The Beat – Twittering Tales #59 – 21 November 2017

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Pexels at Pixabay.com

Another inspirational challenge from Kat Myrman at Twittering Tales.  This is my take on the feelings engendered by the image:

The beat flows through fingers, embraces black and white. Kisses keys, demands submission, whispers the heat of love.

The beat drums it’s rhythm, keeping pace with Cosmic breath. It’s the song of life, the song of begetting. Feel it’s kiss, surrender, feel it’s bite, surrender.

(277 characters)

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Lament for Ishtar – Luna #writephoto

Image: Sue Vincent

Sue’s challenge for the Thursday Photoprompt Luna – #writephoto

presented us with a haunting image of a crescent Moon. My thoughts immediately turned to Ishtar, the Evening Star and daughter of the Moon God Sin. She was a goddess of Love and War.

The world she knew has long gone, now only a memory in artefacts and academic papers. Or so we think. She still lives in the DNA and spirits of those who once worshipped Her. Her temples are  in ruins, vanished into dust, and the prayers and adoration of her priesthood linger in windswept plains. You may think such thoughts are fancies, wistful imaginings. Yet, the past urges us to remember our beginnings, of standing under ancient skies, and even older moons.

We are urged to recall the voices of adoration and lamentation. Her priests and priestesses gaze at us across the divide of time. Their lips move but we cannot hear. Where is the key to unlock the door? Mighty Ishtar gazes in silence, hand held out, fingers curled over a secret. Our eyes hold the tears of a thousand longings, of regrets and hopes. Of whispered petitions for success in love and victory in battle.

How have we forgotten one so radiant and clothed in silvered light? How have we forgotten the old magic, primeval and potent? Its power still surges beneath our skin and flows like fire through our veins. Luna, Luna, beloved Evening Star! Hear our lament, our songs and prayers for what was lost and can be regained once more.

There is only silence now, but it is steeped in expectation. She hears us and ascends once more, clothed in stars and silvered light.

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.

Road Trip to Hades

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Image: Pixabay

It’s been rather difficult thinking of suitable subjects to write about lately, then it hit me, I need an adventure to get my teeth into. The Shed’s rather quiet at the moment as most of the lodgers are on their holidays. Anubis has been absent for a while, probably engaged in guiding duties. Not in the Egyptian Underworld but in Bloomsbury, central London. I think he’s got a pretty good gig going on there. The place is crawling with denizens of the underworld. I had my suspicions for years but could never prove it. Odin and Sekhmet are on a walking holiday in Crete. Apparently Odin has distant relatives living there. Who knew? As for the White Rabbit and Mad Hatter, I prefer not to think about those two at the moment, they’ve caused enough havoc. Azrael, the Angel of Death and Cerberus are coming back from their respective road trips soon.

Reflecting on past encounters with the above archetypal figures, it seems evident that these individuals appear as “heralds” in our life. Joseph Campbell comments in “The Hero with a Thousand Faces” that the appearance of such beings acts as “the call to adventure”[1], precipitating the Hero into life changing experiences. Of course there have been many occasions when I’ve refused “the call to adventure”, only to face inertia and negative situations.  The gods will only take so many refusals before making an offer that can’t be refused.

When the call is accepted supernatural aid appears at the right time. Enter stage left Azrael, Anubis and Cerberus. Two chthonic deities and the angel of Death assigned as planetary angel of Pluto in Qabalistic and medieval magical tradition. The power of Three consolidated. Containing within themselves the beginning, middle and end, past present and future, body, soul and spirit.

“Quite a lot to think about, isn’t it?” A voice mutters from stage left.

I turn to face three figures grinning at me from the shadows. Azrael gives a thumbs up and the canine terrors wink like mad. Not what you expect from these entities, beings traditionally associated with death, initiation, and dissolution. They also embody secrets and wisdom hidden deep within the Self. That’s been my experience, I can’t speak for anyone else.

