and he was
moving about the walled garden, making a fire for dinner. I smiled, and sat up
on the grass to watch. "I don't recall having an apple at all." Beside me was the
half drawn map, with a couple of doorways, which reminded me of the movie
theme of "Sliding Doors" and parallel universes. "Belenus, I don't recall having
an apple, period. Stop trying to make out as if I ate the apples, when you know
it was you." He just laughed, using his old tricks to make fire.

"Now it is an accepted truth that all humans are in part the same. So it can be
safe to assume everyone has taken a bite of a poison apple..." he said, as he
watched the flame grow.
"Hang on a minute...what are we talking about here? A riddle? Or rather, more
riddles, like when we went to that house. Where was it again? To find the
treasure. Where is it exactly?"
On looking around I could see no sign of the chest, as had been clearly visible
before. I started to doubt Belenus' sanity, wondering if he was the full picnic.
"Faith. You must have faith, even when things cannot be seen," he said.
Then I nodded, and remembered he was smart, he had to be, from reading
all those books. People only said donkeys were ignorant, and as people said many
things that weren't true, I chose to believe he was smart.

The fire flamed and we had some roasted chestnuts, baked figs and herbed
bread that Belenus somehow gathered the ingredients for, while I was asleep.
He had even ground some grain into flour with rocks. Amazing, I thought.
"Anyway, what about the poisoned apple? How do you know about that?" I
said.
"The poison apple that makes folks forget what they know?" he said. "It's legendary.
It set you into a deep sleep."
"Well, then, no wonder I don't remember eating it."

The moon made a growing crescent in the indigo sky, and the walled garden
was in shadow, the flames from the fire dancing in the leaves of the trees, and
across the bluestone walls. We ate, and then afterward, Belenus made a
gunpowder tea for us, from the store in his saddlebags.
"This should make you remember," he said, "What they make you forget."
"Sounds a bit scary. Gunpowder and all."
"You have to remember. Some things are good to forget, and others must
be remembered, especially if it's for the very first time. New things. If you
known those things, you might never have had such a heart path, with closed
doors and so called errors, as society sees them. Uncommon sense is far
kinder to humans, even though they forgot that with their poisoned apple
devouring."

My mind was in a muddle, though I knew roughly what he was talking about,
it was like trying to reinvent the universe to me.
"I might need to think about this," I said.
"Fine, go and meditate by that rock over there, the one that has a sliver of
moonlight reflected on it. Go see. Go and think, while I wash up..."
I did as I was told.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

I fear....

I fear I may have skimmed the surface of my past 3 years. I fear the gate to the house of serpents may not open unless I confess...


Tender, the love of a mother
Raw and innocent the love of a mother.
A life snuffed too early
too early at too young an age.

A mother loves unconditionally
she sees no flaws,
no wrongs
only rights.

The breast which fed me
the breast which gave me life,
nurtured me for months
failed her in only eleven.

Undetectable, by feel.
by sight, only by one aware
of one's body and its many guises.

Take note you women on this journey
Be not scared to watch in the mirror.
Orange peel, red rash and shrinkage
I beg of you, Take heed.


I'm so sorry to bring down the feel of this most joyous travelling, but I really felt that I hadn't expressed my feelings for the last three years of my life. In October 2002, my mum was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer. There is no cure for this cancer. Mum died 11 months after diagnosis. Don't just look for a lump, check for ANY changes to your breast. During my half sleep in the morning, I mostly think of mum, still. When I wake at night, she is in my thoughts. When I'm feeling down, she pops into my head. I have a few chardy's and she's there. I'm not down all of the time, in fact most times I'm fine.... There are great things to reflect upon during this journey and it's lucky that the Gorgons are not ready for us yet.... I have much time to reflect.

smb

Ravens - Ancient And Modern

Hi Travellers, there seemed to be a lot of raven talk and activity going on so I thought I'd repost this from last year. The more you know, the more amazing these birds of L'Enchanteur are, almost royal, really:-) Enjoy!

