Inconsolable: Flight of the Father

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Image: Pixabay

The Alchemist stands in silence, his time has come to pass beyond the Veil. The moment of transfiguration waits. This is the hardest thing yet to face in a life stretching centuries, to leave all that he loves and values in life, his daughter. The child has now become parent to the father. She holds the wisdom bequeathed to their line in a time when only the unknown powers of the world walked as gods. Like the ancient Egyptian god Amun her true self is hidden, as is her name, until now. Amunet, thus is she named after one of the Eight progenitors from Khemenu (named Hermopolis by the Greeks). A place associated with one none other than Djehuty (Thoth). In his mind’s eye he sees Amun in splendid glory, a serpent coiled round the divine sceptre. Strange how all comes back to the beginning, the serpent biting its own tail.

He can feel the change spreading through the cells, one by one they fill with light and purity of being. They speak to each other, communicating the sacred words that will initiate his ‘Coming into Being or Existence.’ They wait on her presence, knowing that she is the catalyst for this transformation. The Alchemist surveys his entire life, from beyond existence in a Universe bereft of all light and sound to the fullness of a life to this moment. The human part of his being is inconsolable at the parting from life and loved ones. It fears the separation, of relinquishing memories that are dear and irreplaceable. Our remembrance of a greater existence is only beneath the surface he thinks, we need only push aside the barriers of our making to drink from this pool. This much he has instilled in Amunet, a worthy student and teacher.

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Image: Pixabay

He senses the Sun lying beneath the horizon, not yet risen, gathering strength. The Light within also waits, gathering strength. Drops of liquid fall into the waters of life, creating ripples that disappear into eternity. Drop by drop the humanity within is absorbed into something, not yet understood and omniscient. Amunet appears, called to perform this sacred ritual only this once until her time comes to undergo this transfiguration. She faces her father in silence and then utters words of power bestowed by the unknown powers residing within. Human and gods integrate and call forth ancient magic rarely revealed. Her breath to his breath. The Light within rises as does the Sun beneath the horizon. The god Khepri makes his ascent into the sky and also in the Alchemist’s heart. They are ‘Coming into Existence.’ Drop by drop the waters of life absorb his essence, expanding and rippling outwards beyond the horizon. She senses his every move, the moment is upon them. Both smile at each other, having knowledge of what lies beyond material manifestation there is no sadness. Such emotion vanishes like mist in the rays of the approaching sunrise. He is risen and light incarnate, it is done.

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Image: Pixabay

A great silence descends upon this place. A memory from the birth of the Universe. Roshanak approaches Amunet and places a hand on her shoulder. Both women gaze at the beauty of the sunrise. This ending is only a new beginning. The serpent biting its own tail. Roshanak hands Amunet a small leather bound notebook, within are the notes of her journey so far and adventures to come. So it continues. Amunet puts on the coat handed to her and then makes her farewell.

Whispers of Ancestral Voices

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Image: Pixabay

Fellow bloggers and old friends who attended the recent Silent Eye workshop, The Feathered Seer, have written far more eloquently than I of their experiences.  This is my attempt at making sense of the weekend’s events, my guide Anubis will walk beside me as I recall all and perhaps nothing. I ask my Muse and Guide, The Opener and Walker between the Worlds what he makes of this tapestry woven from our histories. He gives me an inscrutable look (haven’t seen that one before) and whispers:

We carry in our DNA the sum of all existence and memory, from before time existed and beyond the ending of worlds. Linking with others to form gigantic DNA chains in the body of something beyond comprehension. Purposefully flying towards evolution and completion. Harmonious and beauteous in all ways. All return to the point of origin, from whence they came. Then there is no-one and no-thing, we just ARE but our conscious minds are unable to understand this concept except only in dreams and moments of true insight. Continue reading