“You want adventure and here we are, ready to offer you an experience of a life time as the cliché goes” Azrael comments quietly.

He watches carefully, eyes sliding to the fire escape. An eyebrow lifts in question. What are they up to? Cerberus pulls back a curtain to reveal a rather sweet looking VW van. It screams road trip. He then flourishes a sign with something scrawled on it. It’s written in beautiful copperplate script. HADES. Be still my beating heart! Is this the offer that can’t be refused?

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Image: Pixabay

The Road Beckons

The van is packed and this strange band of travellers gets underway. I’m not sure where they got the vehicle from, it’s like a Tardis inside. Anubis puts a toy Dalek on the dashboard and mutters something about the three of them being Dr Who fans. Azrael is outside checking his motorbike. The Angel of Death is a biker, well, well. We finally depart after a few minutes. The green landscape of North Wales flash by and then the road towards Ruthin and Llangollen is taken. The landscape changes soon after as a detour is made towards the ruins of Castell Dinas Bran in Llangollen. A portal opens near the ruins and the van whizzes through. We face an endless road in a desert landscape. The sky is bright and cloudless, the air is still, almost filled with expectation. Feet up, I’m busily scribbling my impressions in a notebook. How’s the journey so far?

It feels like we’ve been travelling for hours but it’s only been half an hour. Time moves in strange ways in this place, wherever this ‘place’ is. There are a variety of figures walking on either side of the road, one is holding a large clock, and its hands appear to be moving in an anti-clockwise direction. They smile at us and carry on walking. Each figure that passes bows their head in deference. Our exalted companions are the focus of their attention. The bleak but beautiful landscape is soon interrupted by a building that suddenly appears on the horizon. It’s an American style diner. Quelle surprise!

We disembark and find a booth to sit. The clientele are an odd assortment, consisting of shades of the dead and what appears to be the cast of “Frozen” ( I loathe that cartoon). Azrael greets a striking looking woman adorned with beautiful tattoos. She hugs him enthusiastically and kisses my other companions with as much energy. Finally she approaches me, her stare being quite intense. I stare back, kindred souls it appears. Hail mighty Ishtar!

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Image: Pixabay

The image of the figure holding the clock appears once again and the great river of time washes over us. The Goddess retells the story of her descent into the Underworld over a cup of coffee. Her hands and eyes convey the passion of her experiences, poignant and illuminating by turns. Her story is the story of our Soul, mirroring its many losses, regret, sorrow and moments of understanding. Her descent into Darkness, dissolution and eventual ascent into the Light show the way to new beginnings. She pauses and winks. A small box is pushed across the table, it’s a gift for us. Nestled in blue velvet is an eight-pointed star. An important gift, we must take note of its symbolism. She advises me not to eat or drink anything that’s offered in this place. Although this prohibition doesn’t apply to the Psycho-pomps offering me anything though. “Remember” her voice whispers in our head. She blows a dramatic kiss and then disappears. The other diners are still entranced by the tale of the Goddess, emboldened even by her resilience, also saddened at the prospect of no return. They eye Cerberus and his companions nervously.

At this point I’m thinking “if Cerberus is here, who’s guarding the gates of the Underworld?”

Cerberus pipes up “my cousin Cyril’s doing me a favour. I haven’t had a holiday for, oh, five thousand years. Sorry, I lied. There was that time when Anpu and I went on a bender at New Year several years ago.”

Wish he wouldn’t read my mind! I remember that incident, it was rather embarrassing trying to break the news to Hades. The canine terrors had to perform community service in a dance studio in Buenos Aires, teaching tango.

