The Serpentine Road

Walk with me in the snow...

2006-11-26T21:18:00.000-08:00

I thought you might like to come along

Creative Handprint

2006-07-21T20:07:00.000-07:00

On this journey I have learned..
To make skilly and duff
The ancient, symbolic meaning of serpents
How Chinese pirates lived and died during the third and last great period of power, the years from 1780-1810
About Zheng Yi Sao
About homelessness
About choosing
That I can be mopping the floor at work and swabbing the decks on the Calabar Felonway at the same time
Relinquishment, selflessness is the ultimate power
Skinnydipping in the Ocean of Imagination is always refreshing
The two rules to the creative process:
1. Begin
2. Continue
Fear turns one to stone
Laughing through tears makes rainbows
That believing God is exclusively male is a myth I have lived by, one which blinds me to the infinite glory of God.
Creating is a way of praying
Creating makes pain easier to bear
The biographies of goddesses
That when it is dark the stars appear, although they have been there all along

Impassible-5

2006-06-15T01:32:00.000-07:00

OVER THE CREST

I walk down into the valley
with the Abbey grounds distinct,
and ripples of welcome
from Cher-Lynne
reaching out.

but downhill needs special attention,
and most accidents occur
close to home ...

but I can muse --
........................................................

The Cloak

There is a mantle in the hall,
next to the sword I must foreswear –
but they are perceived the same
by those who live by obfuscation,
or instill confusion for delight,
or submit to fear.

It is noticeably of no worth,
of simple weave and colors sparse –
but hung loose and without guile
it will stop any arrow or blade
with naught but faith in silent breeze,
and integrity.

It is heavy though and itches,
and not meant to be worn forever –
yet its presence and shadow
is of and betwixt my being,
and it ripples with Currents strong,
and eternity.

Beginning the Journey at Last

2006-06-14T08:41:00.001-07:00

I've left behind the skins of my old self
Because how else will I grow?

I step through the doorway to a world far removed from the stage I'd just performed on
I look back at the past selves I have shed, am trying to shed, am trying to leave behind in the surrender box
No doubt some fear, procrastination, dissatisfaction, inferiority complex and depression will follow me wherever I travel
But luckily I can shed as many times as I need to

I'm armed and ready for my journey
As the others are too
We all have our maps and special bags packed with things to help us along the way
Bless the woman who is le Enchanteur, our guide, our motivator and the ignition to our creative fires

I adjust the straps on my bags and smooth my skirt
I check the soles of my boots and estimate that they should last until I reach the House of the Serpent
I spy a strange looking animal watching me from the bushes
And my old self would have been afraid
But I'd been told that this might happen and so I strode confidently up to the beast

She looked at me with wary eyes
As I examined her I couldn't figure out whether I was supposed to climb onto her back or take her reigns
I didn't even know what creature she might be
Something between a horse, a hippopotamus and a bird (wings only)

I started walking along the Serpentine Road
Realising that I was alone with this creature because I'd dawdled (again)
I turned to look at her and she seemed to know what I wanted
She soon caught up and walked beside me, snorting softly and clip clopping at a leisurely pace
I sensed we'd be good travelling companions

Impassible -4

2006-06-13T19:40:00.000-07:00

I have reached the crest,
and am decending into the valley,
no less dangerous ..

heel set, weight back ...

...................................................................

Walk in the rain – slowly;
cadence set by spirit balance
and the song you are now singing,
or listening to,
or crafting.

Savor each drop – slowly;
trace rivulets from uncapped brow
to cheek and chin and yearning breast,
or trembling heart,
or chakras.

Join with the flow – slowly;
as some measure of your presence
sloughs away to dribble unseen
but remembered –
cherished.

A flower will grow – slowly;
nourished by your chance passing
that diverted life to one seed alone,
a soft imprint
forever.

Impassible-3

2006-06-12T11:32:00.000-07:00

Brother Tree

I am far from confluence of roads,
those well trod and those less traveled,
and am one with the forest draw and close.
I cannot get lost nor circle about
for home calls to me – and the space at your side;
and the trees understand and will protect me.

The rains came – a squall at sea – but here?
In the meadow I would have fallen
to prayerless knees and muddied despair;
but I stand instead against a brother tree,
embraced and enfolded as if in your arms
to listen to the songs and breath on now.

And of now, there is a debt to pay
as basic as my sense of self and one.
I dance naked beneath the giggling branches
as they release the gift rain in kindness,
giving me in simple measure by right
the fine blessings I could not bear alone.

and so it is with your love, little one –
that which I cannot embrace though folly
you will then shower on me in baby kisses
and thoughts of deep roots and shadow boughs,
that I might have it all – and live again –
but it’s just a tree, and you so far away.

Impassible-2

2006-06-11T04:01:00.000-07:00

THE SEAT

If I had stayed on the road I would never have found it; but the rutted byway was more mud than friendly, so I followed game trails over the ridge. A side path, useless for animal wiles let to a rocky wind-promontory only a slight drift from my inclination. Someone had fixed iron staples into the granite to form a ladder of sorts – curious, as this spot held no grand view nor watch of the road below. I chose to climb.

The top held a cleft protected from the gusting winds that could roll stones uphill. Therein had been constructed a stone bench from which one could see only a single mountain peak to the East – nothing spectacular save a curious saddle like depression at the summit. I closed my eyes and reached out – and in and asked the chiseled stone for answers as there were no trees about. I learned that I must return at dawn. This cut my day short, but gave time for fishing below and a fine watching of owls after sunset, and a soft bed of fir tips and a most persistent frog.

The cold and unforgiving seat was meant for someone of less girth than I, and shorter too methinks, but strangely comforting – like sitting in the palm of a giant hand. The silence was absorbing and the morning mist content in the valley below. And the sun rose! It ascended majestically behind the saddle peak, nestled there and seemed to pause a bit -- but then time was suspended, or moved backwards a knock. I did not breathe at any rate! Down the mountain face were veins of quartz or other crystals – unseen in any lesser view. Each now captured a single ray of GodShine and bent it to its will. Rainbow flashes like trout in a brook – lightning dazzles of searing brilliance – twinkling fireflies like sequins on a Goddess veil. Some flashes seemed to join and form globes of iridescent dance in the air – pulsing ebbs of wonder – bubbles from a spring of EverLight. I sensed sparks scattering from a gigantic hammer striking an anvil, and yearned for the sound – the ringing chimes and jeweled notes. Then gone!

Oh, why am I here and now? Who built this perch – who else knows? Why is there but a single thought in my mind as I walk the lonely trails? –

“As this is made, so then are thee!”

protection against the perils of forgetfulness

2006-06-10T04:15:00.000-07:00

Here is a necklace of gingko leaves strung on a cord. Gingko possesses powers to aid those suffering from forgetfulness.

In certain circumstances it may even be necessary to drink a couple of drops of Essence of Lethe when foes try to wipe your memory

creative handprint

2006-06-10T04:14:00.000-07:00

Descansos and journey of the heart

2006-06-09T11:22:00.000-07:00

My body is marked by the scars of descansos: a simple childhood fall resulting in an awkward break requiring pinning. The scar on my keloid skin as livid now as it was 40 years ago, more like the weal from a burn. A fall from a moving bus and 6 stitches in my head. Two scars track across my belly: removal of a poisoned appendix and subsequent abcesses. The second and most painful in all senses: an emergency operation to remove both fallopian tubes. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to have children, except by IVF” said the gynaecologist the next day. All potential for creating new life gone with the cut of the knife. Attempts at IVF resulted in nothing but misery followed by acceptance and finally by the finding of new paths of creativity – a burgeoning interest in amateur dramatics and theatrical workshops. Voice workshops with Barb on whose body are tattooed a number of runes – a permanent record of events that have marked her. Watching over the building of our new house and being able to start a garden from scratch; learning to play the piano again, albeit badly, after a gap of 35 years; singing in a choir; reacting to creative stimuli and trying my hand at writing and artworks; traveling and travel journals, digital photography; learning a new language; explorations of new worlds.

Journey of the heart

Updated and revised version of a letter I wrote to the woman I was 10 years ago (now 20 years ago).

My dear,

20 years have passed and you have experienced much in that time.

