Tuesday, 21 December 2010

A Short Adventure of a boy who dared to climb an apple tree

Once upon a time there was a boy who was happy but for a nagging pain on the sole of his right foot, where a splinter had been lodged following climbing the old apple tree in his parents garden.
He wanted to look over the wall that stretched for miles and miles, surrounding the huge estate hiding behind many tall dark trees. He thought if he could get high enough he might be able to see through the tall dark trees.
He should have listened to his parents who warned him never to climb the apple tree. His mother said if he did; the terrible growling, snarling, saliva spitting, frothing dog would see him and scare him so much, that he would for ever and ever chase him in his dreams.
Surprisingly this did not stop him from climbing the apple tree, as he had never heard or seen the dog. In fact the more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that there was and never had been a dog. This disbelief grew and grew to such an extent that he felt more alone than he could have imagined. It was then he realized that this was what people called a lie.
Worse still, he started having arguments with himself about whether there was a dog, because he had spent many years imagining what a terrible growling, snarling, saliva spilling, frothing dog would look like. And smell like. Over the years the hair of the dog had grown, as had his blood dripping yellow stained teeth.
So on this average quiet day he decided that he would look over the wall; so he climbed and climbed and climbed, and climbed as it was a very high tree. Anyway, he got to the top only to slip and fall. He awoke stunned with a pain in his foot which remained even when the splinter was removed; much to the confusion of the local physician.
It was from that day that Barefoot was his name because he could no longer wear any shoes; so bad was the pain. His father was the village shoe maker and try as hard as he could to design different shoes of all shapes and sizes; he could not make a pair of shoes that his son could wear without aggravating the pain.
His father went up to Barefoot and said he had run out of ideas, but he knew of a Master shoe maker in the Big City, who might be able to help him. He knew his son was scared and did not want to travel outside of the village and certainly not beyond the estate wall. But he did not know of any other way.
Finally Barefoot gathered up his courage and left for the Big City. The journey was far over rock, clay, grass, stone and sand. He saw amazing lands and incredible animals of earth, sky and water. So much colour and movement that filled his body and crowded his dreams. At times his feet became sore, but still he want on until eventually his feet became hardened to the hot and cold. At times he forgot the reason why he had travelled so far. At times he forgot the pain in his foot. He crossed rough seas of fire and ice, finally winding down the river to the mouth of the Big City.
Barefoot wandered the streets for 2 days amazed and shocked at all the strange sights and smells. However, on the second day 2 minutes past 4 o'clock he arrived at the Master shoe maker's shop. He stood looking up at the winding, twisting, moving, shaking, quivering stairs of the huge snake; wondering how he could catch the tail. He decided to make a huge leap and flung himself on. The stairs gave one almighty shake and then became still. Barefoot gingerly crept up and , as he touched each new step a different note sounded out until he reached the top to a cacophony of noise. He had been announced and the door swung open! Barefoot was greeted by the Master shoe maker.
The Master shoe maker was an old man with long white hair that merged from his head into his long white beard that trailed to the ground. The Master shoe maker greeted Barefoot as an old friend and listened carefully to Barefoot's story. In response he said he would consider making shoes for Barefoot on condition that he work for him for a year and a day, and learn that shoe makers trade.
Days, weeks and months passed until that final day arrived and the Master shoe maker announced the shoes were finished.
"And they will stop the pain in my foot?" asked Barefoot.
"Oh no, they can't do that!" replied the Master shoe maker.
"What old man, I know you are a magician. You promised you would make me shoes. So what's the use of these then?" shouted Barefoot as he flung the shoes back in the Master shoe maker's face.
"Well, they will stop you getting more splinters" said the Master shoe maker.
"What's the use of that? Splinters don't bother me. I can just pull them out. It's the pain in my foot that won't go away!" exclaimed Barefoot.
"But don't you know, you are cured of the pain" replied the Master shoe maker.
"What, are you mad? No I am not cured!" Barefoot at this point was barely containing himself from punching the old man in the face.
"Well, if the pain was that bad how did you manage to walk all those miles?"
Barefoot puffed himself up to tower of the Master shoe maker and replied;
"Because I am strong and brave!"
"Um, so I see" said the Master shoe maker not looking convinced.
"Yes"
"You sure?"
"YES!" yelled Barefoot.
"I don't believe you" replied the Master shoe maker calmly.
"You calling me a liar?!"
Barefoot at this point was shaking with rage then realized in utter amazement that the Master shoe maker was shaking too; because he was desperately trying to hide that he was laughing.
The Master shoe maker then straightened himself up, grew a few inches taller, pulled off his beard and exclaimed;
"Well done my son! You have journeyed far and long. Over come many fears, many challenges and learned many lessons. So you too can now become the Master shoe maker like you father!"
Barefoot was silent for a while and then replied;
"Thank you father. I am no Master shoe maker. I shall not take your name. Barefoot I am and Barefoot I shall remain!".