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Image: Pixabay

As soon as we leave the diner it vanishes into thin air. A memory of things dreamt of by a younger world. Such phantasms litter the highways of the inner landscape, being stopping points for weary travellers. Dylan, our VW van carries on down the road. Azrael now leads, a magnificent presence enshrouded in divine light, all-powerful, all compassionate. Such beings rarely show their true appearance. It would mean certain annihilation for our spiritual and material forms, such is the magnitude of their power. Cerberus is chatting away with his adoptive brother, they laugh briefly. A few minutes later we hear cursing from outside. Cerberus has his bottom stuck in the window, it seems he was mooning at a passer-by. Well, Herakles had it coming, fancy kidnapping Cerberus from the Underworld as part of his Twelfth Labour. I think they’re even now. Dylan kicks into life and zooms down the road. We hold our collective breath, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions after all…

From a distance we spy a lone figure pushing a huge rock uphill only to see it roll back down again. Sisyphus, king of Ephyra (Corinth) was condemned for all eternity to carry out a futile task for his hubris, deceit and egotistical nature. We decide not to stop and make our way past Sisyphus. The fields surrounding the king are filled with Datura plants, a bad omen indeed. A warning is issued by our companions not to be deceived by this individual. The crimes he was condemned for in life are still valid in the afterlife, such as it is. He cheated death at least twice but was eventually dragged back to the underworld by Hermes.

Rituals, Blessings and Farewells

Dusk is falling and the night sky is now filled with gleaming points of light. We stop to camp by the roadside, no sense in travelling any further as it’s the dark of the moon tonight. There are rituals to be performed for the dead, one of many before we enter the Underworld proper. We sense them gathering around us, so many that are known and unknown. Prayers are said, offerings made, and respect given. Many have passed through the transition alone and unmourned, even unloved. For them these rituals are a balm and blessing. A release more importantly.

Azrael censes me with incense, for this night is significant for me as well. I must finally relinquish my old self, make the descent and lay her to rest. The Universe peers at me from his eyes, which are like stars blazing in a lapis lazuli sky. Azrael is considered the Angel of Death in Jewish and Islamic angeology, but there is no reference of him named as such in the Christian Bible. Additionally some scholars have disputed the name Azrail being used in the Qu’ran, the angel of death is simply called Malak Al-Mawt. He transcends religion and dogma, the sense is that he WAS before time began. It’s not the biker that stands before me now but something profoundly powerful, infinitely compassionate and gentle. Not to be feared at all. As for my Muse, His Nibs (Anubis) approaches next and rests his forehead on mine. We haven’t had much time to chat, which I don’t mind. He and Cerberus rarely meet and this is a special time for them. He chuckles. Damn! This mind reading trick does annoy me at times.

No sleep for the wicked tonight. We sit around the camp fire and eat dinner, except for Azrael. His nourishment is, well, not sure what he eats and drinks. He looks at me with a wicked gleam in his eyes and mouths “smoothies”. How can I respond to that? This is a moment I’ll treasure, for the companionship, laughter, and silences.

The Sun rises and our merry band of explorers continues on the last leg of the journey to Mordor, sorry, I mean Hades. The landscape becomes even drier and the skies are bathed in a peculiar orange light.  A huge cavern appears in the distance, this is it folks. I glance over at Cerberus, his three pairs of eyes mist up at the scene. Homesickness. I wonder what his cousin Cyril looks like? The van is parked near the cavern mouth and we make our way slowly into the depths. The tunnel is wide enough to avoid being claustrophobic thankfully. There is illumination provided by torches lining the tunnel, which is a little strange. My companions don’t question this, so I take their lead. The presence of dread is absent, for our journey is one where there is a return, an ascent into Light again. I mutter a prayer silently, for myself and she who bids farewell to this life. She shall face Persephone and Hades beyond the waters of Lethe, but I won’t be sipping its waters.

