Monday, 29 March 2010

Dancing with muddied Feet

Himself ~ by Brian Froud
"The living bond between all life, Himself is
the breath that moves, the atom that dances,
and his magic is in pure being~living Loving.
He has the magic of procreation , of dancing
the spark into being. He is the one who dances
the great dance of life and death.
Dances upon the gate between the worlds
so that the dead may pass beyond.
It is also he who is willing to sacrifice himself
when that is necessary, for the sake of those whom he protects.
Even as our hearts beat within us,
we learn to mediate the life force through
Joyful being and action.
Expressing the power through healing
and love and trust,
we become more like Himself"
P84~85 The Faeries Oracle by Brian Froud and Jessica Macbeth
A friend shared that yesterday she went to a posh party in shoes that she had bought after not trying them on. She had been to shoe shop after shoe shop trying countless shoes. None of them would fit. On arriving at the party she lost her shoes in the mud and went with muddied feet.
I exclaimed that she was a living faery tale.
Where upon I remembered a dream i had when I was in my twenties where I arrived at a posh party and was introduced to Pan who was dressed very smartly like everyone else ~ accept he had not trousers. He was not hiding his fur legs and hooves!
My dear friend also had shared how like me she has felt at odds since a child. Different. I have had dreams of trying in vain to force myself into ill fitting shoes. And as I write this I cannot pass on without being reminded of thousands of women who have had their feet bound...
This is an old poem I wrote in my twenties when I recalled a time I held memories of the Old Ways when I was in a Convent from 7 - 9 years old. I was young and so closer in my memory of the gateway between life and death. I remembered living as a daughter of Himself. Needless to say I did not fit into the Convent way. And this was not the last time I was told by a Christian authority figure that I was under the influence of the devil.
Miraculous Transformation of Our Lady
Stone reclusive, built for ten foot giants.
Hidden behind thickly interwoven ivy
Creeping cunning plant with
dark evergreen leaves
Seeping supernatural shine.
No light between the gnarled arms
bending into mouths
tasting of deep red earth.
A tunnel of conifer and yew smelling thickly
of red fluorescent berries
touching tantalizing the tip of my tongue
Screaming stomach pain and death.
"Come along girls'' is lifted from
billowing stiff black skirts.
A chain of grey bobbing hats are
led to a ghostly circle of
Silver birch, ash and beech
Sheltering a small crumbling arched wall.
Crouched, solitary a female figure with
pearl white hollow eyes
Thin silenced mouth hovers over
stone drapes. Fingers shimmering
then sighing in the silence
I gasp She "Queen of the Faeries"!
silver fox

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