(Reposted from August, 2005.)
Lately there has been a proliferation of local ravens, with the coming of Spring and the nesting season. Many of these beautiful birds have come gathering lately, allowing themselves to be seen at close range. This is a real treat; they are gentle and very alert, contrary to common superstition. They mate for life and the large raven, found in the southern hemisphere, can live up to fifty years of age. The oldest known raven was sixty-nine. Part of the Corvid species, they are the largest, and their constellation lies directly above in the heavens at the moment, and is called "Corvus". Before their ecological link was properly known, they were persecuted in England and Europe, almost to the point of non-existence. Once the public were educated, the culling stopped, and the corvids were welcomed back again, to breed again. They are considered nature's tidier, sorter, and order keeper, and this is their ecological purpose.When Corvids fly, they do so at a measured single-minded pace, in a steady line. This is where the saying "As the Crow Flies" comes from; it means to go in a straight line. When nesting, both birds build a solid twiggy home, and the male feeds the female while she nests. Both sexes feed the young, flying out searching for food, and often any excess is buried for later. They are intelligent and have a connection with Wisdom lore and tales of all cultures. Gregarious by nature, these birds can be trained to count and to interpret and mimic human speech. A caged Raven was once helped to escape by two wild Ravens who dug a hole into its cage from the outside while the caged bird dug out from the inside. Ravens have been much maligned by man in the past, though modern research has shown that they, like crows, do far more good than harm. Mostly this was due to projected superstition and lack of knowledge, and now there is more education on this species in general, there is also far more respect.They were included with other animals in the ancient cave paintings at Lascaux near the French Pyrenees, and have had a long association with man. Historically they occupy space at the top of the Tower of London, and it is said that if fewer than six are present, the consequences are dire, so are welcome in the city streets and squares for the important work they do.

http://www.earthlife.net/birds/crows.html - source credit and link

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

daily routines and a map

daily? of course. routine? hardly! Or maybe daily? sometimes but always different. Routine? hmmm

Take today for example.

Upon waking, I lie in that wonderful half sleep state, the state that allows me to choose whether to wake now or not. In this state, I dream, plan, remember, design and write. This is just the beginning. Sometimes, this stage is enough for an entire day and I am lulled back to sleep, to rest before beginning again. This morning, I woke. Within that half sleep time, I had "planned" my day.

By this time, Hubby is awake. While he completes his daily ablutions, I wash dishes, make our morning liver cleanser and daily heart starter, cups of hot water with lemon juice and lovely fresh juices, which are usually different everyday. It's a ritual you see and quite soothing. Hubby goes to his place of work then, all rested, cleansed and with his heart well and truly started.

My plan today involved begging the local tax office to do my very late tax return, depositing cheques at the bank, paying rent and numerous other bills, grocery shopping, showing a potential buyer some of my new pieces of art, coming home, writing then making more art...

My actual day went something along these lines.... local tax office shut till July 3, one cheque okay, the other with an inconsistent name on the cheque so it has to be rewritten, rent paid, bills paid, shopping done, until the card was declined at the shop..... hmmmm, back to the bank, no money. Something had been withdrawn. No groceries till monday. Lentils and a tin of tomatoes for a hungry Husband (you get the picture).... This is about where my routine went totally haywire. Home, seek solace in The Serpentine Road. Nice soothing cup of dandelion tea and honey.

Maybe my art time will be better!

And now to the map....

My heart, much like my daily routine, is a little up and down. On a daily basis and over my lifetime. I remember with much fondness, my childhood years. Warmth and freedom, family and friends, and always a dog. I reflect on autumn and winter months, surely my favourite. Dressed in that wonderful 70's style, brown cords, skivvy and swede desert boots! These images warm my heart and if you were to see the map at this point, there would be a lovely glow of red to mark the spot.

Teenage years mark the time where we moved to the country from Melbourne. A glow of yellow to show my excitement. Years of lovely memories flood my map, I smile as I write. What more could I want?

What does this black mark mean? As I am jerked rudely from my dreams, I remember returning from the country, to the city. This time melds not so nicely with the time mum and dad went their separate ways. Father leaves mother for a younger woman, leaves her with no support financial or otherwise - an all to familiar story.

Grey dots lighten and slowly brighten with time, accentuating particular events which fight to be remembered. An assignment worth crowing about, a new found friend, a new job...

A sparkle still remains on my map, the date I met my husband.

And now? I think there is a mark which can be clearly distinguished, you can see it can't you? It's that warm, cosy glow of contentment. The glow which hints at great things to come, a glow which marks the edge of an amazingly exciting precipice, one off which I am aching to fly.

Mapping the Heart

Who can help me find the pieces of my heart?

How will I map them?

My heart is in so many pieces I am struggling to find some of the fragments. It broke in two when I was so young, then again when my late husband died. Two parts of my heart have come to earth so far away in the places my children have chosen to live. Nevertheless, I am instructed to make a map and I will try to do so, but it will not be easy, will cost me many tears, and may take some time.

Interior Cartography #2

Interior Cartography #2---- Descanso #1

The first memorial on this labyrithine road is that of a young child who was abandoned.

The child was the younger, nearly seven years younger than her sister. She was also the youngest of the grandchildren. One might think a child like this would be over-indulged. She certainly was not. Her strict Swedish grandmother, and her even more strict parents, were of the old school: children should be seen and not heard. There was very little corporal punishment. It was simply understood: "you will behave."

