Wide #midnighthaiku

Wider horizons

Portals flame in heaven’s vault

Each a gateway home

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Circles Beyond Time ~ A First Dawn

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Friday started early; there is always that sense of excited, nervous anticipation as the day of a workshop dawns. While our companions for the weekend were making their way from distant corners of the country, two of us were driving through crepuscular suburbs toward the open moors for a final morning of reconnaissance.

The lightening sky lit the pathway through the fading heather towards what would be our first destination, a little bridge across a stream. We had, on our initial visit, intended to climb the hill by the obvious route, only to find the ground to be a boggy and impenetrable morass. The stream had helped itself to an offering of chocolate from my companion’s pocket… which he had retrieved and unwrapped before giving it back to the water. Retreating, we had been directed to follow the path to another crossing point.

We had both remarked that it looked like the troll bridge from Billy Goats Gruff when we had first seen it. This had given us an idea, one that would evolve as the workshop drew closer and we listened to the story of the land as the wind… perhaps… had helped itself to further offerings from our hands.

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By Friday morning, however, our plans were clear. I lingered on the path while my companion went down to the bridge to check lines of sight, then followed him down, reciting a poem from Tolkien that seemed appropriate to the moment, so we could check when approaching voices could be heard. “The Road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began…” As I reached the bridge, the sound of small birds filled the air, rising to protect their young from the silent wings of a hawk.

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The birds were not the only watchful creatures… we were watched by interested eyes as we paced out our intentions and learned the space we would be using for our opening. While the rest of the sites we would be visiting are familiar to us, we had only been here once before and we have learned that spatial memory can be unreliable. What you think will work beautifully in one spot may bear little relation to what you can actually do there.

Continue reading at France & Vincent

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Bridle Rock…

The Bamburgh Beast

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… The Great Stone in the ballad is known as Spindleston Heugh(s),

and is a dolerite crag on the Whin Sill (‘Dark Flat’) escarpment in the parish of Easington.

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The Spindle Stone is a natural stone column standing out from the crag,

which is also known as ‘Bridle Rock’.

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‘Bridal Rocks’ are often climbed by suitors

in order to demonstrate their suitability for an intended.

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Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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Update #cancer

With profound thanks to all those who ‘came with me’ yesterday to the oncology appointment. It doesn’t look great in there.

Palliative care will begin with chemotherapy next week, in the hopes of shrinking the tumour and allowing me a longer period of enjoyable life.

I’ll do my best, learn to wrap a funky headscarf… and the rest is in the lap of the gods 🙂

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Guest author: S. C. Skillman ~ PARANORMAL WARWICKSHIRE

Thank you very much, Sue, for offering me this space on your blog to introduce my book Paranormal Warwickshire to your readers.

Warwickshire is a county steeped in the supernatural, as befits the county of Shakespeare and the many ghosts and spirits that he conjured up in his works.

The towns and villages of Warwickshire, its castles, houses, churches, theatres, inns and many other places both grand and everyday have rich and complex stories to tell of paranormal presences.

In this book I investigate stories at places such as Guy’s Cliffe, the Saxon Mill, Warwick Castle and St Mary’s Church, Warwick; Kenilworth Castle and Stoneleigh Abbey; Nash’s House and the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon, as well as in the towns of Rugby, Nuneaton and Leamington Spa.

I explore the spiritual resonance of each location, recounting the tales of paranormal activity associated with it and examining the reasons for this within the history of the place.

How did I come to write my book Paranormal Warwickshire?

In answering this question I found a perfect description of my original impetus here on Sue’s post, The Accidental Tourist.

In this post Sue describes a visit to the ruined Bishop’s Palace at St David’s in Wales, which stands on a site formerly occupied by a monastery. She makes the point that “the ruined palace … has itself become a relic… an empty shell… grown beyond its true purpose….” She goes on to say that, for us too, the essence is to be found “not in the walls but in the space within where we live and have our being… it is not the vessel but the space within that holds the wine.”

