Category Archives: Mythology

Standing on The Shoulders of Titans

Cedalion standing on the shoulders of Orion from Blind Orion Searching for the Rising Sun by Nicolas Poussin, 1658, Oil on canvas; 46 7/8 x 72 in. (119.1 x 182.9 cm), Metropolitan Museum of Art

The metaphor of dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants (Latin: nanos gigantum humeris insidentes) expresses the meaning of “discovering truth by building on previous discoveries”. While it can be traced to at least the 12th century, attributed to Bernard of Chartres, its most familiar expression in English is found in a 1676 letter of Isaac Newton:

More details This picture is derived from Greek mythology, where the blind giant Orion carried his servant Cedalion on his shoulders.

In ‘Women Who Run With The Wolves’ Clarissa Pinkola Estes shares a numinous dream in which she finds ‘someone patting (her) foot in encouragement’. When she looked down she saw that she was “standing on the shoulders of an old woman who was steadying her ankles and smiling up” at her. In the dream Estes protested that it was her who should support the older woman on her shoulders but the old woman insisted that this was “how it is meant to be”. It turned out that the old woman was standing on the shoulders of an even older woman who was standing on the shoulders of… and so the line continued.

Modern story tellers are, as recent articles about the long history of Fairy Tales testify, “descendants of a very long line of people, troubadours, bards, griots, cantors, traveling poets, bums, hags and crazy people.”

Story is  very old art. It is good to stop and do a stock take of just whose shoulders you are standing upon, to take the time to express gratitude to those who have, through their work, nurtured your creativity.

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The Sad Tale of Milo The Muse

Anita Marie has taken a baton and run with it! The crowd cheers!

At The Crossroads

abandoned-places-13.jpgMilo my Muse was sitting in an empty theatre looking at an empty stage with a blank program in his hand.

” What are you doing Milo?” I asked.

He doesn’t want to look at me, but he can’t help it. ” I’m doing nothing, as you very well know.”

I stand up on the seat and look around the theatre- it old, dusty, the paint is chipping off the walls and the ceiling looks warped. ” This is a lot of nothing Milo.”

He stands  up and smacks me in the leg with the blank playbill. ” I can see that! Where have you been? We were doing just fine, we wrote some good things, you headed out and went on some trips that should have been inspirational”

” I hung out in a cemetery in New Orleans and I went to Vegas and played the slot machines. My favorite…

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Confidante

Peggie
confidant
ˈkɒnfɪdant,ˌkɒnfɪˈdant,-dɑːnt
noun
noun: confidante

a person with whom one shares a secret or private matter, trusting them not to repeat it to others.

Vasilisa had a doll! I have Peggie!

Peggie and I communicate at least once a week! She knows me better than I know myself, doesn’t spin me any nonsense or spare me truths. I trust her completely! She acts as a guide when I am not sure what to do.

But enough said! What goes on between Peggie and I stays between Peggie and I.

How do you make space for intuition?

Stage Left

It really is worth seeing what Anita Marie is doing at The Crossroads.

At The Crossroads

abanondedtheatre

:::ALLUVIAL MINE PROMPT:::

The World’s A Stage

Take a seat, please choose a seat, you are after all our guest of honor tonight.

It’s been several years since anyone has taken the stage here to perform a play, or an opera and its been ages since the symphony played here.

But tonight, just for you the curtain will go up, the house lights will go down and the story you’ll see tonight will take your breath away, stop your heart make your spirit sing.

The music will ring in your ears and the actors!

Some may call them over the top, a little full of themselves but do we expect less of our players? We do not.

I know, this Grand Old Theatre doesn’t look like much, it is the corpse of far grander place that belonged to a golden time. But you can you feel it?

It still has…

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A Myth To Live By

towerhill.jpg

When Lemuria perished by volcanic fires it left but scattered fragments to mark where once it spread. For us it will be enough to trace the Divine Wisdom from the beginnings…to carry on the teaching of the divine instructors.”