However, the child was a handful. Her mother wrote in a baby-journal "she certainly is her own person." To this day, it is a mystery what the mother meant by this statement but it has been concluded that the child had her own mind and way of doing things, and needed to be reined in on occasion.

The child loved school-- at first-- and could not get enough of all the interesting things taught there. She went to the library three times a week. Her father, after an 11 hour day at work, indulged this activity by taking her there. And books-- there were books everywhere-- more books than toys. (This was odd since the parents did not have the time or inclination to read themselves. ) The child had a new interest each week: dolls one week, playing with toads and building mud castles the next.

But then it changed. One day Grandma had a stroke that left her as a vegetable for the next eight years. The child's mother became the caretaker and from that moment on, the child was left to her own devices. This had some advantages. For example, the child would hole up for hours without being bothered to read or draw or paint. Creativity flourished. However, the disadvantages: the child had no guidance in the things that young girls needed to know. There was no guidance on things like college or career choices. Even guidance on how to navigate herself through social situations was absent. School, so loved at one time, became a daily nightmare. The child grew up to be a nerd. Fortunately, she had a small handful of nerdy friends and each kept the others from going totally astray.

The child has grown into a woman. The woman does not blame the parents for their benign neglect. It was what it was with everyone doing the best they could given the circumstances. Her father has even acknowledged in his old age that the child was left too much alone.

But to put the past to rest, I leave this memorial to that child and her abandonment. May they rest in peace.

Gloyd (c) May 18, 2006

Donkey Story

Cher-lynn speaks

I am speaking directly to you,
because faucon will not tell the story,
nor any of the other dozen miracles
encountered/embraced since out joining.

How do I tell it? Each day we meet strangers
and depart with them and us the better for it.

A married couple on verge of disillusion –
now they sing as one and I know more of respect.

A man in despair over a lost brother –
faucon did this Kalbadam thing
and my feet are still tingling,
but there is sunshine in the grotto
where the man carves a statue –
now.

Forget all that! Here is what happened.

We came upon a meadow – a whole valley
it came to be realized – dying!
The fragile eco system
sustaining life and prayer and dream
was imbalanced. Partially this was from
diligent beavers above – building dams,
which is their right without question.
and man built dams,
which is their right,
but perhaps in question.
Be it told by right,
more than 7,000,000 trees, animals
and insect spirits were be undone.

“No,” I cried. “This will not pass!”

“Then it will not be so,” said he.

“I have a debt or two to call upon the Tengri,
and we can do this if you will pay the price.”

“What then must I do – I but a flight-lame donkey”

“Agree in advance that whatever the price
to save this valley you will pay it – it is called prayer.”

I realized in an instant that this decision
had little to do with a parched meadow
and dwindling fern and hidden frog;
but that this Attention existed because
of my choice to have it so,
and that my decision here
merely echoed a vote for life
everywhere.

“Volo”, said I.

As I turned to faucon, he was transformed
into medieval garb, with longish hair,
sandals and fearsome sword.

“I am Kiyan, the Gusari,” whispered he in thunder.

“I will speak to the beaver of the high valley
we passed yesterday. You will transport them there.”

“I am not allowed to fly,” I stammered.

“I did not say take them!”

I pondered. The beavers gathered at my feet,
longingly, trustingly –
understanding that their future rested
in my willingness to help –
unable to fly,
barely able to speak,
but of Source for all of that.

“Save them!” commanded the Shadow Light.

So, I stopped the universe in its path
‘till the future meadow caught up;
for all things are in motion relative
to each other,
and we need not go anywhere,
but be
and bid the tremulence come to us –
and this I can do.

Kiyan lay in the meadow – arms akimbo,
and I by his side,
weary from having flown to ever,
but having a debt to pay
and desire to sing.

The Tengri scurried clouds to bow
and ancient dust begat tears of welcome,
and we danced in the rain
and will again
tomorrow.

papa now trudges ahead,
a bit slumped perhaps –
but I??

I find that I must for ever more,
find a flower
and give it to a stranger.

I can bring this gift to thee –
and that is better than flying
any day.

A Footnote: A Descanso

Descansos are a fairly common sight where I live. This picture shows one just one block away from my home. It is dedicated to a jogger who died from a heart attack on this spot about three years ago. His friends and family still maintain it and sometimes, at night, candles are lit.









Image: Lori Gloyd (c) May 17, 2006

Willow by Traveller

Ariel followed me into the spinney and took a long drink from the spring and then lay down on the grass and promptly went to sleep - without even a 'by your leave'. I sat down beside him and leaned against his warm side. I was tired now .............

I hadn't intended to close my eyes, honest I hadn't but well, you know what it's like. When you think you have reached your destination and you were anxious about the journey. Would you know where you were going? Would you recognise the destination when you got there? My thoughts started to drift off when I was aware of another presence in the clearing.