This “wine” she describes as “the indefinable spark of animating life.”

My book Paranormal Warwickshire emerged from just this kind of experience, which is what I mean by “spiritual resonance.”  These great buildings, now in a ruinous state, are not simply piles of stone, but animated by that “indefinable spark.”

I began by frequently visiting several places in Warwickshire, which I loved more each time I visited. Subsequently, I wrote blog posts about them in my occasional series Places of Inspiration. Two of these, where I felt just as Sue describes, are Kenilworth Castle, and Guy’s Cliffe House in Warwick, both of which are in ruins.  I began to draw a selection of my blog posts together into a book, and what impelled me to do so was what I call “spiritual resonance.”  My original draft was to be called “Spirit of Warwickshire.” When I submitted a proposal to history publisher Amberley, I learned that they wanted it for their paranormal series. As a person who has long loved ghost stories and reading about all things paranormal, I happily agreed to that, and signed a contract.

Later, I went round all the locations with my photographer son, joining ghost tours, listening to stories and of course building up a good selection of photos, many of which are in the book.

My own view of the paranormal is similar to that of ghost story writer M.R. James who said, “I answer that I am prepared to consider evidence and accept it if it satisfies me.”  And, as I learned when I discussed this whole area with a parish priest (a member of the Diocesan Deliverance Ministry in the Church of England): “there certainly are some strange things going on out there.”

I am a subscriber to the Fortean Times, a magazine devoted to ‘the worldwide weird’, which takes a stance of ‘open-minded scepticism’.  In the September 2020 edition I read this description by writer Stuart Carrol of ‘what may be going on in a haunting’:

time momentarily flickering… presents us with a projection of a person from another age going about their business.

The history of these ancient buildings, whether ruined or not, would be a dead flat thing, were it not for the emotional response of those living today.  I believe this response arises from the presence of the “animating spark”; and often the curious anecdotes told of these buildings acknowledge the life that fills the spaces between the stones. And in my book, I include stories of everyday places as well, not just castles, abbeys and manor houses.

When I hear stories, I listen respectfully, even if I feel some may be conjured up by the imagination. I also ask why several different people, independently of each other and unknown to each other, should have the same experience in the same place over a long period of time. There have been many recorded cases of which this is true. Then, if you think it was “all their imagination”, you have to ask “what is it about this particular place that makes so many different people imagine the same thing there?”

The most compelling ghost stories are not about famous historical characters. A lot of them turn out, after research, to have emerged from the lives and deaths of people who never made their mark on history: people about whom we would have known nothing if the paranormal event had not alerted our attention and prompted research.

Paranormal Warwickshire will be published on 15th November 2020

I hope you will enjoy reading the stories as much as I enjoyed researching them!

Buy Links:

Amberley-books.com   www.warwickbooks.net    www.waterstones.com

www.kenilworthbooks.co.uk


Social Media Links:

Website and blog  Amazon Author Profile   Facebook

Twitter    Instagram   pinterest

www.linkedin


About the author

Sheila lives in Warwickshire, and writes psychological, paranormal and mystery fiction and non-fiction. She is a member of the Society of Authors and the Association of Christian Writers.

She began her publishing journey with a duology of novels Mystical Circles and A Passionate Spirit. This was followed by a non-fiction book Perilous Path: a writer’s journey. Sheila is currently working on the second novel in a new gothic fiction series.

She posts twice weekly on her blog at http://www.scskillman.com and she also gives author talks to local groups.

Sheila was born and brought up in Orpington, Kent, and studied English Literature at Lancaster University. Her first permanent job was as a production secretary with the BBC. Later she lived for nearly five years in Australia before returning to the UK.

She has now settled in Warwick with her husband and son, and her daughter is studying at university in Australia.