By Elizabeth Silver fox

Sunday, 19 December 2010

To A Queer Kumquat

Oh MASCARPHONE
My Kumquat
Gingerly in your presence
Twas a sticky date with those pecan petals
It turned me
A greengage fool for you my love!
Your Creme Anglaise
Doth make even a coconut pound cake rise!
You poach apricots
Then daily with a fistful of pistachios
Come clean
Don't just Creme Anglaise me
Creme Fraiche me!
Almond tart me
And my passion fruit
Will surely plum jam
Trifle and prune is me
You will crystallise
Then caramelise
And sear me with
Your quince apace
Henceforth love bring rosewater
To my fig quarter
Oh me Kumquat
Me
Oh me
Mascarpone
Me
Oh me
Creme Fraiche
Me
Oh Oh me
Queen Baklava
Drizzle my roasted plums
And my mango is yours

by Julie Mullen
Erotic Poetry for Vegans & Vegetarians

Friday, 17 December 2010

A Lesson in economics

One morning a Russian man wandered into a hotel in a village and announced he was interested in a room for the evening, and left a $100 deposit, but said he wanted to check out other lodging first. The hotel owner pocketed the money, and remembered he owed the cook $100 and paid him straight away. Meanwhile the cook owed money to the butcher and gave him the $100. The butcher owed money to his girlfriend and paid her. The woman then ran to the hotel and paid her outstanding bill with the $100. A few minutes later the Russian man came back to the hotel and said he had changed his mind, and the hotel manager refunded his money. Meanwhile, everybody in town was paid off. This is how economics is supposed to work.

www. thefourwinds.com ~ Alberto Villoldo

Sunday, 31 October 2010

"The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter"
Matsuo Basho, Silence ~ via Crashingly Beautiful

Sunday, 3 October 2010

The Cinematic Orchestra - All Things to All Men

"In mythos and fairy tales, deities and other great spirits test the hearts of humans by showing up in various forms that disguise their divinity. They show up in robes, rags, silver sashes, or with muddy feet. They show up with skin dark as old wood, or in scales made of rose petal, as a frail child, as a lime-yellow old woman, as a man who cannot speak, or as an animal who can. The great powers are testing to see if humans have yet learned to recognize the greatness of soul in all its varying forms."

Clarissa Pinkola Estes ~ Women Who Run with the Wolves

"Redemption comes only after we have moved through the horrors of our present situation to the better world that lies beyond it. By confronting the problem as courageously as we can and at the same time presenting alternatives, our barriers to clarity, including our false hopes, may crumble to reveal previously unseen possibilities"

Derrick Jensen ~ A Language Older Than Words


re~blogged from Crashingly Beautiful

Wednesday, 8 September 2010

Por Dentro

"When we lose contact with our inner world, negative things start happening; our personal garden dries out and the flowers and fruits disappear. You see a bird inside the girl. This bird represents that natural sense of direction that we all have, it's some sort of guide that helps us find our way through life. The bird can only be alive if the garden is alive, because they need each other."
by elsita
the heArt of Papercuts

Thursday, 19 August 2010

*
"We are born of the stars,
part of the wider realms
and all between.
Life is connection.
Remember, we travel the stars
and feed on the Sun and Moon.
The Ancestors walked
with courage and huge minds
to anchor the spirit of
mountain peaks to the spirit of
the stars, and called on their
pulsing light to enhance life.
That was the gift they sent
forward in time to serve
those who followed.
That was the promise
they honoured"
*
Song of the Old Tides ~ Barry Brailsford
*

Wednesday, 18 August 2010

"We are not human beings having spiritual experiences,
we are spiritual beings having human experiences"
Yogi Bhajan

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

Dolgoch





"Each little death, each letting go of something that no longer serves us well, opens the doors to higher learning.
Each little death lightens our load, frees us of burdens that may have become to heavy.
Each little death brings more light into our life"
'Wisdom of the Four Winds' ~ Barry Brailsford