I looked up to see a tall woman standing on the other side of the spring. Her hair was a mass of leaves and she wore a long green gown and her skin had a greenish cast to it. "I am the spirit of the willow tree" she explained by way of an introduction. "My boughs bend in the wind but my roots go down deep". "Your boughs too, have been bent in recent winds and you are struggling to hold things together. You need a rest to restore some of your energies. Come with me" she said, offering me her hand as she walked round the spring towards me. I was grateful that she helped pull me to my feet for, without her, I don't think I could have managed it. She led me to a huge, gnarled, willow and a large rift in the bark allowed us passage through. She led me through green cathedrals of dappled light to a chair made of living, twisting sallow strands, suspended from a tree branch. Sit and rest yourself for a while and I will bring you some refreshment. She promptly disappeared. I settled myself into the chair which seemed to mould itself around me. I heaved a sigh of relief and let myself go. I felt as if I was becoming a willow strand as my body elongated and leaves appeared where my fingers usually are and new roots rushed away from my feet into the watery earth surrounding me, eagerly seeking nutrients. I could feel a new charge entering me, tiny prickles of sensation like when feeling returns to your body when a limb has gone numb. The prickles started at my feet/roots and flew into my body, racing along my arms, squirming up my neck and bursting out, like sparks, from the tips of my hair. I felt as if I was on fire. I don't know how long this lasted - it could have been seconds, it could have been more, but there she was, standing in front of me again, a goblet in her outstretched hand. "Drink this". "It will heal and strengthen you for it contains essence of willow and holly". I have a gift for you too. So saying she strung a necklace of grass strands around my throat, from which hung a piece of carved wood. "This is made from holly wood, wear it at all times for it will give you strength when your own fails". With this, she took my hand and led me back to the spring. "You have not yet reached the blind spring you are seeking but it is not far. Ariel will guide you now". "Travel safely" and with that she began to fade until all that was left were a few of the leaves that had fallen out of her hair. I bent down and gathered them up and put them carefully into my knapsack, wrapping them in a handkerchief for safekeeping. Further on in my journey I would be able to take them out and touch them in wonder.

Departure - Traveller

I have packed my things into a small knapsack. I have my medicine bag containing a bottle of Rescue Remedy and some crystals, especially labradorite and amethyst. I have a magnifying glass, for my sight is not as good as it was, and it could always be used to light a fire, my pen, with its everlasting ink and my journal. I also have the things le Enchanteur gave me - spectacles, medallion with the unicorn on it, the tiny anchor, a pair of wings, map and an as-yet-unidentified object** wrapped in some soft cloth. Its use will be revealed at the proper time.

I reluctantly bade farewell to my gypsy caravan - having only just found it again after a gap of more than 35 years! It's a beautiful caravan, housed in the museum of my birth town, Bristol. Ever since I was a child it has filled my imagination. Maybe I'll have more time at the end of this journey to enjoy the experience of living in it.

I walked up the path from the gypsy caravan and stood in front of the door which leads to the New World. On the wall hung a wooden box with the words "surrender" engraved in it. What do I surrender, I wondered and then "I will slough off the boa constrictor that strangles my voices". As I went through the door there was a tune in my head. My urge to sing out loud was tempered by an acute feeling of self-consciousness. I turned around and put that in the box too. I may find myself in all sorts of situations where self-consciousness might not be very helpful.

I was just wondering what I was supposed to do next when a warm body pushed up against me and I turned to find Ariel, the donkey who accompanied me on the trip to the Sybil's grotto, staring at me with what looked like a grin on his face. I turned around and gave him a hug. I was so pleased to see a familiar face there. All around me people were calling to each other. Old friends greeted each other, new people were welcomed. Donkeys brayed, horses neighed and general confusion reigned as we tried to get ourselves organised. Eventually, with a buzz of conversation accompanied by the jingling of harnesses, a small group of us set off on the path leading into the distance.

I think I must have dropped off to sleep, sitting on Ariel's back, in the warm spring sunshine because, all of a sudden, I jolted awake and realised that I was on my own. What seemed like a few minutes ago I was part of a group and now there was only me. I reined my donkey to a standstill and listened. All I could hear was joyous birdsong and the buzz of bees at work in the heather bordering the path. I looked up the path in front of me - nothing - and nothing behind me either.