Gathered around a cradle, rocked beneath the shelter of the Himalayan peaks, the divine initiates, guardians of an ancient teaching, ancestral members of the divine sisterhood, gently prepare a girl baby for her earthly journey. This child is destined to protect the ancient teaching and bring it to humanity, wrapped in brown paper.

Silently, speaking only with actions, the sisterhood perform rituals, passed on by initiators before them, initiators whose strong hands carried the divine science safely through Lemurian fires and Atalantean floods.

A guardian, with long, luxuriant red hair, wrapped in a sapphire, brocade trimmed robe, steps forward and speaks.

“Lone Warrior Maiden. You must take this ancient teaching and go forth to a corner post of the old Lemuria, our homeland. The law we have given you will direct your life. All your actions must be in accordance with the law, which will in turn protect and preserve your destiny. You will be a member of an earth family, a citizen of the great universe, a part of the whole. You must not forget that you are a part of a circle and over time you will form a circle with other initiates who follow. They will gather with you in an eternal, spirit garden.”

Soft red light, like that emanating from a legendary Lemurian sunset bathes the crade and infuses the baby with a gentle warmth that will linger, fills her with a dynamic life force.

Quietly the Goddess lays down gifts beside the cradle.

There is a stylus, tablets, a loom and golden thread to weave, to hold for others to follow, a mirror carved with the words ‘to thine self be true’, a golden badge of honour to preserve dignity and last but not least, a treasure box to store the treasures of life.

Now to find the right womb…

From The Wintered Womb

Underneath the thrice ploughed, fertile, fallow field
Impregnated within a wintered, woven, womb
Of richly composted humus
I lay seeking sustenance, nourishment from
The oxygen filled wintered mist that
Drizzles, seeping, replenishing the amniotic fluids
That trickles through the membranous umbilical cord
Fertilizing, greening,
Ensuring a bountiful spring harvest.

Voices on the wind, drift through the chosen womb, throught the richly composted humus… a mother crying… she has three children already… how will she manage. Dr Salvaris reassures her. They will do a tubal ligation at the same time as this child is delivered, to ensure that her womb will lie fallow from this time on. What does this mean for me I wonder? ‘Prove your worth that’s what you will do….’ more words come filtering into the womb filling me with apprehension. Will I ever be good enough?

Heather Lorraine Blakey
born 27th August 1950
St David’s Hospital
Maffra, Victoria, Australia
daughter of Colin James Goodwin and
Dorothy Jean Goodwin

Born in the ward
giving precedence to
Graeme Chirpig who
tried to take
all the attention.

Born in time
for an extra slap
on the bottom
for so unceremoniously
disrupting Sister Cameron’s morning tea.

With a deft knot in her mother’s tubes
Dr Salvaris
ensured she would be
the last divinity to slip
unexpectedly
from her uterus

They said
the room filled with
radiant heated light
on that August morning
when she
triumpantly
entered the stage
looking radiant
brown eyes glowing
expectantly

It was perfectly evident
To all with eyes to see
And ears to hear
That this quaint child
Sheltered by the Great Dividing Range
Wore the mark of teacher
Emblazoned on her brow.

Her mother knew
That this child of her womb
Would be her last
that this child of Clotho and Laschesis
Was to be shielded from Atropos’s scissors

Her mother knew that this child was to be
Sheltered, protected, within the isolation of a remote outpost
That sacrifices had to be made to
Nurture, nourish and encourage her
To live out her carefully measured destiny.

The Most Loyal Friend

“If I could lay before you the dearest gift this morning, it would be a time of no beginning and no end. It would be life filled with good health and peace and inner joy that can only come from the Spirit. You would quietly refine your thoughts and words so that you never draw to you anything but the finest. You would rest deeply and breathe in sweet peace. You would know the tremendous difference between the material and the spiritual~turning from anger and frustration to a safe haven of love. You would always be the most loyal friend~not to me but to yourself. All the issues of life rise out of the heart~so this is a gift from heart to heart. I have expressed my heart to you. I have nothing to take back.” ~Chief Joseph

If, at the end of 2016, I can say that I have been the most loyal, supportive and loving friend to myself I will have found true peace.