Realm of the Forest Spirit: Emergence of the Bear Shaman

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Image: Pixabay

This post is a continuation of my contribution entitled “Bear” to LindaGHill’s Stream of Consciousness writing prompt a while ago. It involved a beleaguered stranger consulting the Bear Shaman in a time of great upheaval in the Universe. Within the short story lay seeds of a tale that was waiting to be told. If not to anyone else, just to me perhaps. I know my posts can at times veer towards the cryptic and loaded with symbolism; for that I beg your indulgence. When my spirit speaks to me it is imperative that I listen and take note. Hence my writing appearing a little ‘otherworldly’ at times. I like the ‘sound’ words make, their rhythm can be hypnotic and lyrical. Such is the impact of the shaman’s drum in achieving an altered state of consciousness, altering brain waves and perception. The shaman’s drum carries them across the worlds and levels of consciousness. I digress. What was I going to say to you? Oh yes. Traditions of indigenous cultures across the globe have been a great source of fascination since childhood, especially shamanism. Hence my posts on the Jackal Shaman, Anubis. Hence my posts regarding the White Rabbit. It’s a complicated situation, I’m sure you’ll get used to it! Continue reading

Phantoms of the past…

I’ll be attending this workshop in April and once again the participants will be gathering from all parts of the UK and abroad. Last year’s workshop unleashed powerful life changes and literary offerings. Methinks the energies of this will indeed sink into bone, flesh and blood.

The Silent Eye

When I met her, I thought her no more than a dream of the landscape, born of the mists and the magic. Imagination. Fantasy. Perhaps she is. Perhaps I delude myself with my listening. Perhaps my tears have fallen for a will-o-the-wisp. Who can say?

Do I believe in ghosts? The dead have better things to do with their lives than linger here in longing, clinging to a world they cannot touch and wishes they cannot hold. Do we call them back with our desire? Are we children tugging at their apron strings as they move forwards through the layers of existence, passing through otherworlds we try to glimpse in our fear and curiosity, in our inability to let them lie?

The Old Ones honoured their dead, giving them a place of peace by the hearthfire or laying them in the womb of earth to be reborn to a new…

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Revisiting Old Paths: Seeking Merlin

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Photo: Jan Malique, Snowdonia 2015

I remember sitting by the river Ogwen in Snowdonia nearly twenty years ago. It was at the waning of Summer, the light was still infused with golden hues and the temperature quite comfortable. This particular Summer had been good, believe it or not. The weather in North Wales can be fantastic when the Sun blesses us with its presence. It wasn’t a good time for me though; back problems had been plaguing me for several years. This particular time was quite bad and I was mired in misery as a result. I sat on the riverbank trying to make notes for a story. Very little was forthcoming as my spirits were quite low. I prayed for healing, Merlin and the Goddess being the object of my entreaties. It sounds dramatic but not inappropriate under the circumstances. One cannot remain unaffected by being in such a magnificent environment. What did I have to lose? As for the Ogwen, the river flows out of Llyn Ogwen lake. Ancient legends abound regarding Llyn Ogwen and its association with King Arthur. It’s said that Excalibur was eventually laid to rest in its waters. Snowdonia is the natural habitat of the mage, prophet and wild man of the forest. Many places lay claim to Merlin but I believe his spirit resides in the mountains and valleys of North Wales. This may upset many and for that I offer my apologies. Continue reading

Time to Remember

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“How long is forever?” I’ve asked that question over and over again. Only to get a different answer each time. Where are you leading me White Rabbit? The twists and turns you take through the forest and field make me dizzy. You weave your words of confusion and magic, leading me further into the rabbit hole. Leading me further into the Labyrinth. Ancient roots, ancient memories. Those I can see, those I can feel. I am ancestral blood. I am ancestral memory. Earth and Sky united.

“How long is forever?” Not long enough. Who will keep my memories once I’m am gone. You pull these questions out of me and I’m more than willing to let you. I remember a time White Rabbit when the world was young and our roots were strong. Now we are unravelling, bit by bit. What will be left when we have no more stories to weave? Existence disappears down the rabbit hole. We cease to be.

“How long is forever?” Trickster, you open the doors of perception so that we can live our truth. Yet we fear to tread over the threshold. Time, we fear Time. We live enmeshed within its web, willing prisoners. If we have time to fear, why not have time to remember?

“How long is forever?” As long as you want it to be. My words fall like shattered glass on the page, forming random patterns only you can understand. Do you see?