Chasing the Shaman…

It feels rather odd, being in a book. Not as one half of that semi-fictional pair, ‘Don and Wen’, but as yourself… especially when it is written by someone else. But it does show how much our human stories intertwine, and how, when paths cross, magic can happen. Not just in a symbolic sense, but in a very real way.

When Stuart and I started writing out our adventures in The Initiate, we had two things in mind… to record the journey for ourselves and to share it with others, hoping they too would find a way to connect with the land in which they live.

One of the first people to read The Initiate was my long-time friend, Gary Vasey. He was excited by our story and emailed me saying that we had ‘somehow managed to tap into the land’. My friendship with Gary is as strange as anything in the book. We had met online in pretty odd circumstances a good many years before. We had written The Mystical Hexagram together a few years later… and met in person only once, long after that, when business had taken us both fortuitously to London.

Several years later, we finally managed to meet up again. This time, Gary came to play out with Stuart and me for the weekend. Living in the Czech Republic, he was missing his connection to the land… and he will not mind me saying that it showed. But, by the end of that weekend, he looked a very different and much younger man.

That weekend, following part of the path Stuart and I had taken for The Initiate, rekindled something for Gary; the ancient peace of Wayland’s Smithy has its own way of healing and it was the beginning of a new adventure as Gary began to reforge his connection with the magical life.

That story is his to tell… and he has done so in a new book, Chasing the Shaman.

From the ancient sites of Albion, to the mysteries of the Templars in the Czech Republic, via myths, leys, dragons and Slavic deities, to the strange and unsettling encounters with the work of a shaman in the middle of Brno, Gary shares his journey back to the Goddess, the Divine Feminine, whose balancing influence is so often lacking in a patriarchal society.

Back in 2013, I shared a poem that Gary had written…The Ache. The longing in that poem has, at last, begun to find a home.

The book is open and honest, adding new insights to those he shared with Inner Journeys: Explorations of the Soul. It describes a personal journey from feeling adrift to finding a connection to the life of the land. In many ways, brings its author back to a path he had never truly left.

Chasing the Shaman:

The Magic of Connecting with the Land

G. Michael Vasey

Accidentally stumbling upon a Slavic shaman engaging in a ritual catalyzes the magic of connecting with the land. Trapped in a foreign land and wondering what fate held in store, I find myself re-engaging with my inner contact Asteroth thanks to the timely intervention of friends.

Gradually, I become aware of a whole new world in the Czech Republic and in pursuing this, magic happens. The discovery of Dragons, Templars, Earth energies, and the Slavic Gods around Brno gradually opens up a new world and a different perspective on life.

A follow on to Inner Journeys: Explorations of the Soul, the magical journey of reawakening continues thanks to good friends and a chance encounter with a local shaman.

Magic is real. You just have to let it in to your life.

Available in Paperback and for Kindle via Amazon

 

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Causeway Ain’t No Pawsway ~ King Campbell A.K.A Bubba Dog #writephoto

I see this causeway, but it ain’t no a pawsway.

Though I’m a Labrador, I know for sure,

I’m not going to walk that path, cause if my paws slip, into the ocean I’ll take a dip.

Then I’d be washed away cause I took the causeway instead of the pawsway!

Reblogged from Patty L. Fletcher at Campbell’s World

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Red #midnighthaiku

Predator and prey

Flashing colours give warning

A childhood delight

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Carrion – Prologue ~ Graeme Cumming

Reblogged from Graeme Cumming:

Prologue

His master’s current home was large and undoubtedly comfortable, but the messenger knew his place: outside, huddled in the cold night air. He took shelter in the nearby wood, using a tree trunk as a windbreak while he waited patiently.

There was no indication anyone lived here. The rocky outcrop was less than thirty feet from the edge of the wood, so trees shielded it from the view of anyone passing by. Even if someone ventured closer, all they’d see would be a large hollow forming a cave in the rock face. The entrance to the chamber his master used could only be found if you stepped into the cave and felt around the shadowy edges of the right-hand wall.

Continue reading at Graeme Cumming

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The Way Across the Water ~ Iain Kelly #writephoto

They called it a victory.

It didn’t feel like a victory to him. He had seen to much to call it a victory.

The bombed-out buildings; the fighting; the gunshots; the gas; the bombs; the dead bodies; the dead soldiers, theirs and his own comrades; the bloodshed; the injured; the children crying in the streets; the fires burning everything in their path.

The nightmare went on inside his head. It would never stop. His only hope was that it wouldn’t happen again, but they said that the last time.

Continue reading at Iain Kelly

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A Walk In The Woods: and other short stories by Esther Chilton @esthernewton201 #BookReview

A Walk in the Woods

A Walk in the Woods (and other short stories)

Esther Chilton

(Review written 07/05/2020)

This brilliant collection of short stories has kept me glued to my kindle paperwhite screen for the last two nights. I could have quite happily read it all on the first night had I not started reading too late (lightweight, I know!).

All the stories in this collection are very clever and unique.

