Whispers of Ancestral Voices

Fellow bloggers and old friends who attended the recent Silent Eye workshop, The Feathered Seer, have written far more eloquently than I of their experiences.  This is my attempt at making sense of the weekend’s events, my guide Anubis will walk beside me as I recall all and perhaps nothing. I ask my Muse and Guide,…Read more Whispers of Ancestral Voices

Visions of Love (Guest Blog)

A mystic’s vision of Love.



Image: Pixabay

This is a story birthed as a result of two visionary and powerful poems written by Rabindranath Tagore, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913. He is an individual I admire much for his creative talents and ideals. The breadth of his work ranged from fiction, poetry, songs, dramas, stories, literary criticism, philosophy and social issues. An extensive list it has to be said! Tagore was awarded the Prize for the following reasons, which I would like to quote in full:

Prize motivation: “because of his profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse, by which, with consummate skill, he has made his poetic thought, expressed in his own English words, a part of the literature of the West”

Field: poetry

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The Dream (Guest Blog for BnV)


graphics-1329065_1280.jpg Image: Pixabay

Things of beauty, gossamer fancies and rainbow dreams. The Dreamer weaves. The Great Emptiness gives a knowing look. Stardust flows from her hands and wondrous mysteries from her thoughts.

Billions upon billions of stars, diamond bright and filled with unceasing fire sing their songs of praise. They know what it is to be born from the depths of the furnace. They live with a passion untouched by doubt. There is no death, only immortality. There is no sadness, only joy.

She is the eternal mercy, compassion and love. These gifts she weaves into matter, flesh and blood. To dream is her gift, an act of creation and regeneration. She is the Mother and the Father. She is the beginning and the end. Such gifts She passes to Her twin. The Universe thus continues its cycle of being.

She has knowledge of all in the Great Dream, memories vanishing…

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The Wizard of Odd

I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir, said Alice, because I’m not myself, you see. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland Lewis Carroll Alice has a point, I consider myself a fellow sufferer. What’s happened recently to bring about this state of affairs? The time of year is an important factor in this identity crisis. It’s a…Read more The Wizard of Odd

The Gathering #writephoto

My response to Sue Vincent's Thursday photo prompt, Beacon #writephoto. Once again something stirs deep within my mind. I see images of things past, images of things held dear. The great mage, prophet and madman Merlin was going to feature in my offering but his visit has been rescheduled to another day. The High Priestess in…Read more The Gathering #writephoto

Master of the Hidden Self

The Mystic begins another journey, this time as an observer outside the circle of Knowing and Being. They perceive patterns within patterns in the sacred dance, yet unable to penetrate the mystery at its heart. The visit to the holy well in North Wales was only one aspect of the face of the numinous, there…Read more Master of the Hidden Self

I’m off to Mystics Anonymous, call you later

Here I am preparing for another journey into the unknown, taking a moment of rest to replenish the soul. I suspect my last foray into the heart of the Collective Unconscious was either mere illusion or a glimpse into a world behind a world. Talking in riddles again. It helps keep the mind agile, or…Read more I’m off to Mystics Anonymous, call you later

Hail Mighty Anubis!

There is a statuette of an icon of the Egyptian Mysteries in my porch, Mighty Anubis, great Initiator and Lord of the Dead. I pay him respects before bedtime and again before going to work in the morning. This has gone on for years and likely to continue for many more. Funny how certain behaviours…Read more Hail Mighty Anubis!