I tried to get my bearings but we came through a different door this time and I had no idea in which direction the House of Serpents lay. All I knew was that we were supposed to camp at the Blind Spring that night so it couldn't be too far away. "Oh, whatever am I supposed to do" I thought disconsolately and silently - or so I thought. A loud bray - a laugh? came from Ariel's mouth. "I think this would be a good opportunity to look in the bag le Enchanteur gave you" said Ariel loftily. I climbed down and opened my knapsack to consult the map. When I spread it out I thought maybe le Enchanteur had made a mistake, for it wasn't a map at all. It was just a bit of paper, tattered at the edges. I stared at it, feeling tears of frustration well up in my eyes. This can't be right, I thought to myself. "'Well, what are you waiting for? put on the spectacles" he said. He might be right, I thought. "Of course I'm right" he snorted. Obviously Ariel can read my mind .......

I put the specs on and looked again at the map and now I could indeed see something. Dim shapes began to form before my eyes. Images began to appear but it wasn't a conventional map at all. I blinked and looked away from the map at my surroundings and realised that what I was seeing on the map was actually the landscape around me. There were no place names on the map but I could see buildings and people on the page. It was as if I was looking through a pair of binoculars. I swept the spectacles cum binoculars over the map/landscape, in search of something that might give me a clue to my whereabouts or my destination. I could identify the door through which I had just come but that was all. A faint blue line on the map turned out to be a small stream. Aha, I thought, where there's water there must be a spring so I will follow the stream to its source (hoping of course, that it turned out to be the right one).

After I had made my decision, I found I didn't need to wear the specs anymore so I carefully put them back into the knapsack. I was sure I would need them again. Now I could see the edge of the stream in the distance and walked towards it, over the springy turf. Ariel almost raced ahead of me, so eager was he to take a drink while the going was good. I knelt down on the bank, giving thanks both for the water which I was about to drink and for its presence, for surely it was meant to help me find the blind spring. My face stared back at me, not yet dusty and careworn but excited about the new adventure.

I would happily have tarried a while on the stream bank but Ariel nudged me on to my feet. "Come on, we have to get going, we still have a long way to go" he ordered. "Do you know where we are going?" I asked him, knowing full well that he might have known all along. "Of course I do, but you have to find it for yourself" he replied. We followed the course of the stream for the rest of the day, stopping in the early afternoon for me to eat the sandwiches I had packed and for Ariel to nibble on a few choice thistles. The stream was getting smaller and smaller and there were no signs of habitation anywhere around. We continued, up hill now and the going was harder. Rocks appeared to twist my ankles. At this point Ariel suggested I rode on his back again as he was more sure-footed than I.

We were almost at the top of the hill when the stream appeared to dry up completely. I dismounted and cast around for a sign of it re-appearing higher up the hillside but there was nothing to see. It was getting late and I knew we only had a couple of hours of daylight left. Ariel seemed disinclined to talk at this point so I scrambled up to the top of the hill to see what lay on the far side.

Some way down the slope grew a small spinney of trees. I called to Ariel that I was going to take a look and slowly made my way down the hillside. Bright green and luxuriant undergrowth gave way to spongy tussocks of grass. I had found water again. My feet disappeared in brackish water but I struggled on, the water sucking at my boots, leaking in through the stitches. At length I came to the edge of the spinney. It was very wet there. I could just make out a path, which I followed, stumbling over the tussocks, into a clearing filled with greenish light. In the middle a spring bubbled forth merrily - but was it the blind spring?

posted for Carol Abel

My Cher-lynn

We are in a dense part of the woods,
where shadows can linger
as long as they please,
or their work is done …
there is so much of Source here,
they must protect a bit.

Cher-lynn bats her eyes thrice –
a signal she wishes to speak.

“papa, why haven’t you posted
a heart map like the others?”

“that is why, I guess.”

“Well, I appreciate that,
‘everyone’s doing it’ is not a reason,
but we have discussed so much of ‘heart’
and soul and open hand …”

“If they wished to walk with us,
they would, little one …
but tell me, what would you say?”

“I’d tell ‘em how you can’t map a heart,
really -- since the concept of heart
is only a physical representation
of the soul’s balance ‘tween’
spirit an humanity. It is
ever changing, I mean –
and a map implies
bounds and means.”

I pluck an apple
from just beyond her reach,
which spiritually means
another universe
methinks.

“I’ve seen you standing there,
firm stance by staff and will
in the road –
with open hand extended,
heart upon your sleeve,
eternity in your eyes –
and whistled song.

Why would anyone need a map?”

Me? I don’t say nuthin –
nuthin at all!

Interior Cartography #1

Interior Cartography #1

Night has fallen, and I am sitting alone next to a campfire eating some of cookies given to me by another traveler. After a fine lunch along the road with some of my colleagues, I decided to continue ahead on my own because I wanted some time to myself. Here, in the night, with only the sound of the popping firewood and the breeze rustling through the foliage, I spread out my scrolls in front of me. Sweet Albert stood nearby, dozing, his saddle and tack resting on a stump.