You have become a self-assured woman who has overcome the disappointment of not being able to have children and has, instead, enjoyed the company of a number of cats. You have discovered that, with the increased amount of free time available through not having had children, you have been able to enrich your personal and cultural life. You have met people of different nationalities and have learned to love their countries, languages, music, food and wine.

After moving abroad, you settled in so quickly that you decided to sell your old house and build a new one, near the city but in the countryside, something that you would never have been able to do if you had stayed put and you had all the fun and hard work of creating a garden from scratch. Blood, sweat and tears and all that.

In your professional life you weighed up the pros and cons of making a career and decided that there were more important things. You have been in the same job now for 15 years – together with your colleague you have worked out a good modus operandi and the work is autonomous. It can be difficult and, at times, unpleasant but you work well and enjoy it.

On the negative side there is not too much to say. Circumstances have taken you away from your family and a number of close friends whom you still miss. Your sister lives in the U.S. but you usually manage to meet up with her and her family every couple of years. Your brother has settled down and married and lives close to your parents – a weight off your mind as your parents are now in their mid eighties.

People say you have changed a lot since coming here. Perhaps you didn’t notice at first but now, with hindsight and the wisdom that has come from experience, you know that it is true. You are more self-assured and confident in what you do. You have gained a certain serenity from having come close to death on two occasions and you know that life is too short to play with.

If you have any regrets it is because you have not always had the courage to say certain things to certain people and have not taken those decisions that would have turned your life upside down. Was it because of cowardice or because, deep down, you knew it would be better to stay as you were. Perhaps you will never know and, in the meantime, much water has flowed under the bridge.

I hope that your life will continue to be as peaceful as you would wish and know that I am happy for you.

Impassible-1

2006-06-09T02:42:00.000-07:00

BRIDGE

I was curious to discover why the pass is described as ‘impassible’, as I have encountered no obstacle not easily circumvented or leaped, and a donkey would have no problems. A cart might not pass to be sure, as I discovered at a bridge called “The Span.” The name was apt in intent, for the seething stream cut deep in the granite, though never too wide. The bridge was nothing now but a pile of broken timbers, mostly swept away in the Spring thaw. A pleasant spot, actually, except that the opposing lip was twenty feet away with anchoring boulders half that below. There were handhold enough for a man to pass, but a cart was something else.

Two carts there were – grinning at each other from sides close yet so far. Two draft horses were likewise hobbled amiably on each side; and a lone merchant sat in the shade, with a strung bow close at hand. We shared a bit of cheese and fruit and I learned of his predicament. Twice each year he and another merchant met at The Span with a cart of goods. The one from the Bay swelled with goods expected at the Abbey, while the upland one returned crafts and specials of the forest. The merchants would trade carts at this point, to return home with their own horses and half the journey, to settle later any difference in value. Alas, nature directed this trade was not to be, and neither merchant was disposed to portage the goods across the defile by hand.

Thus it was that Tom stayed here to guard the goods while Samile returned to the village to hire laborers to rebuild the bridge. However, both had agreed that if a group of willing persons came along, they could be put to work immediately, with a bag of silver ready for payment for those who would trade the carts as planned. “This I will do for you,” offered my portly, crippled self. Laughter was the only reply, but I set myself to the task.

There were two logs of length about fifteen feet that I lashed to the wheels of the cart backed up to the nearside edge, secured of course with sturdy ropes of which there was plenty. The other ends extended into the center of the stream. Next, I climbed up two winsome firs and affixed ropes to the tops. These I bent slightly and secured to the back of the cart on either side. More ropes now led across the gap to the other side, where I borrowed the use of a single horse. Slowly we took up the slack.

The cart would have fallen into the stream save for the lever branches. Instead, the cart rose into the air on stilts – held in brake by the bending trees soon doubled like bows on the draw. The cart quivered at midpoint – then descended slowing to my side to settle without a sound. With the tree ropes bound fast, I freed the cart, towing it to safety with the second horse. Then I moved the other cart into place and again affixed the log supports to its wheels as before. With tethers all in place, my brilliant steed backed up ever slowly, allowing the cocked trees to pull back with steady hand. This cart too rose in the air, hesitated – and dropped slowly to the first side. The amazed merchant would have helped gather up the ropes, but I wished full compensation, knowing full well some poorish folk who could use the silver coins. All of this was quickly done, but a couple of hours delay from my wanderings.

“But what will I tell my friend?” asked he who now had to await the other merchant’s return before he could venture home.

“Always tell the truth,” said I. “Tell then that an old man caused the carts to fly across the stream by magick, for while the use of wits instead of brawn is not magickal at all, the willingness to greet any challenge as done, surely is!”

“They will not believe me!” murmured the merchant.

“Such is often the fate of truth. And you then will be safe to hold this knowledge until another time where it might serve you well. Consider it a gift – and an obligation to use it well.”

It was my gift to sleep well that night.

for Fran on her Birthday

2006-06-07T18:36:00.000-07:00

As I walk Along

2006-06-03T18:16:00.000-07:00

I muse about the responses I received,
on and off blog,
about my plight and quest ...
enough though to give me confidence
to make up a story ...

Me and Will

I didn’t drive yet, but knew a lot about cars, which is why Will let me wash his 1938 Buick that didn’t need it. He wouldn’t let me wash his 1953 Roadster, which did need it – said he had to do that himself. So I learned a bit about people. Truth is, I seemed to be the only kid around who liked to listen to the stories old folk tell – and didn’t care much if I could tell which were true and which were funnin’. He was 93 at the time and still driving. He had the first drivers license in the State of Nevada in 1906 and had never had an accident up till 1958 – can’t tell about tomorrow.

His wife ‘Misses’ was a tad younger and didn’t tell many stories – just made things; scarves, doilies, mittens. These told stories in a different way, I guess, but it took me years to realize it. Instead, she paid me to do simple chores and tell her stories. Her’s were real tasks, though – washing low windows and high shelves beyond her reach. And sweeping the basement. That I would have done for free just for the company of wonderful things stored there. I could write a book about ‘em – maybe I will. Anyway, it surprised me a bit when she asked if I would come to the sewing room after Will had left for the store. She made special request – best in my life maybe, leastwise at fourteen. I just touched her hand and left.

I told my parents what I was going to do – didn’t ask. I arranged for my brother to handle my paper route and paid in advance. Then, Tuesday morning at 5:30AM, Will got into his Roadster preparing to leave on a trip. I got in beside him. He stared a bit, but didn’t say anything, then glanced at the kitchen window. She was there. We drove off, alone on the street. “I was wondering why she finally trusted me to go,” he stated firmly. Afraid I’d fall in a hole and lie helpless, I guess. Never had a broken bone I couldn’t splint. We’ll stop for pancakes in ‘bout an hour.” And that’s how I came to be with Will, and to be the one with the secret.

I’ll skip over all the stories about ‘what used to be in that building’, and ‘the trouble with this pass before they paved it’ sort of thing, and whittle down to those that relate to the ‘Lens’. Maybe I’m leaving the best part out, but this is a short story, after all. Back in the 1890’s, Will was a prospector and got involved in a couple of important digs. In ’98 outside of Goldfield, he and a friend ‘pick and shoveled’ sixteen hours a day for three months with nothing but beans, jackrabbit, and water cress. They pulled in three wagons of fine ore and shared more than a million dollars – back when a dollar bought a suit of cloths. Two years later he had little left, mostly from grub-staking friends. Said he had no need for hard money except to help folks. Then he got married and decided to take a regular job. Everyone respected him, and at six two by 230 he was an ideal foreman. There was a new gold vein being opened up – a promising mother load. Overnight about 6,000 men were camping under juniper brush ready to work continuous twelve on twelve off shifts in the tunnels. No machinery, no safety equipment, no excuses. They worked on solid rock with carbide lamps of their heads. Old Will chanted the rhythm of the mine, “whang, twist, step, set.” Inch by inch, groan by groan they’d drive the drills six feet in for blasting – except when they hit the green! The drill would vanish with the ‘whang’, while ‘hammer’ and ‘set’ collided in warning shout. The green was soft, and sticky and rankled in the lunges when you breathed. No one liked the green.

It was an amazement how Will could drive and play three different characters at once – take me back to a time fifty years gone – to a place drawing closer every minute. He was returning to the mines and the green. Turns out, most of Will’s job was supervising construction of special scaffolding around the soft layers of gray-green deposits. Will knew it was copper ore and had it assayed for poisonous impurities – low grade, worthless and dangerous. Thousand year old water sometimes leached out onto the floor to cause slips and falls. Everyone cursed the green – all twenty six shafts had them – bad luck to find them weaving through the rich quartz ore. Two and a half years and it was done. Hundreds of millions of dollars of gold taken, tunnels boarded up – a ghost town over night. Richer than most, quickly forgotten. Except by Will.

Will had to wait fifty years because old claims were set by time, some 50, some 75 years. New laws required yearly working of a claim or forfeit. Not these – ‘grandfathered’ in. It didn’t matter that Will didn’t want the gold still hidden there. During the years he researched the claims and knew when each would expire. He placed the sample bottles from the twenty-six shafts like chess pieces on a gigantic board, and drew an imagined map of the vein of copper resting there. He described it as a lens, thicker in some places than others, but always present, “A little longer than round,” he said. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. He chatted about it as something he could hold in his hand and stroke – like a clam shell maybe. “’Course, I don’t know how big she really is,” he laughed. Maybe you can tell me.

That afternoon he scrapped away piled sand from hidden boards. No one watched – no footsteps had passed by for years, telling from the rain drop pocked sand. “Six should be enough,” he said, and we went into fearsome maws of lonely memories. I wasn’t afraid, exactly, but felt a chill at the thought of being buried alive and no one knowing – you understand. Sometimes we went down thirty feet – sometime a hundred. Each time we found the green, a ribbon winding through every level and angle – sometimes only a few feet high, sometimes fifty feet or more on several levels. Will had a map with little ‘X’s on it. We went down in eight holes in all, confirming and adding to his sketch. In the four mines around the edge the vein was high – extending into imagination alone. We covered the holes back up and drove back to a small town and single room hotel. Food was good though. He didn’t talk much that night.

Next morning we walked forever – pacing from one rock pile to another, picking up old tobacco cans along the way. On six points he stuffed some papers into the cans and we buried them with boulders. After lunch we drove to some distant points and he placed four more. In town, he had some papers witnessed and left at the BLM office. We started back towards home, but he stopped and got out to look at the mountain range where the ‘Lens’ was resting. “Just once,” he whispered, “I wanted to be the richest man on earth.” On the way home he told me the rest.

“There is no way to get to that ore right now,” he chuckled. “Too expensive to remove the overbear and it’s too low grade from tunnel mining. It’s going to have to be an open pit like over at Ruth, except that the part I staked is 20% bigger and 4% richer. I could only stake 600 feet beyond what I could see – that’s ‘vein’ law. Copper is ‘bout eighty cents a pound right now – just doesn’t balance out, especially since there is no water here. Someday that price is going to climb – someday there’s going to be a need for that copper lens. I won’t see it – maybe you will. Hope you see these riches do some good.”

I didn’t think much of it, really – just glad to be along. Will died the next year and I am now three thousand miles away. But I’ve done some checking. The Ruth pit produced 4.5 billion pounds of refined copper, plus as much in other ores. If Will’s estimates are right, the Lens holds more than six billion pounds – maybe a lot more. I reach out in mind and spirit and see Will holding that Copper Lens in his hands – a lot bigger – just a giant shield to ward against pain and hunger. Copper is approaching $4.00 per pound. Recon Will might have been the world’s first trillionaire. At least his heart was that big.

I’ve started putting some ‘X’s on a napkin. “Yes, Will,” I remember where it is.

marked out heart

2006-05-31T11:04:00.000-07:00

"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

2006-05-30T18:04:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-28T19:01:00.000-07:00

shedding the skin

2006-05-28T11:38:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-24T07:29:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-23T05:07:00.000-07:00

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.

My Heart's Map.

2006-05-23T02:48:00.000-07:00

The Map of My Heart is as old as I am, but like me, it is a work in progress. Let's be honest, the details really are of no interest to anyone else, except its owner. It has always been around: the idea, the possibility, hovering just out of my reach at first. No paper quite able to capture the fine veined and veiled lines. No pencils of just the right hue...not that I was sure what that hue could possibly be.

Then one day, paper of exactly the right colour and texture floated in through my window. "Writing for Wellbeing", it cryptically stated, and landed on my desk. I recognised it immediately, and that is the paper I have drawn my map on. Under a hitherto stranger's skilful and guiding hand, one never critical of the pens I chose, and always enthusiastic even when the colours clashed...I was able to bring the details of my heart into focus. Create a map covered with the story of my life. A map that anchors my past and guides me into the future.

The lines at first were tentative, firming up with practice. Exploding into colour as I reached for a variety of unaccustomed tints and gained confidence with the outcome. I wear this heart on my sleeve now and occasionally a stranger brushing by smudges it or tears a corner off. But I stick it back together and relish the contentment it brings my life.

THANK YOU HEATHER BLAKEY.

Mapping My Heart

2006-05-22T14:14:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-22T00:22:00.000-07:00

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

Heart Map

2006-05-21T22:55:00.000-07:00

Prompt: Make a map of your heart as proof of identity so that you may pass through the gates into the House of the Serpents.

I have no heart to speak of, my heart is small, soon I will be heartless.
Piece after piece it has been given away, carried off, pulled from its scaffolding, torn away, nerves still attached. Each one a cable through which messages propagate or not, from giver to taker down through the years and back again. When I was young and stingy, each piece was small and subject to much debate. I remember giving such a morsel to a teacher, who placed it on her desk among the others, where it sat neglected until I stole it back at the end of term without her even noticing. I took it home and gave it to my dog, and he cherished it and gave me most of his in return.....

...........My donkey has no name, at least it is kept from me. It took a while, but finally I figured it out....
Like this beast I have no true identity. Through all these years, my inner voice, checked from free expression. Not loss of identity, rather individuality never found. Never time, it was not a priority. Oh sure, I carved out a place in society by relinquishing 'frivolous' pleasures to concentrate on studies, career, livelihood, and the needs and preferences of others. One-by one, the choices that mold a unique persona have been stripped away.
One day, not very long ago, I awoke in the realization that my whole lifetime could pass in personal anonymity. Somehow, I managed to find a remnant of myself, seized upon it and asked, "What would you wish to do, more than anything else in the world?"
The answer came swiftly and I was shocked: "To learn to write expressively."
I never would have guessed it in a thousand years.
How I came to find Soul Food, this animal, and this pathway is an unfolded mystery.
Perhaps I am doomed to linger at the gate forever.

Patience and Sox

2006-05-21T16:26:00.000-07:00

"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

2006-05-21T15:20:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-21T15:09:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-21T09:05:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-21T01:35:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-21T01:12:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-20T19:36:00.000-07:00

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

Interior Cartography: A Descanso

2006-05-20T06:31:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-20T03:09:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-20T02:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Interior Cartography #4

2006-05-19T23:21:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-19T21:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Breaking Free

2006-05-19T21:41:00.000-07:00

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

DONKEY SONG

2006-05-19T16:21:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-19T14:40:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-19T13:04:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-19T12:24:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

Ornery beast move it! My patience is wearing thin. You won't share your name, you won't look at me, and your scent is far from pleasing...You're the epitomy of the stereotype of your breed! Frustrated, I threw myself down beneath the shade of a near-by plantain, weary of mind and heart.

"Mademoiselle?", a plaintive, whining, nasal, voice, whispered in my ear. "Mon Dieu!", I exclaimed, startled from my rest. The beast drew back, a flicker of fear in his eyes. More fully awake, I realized we were communicating telepathically; a faculty long-bred into his species. He peered into my eyes to see if I was buying it. I stifled a snort, genetic traits are all I am about.

Then something remarkable occurred, He gently removed a small object cradled protectively within his jaws and placed it on the ground between us. It was deeply swathed in leaves through which shallow but rapid movement could be seen. Slowly he nuzzled back the covering to reveal a golden-throated dove -- rarest of its kind. My gasp caused his gaze to fly to my face ... questioning, fearful, pleading. It all became evident to me as his story tumbled into my mind.

