Reblogged from The Magical World of G. Michael Vasey:
Deeper into nature
Deeper into me
Deeper into the forest, deeper
Darker it grows and quieter
In the depths of the Goddess
I am truly free
As I walk the pathway
I catch a glimpse
The woman of my dreams
Continue reading at The Magical World of G. Michael Vasey
Reblogged from Roberta Writes, a lovely review of the first of our ‘Mister Fox’ books:
Where do they come from?
They come out of the night…
Where do they go to?
Back to the night they return…
They dance in the dark to pipe and drum and fiddle
They dance in the dark with fire and brandished flame…
No-one knows who they are…
But why do they dance?
What is the story behind this magical spectacle…
There are rumours, legends…
Don and Wen set out to investigate.
In a darkened corner of the Waggon and Horses, Langsett, a hooded and enigmatic figure whispers secrets…
Continue reading at Roberta Writes
I want to Paint life of my dreams,
But forgets about the mother nature.
We often get caught with life
Than with that which actually runs life,
Continue reading atPositive Side Of The Coin
Maiden Castle – Dorchester
*
… “Whither goest thou, Priest of the Sun?”
“I go hence to the High Place for the soul is in need.”
“What is that need?”
“The need is Light.”
“And what will you give for the passage?”
“I will give my Self.”
He is naked save only for a white cloth around his lions…he has left all else behind as he embarks on this journey.
She looks deeply into his eyes, reading his soul’s truth there.
This is the final test.
If he fails, he will not survive.
Many years she has watched as they have come and gone, many she has seen and taught, many have failed, some have succeeded… only those with hearts that see true.
The labyrinth is woven, energies crackling and shifting between the ramparts, almost visible in the moon-dark night.
Line and spiral, blade and vortex…all wait.
She leads him between the two fires that mark both the entrance and exit to the labyrinth…though which one is which only few will ever know.
She marks his brow with a kiss and raises her hands…
At her signal the fires are extinguished with a hiss of steam and a billowing smoke.
The plateau is dark… there will be no flame to guide him. It is silent.
There will be no sound to draw him back.
He is naked and bereft as a soul new born… in a limbo now…awaiting a birth… or a death… The gates close behind him, and she ascends to her place on the edge, facing the morning that is so far away… her place… where she will watch…
Her eyes adjust to the heavy darkness and the change comes, shifting her vision to that other sight. Below he too waits, that his eyes may adjust to the night and his feet walk true.
He begins, walking carefully, treading the labyrinth with purpose and intent.
He walks the first straight, beneath her… he feels her there and looks up, futile though it be in the dark with the blackness of her robe pulled around her like a cloud. She smiles… he knows… she has hopes for this one… West he turns, her eyes cannot see him, but she walks each step with him…another straight, another bend… and a sword at his throat…The Guardian towers over him and he freezes… had he been walking faster the sword would have pierced his throat. The Guardian speaks a ritual question… but he has not been given an answer… he has to Know…
The voice whispers into the night and the sword is lifted…he walks on…Through the rough grass and stones, barefoot… another Guardian… a spear at his chest…no words this time… only a gesture… he responds, and the spear is withdrawn. Again a corner, a straight…the meandering path like the fleeting thoughts of the mind turns every which way…A blade at his belly…choices to make in silence…only the Knowing to guide him…And another… and another…She walks with him, feeling every step from her perch…Only the last now…he is pushed to his knees, a sword across the back of his neck…a cauldron before him…a whispered response… and a flame is given…Below her the light of a single torch illuminates a small, flickering patch of the hilltop.
On the horizon the first blush of dawn… It has been a long night…A knock on the gates, firm and confident…they open…she stands between…The sun gilds the morning…she embraces him….
“Whither goest thou, Priest of the Sun?”
End
The Giant and the Sun: Patterns in the landscape was a Silent Eye summer workshop weekend. These informal events are held several times every year (COVID permitting!) and are open to all. You do not have to be a member to join us as we wander the rich landscape of Britain, visiting ancient, sacred and intriguing places. We seek out myth and mystery, exploring what the land and its stories can teach us about our own daily lives and our place in the intricate tapestry of human Being.
After each event, we publish an account of the places we have visited and share a little of what we have discussed during the course of the weekend to give a taste of what we do.
If you would like to join us for a wander through the mysteries and history of Britain, when we are again permitted to travel, please visit our Events page.
Hidden away in a quiet corner,
Untouched and like a loner
There stood a tiny patch of greenery
Chaotic and yet, such a beautiful scenery
Continue reading at My Random Ramblings
“You’ll stand on one side of the bridge, and I’ll cross it to the other.”
Millie considered.
Sylvia could be tricky. Sometimes the spunky neighbor was a delightful friend. Other times … not so much. And that’s not counting mishaps. Millie lost tally of how many times her playmate had landed her in trouble.
Millie’s hand rose to absentmindedly rub her backside. It still sported a bruise from the last ‘adventure’ Sylvia took them on. That tree limb would never grow again, and Millie’s piggy bank was half-emptied from the fine her parents had levied.
Continue reading at Na’ama Yehuda
Within the shadows
Hidden but ever-present
Sentient life watches
*
Reblogged from Andrew Joyce:
He stumbled upon the treasure quite by accident. He had been exploring the vicinity when he happened upon it. His first thought: This cannot be real. He cautiously approached. Someone might be playing a trick on him. Perhaps he was being observed. But no one sprung from a concealed location—no one yelled for him to halt his advance. It seemed safe enough to move forward. When he arrived at the treasure, he bent down to touch it, just to make sure it was real. It was real! After one touch, he fled to better-known and safer environs.
That night he could not sleep for thinking of what he had discovered. He thought and thought of ways he could explain it to members of his tribe. If he suddenly showed up with the treasure, anything he said would be suspect. One does not find treasure of this sort every day. No, he would have to think this through.
Continue reading at Andrew Joyce
Verdant greens
Breathtaking cult views all over
Resonating with chirping nature.
Dancing wild grass matching the breezy beat
Ducks bobbying the stream
Continue reading at freshdaisiesdotme
He was greeted by an
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 