The three heads of Cerberus rise eagerly and give out an ear-splitting cry, but I’ve come forewarned and already inserted the earplugs. There’s an answering howl and a large Blue Roan Spaniel rushes out of the gloom and greets Cerberus. This is cousin Cyril. A Spaniel guarding the gates of the Underworld, why not? Cerberus and Cyril remain at the gates, to prevent the “inmates” from escaping they say. What jokers they are…

Our obols are ready for Charon the Ferryman, all we’re waiting for now are the priests of Hermes to accompany the deceased as we can’t go any further. She’s anointed with perfumed oils and dressed in a linen shroud. Obols are placed on her eyelids. I kiss her forehead and offer a blessing for the journey ahead. A blue lotus and heart scarab are placed on her chest, a remembrance of the homeland. She’s entitled to that at least. Our priests arrive with a bier and place her on it. We hand the obols to the priests as Charon approaches in his boat. So the journey begins and ends here. How prosaic it sounds!

The living have no reason to linger in these dread halls, so it’s time for me to leave. The smell of decay and forgetfulness linger in our minds. How I yearn for fresh air and sunlight to banish the stench of death! My wish is granted as we soon pass the two canine guardians and emerge into a changed landscape. The ominous light has disappeared to be replaced by bright, sunny skies. The desert is blooming and the road is rather busy. Dylan starts up immediately and we speed off towards the horizon. Home is a welcome sight as we emerge through the portal into Llangollen. By now a huge number of crows have massed in the ruins of Castell Dinas Bran, witness to our emergence. I’m looking forward to having a relaxing holiday, my companions are in agreement and we head down south to get the ferry from Dover to the continent. A holiday in Greece beckons! Suitably disguised we sit out on the hotel terrace watching the sun set into the ocean. Bliss.

[1] Campbell, J. The Hero with a Thousand Faces (Princeton University Press, 2004), “Part One, The Adventure of the Hero, Departure: Call to Adventure”, Chapter I, 46-47.

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Image: photo credit: DCphotography_ Tracy Chan-137 via photopin (license)

Fall from Grace: Diary of a Previously Unemployed Knife Thrower

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Image: Eve, John Collier, Wikiart

Saturday 5 August 2017

The look on Eve’s face is telling, or is that the artist projecting his own notions of shame against the Mother of all? Let’s face it, She was set up. There was a power struggle going on, the male priesthood and establishment need a scapegoat and she fitted the bill. Compared to the divine ancestor my situation is a mere gnat bite on the body of humanity. Okay, a slip of the hand and my assistant, the little anaemic sop… Let me correct that, he was anaemic by the time they took him into the ambulance. Accidents happen at work, why on earth they had to involve the Health & Safety people I don’t know. It’s an occupational hazard for anyone involved in the business. To be fair his threat of a lawsuit forced their hand.

Talking of accidents, that no-good, con artist of an agent got her comeuppance today. The zombies she was representing finally had enough of being ripped off and demanded a pound of flesh. In fact they got several pounds of the stuff, the police had a problem identifying her. Justice has been served with a bottle of Rioja!

Sunday 6 August 2017

Still can’t get that image of Eve out of my head. When I knew her She was like a star of the brightest light. Why did it go wrong? Humanity wasn’t meant to be mired in darkness and ignorance. As for the lie about using one of Adam’s ribs to create a companion, well, it leaves you a little speechless. Does that mean that if she was injured or happened to become existentially challenged. Wait, what do I mean? Anyway, if she died, would he die as well? To be honest the heart of humanity suffered great a grievous wound when they wrote the various Books. Bad PR folks, look what they did to Lilith and Mary Magdalene. Shame, shame and shame. I’m ashamed to be a man. To be honest the women are just as bad, maybe even worse. Makes you wonder what kind of deity/Higher Being/Cosmic Conscious they believe in. I’m Freud would have plenty to say about that, he wouldn’t have minced his words. He was a straight talking guy when I knew him.

I’ve been six months in this temp job now, the people are just as dysfunctional as I am. Fit right in. Hard though being cheerful, not in my nature to be a ray of sunshine. It’s been a challenge keeping my tongue quiet, been sorely tempted at times to tell some of those people what I really think of them. Humans can be so, needy and malicious. At least your average chthonian or solar deity would display such negative traits with a bit more style and aplomb. Persephone warned me about cutting back on the bitchiness. Do I listen to her? Not always alas. I miss Eve and Lilith.

