The Storyteller and I parted ways some time ago; amicably it has to be said. Only a temporary situation you understand. We both relish our personal space and the time apart reinvigorates the spirit. We share the same corporeal form but encapsulate twin creative souls. Some writers adopt a pen name to create works in a different genre to their main output. It seems I’ve gained another Muse to perform that function. Her true name is yet to be revealed. This is deliberate, for a name is a thing of power and more so one’s true name. Only the Jackal God and the Storyteller are privy to such a secret. Her journey is my journey; we seek each other and meaning in the trials and tribulations of our chosen goal and path. We also seek them in the moments of stillness and joy. I invite her to partake of tea and conversation. Continue reading
Roshanak is her name, meaning in Persian one who is a luminous beauty, a shining star or light. Fitting in all ways, do not be deceived by her outer garb, that would be foolish and ultimately defeating. Serene and bearing knowledge of things found only off the beaten path. She assesses and keeps her counsel, for we are not privy to such secrets. Master of the hidden aspects of this life, Master of the keys to fulfilment and oblivion. The choice is yours. Harsh as that may sound it is all that is open to us, or so she likes to tell. Silence is her domain but only if you desire it so. She waits for you to ask, seek, and search. She is a smokescreen the unseen throws in your path. Fear her not, she is not what she appears to be.
The space around the enigma is, seemingly empty, yet pregnant with meaning. We seek such guides and teachers, hoping for clarity, yearning for self – knowledge. Roshanak emerges at the moment of transformation, offering choices not easy to accept. Continue reading
‘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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May your eyes go to the sun, your life’s breath to the wind. Go to the sky or to earth, as is your nature; or go to the waters, if that is your fate. Take root in the plants with your limbs.
Death, v 3, The Rig Veda
I stare at Unut, She who was once Snake is now Hare. It seems my totem animal is still with me after all these years; remaining not visible yet very much present. Returning to the point of origin has its drawbacks. It raises unsettling questions within the mind as thoughts of life and death walk past. Djehuty intended us to meet and I now understand why. This story is important for me and must be savoured at leisure. As so many have reiterated, life and death are cyclical in nature. Accepting our mortality and that of loved ones can be a truly difficult fact to accept. The notion of impermanence has been debated at great length throughout the ages. This is not set to change soon. Existence is in continual flux, ebbing and flowing like waves upon the seashore. Humanity and perhaps even the ancient ones must find the path back to equilibrium and acceptance. Is it heresy to make mention of this? I sense we have lost our way a little.
The Hare Goddess remains silent, an unreadable expression on her face. She asks whether this is what is really bothering me. I shake my head and mutter ‘stasis.’ Contrary to appearances I am not one who is unable to face the greater issues of existence. Certain changes have occurred recently, ones initiating much inner turmoil. Witnessing the creation of Life and the Universe takes its toll. Being in such close proximity to the Eight has changed me. The Self is currently in its death throes, holding on to concepts rather than people. The time has come for the old to die and rebirth to occur. My grip is tight, unable to let go. She touches my hands gently; warmth and reassurance flow from her. One by one she unfurls my fingers until what remains are open hands. Shadows flow from them; it is the remnants of who I once was.
Unut leads me beyond the boundaries of Khmunu and into a different reality. Words are unnecessary at this point. We are standing before a gigantic star. It is dying and has been in death throes for millions of years. I am mesmerised, my mind feels the depth of its sadness and pain. Being an Empath can be a burden. The star’s heart breathes in and out, its life force flowing outwards towards oblivion. We are here to stand vigil over the dying, to ease its passing. There are others who join us, encircling the giant. Rhiannon stands beside me, as does Inanna on the other side. The star is kin to us all as we are made of stardust. We grieve for them as appropriate and perform ancient ancestral rites for their transition. Cosmic Fire fills my sight once more; it pierces the veils between the worlds. The heart of the giant beats slowly and sonorously; now and again it becomes irregular in rhythm. Hardened has it become and intense in heat now. We offer them love and our silence. Time and space shift and shift again. The star’s flesh falls away and its heart is exposed, appearing vulnerable and fragile. Its life force begins to glow brighter, becoming incandescent.
A song of sorrow echoes throughout space, spiralling around us. We mourn, we mourn for a soul that is passing beyond the gates of existence. The star recounts its journey from birth to now; its voice faint but filled with unexpected hope. Existence for them can be counted in billions of years. We are but a tiny speck in the great sea of time! I ask them for a name, they whisper it and wait for my answer. I offer them a blessing from the depths of my heart. Their light fades gradually, finally extinguished but not destroyed. Its atoms have dispersed awaiting rebirth. I can sense the essence of the star, it feels vital and incandescent in the darkness of the Void. Unut raises her hands in blessing and draws a veil across the waiting life potential.
We stare across the expanse of the heavens. The song of many echoes throughout the vastness. Their tales are ones I shall value much. It will be an honour to keep them safe for all eternity. The Imperishable Stars have much to teach us, but it is not my place to reveal such stories now. Not due to vows of secrecy but because I do not truly understand. The Hare Goddess tells me that they shall speak to me in my dreams. ‘Take heed’ she says. Indeed I shall.
(For the rest of the Storyteller’s journey please see my other blog Dispatches from the Hinterland).