Residing with Hel

‘Hel is the Norse queen of the underworld, a mother goddess in her underworld guise. She rules over the fiery womb of regeneration and is especially responsible for those who die of disease or old age. Her underworld, unlike the Christian hell, which received its name from her, is simply an otherworld, a place of renewal rather than a place of punishment and misery. When northern shamans visit her realm, they put on a helkappe, a magic mask (sometimes a helmet) that renders them invisible. It is possible that the masked harlequin, a standard character in commedia dell ‘arte, was originally one of the kindred of the goddess Hel. Hel is an embodiment of the divine mystery, a challenge to look behind the mask of appearances to see things as they really are.’

Hel by Susan Seddon Boulet

I have been in the underworld with Hel alongside those who died for long enough! It has not been easy to leave the fields lying fallow but how could I live when they had died?

I have not resisted being here for the past five years! I have needed to stay awhile with the dead. It is only now that I understand that this was as it has had to be. Time here has enabled the regenerative process and I am drawn by the light Hestia is luring me with.

womb

Underneath the thrice ploughed, fertile, fallow field
Impregnated within a wintered, woven, womb
Of richly composted humus
I lay seeking sustenance, nourishment from
The oxygen filled wintered mist that
Drizzles, seeping, replenishing the amniotic fluids
That trickles through the membranous umbilical cord
Fertilizing, greening,
Ensuring a bountiful spring harvest.

by Heather Blakey

Hel was the Norse goddess of the dead, daughter of the trickster god Loki and the giantess Angrboda. Shortly after her birth, Hel was cast out of Asgard, home of the gods, by Odin*. He sent her to Niflheim, the underworld, and made her queen of all who died from old age or sickness.

Awakening the Muse

The crown has been placed on their heads

and off goes the old and off goes the dead.

It shines so bright and stakes its claim

and it seems as if nothing is ever the same.

The wait is over and it’s time to sing

to muse together and flap our wings.

How patient we’ve been, waiting this long

it’s time to break out and sing our song.

Hooray, Hoorah we chant so high

creativity is born, we shout we cry!!!

Lisa and the ladies of creswick

The Story of the Green Man and His White Lady

Once upon a time, in a small kingdom by the edge of a wide, sweet sea there lived a King and Queen who reigned happily over their people.  There was but one wee grey cloud in sll the kingdom…

The King and Queen were only able to have one child…


The Lady Anemone Fionn, a daughter they deeply adored, for all that she was a solemn, chubby child who preferred the company of books and commoners to days spent gossiping in the court.

Since she was not the prettiest of children and did not have the sprightly temperament of many princesses, they despaired of her ever being happily wed.

So she was allowed to wander among the commoners in sparrow-brown garb, where she learned about love and kindness, as well as tolerance in the huts and shops of the capital city.

As she began to grow older, she accepted the training she would need to be their heir without complaint or rebellion.  She wished to serve her country with the best she could be.

It was early in her training that the first letter from the Green Man came to them, aboard a gaily-painted ship, with sails of exotic silks.  One of the letters was given up to the King and Queen, requesting their daughter’s hand in marriage when she came of age.

The other letter was delivered to the young Lady; from that day on she kept all of the Green Man’s letters in a box of delicate silver filigree.  She wore the key to the box around her neck on a plain silvery chain.

“Anemone Fionn, Sweet lady of the Beaches, you hold my heart in your gentle hands.  My Spirit sings at the merest thought of you, and my heart beats in tune with thine.  When the day comes that all see the beauty I do I shall claim you as my beloved bride.”