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Image: Lilith with a Snake, John Collier, Wikiart

Monday 7 August 2017

These thoughts about our lost Paradise are making me maudlin. Well, Paradise hasn’t been lost exactly. It’s just that humanity is on an attachment this material plane of manifestation for a while and will return to HQ when it’s been completed. Although I don’t think humanity quite understands the work that’s involved in working from the Divine Blueprint. That doesn’t apply to all the work experience people though, many actually get the concept of Free Will. I’m making it sound like a huge corporate nightmare, perish the thought! It’s more like a centre of learning/temple without walls or boundaries. That’s the best I can do. That reality is hard to describe, even though I’ve visited many times. The supervisors are numerous and often hard task masters, or that’s how it appears to human perception. I think humans know them as angels, archangels, etc. Just realised, I keep referring to ‘humans’. I’m, no, I used to be human. Not sure what I am now, not undead, not either living or even dead. It’s a strange existence, I straddle several worlds. Makes your thighs ache like mad! Heh, heh. I thought it was funny.

Tuesday 8 August 2017

Angels. Now that’s a subject I could go on about for hours but won’t in deference to them. They’ve been viewed variously as benevolent and sinister. Depends on which side of the divide you stand, the Abyss can be a nasty place to fall into. I’ve peered in and it isn’t somewhere you take the family for a night out. The ones known as the Fallen have been viewed with fear and more. There’s been so much misinformation bandied about them, some of it deliberate. The great ‘War in Heaven’…What was that about? Did we ever stop to think what was really going on there? Nothing, nothing, ever happens just by chance. Humanity has a destiny to fulfil but has managed to get side-tracked many times, not easy I suppose maintaining a balance between their twin natures. Hard having the both in one body can be problematic. Sandalphon ensures I get to hear all the latest news. We have a chat when it’s quiet and when I can bother to get out of ‘grumpy immortal git’ mode. I should open up to them a bit more but it’s centuries of conditioning I need to discard before reaching the inner, sensitive man.

Wednesday 9 August 2017

I’ve been getting to the urge to slap one of the team across the face with rotting fish. Swear I saw his eyes turn black momentarily and an aroma of sulphur follow him out of the room. He’s a wiry individual with a spiteful streak. He reminds me of one of the demons I came across when wandering the wasteland many years ago. Now that was the perfect place for some of the not so friendly Fallen. Gross material matter has a tendency to change things in unexpected ways. No laughing matter, I’ve seen the effects on so many that came through the planes of manifestation we know of, also the innumerable ones we don’t. Humans need to keep their boundaries more secure, by that I mean not allow any ‘walk ins’ to get a foothold. They allow fear to cause breaches in their protective shells, letting in things that are quite nasty.

Thursday 10 August 2017

This diary’s beginning to go places I don’t want to. Probably because of the hovel I’m currently inhabiting. The landlady advertised it as a ‘jewel of an apartment in a desirable central location’. It’s next to a recycling plant and built over a doorway into the infernal regions. Sounds funny written down but I’m not laughing. Even the cockroaches and silverfish had thrown in the towel and left en masse. They begged me to leave with them but I couldn’t afford anything better. Anyway, they left me a phone number of a good estate agent (think I just saw a pig fly past my window) just in case I changed my mind.

The landlady gives me the creeps and I spent several decades as assistant to a Necromancer in Tartarus. They were the worst years of employment imaginable. Something about her makes my skin crawl, although the plastic surgery has rectified that issue. I don’t look a day older than 670. My skin looks luminous (that might be the accidental exposure to radiation) and you can bounce a rubber ball off my toned posterior. Where was I? Yessssssssssss, my landlady. I’m not sure what else she does apart from instil a terrible feeling of dread in the soul. She’s never around during the day and as soon as twilight approaches her door creaks open to reveal…I can’t even write what she looks like because I can’t remember. Strange that. I have a theory about what she could be but uttering it aloud and even writing it down could cause a terrible tear in the fabric of the Universe. Sandalphon and even Mikael dropped hints about her true nature but I was rather preoccupied with other matters.

