I See You – Helen Glynn Jones

Helen Glynn Jones

I see you my friend

In the green grass and the soft heather bloom

In the ancient stones and wild peaks

In the tumbling stream and the dark woods

I see you

In the scattered light upon the path

In the crouching hare in the long grass

In the turning wing of the hunting kite

I see you


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Crouching Tiger…

Images and Text from the Silent Eye Workshop: Whispers in the West…

HM15 1058Or maybe…


HM15 1107 Not quite…

Continue Viewing at The Silent Eye

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Morana and Spring Equinox – Gary Vasey

Reblogged from G. Michael Vasey:

Way back at the start of winter, I engaged in an old Slavic tradition and collected materials from around my neighbourhood to construct an effigy of Morana, Goddess of Winter. I used natural materials gathered from the forest and a couple of rubber bands to hold it together. Morana has sat in the room close to my desk since then.

Then yesterday, on the Spring Equinox, I continued that tradition. After meditating and invoking Morana over the three winter moons, it was time to say goodbye. I chose a beautiful spot in nature outside of Brno by Hrad Veveri to conduct this simple ritual that many Slavs would also have been conducting throughout history.

Continue reading at Earth Magic Brno

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Silver Hand

Melor of the Silver Hand

His father murdered for a throne, his own life under threat,

He lost a crown to envy and so he would not forget

His sword hand they had cut from him, so knight he could not be;

They took his left foot also, that the child might never flee.

A foot of bronze they fashioned and a hand of silver too

But as the child grew older, then magic metal grew.

Alarmed they had him kidnapped and his jailer took his head.

Yet climbing from the castle wall the jailer’s son fell dead.

The jailer journeyed onward, soon exhausted, grieving still,

Till, nigh to death and sick with thirst, he rested on the hill,

He recognised his faulty heart and wailed about the deed

That took his own son’s life as well, and now he was in need;

“Take up your staff,” said Melor’s head, “And in earth let it stand.”

The jailer did and water bubbled up beneath his hand.

The wondrous head fell silent as the jailer drank the stream

Above him branches bearing fruit as if within a dream.

Yet, once refreshed, his greed renewed, he sought out his reward

And took poor Melor’s severed head and gave it to his lord.

The King, delighted, gave him all land that he could find…

They later found the jailer on the hill he owned… struck blind.

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Unseen #midnighthaiku

beyond  outer sight

beyond all expectation

gifts and shadows wait


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Night Nurse…

Sniff, snuffle, wake up… open eyes…. yawn, stretch…. still dark… go back to sleep…

‘Ello, though… the two legs is moving… and she’s not s’pposed to! At least, not on her own…

Where do you think you are going?

Alert! Help! Oi!

Crawl off sofa…keep one eye on her… tap dance on floor in front of bedroom door… give it a scratch or two with the paw…

Phew… rescued… I’ll just check the bathroom is clear for her…


You could, quite clearly, see the thoughts and emotions of the Small Dog as she responded to the perceived emergency. She has been coming to terms with my much-reduced mobility over the past few days, even deigning to place the ball in my hand so we can play fetch. Normally, she throws the ball and I do the fetching,,,

But I’ve not seen her in ‘night mode’ before.

When I fall asleep, she is usually on her bed in the hall…so she can guard all the doors.

But she must have tiptoed back in while I slept so that she sleep on the sofa… and keep an eye on me. There was absolute panic on her face for a while until Stuart came to the rescue… even though he had been asleep too.

Once I am up and in the wheelchair, she goes back to her bed and snores away… And we wondered why she was so tired all the time…

Posted in cancer, Dogs, france and vincent, Friendship | Tagged , , , , | 70 Comments

Found Mounds: the Call of Albion…


‘…Maybe it is because it is our third visit or maybe it is because there are three of us, or maybe we had to work out the St Andrew thing before we were allowed to ascend, who knows?

Whatever the reasons, we re-convene on top of the man-made-conical-mound which hides behind the Church of St Nicholas, High Bradfield and Wen has an interesting take on proceedings.

“If St Andrew of Scotland is Andrew the Disciple of Christ then he may have come over here with Joseph of Arimathea.”