He had been awaiting my arrival for hours, when storm clouds blew in, and the sky erupted with lightning. A fearsome blast struck a near-by tree and he cowered in fear. By the time he mustered his courage it was too late. The delicate nest had toppled, destroyed beneath a splintered branch with the broken form of the mother bird lying crushed within. Off to one side this lovely fledgling flopped injured and quivering in pain.

I gently drew one lacquered fingertip across the creatures beak, along the tiny feathers between its eyes, then carefully circled the skull and down the long silken neck. I felt the tension ease somewhat under my touch and I detected no fractures nor tenderness until I circled down the back and under the right wing. There I knew was the problem for the dislocation could quite easily be palpated,it was so far dislodged. I rose and placed my hand against the beast's cheek and felt the cool wetness of his steady tears. I bid him stay as I grabbed the red shoes from my bag and flew back to my wagon for the analgesia necessary to complete the healing task.

So here we are at last upon the road to Blind Springs, with one ensconced in a tiny leaf-lined stretcher, secured upon his namelessness' back. There will be time enough to rectify the details, right now tho', I puzzle my feelings of contrition...is it regret for my attitude when we met, or for the consequences that may follow?
Signed,
FlashBug

daily routines

2006-05-19T08:09:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-19T05:03:00.000-07:00

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.

I fear....

2006-05-19T04:32:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-19T02:09:00.000-07:00

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

daily routines and a map

2006-05-18T21:58:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-18T14:38:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-18T12:43:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-18T07:25:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-17T20:03:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-17T18:43:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-17T18:42:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-17T17:14:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-17T15:31:00.000-07:00

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

Surrendering

2006-05-17T12:27:00.000-07:00

We count the days on descending fingers
until the lease expires
and the roof over our head
is gone.

Everyday the things
that make our home are
packed and piled
building higher and higher towers.

It is not known if
we will ever unpack them again.

My family,
and others who have all the answers,
cluck disapproval.

Failure.
They cannot even provide their family with a home.

I am afraid.

I am ashamed.

I went to college.
I earned good grades.
I work hard.
I do my best.
I am kind.
I volunteer.
My best is not good enough.

We count the days on descending fingers
until the lease expires
and the roof over our head
is gone.

I dream of homes.

Small palaces -
a few rooms
under a roof,
Windows,
one above a sink
with spigots for hot and cold
water
a bath, a tub, a toilet.
Walls to keep out cold
keep in warmth
light shining from windows
making golden pools
on the snow.

When we married, I promised
my husband that I
would make any habitation
he provided
a home –

now, when that home is a tent,
I want to run away
find an apartment for myself.
By myself.

When I ask myself
why
am I renigging on
the covenant
I value as my life –
the answer is ugly.

Shame of the disdain
of others.

The opinions of others
who do not love me.

I surrender my pride
for love.

Map of my Heart

2006-05-17T06:27:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-17T04:47:00.000-07:00

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...

strange encounter

2006-05-17T04:22:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-17T04:02:00.000-07:00

“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...

2006-05-17T03:31:00.000-07:00

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

2006-05-16T20:38:00.000-07:00

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.

The long and winding road (sorry Paul)

2006-05-16T17:21:00.000-07:00

Let me sit a moment
let me think.

What I gave at the gate
my "don'ts", "can'ts" and "nevers"
They were left for a reason.

Now Eeyore,
The epitome of "can't, never and don't"
hmmmm
me thinks there may be good reason for us to be travelling together.

a test.
I get it, and I, again
face this challenge
head on.

We wandered, and lets just say the term wandering is used very loosely. I had never really paid much attention to Eeyore as a kid, Pooh and Piglet were always my favourites. Man, this guy can whinge! I swallowed all temptation to just sit and cry, took a deep breath and wandered on.

This pace, I must admit, is quite a nice pace to travel at. I originally thought that I would be lost, miss out on all the fun and activity along the way, but in a short time I have gauged the feel of this journey and I think I'll fit in just fine.

If I travel too fast (there's something in this to take away with you Samm) I'll miss everything. The lovely orchids hiding under trees, the beautiful glistening moss on the dark side of the trees, the busy birds way up high in the canopies.... Deep breaths, slow and steady wins the race as Dad always says.

Lets keep moving, I'm really dying to try the Peanut butter marbled brownies that Sage has made for us all....

Traveling Companions

2006-05-16T12:42:00.000-07:00

Traveling Companions

I have encountered another traveler on the road and have been invited to a fine lunch and good conversation.

However, even with this wonderful company, I must pause and consider how we travel down the road of our creative life. It IS a lonely life, even if you do have traveling companions. When I consider all the awkward, silent moments from friends and family when I share something I've written or rendered, or when I hear those ever-welcome comments: "what's that supposed to be?" or "that's....interesting" or some have even rolled their eyes and smirked (thinking I don't see them), then I realize how really alone I am.

There is some salvation from the group of travelers on this road in their encouraging words and gentle promptings toward discipline. Because of these good souls, I feel a little less lonely.

BUT, ultimately, even with this company, we cannot change the fact that we must CREATE alone. No one sees the world with my eyes, no one can craft my story but me. So the secret is not to confuse being alone in our creative calling with being lonely.

Seek out the kindred spirits when you can to stave off the demons of loneliness, but if need be, be prepared to go it alone.

Lori Gloyd (c) May 16, 2006

Cher-lynn and I

2006-05-16T09:42:00.000-07:00

I might have missed her, you know –
all that dust from the eager throng
and recalcitrant donkey distraction
you’ve been relating –
and she being shy and unsure
of why I (or anyone) would ask
for the donkey forgotten.

I tarried in my usual way – writing,
supported by forgiving seat-grass
and a nestle-warm cedar stump.
The presence of another shadow
might not have fringed my focus at all,
except that her eyes could not remain silent.

“I am called faucon, or papa,” said I;
in music to blend with the uphill brook.

a look into her eyes –

“and I am blessed!”

“What was the name of the first
girl you ever kissed?” the donkey asked.

“forget the spin-the-bottle stuff and cousin pecks.”

“Cherylynne,” tumbled out before memory caught up.

“Then you can call me ‘Cher-lynn’, perhaps.”

I sang her a little song that is of no import,
(except that she hums the tune at sunset)

“It is right that you carry your staff and scroll,”
she offered. “I will carry the pouch, bedroll and food.”

I did not ask after the stubby wings
strapped to her sides with silken twine,
though I knew she thought I might.

I just set off, leaving scant footprints
as is my way; but readily marking the trail
with staff-pocks every fourth stride –

in between strides the whirling Sequoia branch
traces a figure eight in the air …
an infinity sign,
followed by the symbol Phi …
and we are off,
she somewhere behind.

Message from the Universe, via fat little carrier pigeon

2006-05-16T07:20:00.000-07:00

If you would simply think deeply, Kim, on the things you've loved most about life; on the things you've loved most about yourself; and of the main challenges you've faced, whether behind you or in the moment; you will then know in an instant, beyond a shadow of a doubt, exactly "why you are here."

Most fondly, The Universe

I received this message this morning as Roselea and I loaded up and headed down the green moss path. If I think about it, I will know why I am here. Are the answers that easy? Is the reason just waiting for me to reveal it to myself? And where the heck is Blind Springs?

Fondly, from the path,
Blueridgegirl

Le Enchanteur thinks she is a Buccaneer

2006-05-16T06:42:00.000-07:00

Here we are, struggling along the Serpentine Road while le Enchanteur plays at being a bold buccaneer over at Dead Man's Chest. Honestly! I wish she would concentrate and make herself useful instead of leaving me to do everything.

A Rest Along the Way--Pondering Discipline

2006-05-15T20:54:00.000-07:00

A Rest Along the Way-- Pondering Discipline

We have stopped for a rest along the road. My trusty steed has informed me that inspite of what Big Mike told me, his name is actually Sweet ALBERT.

While Sweet Albert grazes along the side of the road, I am taking moment to enjoy the beauty of the woods and to ponder my own creative routines.

I have none.

Indeed, I labor all day, do my physical regime three times a week, do my household chores daily as needed, gather with my fellowship of believers once a week to hear the Holy Texts, and as much as possible visit with friends and family.

But as far as inner habits go, I am very derelict. Only since I've come on this journey do I write or create on a daily basis, though once, a long time ago, I did do these things with far more regularity.

