Limora's Glade

Sally was quiet because she was listening. She didn't have to talk to understand. The trees moved close to her and they sang....Tree branches bowed and waved in joyful play -- responding to the breeze -- a thought not felt on cheek or golden hair.

Kiyan’s first sounding part 1

Kiyan’s first sounding contained a number of things that `pinged’ with me. For example, this sentence:
Changes in the world around you have forced your PRACTICAL alignment from one of belief to knowledge -- and you do not like this.
One of the difficulties I have is figuring `how it works’ – when it comes to trying to fit in and work with the system, I’m like Ozzie Osborne with a remote control. I call for help from one of my kids, who grew up in this different world and know the secret is knowing which button does what.
When I was a kid I believed absolutely in the world I knew – the changing of the seasons, living close to the patterns of nature, using your instinct to find your way. None of this works now. In fact, I have come to distrust my instinct and `signs’ so strongly that I avoid them if possible. Simply because they are old technology, old `magick’ if you will, and don’t work well in the world I find myself in now.
Now I have to read the manual, and Kiyan is right – I do NOT like it.

I am having a little trouble with the terms as I read on – Kiyan speaks of the Conceptual Plane and the Practical Plane. The former I am interpreting as the `idea’ of a thing (or as the dictionary says `idea of the attributes common to a class of things’ – not making it much clearer); the latter I see as the `hands on’ doing aspect, and suggests I shift some beliefs from the conceptual to the practical, an alchemical process. This I take to mean I attempt to transmute some of the leaden ideas lying around my psyche into creative gold (although I am well aware alchemy is more than that, this analogy seems to fit here.)
One of those leaden ideas, I think, is that it is all about ME – yet, as I work on my Frida Kahlo retablo, I realise that she did actually achieve this alchemy, turning it into the gold of her paintings. ``I paint self portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best.'
Thus I am reminded that, whether I avoid it or not, synchronicity and signs still make themselves felt, like an insistent shoe brush salesman who pops up at your window after you’ve chased him off the doorstep.

Kiyan went on to make a critical point about my craving for a `cleared path’ while still desiring a high degree of `free spirit’. This relates directly to how I was raised, and brings my father into the picture. I have inherited a lot of his traits, and freedom was his religion. Like him, I chafe if restricted to a routine, yet, like my mother, I fall easily into a routine and enjoy comforts. She missed the comforts of the settled life when she joined the travelling life – things settled people take for granted, like bathrooms and toilets. Like my parents arguing over freedom versus convenience, there are two people at war in me – one who wants to say `sod it’ and seek total freedom, and one who constantly reminds me how much I enjoy having a hot shower.
Social obligations and routine chafe the free spirit, but she goes remarkably silent on the subject of giving up her comforts.
As Kiyan says: One representation of this Casting is that of the 'fireside cat'. You are in a comfort zone embracing your sensual, artistic side, and fear losing this comfort if your 'get up and stretch' in the practical world. While you should be able to observe situations without judgment and make good decisions, you force yourself into indecision and then have to rely on others -- often with unhappy results.
One of those uncomfortable observations that I have to reluctantly admit is true – and I must ask myself, at this point, if I am the author of my own story or if I am letting other people write the chapters because I have lost the plot – or perhaps because I am dimly trying to follow a plot familiar to me, but unapplicable in my current circumstances?

Lots of food for thought here, lots to digest.

Musing in the Glade - Ancient Song

Inside it seems there is some kind of balance
finally - to see,
and some kind of new logic,
an ancient song,
uncommon sense.

The peace of the Glade is not always there in real life -
can it be trusted to be enough if I go that way?

Is solitude/gathering/idealism ideal?
Will it sustain me?

To withdraw from common judgement
and see in new ways,
to reach into the ancient and find food there -
that is the way and the rich life.

The perilous path that spawns the changes,
ridden and trodden by those who choose it,
or it chooses you,
depending on everything and nothing.

I sit in the sunshine glade and breathe,
with closed eyes
and a red glow.

copyright Monika Roleff 2005.

Thoughts on the Duuran process

I still want time to thoroughly read and digest Kiyan's soundings, but here are my experiences of the process so far:

Kiyan asked me to list six symbols of importance to me. This took some doing as I don't wear symbols or carry talismans. I had to look around my environment, my writings, my everyday life to see what recurred - the first thing that I noticed was the wheel. This is a recurring theme, particularly in writing - I once wrote a long philosophical poem called the Wheel, but I won't inflict it on you here.

The Wheel is also a powerful symbol in the earliest Tarot I ever saw, not the familiar tarot, but a set of Gypsy fortune cards owned by my grandmother. I designed a saet of Romany cards based on the symbols I remembered from that set, and included the wheel - and of course, the Wheel of Fortune is a Major Arcana card as well, and one I often turn up in readings. So it seemed to me that the Wheel was a strong symbol in my life, I felt an affinity with it, and I listed it.

The next symbol came to me very quickly - the Horse. Horses have always been a big part of my life, but what clinched it was remembering something my son said years ago - he likened me to a wild horse and said the horse was my spirit animal, something I understood immediately was the simple truth.

Colour is important to me, since I have loved art since I was a small child - but the one colour I love most is the colour of the ocean, that deep jade blue green gemlike colour. I use it often, try to reproduce it, wear it - it recurs in my life and qualified as a symbol.

Then it got hard - finally I chose lavender for the next symbol because like the others, it is a common recurring theme for me. I specifed wild lavender - not sure why, but that's how it came out so I left it.