A while later, Albert's sonorous voice broke through my concentration. "Is that a map of Lemuria?"

"Yes," I said tersely, not wanting to engage in conversation. Several more moments passed in silence.

"That's not a very good map," he said.

Not at all astonished that Albert could read as well as speak, I said "I know."

"You need re-draw it."

"Yes, Albert, I know..."

"You should mark descansos on it."

"Albert! I know what I have to do."

"Then do it."

"I know," I sighed, as I put another descanso cross on my map.

Another moment passed.

"Can I have a cookie?"

I gave him the entire bag.

Image and text: Lori Gloyd (c) May 17, 2006

Map of my Heart

Some years ago I made this map of my heart as a chessboard - inspired by the quote. Unfortunately I've forgotten the name of the book it came from, and the author.

Map of My Heart


Travellers have an interesting approach to the study of geography – if you want to know where you’re going, they say, look at a map – if you’re not going there, why do you want to know where it is?

Sometimes travelers have a destination, sometimes they don’t – after all, it’s not the destination that matters, it’s the journey, and what you might discover along the way. And when you do get to your destination, you’ll move on again when you get fed up with it.

My father had a huge collection of maps and sea charts because he never knew where he might want to go next, and sometimes he just went where the wind and the tide took him. So the map of a traveller’s heart may have clearly marked pathways and destinations, but most of the time it’s just scribbled notes, plenty of sidetracks and a few of those signs that travellers leave by the roadway for other travellers to find.

The map of my heart meanders all over the place – there are green Irish hills and rocky Scottish coastlines, sun baked Spanish towns and outback roads with gum trees fading into the distance. The descansos that mark my passage along these roads are little bundles of twigs, signs for those who come after me.

A single broken twig marks the time I left Ireland and my childhood behind. A simple memorial for everything that passed then, including the companion of my childhood, a greyhound called Moffy, who was run over a few days before we went across the water.

A bunch of heather marks the first time I went to Scotland – it flutters at the side of the road, telling those who come after that this is a good place with happy memories.

There’s a couple of shells for the year I spent in the Channel Islands, with the sea always within walking distance – and how I loved the tiny shell covered church on Guernsey! I went there every day.

There’s a sad little bunch of wilted flowers marking the road that took me from England to Australia. I left broken hearted because of a love affair that didn’t work out. A piece of my heart is indelibly worked into this part of the map.

But further on there is a beautiful twig of frangipani, redolent of the soft summer Queensland day I got married, and many flowers following it, as we welcomed our beautiful children into the world.

Another broken twig marks the end of my father’s journey – he died and is buried in the land he came to love. Other broken twigs show where my beloved brother in law and his wife came to the end of their road.

The Australian map of my heart is covered with signs left for those who come after – some are warnings, for not every path I took or every choice I made was the right one. But all the beautiful flowers have taken root and have grown into gardens of grandchildren. This way, they say, is the right way – this is where my feet walked gladly and the campfires still burn a welcome to all.

It rambles all over, this map of my heart, but there never is a destination, only the journey – never a home, only the places where the heart rests and finds a piece of what it has been searching for. Home, the travelers say, is where you go when all the travelling’s done – and mine isn’t done yet.

Walled Garden

Exhausted from trawling through the mangroves and

solving mysteries, Belenus and I knew we were

not done yet. As we were flying away from the

haunted Victorian Mansion, we saw the pirates

in the cove, singing and creating a merry stir. Soon

to join them, we realised first we needed a rest. Belenus

is sleeping in the sun in a corner of a magical walled

garden we happened to land in. An apple tree

there provided a cache of food for him, and he

sleeps with a big grin on his furry face. As for me,

just a short rest. Enchanteur called and reminded

me of the necessity to make a map of the human

heart, and to find out what lies there. I put on my

glasses to study and see...

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

strange encounter

As the day wore on and daylight faded I grew tired; tired of the adventure, tired of talking to Patience and Sox, too tired to even care about feeling tired. It seemed to me that all paths would take me in the same direction. Wherever I travelled I travelled with myself. I would have to go back to the gate and start again. I would have to find the surrender box and give up even more....pride, joy, hope, I would have to learn to live in the moment.

I lay down thinking I would rest awhile. The day drowsed; I felt the warmth of the late afternoon sun and the sound of birds and insects busy all around me and my eyes began to close.

When I awoke, there was an old woman sitting near to me. I recognised her for I had met her once before, in another time, in another world. She was me. I reached into my bag and pulled out my secret item - my mirror and looked at my reflection. My own true self peered back. I looked like the old woman, lined, sorrowful, wearing black.

