“…Change and change in the perspective of self-realization; the kind of change that has its source in mental and emotional maturity and the understanding of the deeper meaning of life.” My son looked up the symbolism of the dragonfly on his phone. We had been watching its staccato flight over the pond. “That’s just too perfect…”
We sat, my son and I, in the morning sun drinking coffee and talking about the way he is shaping his life. “They say that we create our own reality,” he continued and I believe that to be true. Not entirely as the fashionable buzz in some circles would have it… there is a little more to it than just thinking positive thoughts and imagining that dreams have already arrived in order to manifest them. Dreams need such vision before they can become real, it is true, but they also need work. Our decisions, choices and attitude all go into the mix, along with determination and an unshakeable faith that we can arrive at our goal.
“I reckon,” he said, as we watched the flight of the huge dragonfly, “that creating your own life is like making art…” I had to agree; creating reality is akin to creating a work of art. It takes time and dedication to learn the skills and acquire the experience that can transform fluid vision to concrete presence.
The malevolent and ruthless mage, Dante Asano, is defeated but victory came at a horrific price.
Before Wisp and his companions could intervene, Dante possessed Pendra Thorn’s body. In order to stop Dante without killing Pendra, a magic sleep spell was cast.
A glass coffin warded with powerful spells encased her body while her mind fled to a favourite memory; unfortunately, Dante is also trapped with her.
The magical coffin will only keep her alive, and Dante contained for a short time.
A desperate plan to undertake a treacherous journey across an unknown sea means Wisp and his companions must disband. Some journey with Wisp to find an ancient spell to release Pendra and banish Dante’s spirit.
Those left behind must guard Pendra in a city under threat.
An ancient evil casts a shadow over Edra, causing burgeoning unrest and setting the inhabitants against one another.
Wisp’s journey must be successful not only for Pendra’s sake but also for Edra itself.
Hi Guys Ruby Dog here! Guess what I have been hearing really good things about a couple of twolegses called (Zozo&Jools) they can be found over at Usual Muttwits
They have been writing about a whole gang of fourlegses. Imagine, how cool is that! Look there is even a map of where they all live.
Now Sue Vincent over at Daily Echo knows them too and they have been featuring on her blog. That’s where my willow found them . So I have been reading her her mail for news of these guys.
MUTT-SHOTS
Muttwits from A to Z
Bananas – Pug
got an appointment with destinyshe races on, leaving the others sniffing at a butt that ain’t there
“This is remarkable,” Donna said. “What a transformation.”
Steve beamed. “Yeah, we gutted the place,” he said. “Took it down to the studs, reconfigured the layout a little for a better flow, and created an open concept for the kitchen, dining area, and family room.”
“Wow, just wow,” Donna said. “You did an amazing job, that’s all I can say.”
“Thanks,” Steve said. “We also added a powder room on this level and created a master suite upstairs by combining two of the four bedrooms. It has an en-suite bathroom and a huge walk-in closet.”
“Oh good grief…”
“I can see it…”
The distant silhouette of the great stones of Callanish were unmistakeably outlined on the horizon. In spite of all the challenges, including fully-booked ferries, deflating tyres, a distinct lack of beds, food and coffee, we had made it… and made a dream come true. And, as if to reward our perseverance…
“There’s a café…”
“Cool!”
“…and llamas…”
“You’re joking…”
My passenger cast his eyes to the heavens in mock-despair, but did not challenge the assertion. The first time I’d ‘found’ an unexpected llama in an unlikely place, he hadn’t believed me… until we got close enough to see and meet Lammas, the sheep-herding llama of the North Yorkshire moors, who had given us directions to a sacred site. This time, however, I was wrong… as we drove closer, we could see that they weren’t llamas after all. Just their smaller cousins, alpacas. Which was close enough for me. But coffee and creatures could wait. There were stones to meet first.
The official car park by the recently built visitor centre was full. There were even coaches. This did not bode well. We never expect to get the great ancient sites to ourselves… but we live in hopes that they will prove to be quiet. I tried a little side road, looking for somewhere to park, and we found ourselves face to face with the stones at last. And, in spite of the number of people milling around, it almost seemed quiet… the collective presence of the stones dwarfed the ephemeral presence of humankind.
And so it should. Around five thousand years ago, a ring was marked out as part of a ritual landscape. Over the next hundred years or so, a stone circle was erected, to which was added an avenue, three stone rows and a central monolith, creating the basic shape we know today…that of a slightly skewed Celtic Cross, a symbol that would be borrowed by Celtic Christianity over three thousand years later.
At the base of the monolith, which stands nearly sixteen feet tall, but only a foot thick, and in the centre of the circle, a burial chamber was added. This was not for a single, important interment, but would be used by the people of Tursachan Chalanais for several hundred years.
I always feel that I have to give a glimpse of both history and dimensions when I write about these ancient places, saying, for example, that the avenue is two hundred and seventy-three feet long, or that the central monolith weighs around fifteen and a half thousand pounds. You have to give things context and scale.
I could speak of how the stones, referred to by seventeenth century locals as ‘false men’ turned to stone by an enchanter, were set up so that the chief priest could address the tribes from their centre. Or how Toland identified the stones as the Hyperborean circle mentioned by Diodorus Siculus.
I could even tell how the stones were buried and lay sleeping beneath a layer of peat five feet deep until they were uncovered and their full height revealed once again in the nineteenth century.
But honestly? We were not thinking of dates, facts and figures. In spite of all the parked cars at the visitor centre, we had the place almost to ourselves… at least to begin with. We were not speculating on purposes and alignments. We were just bouncing with excitement… and overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the stones, both collectively and individually, and with their setting…
She could swear the old house breathed at night. That the walls spoke.
It was the age of things, she thought.
She’d ask, but the next door neighbors gave off a distinct air of distance and her mother was too occupied with damp ceilings, leaky pipes, and bone-dry bank account. There were questions one did not bring up unless adults were in the right mindset, which was rare enough during calm times, let alone through times of grown-up strife.
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“This is remarkable,” Donna said. “What a transformation.”
She could swear the old house breathed at night. That the walls spoke.