“And remember at that time there was no Scotland. Scotland was North Albion!”

“North Albion,” smiles Wen, “I like that.”

“Why did they come here?” says Ned.

“If we knew that…”

“If we knew that, then what?” says Wen.

“If we knew that for sure, we’d probably all be millionaires,” I say wistfully.

“Not necessarily,” says Ned, who may already be a millionaire for all I know. “After all this time, nobody is really all that interested.”

“That’s true enough.”

“It would still be nice to know though.”

“Why does anyone go anywhere? Why do people go to Glastonbury? Why do people come here now? They’re still doing it. Why?”

“They come because they’re called,” says Ned simply.

The Call of Albion

And then a still silence descends

Upon our three-fold gathering

And we look out to the far horizon

Each of us from a slightly different angle

To where the mists are gathering form

And preparing to roll in to greet us one and all…’

Extract from, ‘Doomsday: Dark Sage



Doomsday book Two

Stuart France & Sue Vincent

The Dark Ages appear in the copybook pages of our historical records like an ink spot. An insidious black mark; a veritable blot on the landscape of time. There are some who claim they never actually existed and that the two hundred-odd years represented by their darkness are a fabrication designed to fit the grandiose plotting of an ego-driven king.

There are probably only two people mad enough to take such a notion seriously

“Is it another Don and Wen book?”

“It is!”

Across the Derbyshire landscape, scattered with sites of ancient sanctity and strange, otherworldly places, our two unlikely companions begin another chapter of their quest to understand the roots of human consciousness and the source of inner light that draws the eyes and heart towards to sun.

Available in paperback and for Kindle from Amazon UK, Amazon.com and worldwide

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Meditation #midnighthaiku

in meditation

breathing in the silent peace

small joys always count

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A family of dogs

First posted on Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo, 2018

There have not always been dogs in my life, but there have always been dogs in my heart. All of them, except the setters, who were family and Echo, who was a gift, were rescue dogs. And all of them have known how to smile.

The first was a dog I never even knew. His name was Paddy and his life ended before mine began. My mother wrote his story once and sent it off to her publisher. It was returned with a note saying that it was a beautiful tale… it had made the office smile and weep in turn… but it was ‘too far fetched’ to be suitable for publication.

It told of a stray dog who had wandered into the lives of my grandparents when they were a newly married couple. They had bought a neat little house in which to set up home and, in spite of the onset of war, they soon became a family. My mother was born, Grandad was sent to fight in Burma and Paddy moved in to take over the care of the family.

In spite of the hazards of war, the world was, in many ways, safer and simpler. Paddy would take the basket to the shops and bring home the necessities. He would watch over my mother and, in later years, collect her from school. During the war years, he made it his business to make sure she was taken safely to the air-raid shelter when the sirens sounded and stayed by her side until the all-clear. Even so far north of London, this was not an empty precaution… in March, 1941, an incendiary bomb fell on the house and the scars, like the shelters, still remained into my own childhood.

There were dogs around when I was born… my great grandparents had a house full of Irish setters. Rory was a great, gorgeous creature always ready to laugh and play. Bonnie, his sister, was a pretty, delicate fairy of a girl, while Meg, their mother, already touched with grey around the muzzle, mothered us all impartially.

Continue reading at The Small Dog’s Blog

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Jo’s Monday walk : A walk for Sue

A beautiful morning walk in the Algarve with Jo….


‘Hello! You look interesting’.

Hard not to smile at such a nosy sheep. All his friends were busy devouring the lush green stuff. He wasn’t exactly skinny so he must have eaten his share and was feeling conversational. Me, I didn’t have anything better to do. I’d left the house feeling just a bit grumpy. Walking the same lanes over and again, albeit in a different sequence, really didn’t suit. But then I began to look around me.

Blossom in the trees, rich wonderful hues, with sunlight filtering through them. Sky, the merriest shade of blue. Grass as green as you’ll ever see, the first poppies just beginning to nod. A time to go hunting in the shade for tiny, compelling wild orchids, the birds all a-twitter as I make my discoveries. And I know how very lucky I am.

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