‘A Walk in the Woods’ is the first story and what an introduction to the collection! Heart-breaking! ‘Jake’ is equally emotional and heart-wrenching. All are emotional tales, in one way or another, and very much character led. ‘The Letter’ is particularly hard-hitting, especially considering it is only one page long. ‘The Brat’ had me holding my breath in hopeful anticipation. ‘The Battle’ broke my heart all over again. ‘William’ proves that there is always hope.

via A Walk In The Woods: and other short stories by Esther Chilton @esthernewton201 #BookReview

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Inith ~ Wallie’s Wentletrap #writephoto

She stepped into the water. He rose to her, lifting from the deep, his long black hair clinging to his bare neck and shoulders. In the shallow water where she stood he turned on his back, unable to balance himself with the weight and length of his tail. His playfulness made Pat laugh. She knelt down and felt the warm water gather up to her chest. She reached out as Inith turned to go, and caught his hand.

The merman’s free arm braced in the sand. The fin at the back of his tail only just cleared the water. His eyes went to hers.

Continue reading at Wallie’s Wentletrap

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What, no boots! …

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‘…all the great thinkers recognise the importance of rational thought and also the importance of getting beyond the rational and that’s where the myths and fairy stories come in… Plato spends the greater part of his master work ‘The Republic’ berating the poets and story-tellers for telling lies in their myths and then he ends his opus with… a myth’
‘Well, to err is human… But no one’s going to read a book in which all the characters are Giants.’
‘Yet we all live in a world dictated by them… but perhaps you’re right… they have become something of an obsession… the more self-remembering I do… the more giant-like my body and everyone else’s body seems to become… and they do make an appearance in all the mythological traditions… the Titans… the Jotunn… the Asuras… the Fomoire… as opponents of the ‘gods’ usually, which have to be overcome and subdued…and then kept at bay lest the heaven world be breached… and fall.’

 

Wen becomes pensive for awhile, ‘We need to go to Cerne Abbas…’

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Continue reading at France & Vincent

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Dissolution ~ Reena Saxena #writephoto

bleeding feet
walk boldly on stones
revealing
sturdiness
new water colors
paint stories in ocean depths

Continue reading at Reena Saxena

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Respect

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A few years ago, I visited the little church of St Martin in  Bladon, close to Blenheim Palace, where, on November 30th 1874, a child had been born whose name would go down in history. I had come to pay my respects to a great man. Not a man who had an unblemished reputation, not a man who made no mistakes, nor a man who escaped the blame of the many prejudices of his time, but a very human man, full of faults, gifts and idiosyncrasies, who became the leader of a nation in time of need.

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“I say that in the long years to come not only will the people of this island but of the world, wherever the bird of freedom chirps in human hearts, look back to what we’ve done and they will say ‘do not despair, do not yield to violence and tyranny, march straightforward and die if need be-unconquered.” So said Sir Winston Churchill on VE Day, seventy-five years ago. I have to wonder how he would view the current situation…

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I was meeting friends from America. It was a final gathering before they left for home. We sat in the sun outside a pub, sharing a final cider and trying to say in minutes things that need a lifetime.  Because we could. We had that choice and that freedom. That was why we were in Bladon.

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The church of St Martin is set back from the road. It is a peaceful spot and a simple church near the top of a small hill ringed with trees. Swallows nest in the porch and were diving around the sky in search of food…beautiful to watch. But we had come, not for the birds, nor for the church. We had come to pay our respects, both to a man and a generation.

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One of the greatest men of our time lies in a simple grave with his beloved wife Clementine. and surrounded by his family. His mother, the beautiful American Jennie Jerome who became Lady Randolph Churchill, lies behind him.

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I remember watching him on the news as a child, seeing the nation’s love for this man and hearing from my grandparents why he mattered. I remember a nation’s mourning at his funeral. I remember those of my family who fought in the war as I look upon the memorials to his family. Worlds apart… but all of us sharing the same human loves and fears.

“Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and the glory of the climb.” Sir Winston Churchill.

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There are tributes at his grave, plaques on walls and on gates… and a stone on his tomb. My great-grandfather was Jewish. I recognise that single, mute stone, perhaps the most touching tribute of all.

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We lingered a while, reading the memorials, simply being there in acknowledgement of our freedom to be so. Here, beside the charismatic, irascible Warrior who had been the hope of a nation and who had galvanised the world.

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We went into the little church. It is a relatively modern building… the Norman church was demolished in 1802 and a new one built on the site. It is a simple building, with beautiful stained glass.

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We spent some time reading about Sir Winston and his family and enjoying the peace of the place.

One window was made to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of Churchill’s death. It is a beautiful piece from a distance, but it was not until one of my friends took my hand and led me closer that I realised just how beautiful. In every space, even where there is no more than the tiniest gap, Churchill’s own words are recorded.

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Around the borders, tiny vignettes show gas masks, the famous cigar, spitfires… a myriad symbols of war, peace and the power of presence that was the mantle of one man.

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We left the church and lingered in the sunlight, sharing a few final moments before the inevitable parting. We walked back to the road, where we had left the cars, and said our farewells. Then a woman I love more than any other in this world, one who is more than mother, sister, teacher and friend, took my face in her hands… I had been doing so well till then too…

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There are moments when the world falls away. It does not matter where you are… you can be standing on the pavement by a busy road… and there is nothing but the moment and the space in which you stand… and you know that you are blessed.

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“Is there any need for further floods of agony? Is the only lesson of history to be that mankind is unteachable? Let there be justice, mercy and freedom. The people have only to will it, and all will achieve their hearts’ desire.” Sir Winston Churchill.

In memory of all those men, women and children, of all nations, whose lives have been ravaged by the violence of man against man, whatever the era and whatever the cause. And in the hope that we are not unteachable and that the lessons paid for in blood and tears by our forebears can lead us to a free and fair future.

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