Looking around, I saw some religious symbols in my life - a statue of Buddha given to me by my daughter, a small brass Buddha my son gave me, a picture of my favourite Indian God, Ganesh - but only one - how shall I put this - gives me an emotional reaction. I have a small statue of Kwan Yin, and I love her dearly. Her counterpart in Indian mythology, Lakshmi, is currently one of my projects as I remake an Indian doll into a shrine for Duwali, the Festival of Lights. I showed my children this celebration when they were small and they loved lighting the candles and leaving gifts for the Goddess. So it seemed this Goddess is a recurring theme as well, and I included her.

Finally the Celtic Knot - simply because it is a symbol of who I am, a Celt and a traveller, Irish born and still steeped in the lore I heard as a child.It wasn't easy to make this list - as a young woman I surrounded myself with symbols and would have had difficulty choosing, but lately I haven't given it much thought.

Yet when I did look, I was surprised to see that some symbols still so persist.I wrote them down pretty much as I thought of them, in an instinctual way, and did not at that time, add any details or thoughts on why or how I chose them. I'm not sure now if I should have done that for Kiyan, but it seemed the proper way at the time.

Meditating at the Cross Roads

I have arrived near the glade and I am sitting at the crossroads meditating upon my future directions. I am wearing green to represent my connection to the earth. Note that all my important symbols are present.

Pegasus, winged horse of my beloved Muse, upon whose wings of imagination I fly,
The Raven to my right, bringing messages from around the world
A cup of Castalian Water from Delphi Greece, the waters of creative inspiration
A graceful black swan, a true Australian
The limb of a Cypress, my tree, is ever present
and last but not least,
Statement beads, helping to express my an artistic side.

Guide me wise Gusari! Help me choose a pathway that will nourish my creativity. Tell me what I need to release in order to move forward toward my destiny.

Setting the Scene - 'The Bandits' by faucon

Thrasa set out the implements and supplies for supper and pretended to not see what Aldic was about. Under the guise of gathering smokeless wood for the long night fire he was clipping tips from soft fir boughs hidden in the shadows of towering spruce. Her laughter was hidden by the tinkling spring which splashed into a perfect granite bowl - a feature which had caused them to stop their journey earlier this day. Of course, there was tomorrow's assault on the high Carpathian pass that would require an early start.

The simple meal of nuts, onions and apples might be enhanced by a mountain hare as the Baron had already placed some snares. Each was attached to a 'ground drum' brass wire that would sing a tune to indicate its location. In this way, the hunter could safely release the hapless curious not meant for their fire. This forest gentleness in the giant of a man bound Thrasa to him as much as the marriage scar on her palm. He always wiped away his tears with his own deep pledging mark.

His cloak lay over the pillow of scented, caressing forest gifts; close by the spring where a slight mist might strike sparkles in her hair. They lay there for awhile afterward and watched the clouds pass by. Like their growing sons; birthed, swirling into shapes filled with mirth and mystery, then gone to far off lands. She nestled close, the hinted secret of a daughter not yet to be revealed.

As two rabbits crackled above the flickering coals the lovers came to instant alert. Strangers approaching! Three they were, mounted on small Sythian ponies, but by clothing, not of Alani decent.
Their language was beyond even their widely experienced vocabulary, but the intent was clear. They had food to share and would like to join the evening fire. The strangers properly touched open fingers to forehead, lips and heart. Their cloaks were thrown back to expose only short curved knives of a quality beyond their well-worn boots. Date cakes and wine were added to the feast and stories were acted out in pantomime, more of clever trading than of warrior deeds. Aldic, keeping pace and cautious, made it clear he was a miller, and hid his general's past. They stayed up later than was their intent but fine companionship was always a boon to savor.

They all rose before dawn, planning to eat along the way. Packing was alternated with hand warming trips to the waning fire, for the night had whispered yet of the departing snows. Then, with Thrasa on her knees and Aldic apart near the donkey, the bandits attacked. A shout to build courage! A grasp of small shield and sword from saddle ties! A deliberate advance - two on to the Baron - one for the maid. The ill-missioned knave was laughing as he slowly drew his sword, but Thrasa was quick in response. As she rose her Kama blade swept up and out across his wrist and the unsheathed sword was useless! A feint to the head brought the shield up and she kicked him with a blow that would have gelded his fine horse. She whirled about to her lover's plight and found him only armed with a shingling fro. He parried back and forth using friendly trees to keep the two assailants apart. Then with fierce upward swing he did break the bandit's sword in twain, where upon the thief stumbled backwards in dismay. Taking advantage of the moment, Thrasa did clobber him with a cooking iron such that his helm flew into the bush, and he lay still. Then using a hunter's whistled signal, Thrasa tossed the first knave's sword through the air. Caught! So met, the last standing stranger did circle about the fire in caution quickly learned.

Thrasa's first foe did attempted to rise, clutching severed hand. Limping still, his back provided footing for the Bear who, above the screams could leap full into the fray. The now wounded traveler did attempt an escape but was turned by Thrasa's spinning blade. On turning back e was cleaved from neck to belt and chimes sounded as golden necklaces were scattered to the stones.

The pair circled about in practiced, cautious sweep. Their backs touched through tunics dripping with exhaustion's fetid stench. Though their joining here was different from before, each was touched with both life and death. The tears that tasted on their lips were for joy profound, but also in prayer for those now fallen whose home fires would be ever silent.

The first rays of the new day spilled red and gold on flesh and blood abound. It took brave eyes to look to the mountains and leave the past behind.