"What you will see in the mirror is a reflection of your state of mind," the old woman said to me. "and I am a physical representation. Fill your head with doubts, with pain and sorrow and I shall appear to you as a crone, fill your heart with joy and I shall come to you in the colours of the rainbow."

"I don't understand," I said. "I don't know how to be happy, I don;t know how to forget the pain, the hurt, the losses. I want - oh I really really want to do so, to "move on" as they say in the so called real world, but it is so so difficult."

We sat in silence. Then she said "I think you need to eat," and began to gather wood for a fire.
"Come." She beckoned and I followed. She showed me which plants were safe to eat, which might be poison, she showed me where to find food for my animals and how to prepare it and then she taught me how to build a makeshift stove on which to cook my meal. The food was so simple, but nourishing.

"Nourishing is a word you need to consider," she said.

"How do you know what I am thinking?"

"I know because I am your true self......have you forgotten our previous meeting?"

I stared at the old woman, bewildered.

"I thought that that was a dream, a metaphor for something."

"This is the country of the enchantress my dear," the woman said to me. "All things are possible here."

By now it was dark and we sat together silently in the firelight. I could not help looking at my companion, trying to understand, but her face remained inscrutable.

"Nourishing," she said suddenly. "I said that you should consider the word and you are wasting my evening by trying to sort out your feelings about me, and about what my meaning could be. What you really need is to decide what will nourish your life. Just as the body cannot live without sustenance, so too with the spirit, and your spirit is starved of joy and courage. This is why you have been allowed to travel along the Serpentine Road. You have to find both of these and more or your journey will not succeed. You have been granted two companions for the road and you will find that they might teach you both how to be joyful and how to be courageous."

I called my little dog over and held her close, allowing the warmth of her body to melt a little of the ice that had formed around my heart. The old womans clothes began to slowly change colour, from black to red, her face lost some of its lines, her hair regained a little colour.

"If you don;t love yourself, noone will love you," she said suddenly, as if in explanation. "I am going now, but I will be with you along the Road, look for me when you least expect me."

I found myself alone once again except for my animals.

"This is the strangest place I have ever been," I thought.

"There are stranger places," the woman's voice sounded in my ear. I turned but there there was noone around. "Just continue down to the shore and you will find what you find."

I knew that I had to make a detour from the Serpentine Road and go where I had been directed. In the morning I would go in the direction of the sea.

Cher-lynn

“Is it true that you do not wish me to speak?”

“Nay, little one. I expect you to speak –
tell me of the awe and wonder you see,
that I might have missed. Use me
as a sounding board for your musings –
just don’t prattle to move the air around,
or pass on the latest gossip.”

“I understand, papa – and am pleased.
It is difficult to talk with most people
since I don’t watch TV,
or idle sports,
or shop;
but …”

I waited a bit before giving a nod,
giving honor to the ‘but’ as a request,
not a human ploy saying,
“ignore what I just said,
here is the real concern –
the stuff you didn’t ask for.”

Instead, I whistled low –
signaling her to my side
lest we disturb a tremulous faun
approaching a pool for its first drink;
or the pool’s first prayerful offering,
one.


“Please tell me what you feel, right now,”
whispered self to me and Cher-lynn near.”

and we had much to talk about –
and I learned that donkeys
can listen and speak at the same time,
unlike people,
and that she likes to be
scritched behind the ears.

“Look there,” she giggled.
“Someone left a moonbeam
beneath that gnarled tree …”

On the Road Again...

I was standing on the other side of the door, feeling completely naked with nothing to grumble about. It was all in the surrender box.

But I did feel a lot lighter and ready for adventure. I rummaged around in my bag, through all the things I had thought I would never see again from my last Lemurian journey, and my hand closed around the small packet wrapped in leaves and tied with string, that Le Enchanteur had given me. My mystery gift…

It felt strange, so I unwrapped it and an old clay pipe fell out. There was no tobacco in this pipe – never had been, by the look of it – but someone had drilled holes all along the stem.
I put the pipe to my lips and blew a tentative note. A bright cheery tune came out, mellowed by the bowl of the pipe.

I started walking along the serpentine rod, which was disappearing into the distance in a very serpentine way. No doubt I was too late for a donkey – letting go of my skin with its comfortable crust of grumbles had taken some time. But no – as I rounded the bend, I saw a large donkey cropping thistles by the road.

It wasn’t Christabel, my first Lemurian donkey. She has gone on in search of glittering academic prizes, so I hear. This donkey was grey and oatmeal in colour, with a large knobby head. He was wearing a tam o’shanter with holes for his ears to stick through.

Reminding myself that Lemurian donkeys are not your common or garden variety, I introduced myself.

``Hamish,” he said briefly, through a mouthful of thistle. ``Ye’re late.”

``I know, I usually am,” I apologized.

``Aye, so I heard. Well, get on then, we’d best be off.” He swung his rump around so I could clamber on board.

``Where are we going?” I asked as we set off down the road at a leisurely amble – late or not, Hamish seemed in no hurry, pausing now and then to snatch another thistle.

``that’s up to you,” he said. ``I’m no fashed where we go.”

I took out the clay pipe and started to play again. The merry little tune turned into a hornpipe, and I smelled the tang of the sea on the breeze. Freed of my petty little worry worms, I breathed it in deeply and felt a longing for something fun, adventurous and completely unplanned.

``Let’s go to sea!” I said.

Hamish cocked an ear at me. ``No the noo,” he said. ``There’s pirates about, ye ken.”
I clamped my teeth down on my pipe, and narrowed my eyes against the glare of the sun.

``Pirates?” I said. ``Sounds – interesting.”

Hamish heaved a sigh and left the serpentine road, followed a rocky track down to the sea.

``I can see,” he said over his shoulder, ``that you’re going tae cause me quite a bit o’ trouble, aye.”

Sorry I'm Late

I'm sorry for the delay folks. As I came through the gate and found my donkey the glint of sunlight off the nearby lake caught my attention. I just couldn't help myself; I had to check it out. As I came down the grassy knoll to the shore the blue of the water took my breath away. Sunlight sparkled off the surface casting a prism of color at my feet. I felt a deep stillness in my soul. I commented to Agnes (my donkey companion), I sure wish I brought my fishing gear this looks like a little piece of heaven to me!"

Agnes said, "Okay."

And there by my side was a tackle box and a nice Shakespeare casting outfit. It was just too tempting for me...I do love to fish. I told Agnes, "I'll just make a cast or two and we'll be on out way."

Agnes said, "Yeah, sure you will."

Well, that was four days ago. On my first cast, my line was hit like I had hooked a whale. Why didn't somebody warn me that Moby Dick was lurking about? Now the way things usually work is that the one doing the casting is the one doing the catching but that's not the way things happen here! The next thing I knew I was being pulled into the lake. Iknow. Iknow, you want to know why I didn't just let go of the rod, right? All I can say is old habits die hard. That was one primo fishing set up. I priced one last year and put it on my things to buy when I get rich list. I wasn't just about to let go of it, not without a fight.

I started trying to pull back but my feet kept slipping. When I was in the water up to my knees I came up against a rock and I held my own for a few minutes. That rod was bent almost in half and I thought...Shit it's going to break. Then all of a sudden the line went slack and I fell back into the water. Before I could get my feet under me, I was pulled out into the lake like a skier on a towrope.

At first I panicked. My lungs were burning...I needed air! Then I heard the most beautiful music. It was Pachelbel's Cannon in D. I finally let go of that rod and started kicking for the surface, at least I thought I was kicking for the surface. I didn't know which way was up. Then I heard a voice. At first it was just a whisper, "Let go." Then it became a little louder. "Let Go." I didn't know what it meant. I had already let go of the rod. Then it came like a shout, "LET GO OF YOUR FEAR!" I was still confused. I left my fear in the surrender box. I was drowning. For me, the world went black.

When I came to I was in a bubble with Mermaids all around me. I heard the music again. It was the most beautiful music I have ever heard. It was as if all the symphonies that ever existed were playing at once. Instead of being overwhelming the notes blended perfectly and made a new symphony that was greater than anything that had ever come before. Then the music stilled and everyone turned to look at me. I felt self-conscious. I didn't know what to do or say. As one their voices rang out. "Will you let go of your fear?" It came to me not as words spoken but as a choir of voices in perfect harmony.

"I left my fear in the surrender box, " I said.

"Not all of it," came their song.

"WILL YOU LET GO OF YOUR FEAR?" Came the chorus.

"Yes, I will let go of my fear!" I said.

With one voice they sang a note that would make Pavarotti proud and my bubble burst. I kept my eyes on the Mermaid in front of me. She reached out her hand and I took it. Without thinking about it, I was breathing. I was BREATHING! Do you know how cool it is to be able to breathe under water? I smiled and said, "My name is Melody." The Mermaid who took my hand smiled and said, "We know. My name is Metasea. Welcome."

They took me to their home in the lake and that's where I've been for the last few days. I was having so much fun with them it was hard for me to take my leave. I knew I had to go however and catch up with the rest of you. I pulled Metasea aside and told her I needed to continue my journey . My last night there the Mermaids threw a big party for me giving me gifts to remember them by. Metasea took me back to the shore but before she left she gave me a magic whistle. She told me if I ever wanted to visit no matter where I was or which body of water I was in all I had to do was blow the magic whistle and someone would come for me.

I climbed out onto the shore. There stood Agnes. I'm rushing to catch up.