Something of Ourselves ~ Judith Barrow

Reblogged from Judith Barrow:

I think most, if not all, authors have something of themselves in their books: in the writing, in the voice of the text. We can’t help it; the words emerge from who and what we are, where we  come from and where we are in our lives.

There’s always something of me in my books. I don’t just mean in the writing, my voice, all authors write in our own voices, we can’t help it But, often, in my work, I write scenes that reflect situations I have lived through and what I have seen. By “reflect”, I mean they may not be the ‘real’ situations, but they always colour the lives of my characters and what happens to them. My own  emotions are threaded through in how they react, how they feel. I always say to my students, if they can’t relate to the way their characters feel, neither will their reader. That’s something I really believe.

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The Spirit Amongst Trees ~ Geoff Le Pard #writephoto

Oak and Birch Faye shifted position, trying not to knot in their anxiety. The agent rustled with his customary enthusiasm which was beginning to grate on Oak.

‘Well? It’d pretty special, don’t you think? All the expected conveniences,’ he lifted a bunch of his twigs and bent them as he counted, ‘plenty of species varieties, considerate avian neighbours, a fully comprehensive insect cleaning function, appropriate foliage coverage to ensure privacy…’

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Riddles of the Night – A walk in the park…

Continuing the story of a Silent Eye workshop in Derbyshire, in December 2017. Part One can be found by clicking the highlighted link.

We began at the well that gave the town its name. Baecca’s Well is an ancient healing spring that rises from deep within the earth. It is thought to have taken its name from a tribal leader whose story is lost beyond memory. It is one of the points on a proposed ley running from the great circle of Arbor Low and yet, it sits incongruously within the modern recreation ground and right next to a children’s wet play area that is open in summer. I wonder if the water for that comes from the spring too and hope that it does… there would be a nice continuity to that… and the continuing flow of the Underground Stream was one of the major themes of the weekend.

The Underground Stream refers to that continuing flow of knowledge and understanding which, like pure water, flows through mankind’s spiritual history, resurfacing from time to time to heal and speed our evolution, both personal and global. Like water, it has neither form, taste nor colour, but takes the shape of the vessel that contains it and traces of the inner landscape through which it passes. Each time it resurfaces, it is shaped by the needs of the times and will take on new forms, new vocabularies and symbols, but the essence remains pure. It is neither teaching nor dogma, but a wisdom distilled from the essence of human experience.

We had visited the well to make sure it was still running through the winter and found that we had been provided with a perfect bit of symbolism. The spring now flows from a relatively modern urn, set, circle within circle, in a sunken garden, both within and apart from the park. Beside it is the old stone trough into which the water once flowed. The spring remains, though in a new form, while the old form, which allows us to see something of its origins, has been preserved. The name of the well too has been changed, Christianised to St Peter’s Well, reflecting the changing forms of the spiritual story. The water no longer flows continuously, but intermittently… it flows for a time, then ceases until the pressure rebuilds and then it can flow once more. It was a gift… we could not have asked for a better analogy for the Underground Stream.

As we arrived at the gate, there was another gift… a jackdaw was perched on the edge of the spring. Recent studies have shown jackdaws to be one of the few creatures able to read eyes in a similar way to humans. Curiously, this accords well with their traditional symbolism as birds of vision. As corvids, they are also associated with death, but for the jackdaw this takes the form of transition or rebirth into another state. It has been called the ‘bird of tomorrow’ and looks to the unfolding of the future. Another perfect symbol.

We began the weekend with a blessing and symbolic purification, according the waters once more a moment of recognition, remembering ancient reverence and sanctity and aligning our intent with its unbroken flow. There was also a slightly more mundane reason… in Scotland, at the last Living Land workshop, when we had been drenched, it had been mooted that purification was needed before visiting these ancient sites. In England, in December, the weather needs no excuse to be unpleasant… we hoped that a purification now might save us from a drenching later!

We handed out the riddles that would provide clues to our next location and what we would find there. On the back was the infinity symbol that would play an important part in the work of the weekend… one way or another. The whole visit took no more than fifteen minutes and yet, between the symbolism we had known about and that which we were gifted, what should have been a proverbial ‘walk in the park’ had deepened into something far more significant. Leaving the well behind, we walked back into the town, in search of fantastic beasts…

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The Flower Bell! ~ Anjali Sharma #writephoto

This is a fantasy.
I wish it were true,
It’s early morning sky,
The woods are full of fairies,
The dew drops over the lawn,

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As the bell chimes. ~ Nascent Ederren #writephoto

The bells chime off in the distance. A home now left behind. Filled once not so long ago with smiles, laughter and joy.