Nor do I read like as I once did. I used to read a book or a scroll for hours at a time, lying on a lounge, sipping cold drinks. Now, I read in fits and starts, falling asleep after only a page or two. At one time, I did the Form of the Taoist Masters daily, at dawn, listening to the cries of the mourning doves. And I used to pray. Oh, how I did pray-- and at times, the Heavens answered me.

I hope this journey will rekindle all these disciplines and bring me back to those habits that nurtured the inner spirit.

"Cloak" Revised: Lori Gloyd (c) May 15, 2006

Daily Routine

2006-05-15T20:22:00.000-07:00

A daily routine?
Whyever did you ask!
The one wished for?
Or the one granted.

In my wished-for days
I arise, refreshed
No snoring, his or mine,
Has disturbed the night.
I sing down thanks to the Spirit
For another glorious day
And under the shower
I pray for my family.

Over a cup of tea
I peruse the headlines
And later in the bliss of solitude
Invoke from my books,
my garden- (the lemon tree.)
Some affirmation,
Some motivation
Peace and direction.

A coffee with the dog
At James' Cafe,
Crying over the miners and little Sophie.
(His magazines are up to date).

A blur of music, and calls to friends
My soulmates.
Checking emails and Soul Cafe..
My cyber soulmates.

An evening baptism of hot water
Candles and bubbles.
Gratitude in my journal,
Meditation at the last.

The reality of my granted days
is sprinkled with work,
Paid and unpaid.
Anxiety,
Necessary and unnecessary.
Unmade beds,dirty dishes and laundry.
A sighing husband, obstinate children,
Unpaid bills and a ticking clock.

Through it all flows somehow
Energy and hoped for courage,
Gratitude and serenity.
(Wisdom?)
That are provenanced from the routine
Of my wished for days.

2006-05-15T19:55:00.000-07:00

Deja Vu all over again. This animal is familiar to me. The same smirk sans the harness and decorations ::taking a quick peek at an old picture:: Yup, the same stubborn jackass I met in New Orleans. Took three tries just to take a snapshot, I remember him well...kept shaking his head "No, not on your life, there's nothing in it for me". Oh brother! This is going to be some trip...already starting in negative numbers so to speak. ::deep sigh:: Oh well, no use procrastinating he's the only one left. Here goes nothing! ::circling around being careful not to approach him from behind::

Tossing them into the box

2006-05-15T19:36:00.000-07:00

I am going to take a calculated risk and toss all my yesterdays and all my tomorrows into the box.
All that yesterdays have done to mold me is done and done.
All the tomorrows may never come, there is no guarantee.
From this moment I will try my mightiest to live and savor the present.

The Serpentine Road Calls

2006-05-15T19:15:00.000-07:00

Anon! I come with satchel and spade

Reins in hand, astride my humble steed

Wait!

I feel I have left something important behind

Methinks ….

Yes, it is… something that has held me back

For far too long…

Rigidity

Encapsulated in a wrung out skin called

Fear

It is only important because now I am left

Unencumbered by shedding the skin

Of burdens it enshrouded me with

The leaving has left me Free

Now

Ah! The new country ahead

Promises discoveries

I am of the plant world knowing

Collector of herbs and maker of medicines

Speaking the language of green things and lofty trees

There!

All is well.

I ride free now

Stella Raye

~*~

Believer's Surrender Box

2006-05-15T17:04:00.000-07:00

The box outside the enchanted doorway had a tag on it that read: Believer.

A worn park bench, weathered from years of outdoor use was nearby and I lugged the heavy box to it and sat. Dull gray in color, it was larger than I'd expected, and very heavy. A handle on the top was sturdy and rounded and enabled me to carry the unexpected weight comfortably. What could possibly be inside to make it so heavy and if I was supposed to fill it with something, how did it open? It was smooth to the touch on all sides. Ah, leave it to Le Enchanteur to begin the journey with a mystery!

I sat with the box on my knees, stroking the smooth surface. Metal? Hard wood? It was impossible to guess, but it gleamed more and more and, reminded of Aladdin’s lamp, I took the edge of my sleeve and began to rub until my own face shone back at me. My image melted away and with a slight ripple, on the silvery surface, the word "Surrender," wrote itself and slipped immediately from view.

"What shall I surrender?" I asked.

"Relinquish possession," followed so quickly I barely had time to read and then it too was gone.

"Of what?" I murmured.

"Uncage and set free!" With that, the box tipped and I had all I could do not to drop it. Something was bouncing around inside! "NOW!" the letters nearly shouted. The struggle of some living thing within the box was undeniable. It dawned on me the container had to be airless. My fingers tore at the corners looking for a seam or entranceway but found none. In tears now, I offered a quick prayer and watched as latches popped out on the front and hinges on the back, neither of which had existed a moment earlier. I set the box hurriedly on the floor, not sure which frightened me most--what would come out of the box when I opened it or the fact that "it" had nothing to breathe and would soon die if not released.

There was less motion than before, a thumping against the side of the box, but weaker, without strength; resignation or lack of oxygen was gaining control over the creature and whether it was a monster or not, I had to set it free.

With shaking hands, I flipped the latches. The box was still. Was it dead or waiting to attack? A slight movement inside and the top began to raise. Instinctively I backed away. I heard the labored breathing first, the gulping of precious air, then saw white fur surrounding a pink nose and two bleary pink eyes peering out at me and a set of floppy ears. A rabbit gathered it's strength, jumped out and, sitting down, scratched behind one ear with its hind foot.

I bent over and extended my hand. It eyed my nervously. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you." It stayed still, but when I leaned in a bit closer it hopped nearer to the door and sat facing me again. "You're a timid little thing aren't you? Don't be afraid."

It made a strange choking sound and fell onto its side. At first, I thought it was an after effect from the lack of oxygen, and then I realized it was . . . . . laughing at me! Stifled giggles to start with, then snorting noises, then finally a full out guffaw, this silly little creature, whose life I had just saved, found me uproariously funny!

"Okay, what's the deal here? What's so funny?" I demanded.

"You are," it exclaimed in a weak voice. Tears were rolling onto its muzzle and it stopped to wipe them away first with one paw then the other. "Oh, my, you humans are dense. You give us animals your own characteristics, use us for metaphors and when we turn the tables on you, you don't even get it."

I wanted to scream at the miserable little beast, but I was afraid the other travelers might hear. "Get what?" I asked through clenched teeth and with as much civility as I could muster, "Get what?"

"Oh, I'm not allowed to tell," it told me solemnly, "you have to figure that out for yourself." With that its furry, little face contorted and it broke into another fit of the giggles.

"I'm sort of a no-frills writer, I don't go overboard with metaphors," I said, stalling for time. "Aesop? The race between the tortoise and the rabbit?"

"That was a hare," it answered snippily, "and a fable not a metaphor."

"Well, you don't act like any rabbit I've ever seen, you're supposed to be timid and afraid!"

It smiled at me. Not a superior, snooty, smile as I would have expected, but a genuine glad-ya-finally-got-it grin.

And I grinned back.

"There's a pencil and a piece of paper in the box, just write the surrender words and let's hit the road Kiddo!"

The cave of the Elders

2006-05-15T14:20:00.000-07:00

In the afternoon, after we had all rested, Patience, Sox and I sat off towards the shore which now appeared on the distant horizon. We were walking along a path, cliffs to our right and a steep drop to our left when I heard the sound of voices. I had not expected to meet anyone on this first day of travelling and curiosity led me towards the cave from where the sound was coming.

I tethered Patience and taking Sox with me walked quietly to the opening of the cave hoping to observe without being seen. However, as soon as I had come near the mouth of the cave a friendly voice shouted out,
"Welcome stranger, come in, make yourself known to us."

I entered the cave very hesitantly, but there was no need to be afraid, for there was a group of ten people, five men and five women sitting together, drinking tea, laughing and talking. After I was made welcome,I explained that I was on a journey, mentioned who had sent me (this brought a lot of knowing laughter and shouts of "good luck then") and asked them what they were doing.
"We are Elders," they told me "and our job in the world is to teach meditation, renunciation, and the way to a quiet and peaceful mind. We are about to meditate ourselves, do you wish to join us?"