Friday 11 August 2017

I managed to corner Sandalphon and Mikael this morning. They were a little reticent about the matter. I think they were trying to be polite, kind even about my lack of awareness. They don’t view reality as humans do, and human emotions are quite alien to their kind but many have chosen to work with humanity. In order to help them achieve wholeness and evolve; to become divine beings once again and bring back knowledge of the material world to the Source and angelic hierarchy. Anyway, I digress. I was quite shocked at their revelation. Bad luck seems to follow me round like a hungry dog.

The house is built over part of the Abyss and the landlady is a ruler over one of its levels. I’m cursed, that’s the only explanation. Mikael gently commented that I was quite right about the curse. Coming from this archangel it is doubly wounding. Well, at least he’s on my side. I’ve upset many in my long and illustrious career, so it could be anyone. Mikael waited patiently for me to run through the suspects. Four hours and 42 cups of coffee later I remembered who it was, who cursed me that is. The ancient Egyptian serpent Apep. I recall trapping his tail in one of the gates in the Underworld. I wasn’t meant to be there at the time but wandered in through the wrong doorway. Set was about to spear Apep when I interrupted them. Well, you can imagine their annoyance. My brief sojourn in the Underworld didn’t go well. That Apep has one foul mouth on him! I need to get a hobby. Roll on the weekend…

Hope and Prayers

Image: Pixabay

The man hangs his head in weariness, sorrow floods a heart sore and beleaguered. Night after night prayers are sent to unseen powers; the hope being that these petitions will reach the ears of benevolent beings. In a world beset by hardship and bleakness, the prospect of hope, and of better times is all that sustains his soul.

His belly rumbles, complaining due to lack of food. The season of wild Summer berries is past as winter draws near. Much has been sacrificed in this wilderness, the tribe now lost to the passage of time. How many centuries have passed? Too many to count. The loneliness bears heavy on shoulders. Immortality comes with heavy penalties.

The Healer, for that is his soul’s mission, reflects on all that has passed in his long life. The gifts bestowed upon him have helped many but ultimately proved futile in healing the deep wound within him. Or so he believes. The very unseen powers he has focussed his attention on have diligently listened to each and every syllable. His guardian angel has stood watch over his seemingly frail body daily, willing their charge to keep hope and trust alive. An apparently difficult task even in the best of times, but now, beyond comprehension. Self-sacrifice has beset the Healer like an incurable disease, a trap healers are often prone to fall into.

The angel makes their presence known to their ward through a sense of great peace. The Healer wakens from their despair with surprise. Self-doubt and lack of faith have hindered communication between the two for some time. Yet, that hasn’t stopped the great love they have for each other. There are many in other realms that watch over humanity, protecting and guiding. They are ever present, watching our suffering and joys, unable to assist without our consent. He sighs, lamenting his lack of action.

“All you have to do is ask for help, I have always been around you” the angel gently states.

“I know but I have felt unworthy, trapped in inertia, perhaps fearful of making changes” answers the anguished man.

The great being enfolds the man in light and sound, “wings” if you please. The intensity of love and comfort provides a healing balm to a soul that has been lost for so long. The brightest of light can be found buried within seemingly unrelenting darkness, as well as hope. The man feels his spirit strengthen, resilience returns once more. It is something of steel forged in the hottest of fires. Even shattered steel can be melted down and formed into a thing of beauty and power. “Remember this” the angel comments.

LVX.

 

Work in Progress: How Am I Doing?

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Image: Pixabay

This blog has reached over 200 posts now, 205 including this to be precise. WordPress helpfully messages you to advise of such milestones(!). What an achievement considering I had doubts regarding its longevity. The decision to start blogging was a risk. What if my efforts turned out to be an embarrassment and NO ONE read the posts? Initial offerings were safe and inoffensive, due to a lack of confidence and identifiable voice.