Beset on all sides with grief and strife all at once it came. As though the fates conspired with death and decay to live little left but memories and embers.

It came at first with fever, a cold sweat that left such little strength within the body and soul, where sleep became as paramount and simple meals were not desired.

So it began in every case, and so it would end in death. A death among uncontrolled shivers as though the warmth was drained from life, where even a fire would not make warm what the sickness would make cold.

Continue reading at  The Ederren

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Still waters

The day was completely fish-related. The high winds had blown the water from the fountain and the level in the pond had dropped. My first jobs of the day were to treat the water, switch on the hosepipe and the UV clarifier that had been turned off while the pond was being medicated over the past week. I also had to check on Garfield… a brilliant, sparkly-orange and black baby koi, a fraction of the size of the others, who has hidden all winter beneath a plant in very shallow water. Being so small, he seems afraid that bigger fish might see him as breakfast and he has refused to come out from his hiding place. If the water levels had dropped too far, he would be in trouble.

I could see no sign of he little fish and was getting quite worried until I spotted him underneath yet another plant. He had, for the first time, voluntarily swum the length of the pond. I dropped a couple of pellets in his vicinity and was gratified to see him eating and swimming around. He was doing okay…

A little later, we went out to inspect the garden and feed the fish. The surface of the pond was empty, not a fish in sight, yet by the time we had taken the last few steps across the paving, forty of them were waiting to be fed, with several of them raising their faces out of the water, looking hopefully and confidently in our direction. They know the footsteps that herald food.

Not for the first time, I wonder about that. Small though I am in the eyes of the world, I am such a vast being in comparison to them. They cannot see me when they dart about their business in the water, only when they raise their eyes towards the heavens from whence all care comes; either in the form of fresh water and oxygen or as ‘manna’ falling from the skies. Sometimes our eyes meet and there is a sense of wordless understanding. A promise, perhaps, that I will always do what is best for them. I wonder if they realise.

I have, in the past, removed them from their pond to treat their maladies in medicated buckets… a stressful, frightening process for them, when they cannot know my aim is to help them heal. When water levels have brought near disaster, I and others of my kind have worked to put things right and ease their suffering. They have not seen as they gasped and struggled, only felt the fresh inflowing of clean water. Sometimes there is a muddied pool where all seems dark, dull and the visibility is poor. The fish cannot know that this is when the pump at the bottom of the garden is being cleaned for their benefit, yet they will play in the crystal waters that such murkiness precedes.

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In the Dell ~ Na’ama Yehuda #writephoto

They built the cone carefully. Everyone knew things like that had to be just so.

“Will they come?” Nelly fretted, slim fingers worrying the edge of her tunic.

“Sure thing,” Dahlia’s nod was as resolute as her voice. “We did it exactly. And it is the right time.”

Nelly nibbled on a lip. Aunt Lorena’s mind wasn’t what it used to be. What if the elder’s confusion extended to passing on instructions?

“There,” Dahlia placed the last stick, straightened, and took a step back to admire their handiwork. She tucked a wild lock of dark hair behind an ear and chuckled. “Looks as if they’re putting their heads together.”

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Reach #midnighthaiku

Reaching for the sun

Empty cups are filled with light

Colouring their world

*

 

 

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Funding the consequences of folly ~ Tallis Steelyard

Reblogged from Jim Webster, aka Tallis Steelyard:

Funding the consequences of folly

One problem about plague years where everybody hides in their houses is what do you do about those too poor to have a home? For us at the Shrine of Aea in her Aspect as the Personification of Tempered Enthusiasm our major worry was for the mendicants. Given that they had largely been beggars and vagrants before they somehow ended up with us, the best they could hope for was to return to being beggars and vagrants. So we hatched a plan. As nobody would be using the shrine, we would.

So we brought all the mendicants into the shrine and a number of us remained with them to maintain good order and regular meals. We even went so far as to lock the doors and relied upon hauling food in a basket through an upstairs window. Now to be honest once you have things organised and everybody slotted into a routine, there is only so much you need do. There’s only so often you can instruct the mendicants to polish the brassware before the mirror finish already achieved seems to mock their efforts.

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Bells: ring out the Blue ~ Di #writephoto

I can see her now, treading gently through the glade, surrounded by bluebells as if she was floating on a blue sea.
Her eyes reflect the wonder and joy at so many, stretching for miles in front of her and to the sides. She turns, her arms outstretched, one hand touching the bark of a tree. She laughs, completely enthralled and at home in her own Bluebell Wood.

Continue reading at  pensitivity101

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