I laughed, a hard cynical little laugh and said,
"I think you would have a job teaching me to meditate - and a quiet and peaceful mind? No chance...maybe I should go?"

One of the women approached me and took my hands in hers and said,
"Stay and try. Trying is meditating as well." She looked at me, examining my features and continued "Those who resist are those who need to learn to meditate most."

We sat in rows and the meditation began. Slowly, the Elder who was leading the meditation relaxed our bodies, stilled our minds and then asked us to repeat the words "peace" and "love" as we breathed in and out. Peace, love, peace, love.......

The known world disappeared. A feeling of bliss overcame my mind which began to clear. The anguish I had known, the pain of loss, the fear of lonliness, the bitterness of betrayal all began to dissolve, like a mist leaving my body....

When the meditation was finally over I was filled with inner peace and calm. The woman who had persuaded me to stay came and sat with me.
"Aren;t you glad you stayed?" she asked and I said that I was but that I feared that the feeling of bliss would not stay with me. She handed me a large shell.
"This is treasure for your bag," she said. "When you are in need of inner peace, place the shell to your ear and you will be able to take part in our meditation. Do not fear, we shall be overseeing your journey. We will be able to "see" you even when you do not see us, for this is a spiritual quest as well as a physical journey."

I felt calm and peaceful as I said goodbye to the Elders and walked out of the cave to find Patience......who had managed to somehow work her tether loose and was nowhere to be seen. So much for inner peace I thought as I ran like a mad woman trying to find my donkey.

I did find her, eventually, drinking in a quiet place, quite happy with life, a donkey smile on her donkey face. I on the other hand, was in a state of agitation, hot and sweating having feared that she was lost forever. I stroked Patience's ears, fed her a carrot, and picked Sox up to stroke her.
"What a menagerie," I said to myself. "Inner peace indeed......how will I ever achieve inner peace when I can;t even manage for five minutes, even after meeting the Elders?" and in that moment I knew why I had come on the journey. I was in search of that elusive feeling of inner peace, and the adventures to come would show me the way. That was why my map was so indistint. There were pointers, but I would have to do much of the work by myself, deciphering clues, guessing at directions, interpreting signs. The thought was at once cheering and daunting. I sighed and turned to my companions.

"Come on you two," I said. "Time to get to the sea.......who knows what we will find when we get there," and we turned towards the distant horizon.

Departing Words

2006-05-15T12:50:00.000-07:00

Departing Words

"Well," I said, as a climbed aboard the big grey horse I had acquired for my travels through Lemuria. "I guess it's time to be off. Giddyapp!"

The animal stood there, unmoving.

"C'Mon, girl, let's move!" I gave her a goad with my heels.

"Ouch! What's with the spurs?" rumbled a deep voice.

I froze in my saddle.

"And who are you calling 'girl'? My name is Sweet Albert."

"Excuse me, but did you just say something? " I asked as I leaned forward. Albert's massive head swung around and he glared at me.

"Yes, I did. Do you see anyone else around?"

"Um, no, but, gee, well......"

"Well, what?"

"You're a horse."

Albert shook his mane and snorted. "Great. They've given me a real smart one."

"But.... you talk....."

"Stop, you're overwhelming me with you mighty powers of observation! Of course, I can talk. All animals can talk if you just stop and listen to them. Except mice.... wretched little beasts......always underfoot...."

"Um, okay. You can talk. I apologize for being a dolt. Someone should have warned me I was getting Mr. Ed as a partner on this trip."

"Uncle Ed? You know my Uncle Ed? "

"Nevermind. We need to get going."

"No."

"No?"

"No. You aren't ready to leave yet. You need to leave it."

"Leave what?" I asked nervously, shifting in my saddle.

"You know what."

"Um, I beg to differ."

Suddenly, Sweet Albert gave a soft buck with his hind quarters and I went sprawling on the ground. My saddle bag flopped open and the contents went flying as well.

A small box landed in front of me.

"That. Leave it."

"Oh.... ha.... yes, how could I forget to leave that." I slowly picked up the Surrender Box.

"You thought you could take that with you? All those memories of bad relationships-- the one's you keep repeating in you mind-- those vile conversations that you rehearse over and over-- all those angry thoughts you keep mulling over in your heart. Too heavy. Not even I can carry those on this trip."

I felt my face blush with shame.

Albert turned his head towards me and softly said, "No need for that, sweet cheeks.... you need to forgive yourself as much as you need to forgive them. Now get up and put that box away..... that's it, inside the arch. I understand it will be taken to the moon and left there."

I placed the box as he directed and brushed a tear from my face.

"Now, now, let's get away from here." Albert nuzzled me gently with his soft nose. "The sun is rising high and those flies are such a bother when it gets along in the day. Up you go."

I mounted Sweet Albert and with a gentle trot, we were on the way.

Lori Gloyd (c) May 15, 2006

Sweet Surrender

2006-05-15T10:39:00.000-07:00

I have become an amalgam of ideas.
I have become one I didn’t expect.
My philosophy shifted and my vision crashed
I am still reeling from my newness of mind.

Now I understand everything is grace
Everything is given to fulfill something

Take it!
All of it!
Leave me what you think I need
and I will trust that all will be well.

I have done all I can now
I can only go with the flow

I offer my everything
To the earth, to the sky
To the moon, to the sun…

The dreams of my heart
are the dreams of
the universe dreaming
through me

Prayer by Julia Cameron

found written on a tiny scroll inside a burnt out apothecary chest

setting off

2006-05-15T08:39:00.001-07:00

One minute I was surrounded by a group of excited travellers with their assorted steeds and the next....there was a flash and bang, and I found myself alone in a clearing in a forest with my donkey Patience. She would have to be patient. I had never learnt to ride and had no idea of how to take care of her and as for riding......I had never ridden anything in my life. Never mind. We would have to learn to look out for each other. I scratched her long ears and she placed her muzzle into my neck before wandering off to find somewhere to graze.

I looked in my bag. Hidden at the very bottom was my secret item. I knew why I had chosen it, but was not sure when I would need it but it was safe. I removed the map and began to study it closely. I did not recognise it as being anywhere in the known world. In this enchanted land it might be a map of the subconcious mind, or of hidden desires, or secrets untold. It might also be a place where adventures would take (or had taken) place.

I thought being alone would be unnerving but I felt surprisingly calm. The day was warm and balmy, the sunlight filtering through the leaves in the trees above me. I drank clear water from a stream and decided to set off down the hill towards a smudge of blue in the distance which I thought might be the sea or an inland lake.

I called Patience and she ambled over slowly.
"Slow and steady wins the race." I remembered my mother's words over half a century before.

I also remembered that she had told me
"Patience is the virtue of the donkey." This had driven me through life, until I had finally realised that donkeys were wise and then developed the art of being patient. I don't know or remember whether my mother was being ironic.

I decided to mount Patience. I put one foot into the stirrup and hauling myself up found myself sitting facing backwards. Patience snorted - I assumed she was laughing at me. Grumbling I climbed down and started again. A heave, a gasp, and I was finally sitting facing forwards.
"Walk on Patience," I said with an attempt at authority. "We need to get going."

Patience lurched forward and I fell off. This was not going to be as easy as I had hoped.

Several difficult hours later before we descended from the forest onto the costal plain, I dismounted and decided to walk alongside Patience for a while and give both of us a rest. As I walked I became aware that we were being followed. A little black dog with white socks had attached herself to us and although I tried to send her away, I finally decided that she could join us and so we came that first afternoon to the seashore, me, my donkey and my little dog who I decided to call Sox in honour of her paws......

Going somewhere, somehow

2006-05-15T07:07:00.000-07:00

I think donkeys have character. Much more so that a horse anyway, which is what my not-on-this-travel husband dear prefers. I think donkeys are smart and funny and have personalities.

I am merrily bouncing along on my donkey, mostly in circles because neither Roselea (the donkey) or I am used to having someone else to work with. It's kind of like that three-legged race game. First you have to learn to move together, then you can move forward.

She is wearing flowers on her head; all I can figure is that she is as showy as I am. In fact, she used to be a show donkey, performing tricks for circus crowds. Unfortunately, in her stubborness, she now refuses to move any other way than circular unless she wants to. Nevermind. We'll go when she's ready, and we'll get there when we're supposed to. My life always works in a funny way like this.

