Tread Fearlessly


Image: Spirit Button

A thought to mull over as you tread fearlessly through the day.


Remains Of A Life – Remains #writephoto


Image: Sue Vincent

A thought provoking photo challenge from Sue for the Thursday Photo Prompt.

We have two intriguing images to ponder on and weave our creations from. Here goes!

They named it the Danse Macabre, being an endless parade of the truths pertaining to Life and of Death. 

They alluded to the inevitability of the spectre of Death, but I must throw in my penny’s worth of observations.

Allusion is such a, mild term, for what is the starkness of a figure recumbent upon bier, of  flesh and bone that decay, touched by fleeting Time.

Time is no respecter of position, title and honours. Mighty Azrael, what do we leave as a legacy of our sojourn on this earthly plane?

What creations do we bequeath to a world that appears illusionary, save our own weavings of flesh and blood? Of words that resonate like instruments of beauty, that touch the heart with their barbarous power. These are the remains of a life.

That lead the feet, in an act they named the Danse Macabre. We hear its distant music, weaving its spell through halls of majesty.


Image: Sue Vincent

Is there much to distract us from the unearthly tune, to see with eyes of clarity? You nod mighty Azrael and smile with the light of a million stars. How it dazzles and strangely reassures.

The awakened ones peer down, tear down the spell of bewitchment, glimpse messages that fall from heavenly realms. Feathers of blue and dark night skies, bringing things of beauty and barbarous power. Bringing words uttered behind Veil upon Veil. 

They named it the Danse Macabre, being an endless parade of the truths pertaining to Life and of Death. 

What creations do we bequeath to a world that appears illusionary, save our own weavings of flesh and blood? Of words that resonate like instruments of beauty, that touch the heart with their barbarous power. These are the remains of a life.

Full flavoured and of a good vintage



I’m what you’d classify as a woman of a certain vintage. Dare I say like a full-bodied red wine, hm, perhaps not. Regardless, my spirit feels at ease in its comfortable slippers, favourite sweatshirt, lived in tee-shirt. Take your pick, it’s about feeling good in your skin.

Rejoice, and vow to live life as if it’s your last day. For one day you’ll slip between the worlds and walk through other pastures.

So let’s raise a glass of the waters of life, a hunk of good bread and flavoursome cheese.

Salut dear friends! I raise my glass to your well-being and Senor Bunuel for his plain words.

Battling The Tempest


Lifeboat hero Richard Evans (1905-2001) created by sculptor Sam Holland, Moelfre, Anglesey. Picture by Jan Malique

We like to visit Moelfre on Anglesey to walk its lovely coastal path. There’s a particularly picturesque part starting from the Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI) station there. As some of you know I love the sea and coastal locations. Sometimes this involves popping into various lifeboat stations to peer at the boats and survey the history associated with it.


Coastal path, Moelfre, Anglesey, Jan Malique

Such visits bring home the dangers faced by seafarers, coastal communities and the people who volunteer with this charity.  The RNLI provide a 24 hour search and rescue operation around the UK and Irish coasts, a task that’s undertaken with dedication and great bravery. Many lives have been saved by those serving on the lifeboats and as lifeguards since its foundation in 1824. So far over 140, 000 lives have been saved, which is heartening and astounding.

One hero of the service was a local man, Richard Evans, who was born in Moelfre and served as a lifeboatman for 50 years. He was awarded two gold medals for gallantry, the highest honour given by the RNLI. A statue was raised in his honour at the front of the station facing the sea, a fitting location for someone whose life was so intimately associated with it. Richard Evans died in 2001. I’ve provided a link to his obituary in the Telegraph newspaper.

What tempests have you faced o seafarers, ancient and modern?

What has Poseidon thrown at your vessels of timber and steel?

You face the winds, yearning for news of companions far, 

Hidden within mists of silence and eternity,

Of voices that call for salvation. 

The Guardian stands on alert, eyes searching dim horizons,  

As Time stands frozen.

Stars burn as bright as phosphorous, 

Maps for the seafarer,

And illumination for watery graves.

What tempests have you faced o seafarers, ancient and modern?

This question I ask of you,

And have asked since history began. 

The Mystic’s Journey



Does the Soul contemplate their fate and decide to take action and use the key? Or, do they seek solace within the walls of their prison, fearful of what truly lies within?



The Soul sits for a while longer, questions their perception of the world. They hear a faint sound, of familiar voices hovering deep within the mind. The meaning of their messages is all but forgotten, drowned by the sounds of worldly matters. Yet, the words are not forgotten, cannot be forgotten. Where does this leave them?



A fire burns within the Soul, consumes doubts and insecurities, leaves no room for inertia and stagnation. All matter in the Universe vibrates, is in perpetual motion, why then does the Soul hesitate?  Is it fearful of what approaches, of what threatens to keep it  enmeshed in earth and bound by roots? The dance beckons, opens the door, dare they pass through? What waits beyond?

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The hand takes the key, lets knowledge open the door, faces one and then the many. Half forgotten words resurface, one and then the many speak, acknowledge kinship. The Way opens, the road to freedom begins.








Azure Horizons

Penmon Point, Anglesey, Jan Malique

They say you can hear the songs of ancient mariners drift in from azure horizons. Surprisingly melodic, even angelic, voices of brawny and sinewy men of adventure. Their eyes filled with visions of home and kaleidoscope of colour, scent and danger.

Or is this our perception of lives spent in toil and souls answerable only to the vast embrace of a lover with no equal? She whose taste is of salt and blood, whose voice lulls in times of quiet and roars in times of anger. Yet, your fidelity is unshaken and your liaison unbroken.

What say you ancient mariner of the journeys you’ve undertaken, of your calloused hands gripping rope and sail? Tell me more of your half whispered secrets, of things that can’t be uttered without fear of retribution and words that cut.  Are you blessed ones of Poseidon? What fealty do you give to one that offers safe passage across the boiling oceans of the Soul?

How deep your eyes are ancient mariner, they shimmer like azure horizons. As for your crows feet, what stories they could tell! My fingers itch to touch your wide smile, question the mystery, and its teasing. Speak once more of your journeys, sit awhile and share this wine of remembrance. Sit awhile and share this peace, of like-minded souls, of strangers that smile in comradeship. Salut!

A Walking Meditation: Penmon Point, Anglesey


Image: Beach at Penmon Point looking out to Puffin Island, Anglesey, Jan Malique

The weather appears to be a constant source of conversation in the UK, but it’s understandable. Childhood and young adult memories are of distinct seasons and the sense of joy and excitement at the passing of one into the other. These days it seems that the heavens are shedding tears of grief and loss. Recently we’ve been blessed by the smiles of the Sun. One hopes this isn’t a tease and will leave us bereft in a short while.

Moving on from this little aside, I present to you a selection of images chosen from a walk taken on Penmon Point, Anglesey. Penmon is a promontory, ecclesiastical parish and village on the south-eastern point of Anglesey, North Wales. The atmosphere in this part of the world is, rather special.

A contemplative air pervades the land. Pre-Christian and Celtic Christian settlements have passed through this place, infusing it with their memories and energies. One can meditate upon these energies by walking the land. Walking meditation is known as kinhin in Zen meditation and practiced between periods of zazen, which is sitting meditation. It instills calm, connectedness and awareness within the self.

Rather a simplistic explanation I appreciate dear readers. I didn’t want people at this stage to go into the ”head’ rather than the heart, intellectualising the process diminishes the experience. See and feel foremost. The links below will provide further insight into this practice.

I wasn’t consciously entering into the meditation during the walk but felt it approach silently. Its touch was light, sufficient enough to distract from my arthritic knee. I was aware of the song of Skylarks, distant voices of people on the beach, the buzz of bees and flies. The most poignant and significant point came when we found a jawbone (sheep perhaps?) lying on the ground. A reminder that the physical vessel has a short life span and to cherish what we have whilst it lasts. Sometimes it is enough just to BE.


Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique



Image: Jan Malique







The Smorgasbord Sunday Interview – Getting to Know You – The Militant Negro™ — Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life

An honest, surprising and enjoyable insight. The meatloaf recipes looks yummy!

My guest today is the generous, forthright and passionate advocate for civil liberties, The Militant Negro™. Not a day goes by when one or more of my posts are shared on his eclectic blog and I know that I am just one amongst many have reason to be grateful for his kindness. You will find […]

via The Smorgasbord Sunday Interview – Getting to Know You – The Militant Negro™ — Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life

Jewels in the Claw (i) — Sun in Gemini

An intimation of the events of the April workshop by the author of this mystical drama. Steve Tanham is also one of the directors of the Silent Eye Mystery School.

There is a moment when he stops, puts down his packing box, and looks at what remains of the Court Floor. It is the last vestige of a creative journey of twelve months, of twenty souls intent on giving their all to the rather unusual script, and of a Silent Eye spring weekend at […]

via Jewels in the Claw (i) — Sun in Gemini

Looking in the Looking Glass — The Silent Eye


These yearly gatherings are very special occasions for all who attend. Not all of us get to meet on a regular basis and these weekends offer a chance to refresh friendships.

As I schedule a post or two in advance to cover my absence for the Silent Eye’s workshop weekend, there are few things I can predict with any certainty. You never know what is going to happen or how things are going to work out. One thing I do know, though, is that barring unforeseeable […]

via Looking in the Looking Glass — The Silent Eye