Also by S. C. Skillman

Click the titles or images to go to Amazon


A Perilous Path – A Writer’s Journey

Now available for Kindle and in paperback

How do you find courage and motivation when your novel sinks in the middle?
How do you stay focused as a writer through success and disappointment?
How can great artists, musicians and psychologists give you inspiration?
You’ll find the answers to these questions and many others in this book. SC Skillman offers valuable insight into the faith and hope that is vital for one who walks the perilous path into the ‘promised land’ of the writing profession.
Every chapter is an article previously published on the author’s blog Inside the Mind of a Writer, in answer to FAQs aspiring writers type into search engines.


A Passionate Spirit

It’s a dream come true for 25 year old Zoe when she and her new husband, unconventional priest Theo, move to the Cotswold hills. But fearsome dreams about a young girl running for her life disturb Zoe and she can’t shake off the idea that a child’s life is in danger…and so is hers. When two unexpected guests arrive, James and Natasha, Zoe’s friend Alice immediately senses something amiss with them – and particularly Natasha; but no-one except Zoe agrees with her. Natasha embarks on a series of mysterious healings which astonish other guests and convince them that she is a miracle worker. But Zoe can’t abandon her feelings of unease. Then a series of disturbing events hits the centre; Zoe fears that Theo has been unfaithful to her, and Theo falls into severe depression for which Zoe believes Natasha to be responsible. When Zoe confronts her she is completely unprepared for the terror she is about to face. Zoe will need more than the loyalty and strength of Alice to survive the frightening paranormal forces that are unleashed against her…A Passionate Spirit is a fast-paced and thrilling novel that will keep readers in suspense throughout. Inspired by Susan Howatch and Barbara Erskine, this book will appeal to readers who enjoy paranormal thrillers.


Mystical Circles

 “Hi, you in crowded, stressed old London from me in the peaceful, perfect Cotswolds. Massive change of plan. I’m in love. Craig’s gorgeous, sexy, intelligent. Paradise here. Staying forever.”

Juliet, concerned that her younger sister has fallen in love with the charismatic Craig, leader of the Wheel of Love, sets off for the Cotswolds to investigate, fearful that Zoe has become entangled with a religious cult.

She arrives at Craig’s community hoping to rescue Zoe. But intrigues, liaisons and relationships flare and flourish or fizzle out quickly within this close circle, and despite her reservations, Juliet is drawn into the Wheel of Love… with completely unforeseen consequences.


Launching a book?

If you are a writer, artist or photographer…If you have a poem, story or memoirs to share… If you have a book to promote, a character to introduce, an exhibition or event to publicise… If you have advice for writers, artists or bloggers…

If you would like to be my guest, please read the guidelines and get in touch!

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Here #midnighthaiku

From here to somewhere

From nowhere to everywhere

To be is enough

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Posted in Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , | 18 Comments

Circles Beyond Time: Seeking the Seer III…

Ravenstone

They care for her needs, which are few enough… goat’s milk and berries, bread and herbs…fur for the cloak and boots she wears against the cold through the long nights of vigil by the stones.

They keep their distance, coming only to the Guardian.

She speaks to none else who do not seek.

Very different this life from her beginnings in the bright, fire-lit halls of lore and music… but it is life and she serves the Clan of the Raven.

Continue reading at France & Vincent

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Two journeys, one destination (5) – blood and stone ~ Steve Tanham

Writing without the other hand to steady him was hard, but the other was clamped on his thigh, holding back the flow of blood.

The words on the vellum were like the wanderings of a dying bird… he smiled at the thought, despite the pain. Through eyes filled with hot and salty water he read what he had written:

‘They came at the end of the night, as the first light of day was seeping into the darkness. Four longships, sixty men or so… the smoke woke us, then the screams, then the stench of blood. When my fellow monks were lined up to face their deaths, the Norsemen began breaking the holy stones.