His words had lost no power since they had been given to her by a man from the Green Man’s country when she had not yet blossomed into womanhood.

When the arrogant young princelings would laugh at her face and form she would reread them and find much comfort in the words he had written only for her.

When no nearby princes or kings asked for her hand, she begged her parents to accept the Green Man’s pledge, and betroth her to the man who had comforted her, and sparked her mind to discover more about the world than any other Princess deigned to pretend to know.

And so it came to pass, after many long years that the Green Man wrote to the Lady and told her.  “I will be with you in truth with the coming of summer my sweet Lady Anemone.”

Faioléan the seagull perched close to the sorrowful lady and spoke in his skree-ing language.  “Weep not my lady fair.  The Uaine Fear, comes to claim thee, sailing across the wide green seas.”

The lady did return, “O Faioléan tell me true, does he love this plain face of mine?”

“Fear not fair Lady Anemone, the Uaine Fear comes for you, seeking yon beauty across the wide, green seas

The Seagull hopped close enough for the Lady to smell the sea and fish on his feathers, his bright eye locked with hers.

“Fear not dear Lady, for the Uaine Fear cometh to you, seeking your beauty and pure spirit.”

So the lady returned day after day, waiting by the ocean for this secret lover who sought her.

Her pale cheeks were given a golden glow by the sun’s light, and the gentle, salt air of the ocean soothed her breathing so much so that she even stopped coughing.

The dull brown hair that had been so lifeless and limp began to have secret tints of gold in its curls.

The longer she remained by the sea, and forsook the rich food and many sweets in the castle the slimmer her limbs became, and her skin became smooth and honeyed.

Every day the same gull was at her side, reassuring her of the Green Man’s advance across the wide, sweet sea.

Every day, the sailors on the docks, calling to her how pretty she was becoming, greeted the Lady and she would thank them prettily for their kind words.

Every night as she lay in her soft, fluffy bed the Green Man would send nightingales to sing her to sleep.  In their sweet voices she heard the words the Green Man had written to her all those years ago.

One summer day, years ago, the Green Man gifted her with vibrant silks to clothe herself with.  They had delicate laces, golden and silver buttons, the fur of exotic animals, and rare jewels to sew to the clothes with Thread-of-Gold.

Every season the Lady would take them out and ponder dresses from them, and them put them away, until she would have a fairer form to wear them upon.

One day as she dressed in another drab gown, that now hung off her like sails on a windless sea, her ladies-in-waiting all conspired to measure her for a new gown.

While the Lady waited at the shore for the Green Man, the ladies in waiting made her a new gown, from a deep peacock blue silk, trimmed with Peacock’s feathers and Thread-of-Silver, and many, many tiny pearls crusting the bodice.

When the lady returned that evening, and began to ready herself for dinner her ladies-in-waiting slipped the blue gown over her head, and styled her hair to show off the golden dusting on the soft curls.

The Lady looked in her polished silver mirror, and stared.  Surely this lovely creature brushed in gold dust couldn’t be her!!

From whence had come the womanly curves, and kissable freckles?

The same princes and Kings who had jested at her expense gathered about her, each vying for her full attention.

She laughed and treated them with tolerance, but none of them turned her head from the Green Man, who had sought her hand when no others would.

Night after night, she fended off a parade of handsome Princes and Kings.  Day after day her ladies fashioned another gown, trying to outdo the previous one in beauty and uniqueness.

Day after day she watched the seas for some sign of the green Man’s bright sails on the horizon.

At last there was only white silk that seemed to hide all other colours in its shadows left in her case of fabrics.

She took it out and caressed it, delighting in the way it slid through her fingers.  “I wish to save this gown for when my future husband, the Green Man, arrives.  And this is how I want it to look.”

And so it was that her ladies fashioned a gown to be the envy of every highborn woman in every country.

It was of clean and simple lines, and a bodice set with squares of abalone, mother-of-pearl, and lapis lazuli set in it like a necklace.  With Thread-of-Silver, they embroidered circles of ivy, mistletoe sprigs, holly, and white roses along the bottom of the gown.