I have my travel bag on my hip, filled with what Le Enchanteur gave me, plus my stash. I have what I need and only a few things more, as I always pick things up along the way.

As Roselea makes a round, I pass the door I just came through. I look at the land around me- lush and green with moss and leaves. There is a path through the trees, but it too is grown green with moss. I don't know where everyone else is, but I can hear them in the distance. Roselea can too; her ears prick up with a keeness.

I dig around in my bag for the map Le Enchanteur gave me. Hmmm.. I turn it round and round, trying to acclimate myself. Roselea walks round and round, in an obvious effort to confuse me more. Finally I locate the door I came through, right the map and start looking for Blind Springs, which is where I am supposed to be. At the other end of the section I have unfolded is the Cave of the Ancients, our next destination. But how to get there?

I bounce along- around- on Roselea, thinking. She turns her head to me and sees the map, sees the symbol for Blind Springs. Suddenly, she is straight. I am not curving inward in the circle ride. She heads towards the path of the green, green forest. And I let her, because she seems to know something. And I sure as hell don't.

My Donkey

2006-05-15T06:10:00.000-07:00

I met my donkey today.
she is full of humor and secrets she and dragon seem to know each other from another time
they have been talking a lot like long lost friends.
my donkeys name is Iris she has the most beautiful eyes and her fur is long and black she has a pair of beautiful wings that she just revealed to me. said that this was the first of many secrets I would discover about her on the journey to come.
we took to the air, Dragon settled in for a nap on my traveling cloak as she was sure Iris had everything under control.
I listen to the flapping of her wings and the sound of the wind wispering
telling me secrets of things to come. and answers to questions I havn't asked.

thinking positively

2006-05-15T06:08:00.000-07:00

which beast of burden calls my name?

Oh no, pretend I'm not here. Quick, the tree, hide behind it. Oh, it's too late.....

"Ahem, 'scuse me.... err, you over there behind the tree. I'd understand if you didn't see me, if you choose not to take me with you, but the problem is that we're the only two left and that's very bad, it's always very bad. Let me introduce myself..... My name is Eeyore"

through the gate

2006-05-15T06:00:00.000-07:00

And into the box I pour all my "can'ts", my "don'ts" and all my "never's"
These things which hold me back.
I shed my summer skin, skin which has grown tight with wear, tight with the heat of the sun.

The winter of my muse, runs ice cold fingers on my skin,
refreshes and invigorates.
Feeds my fire,
puts words in my fingers
which tap lightly over the keyboard of my life.

I feel ready.
I feel inspired.
I feel calm.

I take on this journey with full commitment,
meet it head on
and as I pass through the gate,
I hear my old skin cheer and applaud.

Belenus the Donkey

2006-05-15T04:54:00.000-07:00

Winged shoes racing through the air to White Owl, where I had been before,

I got there quick, but no time for sight seeing. Had to find my donkey.

There was a donkey for me as the kind Muse of the Donkeys, who goes by

the name of Fran among others, assured me. A donkey with long furry ears

and a dreamy kind of nature, that read books and wore glasses,

indicated it wanted to come along for an adventure.

"Call me Belenus" it said, "Like the Sun God".

I laughed a bit.

"I hope you don't mind me wearing glasses",

said the newly christened "Belenus".

"Of course not," I said, "we will

be wanting to see things differently, -- be wise eyed in fact. I have

glasses too in my bag of tricks."

Belenus looked satisfied, and put down the

Classics he had been reading. There was a stack of them

leaned against an old oak.

"Leaving my books for a Grand Tour," he said, "a grand adventure.

And this is right, you see. It's how it's meant to be.

And I hope you don't mind if we fly

at times, me being a plodder and all."

"Only too pleased you want to fly too," I said.

"I have always wanted to fly, closer to the sun, the reason for my name,"

he said, "but not too close, mind, as I have just read about that poor

fellow, what'is name?"

I smiled because I remembered reading about the mythical figure, Icarus,

flying too close to the sun. This fact was pleasing, as I knew my donkey

had uncommon sense already. Just what I needed. Perfect.

"So you wish to fly," I said, "above your daily cares, but not too

high? That suits me. We are off to find a treasure, and

be buccaneers. We have to find the dead man's chest.

Come on, we don't have lots of time to spare."

Belenus and I had to fly, so we waved farewell to the

Muse of the Donkeys with her good wishes, and flew over land and

dale, looking for the shore of a mysterious lake where the

treasure was likely to be found. But I had to do some thinking along

the way, -- this was not an easy task. Enchanteur always made things

sound easy at first, and then they always got tricky. But this was

her way, and it only made us more intrigued, liking a good mystery and

all, as both of us equally did. Belenus loved flying, and loved seeing

the sun at closer range. "Not too close," he said, and I agreed.

"We might see the sunlight glinting on the lake," he

said, looking down with his glasses on the end of his nose.

And sure enough, through a break in the trees we would

see the lake, and other things besides...

donkeys and dragons

2006-05-15T04:14:00.000-07:00

I hoped for a dragon to explore this new land
thought I saw a flash of wings, and high above
the gleam of fire.........

We are travelling on donkeys
exploring intimately the curves of the country
its hidden valleys, its secret lakes.

The donkey to whom I am entrusted
stands like a statue in the twilight.
I name her Patience, fearing she will earn her name.

arriving at the door

2006-05-15T03:51:00.000-07:00

It seems that to pass the door I have to leave something behind. I have left so much behind in my life.........I have lost husband, friends, home, my children have grown and are making their own ways in the world. Many years ago, in getting married I lost my birth family who were unable to reconcile themselves to the man who was my husband for 29 years and who are still lost to me.

So what can I leave behind? What do I WANT to leave behind?

Thats easy. I have such a thin skin at the moment, which fears and therefore feels the pain of rejection as easily as the princess felt the pea under all those mattresses in the fairy tale. I want to shed that skin and grow a skin that can take all weathers, that will protect me and nurture me, in which I can feel safe.

So I will leave my thin skin at the door, along with its attendant neuroses and make my way into the new land to explore.

Becoming a Buccaneer

2006-05-15T01:32:00.000-07:00

The call to become a Buccaneer and spend some time on a Pirate Ship has bought me to the shores of the lake where this James Coleman landscape is set. But first I have to find the Dead Man's Chest if I want to clamber on board. Ah! Now I know why my map does not show the House of the Serpents and Blind Springs. le Enchanteur clearly knew that what I would need is a map showing the whereabouts of Dead Man's Chest. Better not tell anyone I have it.

The Map

2006-05-14T22:35:00.000-07:00

Per the Sibyl's request, I am sharing The Map with you all. I am not a cartographer so there are many locations that may not be in the correct location......

Sweet Alice

2006-05-14T18:19:00.000-07:00

Not having much time to get all the way down to White Owl Island (a fair distance according to my map of Lemuria) to buy a donkey, I was forced to find another purveyor of transportation. I happened upon a stable near the Hermitage. Big Mike, the stable owner, suggested this fine steed as a sure-footed and fine-spirited mount for the trek over the Serpentine Road (I noticed some muffled snickers coming from the stable hands). With a twinkle in his eye, Big Mike told me her name is Sweet Alice which evoked outright chortles and guffaws from the stable hands. Since the price was right and I was in a hurry, I struck a deal. Now, being a city-slicker, I will need some help in understanding Sweet Alice-- um, for example, where does the ignition key go?

Maybe -- a donkey

2006-05-14T17:52:00.000-07:00

It appears we should acquire a donkey,
and out of respect for Fran, I might –
but I had planned to walk the trail,
with naught much more than
Staff and Pouch and Scroll.

I don’t know if I can hear the flowers pray,
or teach the meadow lark to sing,
if I am chatting with a donkey,
no matter how brave or charming.

