The Great Dream

Goddess created humanity so she could know herself.

And so creation is a continous flowering into being.

"The deepest strata of the underworld include a state of being called "Sacred Land", also known as the Earth of Light of Blessed Isles. This state houses the Dreamer within the Land, often known as Lucifer, the sun at midnight, and the star within the stone...Faery Seership is concerned with reaching deep into and through the substance of the surface world to the state where the Lord of Light holds the original vision of the earth and her creatures in the sacred land. The Faery seer seeks to be as one with the Dreamer and to open this sacred land into the surface world thereby healing and re-vivifying it...The sacred land is the original vision of the world in its balanced and paradisiacal state. This state of being surfaces in all natural areas but is stronger in some..."the sacred land is the land the way God intended it to be ~ a Garden of Eden". This statement is in keeping with some of the deeper teachings of Faery Seership which say that the Garden of Eden receded into the inner worlds as humanity moved forward into the surface world. This is the mystical legend of the exile of Adam and Eve, the primal parents of humanity, from Paradise...In Faery Seership, humanity was not exiled from Eden for eternity. Rather, the unconditional availability of Eden was traded for the gift of free will. The post-exile shift in human condition now requires us to seek, find, and claim our place in Eden as an act of choice. To do this humanity must also reclaim its responsibility and accountability as caretakers of the sacred garden of Eden. "
The Faery Teachings by Orion Foxwood. p112-113.

http://www.astronomygcse.co.uk/

From moment to moment
I am waiting
for something to happen

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to wake up from this dream
and
live this life

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while I hear voices
stolen brutally
dare I breathe happiness
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must I dream to forget
or must I live
to remember

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and so I remember

every mother

gave birth to us all

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daring to live

this life

given

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silver Fox

http://www.etsy.com/shop/elsita

via Blessed Wild Apple Girl

Beating the Bounds

by Chris Tancock

Dancing with muddied Feet

Himself ~ by Brian Froud

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"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

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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.

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Miraculous Transformation of Our Lady

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Stone reclusive, built for ten foot giants.

Hidden behind thickly interwoven ivy

Creeping cunning plant with

dark evergreen leaves

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Seeping supernatural shine.

No light between the gnarled arms

bending into mouths

tasting of deep red earth.

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A tunnel of conifer and yew smelling thickly

of red fluorescent berries

touching tantalizing the tip of my tongue

Screaming stomach pain and death.

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"Come along girls'' is lifted from

billowing stiff black skirts.

A chain of grey bobbing hats are

led to a ghostly circle of

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Silver birch, ash and beech

Sheltering a small crumbling arched wall.

Crouched, solitary a female figure with

pearl white hollow eyes

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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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This Wild Love

As I travelled back into London I was bringing the dislocated parts of myself together. Where would I find my Secret Garden in this city?

I arrive to the grand Arch and gateway of Paddington train Station. Made of metal, stone, wood. Fuelled with water and fire filled with sweat, steam and burning coal.

I remember my lost garden where upon plunging my hands into the black earth I was stung by a sleeping bumble bee. The devil had stolen my hands and I longed to feel the earth in my hands. Smell the soil under my nails seeking the crevasses, lines, creases, cracks and sores.

I smile to myself as I wish to find another platform 9 and 3/4. Perhaps if I squeeze myself small. Bound tight forgetting my full woman's body with her feet size 8 and her hands full and hairy [if seen on certain nights if lucky!] I say to myself ~ No that won't work. Never did work. Trying to believe those false words that pushed my skin and bones into a shape convenient. Manageable and tamed. Hair neatly shaved, cut, bleached and trimmed. A wild mad woman me...nah...that wasn't me....

I walk the concrete and stone ground unaware of whose bones lie underneath my feet. The skulls buried that once held life flowing with moment after moment after.

I remember the caresses of my lost love. As his fingers traced my contours that tracked pathways inside this heavy head.

The landscape of London constantly changing. Buildings going replaced with new. But the roads, streets, paths, lanes remain the same. They follow the same map. They keep the same names.

I feel lost. Landmarks holding memories going. A city of ghosts.

Yesterday I walked paths with a new friend - paths thick from shared laughter, tears, arguments, hello's and goodbyes, screams of joy and sorrow, songs sung with gusto from bellies full and strained from throats torn with liquid fire.

We walk over the bridge from the north to south. Deep in conversation. My words building hands lost to the devil.
My words grow to a new rhythm. My words build life. Creeping, running, stamping, tip toeing, jumping, leaping, crawling over the eyes, ears, mouth of London.

As I write this a group of young men/boys and women/girls are screaming, shouting and running, some with bikes, some with hoods up have chosen to bang my dustbin. It is an old style metal dustbin bright shiny and new and makes a wonderful loud sound. Crashing into the night. They have sharpened the sleepy dark night and man lit street. They reclaim this street as their own. The darkness creeping closer.

In their screams I hear a desire and longing to share the excitement of being alive. Bare and naked. No wonder ~ I think ~ they sometimes hide their faces. Theirs is a sound of hope. Singing with tongues that don't lie. The river runs loud in their veins. Some may call this ugly but I call this beauty. This wild love. These are forked tongues that cannot lie.

Now the street is empty and quiet. I understand the desire to walk bare foot in the city.