Which Way Now?


geralt, Pixabay

It’s been a hard ride trying to keep afloat on the surfboard of life. Inspiration’s been slow, as has bravery and the will to initiate change. Sometimes the Universe gets fed up and pushes you in the path of oncoming “traffic”, I’m currently peeling myself off the tarmac. This situation is eerily like the last time I wandered across a road and (metaphorically) ended up as road kill, food for crows.

I also get a sense, no, it’s more concrete, of a lot of my readers losing interest in recent posts. Fair enough, the odd paths they were going down were making them a little indigestible. It happens. You could say it echoed a clearing out of psychic, emotional and physical debris. Put it plainly, the crap needed clearing. I can empathise with Herakles when he had to clean out the Augean stables (it was his Fifth labour), what a lot of manure to clear! So, you can see the dilemma I found myself facing.

I’m still feeling tired due to vestiges of the flu hanging on; and trying to be patient and less judgemental in my attitude towards people who bear me no good. Not an easy business trying to sift through negative projections (from both sides). It’s a work thing everyone, I don’t like games and certainly don’t care if I don’t fit people’s perceptions of who I should be. It’s frustrating, nevertheless things have to be put into perspective. Far worse may be happening elsewhere.

Anyway, like the Roman god Janus I’m facing both past and future, but seemingly forgetting the present. It’s so easy to forget to live in the present, wishing desperately for the future to manifest now. Always running to get to that horizon, only to find that the moment has passed and the future is past. What a revelation! A bummer eh?

Which way now? I’m planning to self publish a few of my flash fiction efforts, that’s a short term goal. It will require liaising with a couple of fellow bloggers who are happy to help me with this new venture. Something to look forward to. I’m starting to feel better already.


RobinHiggins, Pixabay


The Spice Merchant

MimmiDieLesemaus, Pixabay

‘Step this way ‘ she says wreathed in smiles and mystery.

A purveyor of magic and spices, she’s beyond compare. Her art is an ancient one, a living relic of times of adventure and prosperity, of caravanserai bringing tales and treasures aplenty.

The Spice Merchant peers from her doorway, gazes intently, surveys our purpose, asks where we’ve come from and where we’re going.

PaelmerPhotoArts, Pixabay

We hesitate, fearful of answering, lest our masks drop, lest our voices falter. Will these jewelled hues heal our wounds and satisfy our deep hunger? She beckons us, urges us to step over her portal, step into her alchemical laboratory.

babawawa, Pixabay

Our feet hesitate, then enter into the flow of magical flow. How our blood surges through our veins, intoxicated with fire and scent of things mysterious. Paprika, Cumin, Tamarind, Saffron, Holy Basil, and Pomegranate Syrup. Dried Damask rose petals beckon, shower our senses in veils of perfume.

“What is our pleasure?” she whispers and gazes with eyes of gold.

We tell her our desires and dreams of ancient caravanserai, of journeys in pursuit of rare blue roses and gardens of Paradise, of culinary delights to satisfy our hunger. She listens in silence, seeing and hearing all that is unspoken. Her Mage’s hand writes, breathes life into sacred letters, creates palettes unsurpassed.

The Spice Merchant isn’t what she appears to be. For her art is an ancient calling, the origin hidden to all except the seeker of tales and adventure. She nourishes the Soul and feeds our hunger.

“What is our pleasure?” she whispers and gazes with eyes of gold.


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.

Born of Lightning

Image: Pixabay

I am born of lightning, fire and ice conjoined, a melding of dragon’s breath and poison. Mighty Odin, what seek you? Why birth me from my slumber, tear me asunder from stars blazing. I go through Voids unknowable, my sightless eyes piercing, my soundless voice shouting. Shall I prophesy, hold to account, reveal the hidden? I shall do your bidding, Birther of Seers, Elder God, Rune Lord. What do you answer to? Let me whisper it, mouth to ear, that which is your true self, your true name.

I rise from Nothingness, ride on bolts of fire and sear like a brand. I have no tales to tell, only knowledge forgotten, the song is not mine but will be soon. Send me the runes for I cannot foretell that which is hidden. The visions come like waves upon the shore. Bringing echoes of memories of war and of sadness, of worlds lost and regained. Our future selves consign us to a past they consider broken, thought of as meaningless, shadowed wraiths forgotten. Shall I prophesy, hold to account, reveal the hidden?

I see you hang upon the Tree, blood and tears conjoining, tearing apart that which is divine, hidden, glimpsed only in shadows. A worthy sacrifice, Elder God. Did you find what you were seeking? Did your pain rend the veils, walls of stone and disbelief? Knowledge such as yours does not come easily, has to be wooed and soothed with humility. You stand between worlds, changed beyond comprehension, not as you were before but something else. Such illumination is both burden and blessing.

I am born of lightning, fire and ice conjoined, a melding of dragon’s breath and poison. You see me hang upon the Tree, blood and tears conjoining, tearing apart that which is human, hidden, glimpsed only in shadows. Shall I prophesy, hold to account, and reveal the hidden?

Rite of Passage: Running with the Storm


Image: Pixabay

The Elders stand in a semi-circle within the sanctuary. The High Priestess and Shaman stand on either side of the portal and the Summoner in front of it. A storm is brewing in the north, for it is the sky gods who prepare the trials to come for the young initiate warrior. The air is charged with a ferocious energy, it makes the skin tingle with electricity and the heart race with anticipation. The great forest shivers, knowing what is to come. The drums beat out a rhythm that is hypnotic and ancient, the melody of which has come down from the ancestors beyond the stars. It sings of knowledge that is beyond reach of mortals in their unprepared state. ‘Seek, Search’ it chants. Who shall heed this message? Lightning illuminates the gathering for an instance, striking the torch above the portal. It leaps into life as the salamanders gather in their hundreds. Continue reading

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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