Llanfihangel-y-pennant


Walk to Castell y Bere





Wednesday, 4 August 2010


I am delighted to find I have been awarded this blogging award. The most recent rules for the award are:
1. Thank the blogger that gave you the award.
Thankyou to Moonroot at http://moonroot.blogspot.com/
2. Sum up your blogging philosophy, motivation, experience, using 5 words.
Mine are
Creativity, Discovery, Exploration, Sharing, Community
3. Pass the award on to 5 fabulous bloggers with substance. I'm happy to bestow this award (in no particular order) on the following fabulous blogs which always have something worth saying, and say it well:
* Sacred Graffiti
* Painting Life with Words
* The Naked Soul
* Energy Doorways
* The Spiritual Journey of a Somerset Pagan

Monday, 2 August 2010

"To be truly radical is to make hope possible, rather than despair convincing."
Raymond Williams ~ http://www.darkoptimism.org/

Wednesday, 28 July 2010

"There is a language older by far and deeper than words. It is the language of bodies, of body on body, wind on snow, rain on tree, wave on stone. It is the language of dream, gesture, symbol, memory. We have forgotton this language. We do not even remember that it exists. "
A Language Older than Words ~ Derrick Jensen.





Silver Fox July 2010

Tuesday, 29 June 2010

Place to Be

by Kindra Clineff {1}



Where is the Secret Garden in this City, shall I follow the voices of children?

So how much have I chosen this life? How much am I connected to others in this web of weaving. We talk of bloodlines. Of patterns of behaviour and learning being passed down. How much of those patterns are memories in our shared blood. How am I a memory of my ancestors; an imprint of ghosts reliving. And at what point does one life begin and another end. Is my life my own or how much of my life is a shared gift.

In this city lost, with souls rubbing shoulders pretending that they didn't choose this. Pretending not to care.


**
Living in a city I am increasingly seeing children who are not socialized with an inability to communicate and behave within different environments, contexts and people. I am seeing more children emotionally charged and reactive. Unable to be happy with themselves let alone their environment and others. I understand for many Life has been a threat and they are trapped in flight, freeze or run. And for many this learned survival is a lesson hard to re-learn.

Some see but I am not one of them that this as isolated problem with certain families. This is a growing symptom of our country where Margaret Thatcher proclaimed "There is no such thing as society, there are individual men and women and there are families". In this statement where is the desire for community? Where is shared responsibility? Where is shared accountability?

I learnt in my psychotherapy training that it was only possible for a group therapist to keep in mind no more than 10 with comfort or at a stretch some argue a maximum of 15. This led me to pondering on whether there was also a geographical limitation on how much an individual could relate to/keep in mind. And so for me this combination of number of people and space are key to understanding how community is created. So following this train of thought I wondered how in a city or in country I could feel part of a community.

Recently I was listening to a BBC Radio4 debate on ethics where two very similar scenarios were given. First one: a person is given the choice of saving 5 people from a runaway trolley/train or another person who was standing away from the other 5. In order to save the 5 they would need to push a button to redirect that trolley/train and in doing so would kill a person they did not know. In the second scenario the person has to physically push the single person onto the track to save the 5 other people. Apparently when given these two scenarios more people are able to say that would push the button than push the person. This ethical dilemma is called the proximity question. And since hearing this question I have been concerned at the mentality which created such question. This reminds me of the experiments that psychologists did on baby monkeys to see how they survived without a mother ~ either with a soft cuddly toy or not. I had found myself tied in mental knots trying to figure out this ethical dilemma until the light came on and I realized that ~ We are dealing with the wrong questions.

This is a made up scenario. Last week I was in a situation in which I had not chosen to be part of. Where the people who I was with lied to me. They set up the situation partly through the rues of getting me to leave the scene temporarily. And so I was unwittingly implemented as I had come with them. On my return I was witness to police racial/class brutality against two 13 year old girls. I did not know where to turn. How to help the girls. I was frightened for myself too and had no where to run as more and more people came involved. Family and neighbours watched on. The girls were taken away in a police van and I left standing with the family and neighbours. With their mother asking why the police had been violent to her daughters.

This quote has been inspirational for me this last week as I struggled with what I felt was my impotence. As I have questioned what more could I have done? What more can I do now other than what I have done including making a formal complaint and talking to others helping their hearts to thaw and feel their hurt and outrage of that incident:

I have come to believe that every one of us is an activist, and that every action taken in the name of interconnection ~ every action that brings us closer to ourselves, to each other, to the planet ~ births a better world.
Marisa Handler {2}

So when I see a person I do not know in pain, do I walk on by because I do not know them?When I hear that the tube train I am on is delayed and diverted because someone had fallen onto the tracks. Do I feel annoyed that I will be delayed by a person whose face I did not see, miles away from where I am? Or can I feel those threads that exist inside and outside of me shake and shiver. Daring to thaw my heart.