Perchance you have a hapless one
that otherwise might be left behind –
a bit lame perhaps,
or sloppy in flight or speaks with a lisp …
won’t matter – I need not ride,
nor require answers
to my running dialogue with life …

if you’ve a donkey
that needs a friend –
then I’ll tarry a bit by the meadow,
where that silly stream
keeps trying to run up hill …

2006-05-14T16:43:00.000-07:00

Definitely my pessimism. I know it affects me, and I know it affects those around me. It seems that if I always think the worst can happen, then when better than the worst happens, it's a wonderful joy for me. But it's a hard way to live, and I'd surely like to have joy in my life without having to trick it into being there. So- thud! there it goes into the Surrender box. I only hope I can figure out a way to survive without it.

Leave It At The Door Please!

2006-05-14T15:28:00.000-07:00

I can think of something I'd like to surrender at the doorway, I'd like to leave my worst enemy behind...I'd like to ditch that little voice that asks me 'why'

Why don't I step out of the shadows into the sunlight? Why don't I polish up my dark thoughts and walk away with bright shiny thoughts? Why don't I write carefully crafted and edited works of fiction with deep meaning instead of grabbing the first crayon I can put my hands on so that I can scrawl my simple, basic stories all over the walls?

That little word, that little voice makes me doubt myself, it makes me think less of my work which may look like verbal vomit to some but means a lot to me. That little word is a killer and I would love to leave it behind.

All I can do is try, and you know I think this time I can do it so here I come down the Serpentine Road...

Surrender

2006-05-14T09:45:00.000-07:00

I surrender my fear. In this place and for this journey fear has no power over me. I won't be a ghost here talking only in whispers. Here I will find my voice strong and clear. One step at a time I will move towards my dreams and leave the nightmares behind.

A Story of Surrender

2006-05-14T08:29:00.000-07:00

I came up to the Enchanted Door, and noticed an open box next to it, made of mahogany wood, polished until it shone almost black. On it's side, written in gold letters, was the word "Surrender". So, I stood before the Enchanted Door, and asked of it "What do I need to put into the Surrender Box, that you will let me pass?"

A voice whispered, "Your armor."

I laughed a little at that, because I didn't have any armor on. The voice didn't laugh back.

I asked, "What armor? I didn't bring any armor."

The door chuckled then, "Cuore di Luna, I am an Enchanted Door...do you think that I cannot see what is surrounding your heart right this moment?"

Now it was my turn to fall silent.

The armor, the walls around my heart, that's what the door meant. I had become so accustomed to them, I no longer gave their weight any thought. But it was there, alright; once I closed my eyes, I could feel it again, heavy, closed in, preventing me from feeling all my emotions. Another one of those good ideas gone too far; in trying to keep out the pain, I had managed to keep out the sublime joy in life as well. A picture of it formed in my mind, and I could see it clearly, and how thick the prison walls had become. I turned that cube over in my mind, and began to panic. What had started out as a cage had turned into walls, solid walls, with no opening anywhere. How had I let this happen? Was I never going to be able to feel again, ever? Had I made the prison so secure, that even I couldn't get back in?

I crumpled to the ground, defeated, and began to sob. Deep, aching cries rose up, and I heaved tears at the loss, the loss of my own heart, to a prison of my own making. The tears began collecting in the palm of my left hand, and I noticed they began to take a shape. It was hard to see it though, through my blinding tears, the flood that couldn't be stopped, now that it had started. I just kept on crying, letting the tears collect into my hands.

Then a glint caught my eye, and I saw right then, that my tears had formed into a golden key, a simple skeleton key. Once I looked at it, it became heavy in my hand suddenly, with the weight of pure gold. I was able to take a full breath again, as I stared at the marvel that my own tears had made. The tears subsided, and I knew what to do at that very moment.

I took the key with my left hand, and took aim for my chest, right where my heart would be. Then, with my right hand supporting my left, I took a deep breath and plunged the key into my heart. I felt a sharp pang, and then a golden warmth roared through me. I fell backwards from the power of it. I heard a loud snap, and felt a painful release at the same time, almost like when a scab comes off your wounded skin. I lay there, squeezing my eyes shut, breathing heavily, breathing through the pain of it. After a few moments, the pain subsided, and I felt lighter, all over, and the golden warmth began to subside as well. I sat up, and then slowly rose to my feet. I felt a bit dizzy, but better, lighter, more free, freer than I have felt in ages. I looked to my right, and there, lying on the grass, were 6 small pieces of metal, rusted, the color of dried blood. When I touched the top piece, it burned my finger, but not from heat...it was bitter cold. I noticed, then, that there was a chink in that top piece, a small piece was missing from it. Hm, I thought, there was a opening after all.

I picked up the pieces of metal, using my travel cloak to protect myself from being frost-bitten, and deposited them into the box near the Enchanted Door. The door swung easily open by itself, and I walked under its eaves. As I did, the door whispered , "Now, was that so hard?" I walked out to the other side, chuckling at the odd sense of humor enchanted objects of this land have.

Responsibility...

2006-05-14T05:42:00.001-07:00

....along with the expectations that drive it,
Out has gone responsibility,
Into the serpent's box.
Shed for my cyber lifetime.

Back in my real life it has its place.
Nothing can dismiss its essential place.
To feed and love and....
everything else involving
the existence of people I love.

But here I am free from its bonds.
Rising on the thin air
of a veiled and beckoning freedom,
I glance whistfully behind me
knowing it will wait for me.

Shedding Expectations

2006-05-14T03:46:00.000-07:00

I am appalled each day,
close to whimpering in the night,
at the gap ‘tween what people should be
and what they seem to care about and value.

A high school diploma should mean
a knowledge of third grade math –
ability to pen a cogent paragraph –
and find their home town on a map;
but the only thing they know
is that they have a ‘right’ to higher education
at my expense.

Application for a job and career
should mean an intention to actually work –
and be in your seat on time –
shunning personal calls and Internet diversions;
but the only thing offered
is demands for benefits and auto-raises
not linked to performance.

A statement of organized religious affiliation
should mean you fervently wish
to be measured ‘gainst those standards,
while acting as model/witness to divinity;
but the only thing observed
is a desire to control and meddle in my life,
with no accountability at all.

Sigh! – I could go on …

but I will accept that the problem
is only my expectations –
surly at fault –
and I will let them slough away
and come to expect nothing,
nothing at all.

Through the door...

2006-05-13T23:25:00.000-07:00

I surrender

The weight of a thousand hurts

Little worry worms

That burrow through my soul

And leave dirty tracks

smeared grudge marks

cockroach droppings

Of grievances that won't let go.

I surrender

Red faced moments

When I let myself down

When I didn't live up

To my high opinion of myself.

I surrender

That high opinion.

I have much to learn

and it only gets in the way

Of the light of truth.

I am ready

2006-05-13T22:40:00.000-07:00

I to am packed and ready to go
my travel cloak is black with a green dragon on the back
she is my protector and my guide.
she goes wherever I go but is very seldom seen.
I asked her to show herself for all to see but when I took a picture of my cloak it was just black no dragon could be seen.
she said she is for my eyes only.
I am leaving in the surender box
Past hurts, lost love, and shadows from the past .

Ready to Rumble....

2006-05-13T21:35:00.000-07:00

I'm all packed, totally sobered up from our night of partying and performances, and I have donned my new traveling cloak with this image of the Rainbow Serpent embroidered on the back. I am leaving in my surrender box toxic relationships and negative attitudes. I'm ready to rumble down the Serpentine Road....

Image: Lori Gloyd (c) May 13, 2006

SSS...Surrender

2006-05-13T00:45:00.000-07:00

SSS...Surrender snake/skin/like -
The illusion, delusion,
uber care and consequence of old, -
Oxford English dictionary:
Surrender: (I do) Give up the old,
the useless, the illusion of try and fail, the
over responsible, the ridiculous.
(I do not) hand over, give in to another
person/person's power or control,
especially (not) on demand or under
compulsion. Done.

Clarity of Mind.

Clarity - Oxford English Dictionary:

Clearness. (Clear) --
No vague shadows of the way,
the old, the lie, the compulsion
of the old order/structure
of time. The leaves of those
days are long dry, and
nourish the earth in gratitude for
the crisp green bloom of
renewal. I give gladly
and without unusual suffering,
these things to the earth,
to nourish the wisdom of
loam.

Surrender and Follow the Serpentine Road

2006-05-12T22:26:00.000-07:00

Make a surrender box and leave a serpents skin - something you need to surrender - at the door to the Serpentine Road.