
Image from Jim Henson’s ‘The Dark Crystal’.
Unlikely teachers
When the student is ready
Wisdom finds a voice


Image from Jim Henson’s ‘The Dark Crystal’.
Unlikely teachers
When the student is ready
Wisdom finds a voice

I stand
isolated
grateful for my darkness
while transitory illusions
vanish
Reblogged from Reena Saxena

Sunday morning already… the weekend was slipping by incredibly fast, but we knew Dean had a lot planned for the final morning of the workshop. Our day began by packing the car, necessarily skipping breakfast… which was to prove a bit disastrous as things turned out… and re-inflating the dodgy tyre yet again. It was definitely getting worse, but it was still manageable as long as we had access to an air pump. There was no prospect of getting it dealt with on a Scottish Sunday so far from a large town anyway.

But all practical considerations would fade away as we drove to our rendezvous at Dean’s home in Glenlivet. The morning was beautiful, the landscape incredible with wide valleys fringed with the blue of snow-kissed mountains. We glimpsed rabbits, deer and scurrying weasels and, quite magically, there were huge hares on the road.

While hares may well be a common sight in that area, for us they are a real and exciting rarity and we saw three… as many in a few minutes as we have seen in all our travels together. Hares are symbolically associated with the moon, as are many of Scotland’s ancient sites… and with the realms of the Fae. They represent rebirth and regeneration and, in our experience, they always herald something special.

We would have to wait and see… and had not long to wait. Our first stop was a place close to Dean’s home, with a name that sounds as beautiful as the site proved to be… the Doune of Dalmore. We parked beneath the hill that leads up to Drumin Castle, where we would be heading next, crossed the whisky-coloured river, where, to my delight, we found healthy elm trees, and walked into wonderland.

A mound rises up from a ridge at the top of the field… an emerald carpet scattered with white flowers, pale rocks and the silvery bark of the trees. It seems to be a man-made structure but, ‘Doune’ means ‘fort’ and that’s what it looks like, a fairy fort. It is what it feels like too… a magical place.

Continue reading at France & Vincent
The sea glistened in
the sunlight as he came out
after the short swim.
Reblogged from Aseem Rastogi at Transition of Thoughts
I wrote, recorded and posted this piece twelve years ago. Nobody commented. So I thought I’d try again!
Let me read it to you …

I sense silence. Yet all around I hear the sounds of nature. The shingle crackles and grates under my feet, the rhythmic whoosh of the waves fills my ears and the shrieking of a hundred gulls gives a voice to the deserted shoreline.
Here I am alone. Yet my companion, this hidden secret beach, is here to wrap me in splendid seclusion. I am alone but I share my very being with the raw edge of nature.
Continue reading at Keith’s Ramblings
The last oozings of a setting sun
glisten on still waters
freckled with dark shadows –
touched by the cold of a dying day
Continue reading at Kim Blades

Peace and distant hills
Memories calling me back
Singing to my soul
*

*
‘Imposing though it may be, it is also cramped…’
– Burl
*
“And in any case, it’s the wrong time of year!”
“I had that thought too, but we could just treat it as a ‘reckie’.”
“A ‘reckie’ for what? We’re hardly going to be able
to drag anyone else all the way out there.”
Continue reading at France and Vincent
‘You never listen.’
Glisten. The sun dancing on the water.
‘You’re never there.’
Dare. The cold water round his ankles.
‘I’ve been having an affair.’
Stare. A line of rocks breaking the water in the distance.
Continue reading at Iain Kelly