Little Fox Where Are You Going?

Image: adege, Pixabay

We meet at the edge of two worlds, gazing across a divide filled with wonder and questions.

Little Fox, little Fox, where are you going? I watch you peer into things new and old, a reminder of all that we have lost. What are they you may ask.

Forests concealing ivy clad gods, and wild, wild meadows. A spirit unfettered and filled with yearning. A knowledge of secrets concealed in deep pools and moss clad glades.

Little Fox, little Fox, where you going? You are a reminder of what we were once and can be again. 

You are the wild heart and spirit of Nature. A harbinger of things sacred and most beautiful. Shall I follow, Shadow your steps? Lead on, for I shall always follow. Always remember.


Have A Little Faith


Image: Pixabay

The causeway is now hidden beneath shimmering water and there’s no one available to take him across to the island. Faith, such a loaded word these days. He carries an ocean of it within his being; hearing it whisper against the rocky shore of the emotions. Its music echoes in dreams and waking moments. This pilgrimage has been undertaken for several thousand generations. The land remembers presence of beings who had spoken life into manifestation. A sense of sacredness had always existed here according to his ancestors. They’d worshipped their gods, held their memories safe in mind and heart through turbulent times. The Old Ones had eventually retreated into the misty shadowlands, not forgotten but waiting to see which way the tide would turn. The currents appeared to turn against them, but the true faithful remained steadfast in their worship. Although it was practised in secret.

The man sits on the shore for a while, he’s cold and hungry. This only highlights the sense of loneliness. Faith, in himself and the Higher Powers had fluctuated wildly over the years, causing him to abandon his path and calling. A temporary situation as his natural talents refuse to be ignored. He comes from a line of priests that stretch into infinity, the link isn’t going to be broken now. That much he vows to their spirits. “I’ll return” he promises.

Other presences slowly gather, forming a protective circle around one of their own. He hears them and rejoices, the beloved ancestors. They give him love and also their chiding, for not using his skills to build a fire, for not eating the food lying in his bag. The apathy fades in the light of companionship. Putting on a head torch the search is on for wood, there are scraps sufficient for a small fire. He makes sure the fire and his emotions are safely contained before settling down to eat. The salamanders are quite active tonight.

Fed and watered he settles down to listen to the sound of the waves. Its hypnotic sound soon pushes him into a deep sleep. Huge wings enfold his figure, giving warmth and safety. The Raven, totem of his family has watched over him since birth. She was a constant in his life, even if he wasn’t always aware of her presence. Raven now whispers “have a little faith”. He smiles.

The darkness of sleep fades to see in a glorious sun rise. Raven’s wings open and she flies into the sky, reminding him that it is time to cross the expanse between this and the next world. He stands for a moment to look across to the island. The land waits for the relic he carries, it will return home soon. Each step taken on the battered and almost unrecognisable causeway brings back memories of all those who have gone before. Thousands upon thousands of pilgrims had made their way to this spot long before it became separated from the mainland. It hides remnants of ancient temples, obscured from human eyes but strong in presence nonetheless. There are just ruins now but on another plane the buildings remain tangible. This location exudes peace and a sense of being loved by all who had worshipped here. Some of them even being his family.


Image: Pixabay

“Have a little faith”. Those words wash over him, urging the need to remain steadfast and focussed. The relic starts to hum in response to Raven’s chant, an old song sung in the temple of its origin. Not far to go now. The sky has brightened considerably, the quicksilver colour of yesterday replaced by cobalt blue. The sea is warm and calm. His heart blossoms in the beauty of the day. Raven’s chant reverberates within him, “not far to go” it sings. Waking consciousness transforms into trance. The feet know where to go even if his mind doesn’t. They stop at the threshold of the temple that once was. He comes out of the trance to see Raven in human form standing in the centre of the ruins. She beckons and he obeys.


Image: Pixabay

The relic urges to see the light, its call is insistent. He uncovers the small pendent and lays it gently in her palm. The Raven Priestess murmurs words of blessing over it and then offers it to the man, saying:

“We welcome our priest back into our heart and temple”.

He bows in humility. Tears fall down his cheeks. A welcome release after so many years of wandering. He’s finally reached the centre of the labyrinth.


Image: Pixabay

Dark Foretelling – Sight #writephoto


Image: Sue Vincent

My entry for Sue’s Thursday Photo Prompt. A bloody tale of gloom and dark prophecies…

The visions shimmer, immerse themselves in mystery. I cannot unveil that which hides in solitude. Your eyes reflect displeasure. Do my words enrage? Bring despair? How hate and anger gnaw at your entrails, poison your spirit. Darkness follows in your bloodstained footsteps, bringing destruction in its wake. The gods finally speak, their words fall like tears upon my heart and the gall rises in my throat. I peer through the portal, at worlds hidden, at worlds of terror and destruction.

What say the gods? From the place of greatest darkness rise the Unnamed and Unholy. They answer your call, brought forth by blood sacrifice and pain. Warrior only in name, for your soul is empty, devoid of sanctity. Whence did the path diverge from reason to chaos? How you’ve strayed from true purpose, faltered from destiny. You offer material gain, bribe and cajole, to what end stranger? Such arrogance, to what end stranger, to what end? A new age dawns, one perched on the edge of revelation. We must meet the threats with iron hard courage, with hearts of truth and spirits of integrity. You have a choice, what path do you choose?

The gods withdraw, the visions fade, and the portal is once again veiled. They have spoken stranger, now leave this place of sanctity and make your choice.


Image: Pixabay

Immense and silent stand these cathedrals of old. Forgotten and wiped from the Book of Time. Its gods have retreated, never to return.  Are they mourned? Are they remembered?

The She warrior contemplates and pauses. Her vigil is yet to begin, but here of all places? The Old Ones demand much, stretching the bow, push it to breaking point. Does it hold, spring back with agility? She is chosen, foremost of many. Foremost of sacrifices.

The one who walks in Light must also face Darkness. The one who walks in Darkness must also face Light. They are ever entwined, locked in passionate dance. Each mirrors the other, a reminder of origins and of becoming.

Face to face they must stand, engage in battle, sword and spear at the ready. The She warrior approaches, sword in hand and ever watchful. So begins the vigil in a place forlorn and forgotten. Yet, a glimmer of what was once remains, a last shred of hope and salvation. The shadows of those who served gather, encircling one of their own, protecting and nurturing.

Thus emboldened does she begin, enter into the Great Silence. Matter transmutes, is shaped and emerges. It bathes in the Waters of dissolution, is transfigured in Fire, enters the silent Earth, carried on Divine breath. The cycle is not what it seems but so much more. Elemental powers advance and recede, like waves upon the shore. Time rushes by, as if a river in fullness, powerful, danger filled and nullifying. The hidden rhythm plays, unfolds and drives to distraction. One-two-three-four. So it begins but when and where will it end?

One-two-three-four, these are her heartbeats, these are their heartbeats. Deeper she slips, riding high on waves of Nothingness. Matter transmutes, is shaped and emerges. It bathes in the Waters of dissolution, is transfigured in Fire, enters the silent Earth, carried on Divine breath. Deeper and deeper does she flow, through gate after gate, facing Guardian after Guardian. Then the rhythm ceases. How the silence weighs heavy, a place neither one nor the other. With sword in hand does she stand, poetical movement display, serpent’s wisdom unveil.

Darkness approaches, Light advances. One is in need of the other, one repulses the other. Circling, they are locked in passionate dance, ever entwined and watchful. Treachery and deceit hide in honeyed words, offer warmth and affection unbridled. ‘Beware’ cries her heart. ‘Beware the foe in friend’s guise, turn from path of no return. Guard the life that you bring.’ The Shadow circles, unceasing, taking on guise after guise, ever watchful, ever plotting. It seduces, places temptation, remonstrates, pleads helplessly. Resolute she must be against things of illusion, against things of sorcery.

One-two-three-four, the rhythm unfolds, emerges from Void and Nothingness. These are her heartbeats, these are their heartbeats. Silence shatters, screams echo, swords meet, battle commences. What is at stake? Cosmic Balance and Eternal Soul. One cannot exist without the Other. Deep the She warrior looks, deep within the heart of Darkness, within its very sanctum. Light resides within Darkness and Darkness within Light. This truth remains and cannot be unwritten. Does she accept? Does she abandon? What lies at the end of this path but only illumination? Face to face they struggle. One-two-three-four beats their heart, in harmony, in perfection.

How does the battle end? Life and Death conjoined, one cannot Be without the Other. Screams echo, silence shatters. Fire flashes from blade to blade. The Old Ones watch and ruminate. The river that is Time flows on ceaseless journey, worlds end and are reborn. One-two-three-four, the rhythm unfolds, emerges from Void and Nothingness. These are her heartbeats, these are their heartbeats. She can hear nothing else, only follow warrior’s sacred path, and choose balance. Fire flashes from Soul to Soul, ceases from blade to blade. The greater battle is yet to come. One-two-three-four, One-two-three-four, One-two-three-four. The Three unfolds, re-joins its kin and reaches the Nine. Then annihilation. Of ego, falsehood and fear. It is done.


Image: Pixabay

The She warrior emerges, triumphant, foremost of many, foremost of sacrifices. They have their champion, they have their salvation. The gods have returned, her task is completed.

Pythia – Deep #writephoto

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Image: Sue Vincent

My offering for Sue’s Thursday Photo Prompt Deep #writephoto is a return journey to the Oracle at Delphi. A place mysterious, awe-some and a little terrifying. The answers being sought are always couched in unclear and misleading language. To give the true answer would change destinies and the mouth piece of the Goddess cannot interfere in human matters. Or so we are given to believe… Continue reading

Realm of the Forest Spirit: Emergence of the Bear Shaman


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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Light Reborn: Awaiting the Winter Solstice


Image: Anglesey, Jan Malique

This post has taken a while to write, for a variety of reasons. Perhaps there was a need to integrate all the insights gained over the course of the day. I attended one day of a Silent Eye pre-solstice weekend workshop on Anglesey, North Wales last Saturday (03/12/16). It was entitled ‘Of Ash and Seed’. Our explorations involved walking a sacred landscape known to be the last stronghold of the Druids; paying our respects along the way to seekers gone before us. The culmination of Saturday was a symbolic act to release stagnant and unhealthy energies preventing our movement into a new phase of being. That’s a simplistic take on the events of the day admittedly.

What of my feelings in this journey? The day began at 6.10 am on Saturday and was infused with a sense of excitement and hope. I felt like a pilgrim journeying to commune with their gods on the holy isle and to meet with others of their tribe. A little fanciful you may think. Many, many pilgrimages have been made, always resulting in a change of consciousness and life path. They’ve been necessary in order for my spiritual evolution. Stagnation was currently impeding growth and filling me with great frustration. What to do dear Reader? A solution had to be found. Here was an echo of, something terribly familiar. We appear to be experiencing a collective Dark Night of the Soul, a condition that is replete with fear, confusion and anger. It’s also occurring on a personal level. Therein lay my answer.

As for the location, please let me set the scene to start us off. The island is rich in prehistoric remains, the earliest evidence of human habitation dates from the Mesolithic (7000 BCE). The Isle of Anglesey (Welsh – Yns Môn), as elsewhere on the British Isles, was witness to the transition of the old Celtic world to one with new values and rulers. This occurred over a period of time, starting with the Roman occupation of Wales that lasted for over 300 years. Roman legions XIV and XX launched a ferocious attack on Mona Insula (Anglesey) in 60 CE. It was of strategic importance, a source of valuable agricultural land and mineral wealth. In addition, it was the last outpost of the Druids and hotbed of resistance to the occupation. These people were standing on the threshold of devastating changes, as we are in modern times. It was the ending of an age. Destruction was clearing the way for passage into a new era. This is the canvas against which I set my personal journey.

The period leading up to the Winter Solstice is a strange one. We’re approaching a threshold between Light and Dark. Transformations are being gestated and anticipation is high for the arrival of the Light and rebirth into a new life, whatever spiritual path you walk. How did the ancient inhabitants of this land prepare themselves for approach to the Winter Solstice? We in modern times have reconstructed rituals, drawn upon symbols and signs to participate in our own celebrations. Perhaps these are our bridges to connect with the past. Just a thought.

To return once more to the inner world, the Soul was in need of unburdening. To that end our steps were accompanied by appropriate readings and moments of contemplation. The day culminated in a gathering at Llyn Cerrig Bach, Valley. Over 150 bronze and iron artefacts were excavated from the lake in 1943. The cache included slave chains, bent swords, tools and chariot equipment. Offerings to the gods? Our offerings were things of woe and hindrances, uttered only to the pebbles we were sacrificing to the luminous beings of the waters. A cathartic act. As some of you may be aware, I love my symbols and this journey was overflowing with them. It was also a reminder to give thanks for all and any blessing received in our lives. I returned home aching and tired but glad to have been a part of the gathering on the holy isle.


Image: South Stack Lighthouse, Jan Malique


Image: Neolithic village, South Stack, Jan Malique


Image: Neolithic village, South Stack, Jan Malique


Image: Presaddfed Burial Chamber, Boderdern, Jan Malique


Image:  Presaddfed Burial Chamber, Boderdern, Jan Malique


Image: Barclodiad y Gawres burial chamber, between Rhosneigr and Aberffraw, Jan Malique


Image: Barclodiad y Gawres burial chamber, between Rhosneigr and Aberffraw, Jan Malique


Image: At Llyn Cerrig Bach, Jan Malique


Image: Llyn Cerrig Bach, Jan Malique


Image, Llyn Cerrig Bach, Jan Malique







Realm of Shadow and Sighs: Chapter 9 – a tale from my other blog

Dispatches from the Hinterland

cave-94193_1280 Image: Pixabay

‘Deep breasted Ge, how exalted are thee above all.’ The words still echo in my mind. We stood in the holy of holies offering our service and fidelity to this most ancient of beings, Creatrix, Destroyer and one of the protogenoi (primordial ones). I was someone else then, not gone but slumbering. Waiting to be called once more. What sights I have seen and experienced as to render me almost speechless. My life story may appear rather bizarre at times. From priestess, healer, Sumerian alchemist and now storyteller. There are more but those lives are not yet ready to be revealed. It is the same for the path to the mysterious ancient Egyptian god Anpu. The Opener teases me mercilessly it seems. My senses are unsettled after witnessing the death of that star. I’ve watched many pass through the gates of death but still my heart feels their…

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Pilgrim’s Journey: The Church in the Sea


Funny thing, memory, throws up the oddest of morsels when least expected. My mind keeps drawing back to a particular site on the west coast of Anglesey, near to Aberffraw. To a beautiful little church called St Cwyfan’s, the Church in the Sea (in Welsh – eglwys bach y mor). It’s situated on a tiny island called Cribinau; accessible on foot via a worn causeway when the tide is out. St Cwyfan’s was originally sited at the end of a peninsula between two bays. The elements eventually shaped the landscape to leave the church isolated on the island. There’s an air of peace on the island and one can see why the decision was taken to site the building on the peninsula. The church was thought to have been founded in the 7 century CE and dedicated to the Irish saint, Chaoimhin (Kevin) who established the monastery at Glendalough, Wicklow. The present building dates from 12/13 century CE. There isn’t much left of the 12 century structure except for a small portion of its south wall, with much of the building being restored over the subsequent centuries. An interesting man by all accounts. St Chaoimhin came to Glendalough as a result of his dreams, to find God through prayer and solitude. The hermit made his home in an artificial cave, originally a Bronze Age tomb and lived there for seven years. A significant number. Apparently foremost of his qualities was a deep love of nature. Over time monastic communities took root in the area, resulting in the establishment of the monastery in the 6-century CE. The saint’s experiences are used as an illustration of the voyage from a state of solitude to one of community. Quite apt for many who are travelling the spiritual path. Finding deity through prayer and solitude isn’t restricted to the Celtic church. It is evident throughout many different paths and belief systems, both ancient and modern.


We revisited the area in September 2015; the day was cloudy and cold. An air of sadness hung over the landscape, perhaps only my perception. The sun’s rays occasionally broke through the steel grey clouds and clothed the wind tossed sea with silver. Finding deity through prayer and solitude. This was most certainly one place where you can do that. My spirit moves to and is attuned to the civilisation that flourished in the Nile valley. That will never change, but there is also a part of me that resonates strongly with the mystical path. I can empathise with those who choose to walk the solitary path in the quest for meaning. Yet, I am also quite aware of the strong and unbroken links to my own ‘tribe’. I mean this in a very positive sense and not the chaotic and frightening face of tribal behaviour that is being seen on our TV screens and communities across the world. Those of my tribe are not related to me by blood but by deep and strong threads stretching back into time. They walk different spiritual paths but all seek the same, the quest for growth, transformation and gnosis. My tribe aren’t grouped together in communities, for our work is in the world now. A very different world to the one known and experienced by seekers of the past. Technologically our civilisations have advanced beyond belief; alas the same cannot be said of human nature and all our social ills. Needs working on.


Regarding the relationship with nature, it’s an important and profound relationship that has shaped who we are and continues to do so. We are beings of fire, earth, water, air and spirit. Being a microcosm of that is which is the macrocosm. I’m surprised at myself for being coherent at this time; been revising for an impending exam, suffering information overload and physical pain (chronic it has to be said). The osteopath is dealing with the physical aspect, which can only improve the mental attitude. As for the rest, preparation and understanding are vital. Just as this sentence is being written I can see a buzzard high in the sky above the house. A timely reminder to take an overview of my life. See things from a different perspective, look at the bigger picture. Buzzard also brings purification and rebirth with it. The vision of such birds is acute and can see things, which remain hidden to us when we are too near to the issue. My, what a journey from St Cwyfan’s Church to this place of bird totems and messengers. Peel away the layers of ‘civilisation’ and you will reach a place of great power and insight. A place in which time is fluid and not what it appears to be. I’ve felt a need for solitude and prayer for some time now. Perhaps this is an indication the road is leading to another doorway…