When our children rebel and refuse to answer the questions that we set them. Maybe we need to ask ourselves whether we are asking the wrong questions. If they answer in rudeness or anger it is time for us to step back and pause because we might just be asking the wrong questions. And those questions inform actions. Too often people presume and assume to know and understand. Have others speak our answers to our questions ~ the wrong questions.

So I hope to learn answers to questions that I did not know and are beginning to understand.


{1} http://scienceblogs.com/bioephemera/2010/03/spider_spiral.php
{2} http://www.marisahandler.com/home.html

Saturday, 19 June 2010

Sunday, 13 June 2010

Holy Grail of the Unconscious





The very first book that I read that guided me through psychotherapy and spirituality when I was 17 was 'Man and His Symbols' by Carl Jung.
Now Jung's infamous book 'The Red Book' has been translated and published. To say that I am excited would be bit of an understatement! It is his diary of his own journey through his underworld. Unfinished and locked away. There is still ccontroversy over its publication.
"Some people feel that nobody should read the book, and some feel that everybody should read it. The truth is, nobody really knows. Most of what has been said about the book — what it is, what it means — is the product of guesswork, because from the time it was begun in 1914 in a smallish town in Switzerland, it seems that only about two dozen people have managed to read or even have much of a look at it.
Of those who did see it, at least one person, an educated Englishwoman who was allowed to read some of the book in the 1920s, thought it held infinite wisdom — “There are people in my country who would read it from cover to cover without stopping to breathe scarcely,” she wrote" (1)
Here are 3 links:

(1) New York Times Article
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PDF preview
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2 Talks at Treadwells
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Quest for the Grail brief intro 1 persons journey

Saturday, 12 June 2010


From moment to moment
I am waiting

for something to happen
*
to wake up from this dream
and
live this life
*
while I hear voices
stolen
brutally
dare I
breathe happiness
*
must I dream to forget

or must I live
to remember
*
and so I remember
every mother
gave birth to us all
*
daring to live
this life
given
*
silver Fox

5 Agreements

Be Impeccable with you word

Don't take anything personally

Don't make assumptions

Always do your best

Be sceptical, but learn to listen

*

The Fifth Agreement: A Toltec Wisdom Book by Don Miguel Ruiz & Don Jose Ruiz

http://www.miguelruiz.com/

Friday, 11 June 2010

Raven Returns to Dover after 120 years!

Call of the Raven by Jarmo Manninen
http://www.luontokuvat.net/index.htm

The Raven returning to the White Cliffs of Dover after 120 years {both icons for Britain now again linked} previously hunted from extinction from this part of England; Fills me with hope after a week of hysteria following a suspected incident of an urban fox attacking a human baby. As us humans further domesticate ourselves taking over more and more green space, and so alienating ourselves from nature. We forget that this story is repeated over and over. Be it tigers, elephants, polar bears, wolves or foxes. It took time but the Raven is now a protected bird. So what has been the Raven's story, myth and medicine?

Raven is found in myths all around the world. A powerful figure. Linked with creation and Shamans. A shape shifter, transformer, bringer of light out of the darkness, creator of the world egg, messenger and trickster to name just a few key elements of Raven's medicine and power.

It is Bigger than the British Buzzard. A beautiful, formidable and cunning bird.

Linked with Celtic mythology of Bran the Blessed, primordial Deity and protector of Britain ~ whose name means 'Raven'. "A master of the Isle of Britain, he is a cauldron-God, associated with a cauldron of regeneration which would revive the slain while leaving them voiceless. His cauldron destroyed, and he mortally wounded in a war to rescue his sister Branwen, he instructed his adherents to decapitate him and, after many travels, bear the head to London and bury it, where it would become a defense and a protection to the whole Isle. " (1)
So Legend says Bran's head was cut off and buried on the White Mount of London now the place of the Tower of London. Here lives the belief that England will fall should the Raven's depart. I still find it curious for many reasons, as well as cruel; that even today there are keepers of Raven's at the Tower who clip the Raven's wings to stop them departing.

Raven is also connected with Celtic Goddess Morrigan of darkness/night/battle/fertility/death and lover of the son of Lugh. Raven is also directly associate with the God Lugh ~ bringer of light, divine ruler. Raven a bridge between the worlds and between darkness and light. The fear of Raven has been mirrored by our interpretation of Shamans and Witches.