Valuable advice from another blogger helped to focus my mind and I soon rewrote the About page and plan of action. Having perused the wealth and quality of writing in the blogsphere my heart sank a little in the early days. Apparently these sorcerers of the ether were privy to magical secrets. Something to mull over whilst I delved into my bag of magical ingredients. WordPress offered support to the newbie blogger but the plethora of information on hand scrambled my brains a little. Was it going to be easier to free jump into the blogsphere? I’d taken risks before, not all of them worked but life is one big rusk, risk I mean. Although the similarities are somewhat spooky. Continue reading

Escape from Montségur: The Parfaite’s Tale #writephoto

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Photo: Sue Vincent

My response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday photo prompt – cave – #writephoto. The offering here is mere speculation and the weaving together of various strands (fictional of course) recounting the story of a survivor of the massacre at Montségur. She escapes, bearing a very important artefact. Sanctuary is eventually found in a cave far from the horrors left behind in Occitania and a time of introspection begins. This little piece may take on a life of its own, I’ll wait to see what it does!

The Light has retreated into the Silence and the stench of burning flesh and screams are a world away. The Inquisitors have been ruthless in executing their plans, thorough but not thorough enough. We live. Our spirits being inextinguishable. Yet, this gives me no comfort. I tried to save many but to no avail. Their blood can never be cleansed from my hands. Such horrors I have seen, praying for blindness to remove the visions. What of my vows? Poverty, Chastity and Obediance. Shall they be abandoned at this time of great adversity? Am I worthy to call myself Parfaite? He foretold of this time of tribulation, when our faith and lives would be put to trial by fire. The hatred in the hearts of our persecutors burns unceasing day and night. It is the forge within which are fashioned weapons of darkness and hatred. I fear that darkness may have tainted my heart. Yet, compassion and understanding hold fast to my beleaguered spirit. They urge me not to falter, not to fall prey to the delusions of this false world.

What being has brought me to this place? It’s familiar air brings solace to my soul.   This sanctuary, vast in earth and stone. Its halls trodden by ancient feet. What hand etched such strange beings on its walls? I seek answers to calm the turmoil within. My heart entreats me to listen to the silence. Gnosis exists within the Silence. It is the space within which we commune with our brethren. Prayer and contemplation are the pillars of my house. Our time is not dead, I sense we will take on different guises in ages to come. Far will we travel on our journeys, as mine will be now. May strength and courage help me carry out my sacred duty as guardian of the vessel. May I be a source of strength to the Credentes.

“E vec vos eu so com vos per totz dias entro a l’acabament del segle”.
(“and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world”).

That voice, finally the Light has emerged from the Silence. I’ve waited long for this moment. How may I serve?

The White Rabbit’s Lair

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I return once more to the surreal in the company of the infamous White Rabbit. My little sojourn in The Priesthood of Anubis was quite an indulgence it has to be said. The need for introspection creeps up at odd moments in life and what entails leaves me slightly breathless and a little puzzled. If you’ll pardon the expression, I felt the need to ‘come of the closet’ regarding my spiritual activities. I am what I am, a dedicated follower of all things esoteric, surreal, nonsensical and occasionally rubbish. I was a studious and rather quiet child whose head was filled with thoughts of ancient civilisations  (my greatest desire was to be an explorer). I suppose as an adult that desire has been fulfilled in part, my explorations take place in the hinterland of the inner self now.  Oh dear, it does sound a little pretentious! Please look past that and see me for who I am. Not that it matters, I’m not one of those individuals who craves acceptance and validation from sources that care not a jot for me.  Many people spend most of their lives exhibiting either mild or intense self-loathing, trying to squeeze themselves into a mould just to fit in. Why do we do such things to ourselves? There may be very good reasons for doing such things, but remember we have wings and can fly away anytime we want. Continue reading