Titan’s Dream

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Image: kellepics, Pixabay

Frozen in thought and breath, his dreams drift bereft.
They who worshipped at altar of incense and fire withheld their sacrifices long ago.
Vanquished by armies of nightmares, soaked in blood and shrouds of hatred.
Homes lie forlorn, abandoned, and starved of life. Ruined in all respects.
Ghosts patrol the mountains, their mournful voices search endlessly,
Grasp at scraps of memories, cry at divinity’s loss.
The Titan’s heart still lives, still bears the pain of loss.
Where are his children?
Still he sits, frozen in thought and breath, his dreams drift bereft.
Ages pass, shape the land, and breed new life.
Still he waits, watches with unseeing eyes.

From the South they came, from lands of verdant life and golden light.
Seeking ancestry in shards of ice and crumbling stone.
Their hearts quicken, soar at sight of grandeur, marvel at god rediscovered.
He senses things familiar, echoes of incense filled halls, and sacred utterances.
They approach in humility, laden with prayers, and awe-filled eyes.
Still he sits, frozen in thought and breath, his dreams drift bereft.
Is faith enough to waken forgotten gods? Their doubts shackle them.
He urges them on, sends thoughts of love, and vanquishes doubt.
“I’ve never left you” He whispers. Will they listen?

From behind the gates of Limbo something stirs, shakes off shroud of dust.
They feel his presence, gathering strength. He comes, glory unveiling.
Shadows recede from eyes of eternity, blindness melting like ice before fire.
Once more sacrifices of incense and fire grace his altars, nourish his essence.
He calls to their blood, of ancestry shared, gathers within divine embrace.
His children truly live! The dreamer has awakened.

 

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Ouroboros – Mundane Monday Challenge #137 : Learn Photography

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Image: Jan Malique

It’s been a while since I participated in the Mundane Monday Challenge, my subject being a spun bamboo bowl. Rather what’s inside it. Strange that I only noticed the image of an Ouroboros in it. It appears curled round the vortex at the centre of the bowl. There are even scales on its exterior (well, a mosaic pattern).

Image: Jan Malique

The serpent or dragon eating its own tail is an ancient symbol, signifying much. It speaks of the circular, cyclical nature of the Universe, it speaks of life, death, and rebirth. It is infinity, renewal and eternity.

Image: Jan Malique

At this point you may think “where is it?”. Dear reader, the dragon will appear if you believe…

 

 
 

Yearning 

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Image: Myriams-Fotos, Pixabay

Deserts are strange places, filled with silences infused with paradox. Now and again the wind carries voices and presences that require our attention. They sent me the Alchemist Amunet, but she didn’t come alone. The Jackal God and Seraph, the Fallen Angel followed behind. An intriguing and important trinity. They have their reasons for stepping out of one reality into another. Shapeshifters and catalysts are the Three. I have questions to ask of them, hoping for answers but will they be what I want to hear? Need to hear?

Image: Pixabay

Mystics, mages, and travellers throughout the centuries have wandered through these often silent and apparently barren places. Places set apart from the discordant centres of so-called civilisation. They aren’t always havens of the deeply spiritual. Phantasms and djinn step lightly on the sand, weaving mirages and unsettling dreams. Nevertheless, we mustn’t abandon our sense of wonder and adventure. Yearning for such things is the voice of the Universal Soul urging us on.

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Image: Engin_Akyurt , Pixabay

I’ve been sending prayers into the desert wastes since memory began, and the human throat learned to utter sounds. It feels that long. Sometimes music is the only key that unlocks the yearnings of memory. One such song has stayed with me for years, Jevetta Steele’s “Calling You” from the film “Bagdad Cafe” (directed by Percy Adlon). It’s been on my mind for days. I haven’t seen the film for years, yet it’s resurfaced. Why? I’ve attached links to both song and imdb site for the film for your delectation. It may answer this question, or not. Answers to dilemmas and salvation can appear from the depths of barrenness and solitude. Much like the protagonist in the film. She brings the waters of life and magic to an isolated community in the desert. She brings change, and transformation, for herself and others.

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Image: Engin_Akyurt , Pixabay

I stare across the expanse at the Three. They’ve been called, petitioned but never summoned. Who would have the temerity to demand their presences? Not I.

“Calling You”? Their voices answer, chant songs of everlasting life, death and rebirth. Bring forth sentience from the Void, urge us to listen to the heartbeat of the Universe. Urge us to be courageous, surrender finally and step into the precipice.  In ancient times chants were uttered, sung to deities, praising divinity, praising the wonders of the world. There were magical incantations, bringing forth mysteries, shattering perceptions. What do they ask of me?

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Image: MihaiParaschiv, Pixabay

Amunet reaches forward and lays a butterfly touch on my throat centre, one that has been in great need of release. His Nibs (Anubis) lays a gentle touch on my lips and Seraph places a kiss on each palm.  Much to contemplate and take action on. It’s time to return from the desert and rejoin those that have been waiting at the gates of the temple. The Neophyte must progress.

http://m.imdb.com/title/tt0095801/

 

 

Ardent Suitor -Twittering Tales #60​ – 28 November 2017

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A Creative Commons Photo, Pixabay

My offering this week for Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tales. Who are the pursued and the pursuer? Nothing is what it first appears to be…

Armand relished the hunt, it filled his dead heart with fire. She was a worthy prize in this dark netherworld. The carriage stopped as their tryst commenced. Black eyes gleamed with hunger and crimson lips parted to kiss his throat. Ivory fangs sank deep, accepting his sacrifice.

(280 characters)

Notes from a small dog: Your letters to Santa… — Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo

Make Ani’s day and drop her a letter, poem, anything containing sugar and spice (perhaps a nice piece of cheese):

Can I just remind you that I don’t want to wear the antlers again this year. Or a red hat with bobbles on or, even worse, a beard… I don’t fancy a red nose or pointy ears either… Which means I have to post something every day between the first of December and Christmas Day… […]

via Notes from a small dog: Your letters to Santa… — Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo

His Bleak Outpost – #writephoto

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Image: Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent’s photo challenge Bleak – #writephoto  turns out to be another cracking photo prompt, and here is my offering this week. A tale of a presence on the headland surveying a new world in loneliness, he being a remnant of the proto-Universe:

Old parchment and molten grey meet in an uneasy embrace, sky and sea face each other like estranged lovers. “Are they bitter?” he wonders aloud. This place appears to be at the end of the known world, for there is only silence and regret washing over the rocks. The bleak outpost is his sanctuary and solace, a place witness to His fall from the heavens. 

She surveys Him from her vantage point across the channel. How his light has dimmed, barely perceivable. He fell and they followed, to see this new world of form and emotions. She is his twin Soul, ripped asunder, placed at the opposite pole. They gaze intensely, speak in signs and sigils, each offering consolation, each offering love. Suffering clothes the one and then the other. Singed are their broken wings. Vulnerable are their immortal souls, immersed in unspeakable longing.

The Lightbearer is bereft of the Light he embodies, She is ripped asunder, wrenched from his presence, placed at the opposite pole. His eyes close, shoulders flex, and arms rise. The Light answers, shadows his dance. She ignites his passion, brings back life. He becomes a million suns, She echoes his dance. They join from opposite poles, two become One. The Lightbearer shines his Light, incandescent in presence. Who calls this place His bleak outpost? Bleakness hides the Light within, nurtures and gestates.

writephoto

 

“Building a new folk culture” — From The Art of Enchantment Blog

A thoughtful post from one of  my favourite blogs by Dr Sharon Blackie, Writer, Psychologist and Mythologist:

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Last week I was the guest speaker at a joint meeting of the Trinity College Dublin Literary and Environmental Societies. I was speaking at their request about the intersection of myth, feminism and ecology in my writing, and as I always do, I was stressing the value of our native mythology and folk traditions, and […]

via Building a new folk culture — The Art of Enchantment

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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 Anubis Commands

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Image: TobiasBisander, Pixabay

On Saturday 18 November 2017 I was ordained as a Minister with the Sacred Rites Foundation. Sounds strange saying it but it’s been a long time coming. I have neither changed my spiritual preferences nor path in case you were wondering. It will involve inter-faith work, which is the way it should be. The decision to go down this route has given me a good “kick up the bum” as I’ve been in procrastination mode for quite a while. His Nibs had a hand in this issue, one way of telling me to get on with it! He can be a hard taskmaster when the occasion calls for it, a bit of a softy really when you get to know him. Don’t tell anyone else will you? There’s a lot to think about and many projects to complete. I’m at a crossroads again but know what road to take. The question is whether I’ll be disciplined enough this time and follow through on the path that lies before me. Why so mysterious?

His Nibs appeared in my mind’s eye a couple of weeks ago, I was wiping his face and hands to reveal gold beneath the black. His colours are black and gold, of corruption of the flesh, and disintegration of matter and spirit. This isn’t the end though, for the gold heralds transformation and transmutation. A profound alchemy occurs on deep levels of the psyche. This image surprised and puzzled me for ages.

I’d been waiting for a sign, anything to give me an indication that the constant barrage of crap coming my way was ceasing. It seems my prayers are being answered. Things have been falling into place, loose ends are being tidied and clarity of mind slowly re-surfacing. The physical ills are being dealt with but I need answers soon. There’s important work to be done in 2018 as obstacles are being cleared from my path. He tells me “no excuse now to procrastinate.”  Again I return to the black and gold, trying to understand that which is filled with paradox and truth. The process isn’t easy to understand, you can see my dilemma.

He gazes at me silently, expecting an answer. All I say is “how may I serve?”

“The right answer” is his reply.

I told you he could be a hard taskmaster. Don’t mess with the Opener. Unfortunately he spoils the, er, hard man persona by winking cheekily at me. I wink back but it looks like I have a nervous tic. Ah well.

Black and gold are his colours, revealing and obscuring the true nature of Being and Consciousness, revealing and obscuring the true nature of godhead and humanity, revealing and obscuring the true nature of death and resurrection. This paradox will be revisited in my next post as I need to dig deep beneath the vision of the emerging golden Anubis. This aspect of the god is one I’m not familiar with. Understandable as I’ve lingered in the place of disintegration for too long, held on to things that haven’t served me well.

Image: Jan Malique

Salvation -Twittering Tales #58 – 14 November 2017

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Image: SkittersPhotos at Pixabay.com

Kat Myrman’s Twittering Tale this week has plucked a familiar figure from my inner landscape. He comes when needed most:

They wander lost and forgetful in the great Void.
A sea of memories murmurs in their ears bringing regret.
The dead have lost hope of any salvation,
“Save us mighty Anubis” they cry brokenly.
Will He hear? The darkness and silence overwhelm.
Then Eternity is pierced by light,
He comes.

(280 characters)

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