Morrigan and Lugh are Deities associated with Giant Semi-God race of Tuatha Danann named the Shining Ones by W.B Yeats. They have close associations with the Angelic race who fell to earth and gave birth to the Nephilim ~ founded in Middle Eastern myths (referred to in the Bible and Book of Enoch}. Both are described as a beautiful frightening powerful giant race, with god like powers who taught humankind the arts such as smith craft and medicine.
***

References:
General Intro to world myths of Raven ~ http://www.ravenfamily.org/nascakiyetl/obs/rav1.html
How to identify Raven and much much more! ~
W.B. Yeats 'A Vision'
Bran ~
(1) Bran the Blessed by Obsidian ~
( http://www.realmagick.com/articles/01/901.html
Nephilim ~
I recommend 'From the Ashes of Angels' by Andrew Collins though at times he makes leaps with his conclusions it is a very interesting read and has many references.

Sunday, 6 June 2010

Queen Hornet


http://www.bwars.com/ ~ Queen, In woodland below the Wrekin, Shropshire, 2005 by Nigel Jones

In 2 weeks I have seen 2 Queen Hornets. 1st in Hungary. 2nd nr Yeoford Devon. Both times I was completely transfixed. Amber Gold red colour. Such powerful confidence. Strong. I remember how the mention of Hornets people quake and shake.
So why was I so at ease? What was I missing? Or were other's missing something?
Tigers on wing. To be respected. Their beauty admired.

Some species of Queen Hornet apparently have enough lethal venom to kill a human. Hornets can kill bees and wasps. So everything including us has a place. Us who are at the top of the food chain.

The Queen and her female workers maintain the nest. Shamanically a Hornet would connect with female warrior energy, sisterhood and understanding female societies and communal living. I am very excited that I am meeting Hornet.
And with this {shamanic/spirit} medicine I experience working on befriending my shadow side which is fiercely protective. So many insects and animals have had so much shadow projected onto them do we see who/what they are?
I wonder at the misleading shadow we cast onto them. I wonder that I am connecting with ancient as my dear friend said today Hornets are mostly to be found in ancient woodland. She also told me an amazing story of when she first saw a Hornet she did not know they existed and watched with awe as she heard it's jaws crunching eating a wasp! And I wonder whether as man has reduced ancient wilderness so maybe the Hornet is coming into more domesticated spheres...Would that affect the medicine of the Hornet...Would many more meet that medicine?...
With this thought of my need my desire to meet wilderness of my heart. This year I have been faced with what I would have assumed as other's similar desire, has been at times glamour in service to the ego. At worst this has a dangerous echo of colonialism. Misunderstanding and misusing other oppressed people's life/culture/being which is inter-connected with the land.
I refer to many westerners after apparently seeking out indigenous shamanic teachers, using their experience to sell and promote themselves. Some ask whether you have trained with an aboriginal/indigenous shaman or 'their' shaman~ there by clearly defining the 'pecking order' and offering something which you can only get from them.
When I have met indigenous healers/shamans which I have learned a lot from; they have been very down to earth, average person/every day people. They have a job. They earn respect. And do not separate out their job/role from life and other people. I experience them of having studied bloody hard with open hearted and open eyed curiosity. Like our wonderful British naturalists who sit hours on end watching and observing nature. Tired and aching. On their own. They are rewarded by such amazing knowledge and I believe in time gifted with wisdom.
What I am describing is being in service. Full of love and therefore full of power. And I think that westerners have much to learn about what power is. Power not connected with ego.
I am hearing too often western people describing themselves as Shamans when I am not clear what their intention is.
It has been a journey for me to witness women within the alternative spiritual subcultures promoting themselves as a business. We trip into not only the tricky area of £ for spirituality but also the tricky area of the previously oppressed, marginalised and misunderstood ~ women's power and spirituality.

For me my journey this year has been about reclaiming my authentic spiritual woman self. I have been working with not giving my power away to other female figures in my desire to heal the wounded daughter that comes from a line of mothers and daughters who have been abondoned. My journey has been to see this ancestral thread. A woman's wound. That thread, that blood which longs to bleed into the earth and belong.
This journey of healing the woman's wound has connected me with a desire to connect with the Divine feminine. That which is woven inside my womb, vulva and heart. In my blood. That vibrant hot red energy. That song.
And so I have been meeting Queen Hornet. A truly humbling experience.
And with that, dare I connect with that power. Not distort. Not demonise ~ internally or externally. Be that either an unclaimed part of my self or another woman.

For we are all mirrors and 'our worst teachers are our best teachers'

I am reminded that to connect with Divine it is that volcano that burning star that burning sting. Fire. Red. Orange. Yellow. Sun. Hot.

I am reminded of the wonder, diversity, power and beauty of Her Divinity.


*


For an interesting read on a related subject ~ "Personality" by W.E.Butler

Yeoford ~ Devon


Along the Tarka line ~ www.trailsfromthetrack.com