The lady went to the Royal Jeweller and asked him to make her a discrete coronet.  A silver band to sit among her curls, engraved with flowers, and set with magical stones that continued in the silver netting that fell to the ground.

The lady tried it on, and she was well pleased and thanked her ladies-in-waiting with generous gifts and sweet words of gratitude.

And so, not long after, she spied a black spot on the horizon.  Her heart beat so she could barely breathe, and she ran home, calling for her ladies in waiting as soon as she had seen the bright colours of the Green Man’s sails.

Once she was dressed in her white gown and she had caught her breath she returned to the docks to await the Green Man.

At long last, the Green Man’s fleet filled the harbour, their sails were each of a different pattern of silk, and they lay at anchor peacefully.

With all due ceremony, and great pomp, the Green Man walked from his ship, across the plank, and onto the dock, where the Lady awaited him with bright eyes and glowing smile.

She could see nothing of his face behind a cunningly carved emerald mask.  At last they stood face to face, and still he held up the mask.

My Dear Lady of the Blue Harbour.  Will you still wed me?”

The Lady answered happily. “I have awaited this day forever and a day, yes, I will wed you.”

At last the Green Man took down his mask, showing everyone an ugly, twisted old man’s face with spindly legs and potbelly.

“One last time I would ask thee.  Wilt thou marry me as I am?”

“I will marry thee, whether thou art handsome or no.  You have always treated me with gentleness and respect, and have gifted me with loveliness and comfort.  Yes, I will gladly call you husband, and follow wherever thou wilt go.”  The Lady knelt in her white raiment and kissed the wrinkled hand tenderly.

The Green Man threw back his cape and dashed the mask to pieces on the dock’s planks.  “And so our love will be fulfilled.!!”

In a flash of golden light he stood tall, becoming a young and very handsome prince, medals at his breast and a golden crown covered in rare jewels sat amongst his golden brown curls.  His sea green eyes were afire with love for the Lady.

“When I was young a Sorceress cursed my Kingdom and me.  Neither would know a happy day, or prosperity until I would be accepted by a Lady who did not recoil at the ugliness she set upon me.”

And so it was that the Green Prince and his White Lady were married and travelled to his Kingdom on the other side of the deep, sweet sea, where they lived happily ever after, and made sure that the people of their kingdoms would know happiness as well.

Again, what has this to do with out Tarot Journey?  This surely is The Lovers of the Major Arcana.  The choice between love and lust, a true connexion, and a passing fling.

The Lovers

"Love has a thousand feathers."

Block 1 – Tree 1

I have decided that this time I am going to work in blocks as some may well  be experiments and/or new tryings on my part.   I have a sense of the overall theme but  realise that it is a huge one and encompasses so much on all sorts of different levels, elements etc and I don’t want to limit myself in any way.  My initial feeling is that once I have created lots of blocks I can then piece them together in various ways to see what works best, if they work at all, together.  What I really want to do is to just enjoy the process of this wonderful medium, a slow, slow cloth  – suits my being at present very well.

I have made the first block although it is not complete – if it becomes part of the/a whole it will have more stitching to link it with others to which it is joined.  Whilst making quilties (5″x5″ creations) over the past year or so I have often woven strips of fabric to make the ground.  I really love the effect of this and have used it for this first block and am using it on the second, which is in process – i am thinking weaving will be an essential part of this project as Gaia always speaks to me of web weaving both literally and metaphorically.

Strips of linen cut for weaving the ground:

these were attached to calico, basted  into place:

stitching then began:

the tree comes from a dress which I have had for more than twenty years – a gift from a friend – i love the design of it and although  it is not actually a tree within the design of the fabric, cut out it looks like one to me:

basted:

the finished for now block which measures 12″x12″:

Jill

http://landofdreaming.wordpress.com