They are all dead, now. Somehow we escaped, half alive, into the vellum hut; just the master, Patternex, and me. “Write that the talking stones are still here,” my master commanded. “They are scattered but can be reformed..” He did not speak again, but I felt I could still hear his voice. His apprentice gazes at him with love, now, soon to follow him into the quietness.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

 

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Borrowed Wings… again

In 2009, after my son had been stabbed through the brain and left for dead in a coma, I was writing daily updates for all those around the world who were sending their love and prayers for his recovery. There was one particular day that I remember very well… I could feel every single thought for him, every prayer, every ounce of love that was being sent our way…

“Yesterday was a heart aching day in many ways, but many of the hardest moments were moments of great beauty.

My son should not be there, should not be in this state. Another human being did this to him, for no reason we can understand.. Nick wasn’t even robbed, which wouldn’t make it right but would at least, give a reason to it. Yet, we are overjoyed that he is fighting back so hard. It is difficult to reconcile that hope and joy in his stubborn progress with the fact that he is still helpless, and for now at least, very much trapped and afraid.

When Alex and I went to his bedside, into his field of vision and said hello to Nick, his stomach heaved, his face contorted and he wept. He recognised us, and wept immediately. That broke my heart, and Alex’s, yet holds so much hope and love.

They had Nick sedated yesterday. They had wanted to remove the ventilator but his throat is so swollen with it they were unable to do so. One can see he desperately wants it gone. It must be so scary for him, coughing and choking on plastic. So they tried to get him to sleep, but he wouldn’t have it. They have told him he slept for weeks, maybe he is afraid to do so again. The sedation wasn’t too heavy, and they turned it off after a while. It was wonderful to see him sleep naturally once it had worn off. Wonderful to feel him peaceful, and to see him yawn.

When Nick woke later, his eyes were clear. The drain is gone and that is a lot of tubing and paraphernalia off his head for him. Alex, who is a tall, lovely, warm young man, has always loved his big brother deeply. I watched him yesterday watching over Nick, watched the joy and pain in his eyes as he held Nick’s hand and Nick clung to him with his eyes. I have never, ever seen anything more beautiful than Alex’s expression of absolute love and the communion of those two bright souls. The tenderness and compassion of the Mother looked out through my son’s eyes.

Nick has always felt that few people love him or care about him, and had wrapped the soft, caring centre in a brittle shell of self confidence. The shell has gone and the vulnerability is there for all to see. I hope he can understand now how much he is loved… so many of his friends adore him, and are true Friends. They are going to extraordinary lengths to be with him. And that is without the vast outpouring of love and compassion around the world.

I felt that yesterday. After a call from D., driving to Southampton on auto-pilot while Alex and a friend of Nick’s, slept in the car, I could feel a tingling around my shoulder blades that felt like vast wings spreading out behind me. They were borrowed wings, and I felt them spreading infinitely wide, holding between them a triangle of power, myself nothing, just the apex, the focussing point, of a vast well of love and healing. I felt like the dam with all the waters of life behind me, poured in by so many wonderful souls as a gift, and holding it ready for him, or like a regulating valve through which that power could pass, where I could ‘take the strain’ and pass it to Nick in gentler quantities so it didn’t overload him. It was an incredible feeling, and is still there. My gratitude has no words.”

That was then… this is now.

So much has happened since I wrote that update eleven years ago… Miracles happened and Nick has gone on to make a remarkable, near-miraculous, though far from full recovery and achieve wonderful things for himself and for others.

Today is the morning I finally get to speak with the oncologist and learn what the future has in store for me… and indeed, how much, or how little, future I can now hope for.

The past few weeks have been difficult and incredible… and, like the horrendous months dealing with the fallout from the attack on my son,  held more love and beauty than anyone could imagine.

By phone, in person, by email, message, text, post and comment, so many people from across the world have said and done so much… in all the small and beautiful ways that make life worth living and loving.

I go to the hospital this morning. I could be going afraid and worried, but instead, I am once more wearing borrowed wings, and every strand of every feather feels filled with love.

Thank you.

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Purple #midnighthaiku

I dream in purple

Stone and shadows call me home

Heather flows as wine

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Posted in Photography, Poetry | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments