Bridge of smiles

It can seem hard to find anything to be glad about right now. The news reports are dire, we all have our wings clipped and although there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, we have, as yet, no idea how far away that might be… or even who amongst us will be around to see it. We are worried for our loved ones, missing those we cannot see because of the restrictions, concerned about finances, both personal and global… and the worries just seem to keep on coming.

Yet, silently standing… the requisite two metres apart… in the long queue of people waiting to be allowed entry into the corner shop, I couldn’t help grinning like the Cheshire Cat. The sun was playing through the leaves of the trees, illuminating the tender greens of spring. The brightness cast shadows, highlighting the textures of bark and leaf. Banks of spring flowers were in bloom, carpets of delicate blue speedwell, bright daisies and dandelions scattered across the grass and the absence of traffic noise allowed the constant, busy chatter and chirp of the birds to be heard. The drone of bees and the quick flutter of butterflies filled the air. In spite of the worried expressions and occasional masked face, I really couldn’t help myself.

Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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Gold Spot ~ Daisybala #writephoto

The gold spot

Dripping, rippling in the sea.

Billowing waves squirming the light photons ahead

Cascading towards land.

The quantum energies turn synergies,

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Smile #midnighthaiku

Spring petals unfurl

Colours in conversation

Smiling together

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Mapping Out… ~ Graeme Cumming

Reblogged from Graeme Cumming:

Over the next few weeks, you’re going to see a number of images relating to Carrion appearing regularly on my social media. The most common will be the cover, which I revealed at the end of last year. Here it is again:

Isn’t it a beauty?

But there will be others and they’ll be dotted about in various places, so I thought I should explain them.

All the images are based on a map that’s described in Carrion. It’s been common in fantasy adventure novels for maps to be included, especially if they represent fictional lands – think Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones. Since much of Carrion relates to a journey, I had to draw a map to use as a guide for myself when I wrote it. I did something similar for Ravens Gathering, though that was the layout of a village to make sure I didn’t move the Post Office to the wrong side of the road, or have a farm entrance too far from the pub.

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A new day dawning ~ Suzanne #writephoto

Slipping inside the golden light of dawn the woman entered meditation.

In that clear space the golden light became a nectar that nourished her on a deep soul level.

so much fear and confusion in the world and within herself – so many voices offering opinions and talking of ways to negotiate this difficult passage –

She let the golden light dissolve it all. She let go of the tension she was carrying in her neck and shoulders. She let the knot in her stomach unravel.

Continue reading at  Mapping Uncertainty

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The story of St Alban

The final post on our visit to the Abbey of St Albans a few years ago. Parts One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six can be found by clicking the highlighted links.

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As it has taken me a week to write about half a cathedral, I thought I should share the story of the saint to whom the Abbey is dedicated. The earliest surviving mention is by Victrius in AD396, but the best-known version of the tale of St Alban comes from the Venerable Bede, who died in AD735 and became known as the Father of English History after writing his great work, the Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum (‘The Ecclesiastical History of the English People’).

The tale is set in Roman Verulamium, now St Albans, in the third or fourth century.

It is told that Alban was a pagan and, at a time when Christianity was proscribed, gave shelter to a priest, whose name has come down to us as Saint Amphibalus. Impressed by the man’s prayers and teachings, Alban was drawn to the new faith. When the authorities heard of the priest’s presence, men were sent to arrest him, but Alban donned his guest’s clothing and was taken in his stead.

The officials were sacrificing at their altars when he was brought before them and were incensed at his duplicity. First, he was scourged, but he remained steadfast. He was then given the ultimatum to worship the Roman gods or die in place of the priest he was protecting. Alban refused and was sentenced to death by beheading.

At the time of the execution, the whole town turned out to watch, clogging the bridge over the river and making it impossible for Alban and his escort to cross the water to the appointed place. Alban, embracing his destiny, prayed and the waters of the river parted, allowing them to cross to the other side.

The executioner was overcome at seeing the miracle, threw down his sword and knelt at Alban’s feet, refusing to slay such a holy man. He begged to be allowed to die in Alban’s place… or at least to die with him. The other executioners were reluctant to pick up the sword and argued amongst themselves while Alban walked up the hill with the crowd.

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The appointed place was a flat hilltop, completely covered in wildflowers and very beautiful. Alban was thirsty and at his prayer, a pure stream welled from the ground. Alban drank and the spring returned to its natural source in the river half a mile below.

Alban’s hair was tied to a tree and he was beheaded where he stood. The first executioner, who had refused to do the deed, was also beheaded.

At the very moment when Alban’s head was struck off, the executioner’s eyes dropped from his head, to prevent him from seeing what he had done. Some tell that the severed head continued to speak in praise.

The judge had expected both victims to recant. Impressed by both Alban and the soldier, who had chosen to die rather than abjure their faith, he ordered an immediate end to the persecution of the Christians and the story of Alban passed into sanctified legend.

The place of the execution became a site of pilgrimage and eventually a church… later the Abbey… was built on the site. It remains a place of pilgrimage to this day.

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The images were taken in the Abbey where pictures of a mediaeval manuscript tell the story of the saint. The illustrated manuscript was made by the mediaeval chronicler, Matthew Paris, a monk at the Abbey in the thirteenth century. The first picture shows Alban, carrying his distinctive cross, being brought before the judges, while behind him (left)  we can see one of the Roman idols.

The second picture shows Alban in chains, amid a field of wildflowers that curl around his feet, while the crowd bring vessels and drink from the waters that seem to spring from the roots of a tree.

The final picture shows the fatal moment, with Alban’s head suspended by his hair. The executioner’s eyes fall into his hands… and Alban’s soul ascends to heaven in the form of a dove.

Shrine of St Alban, St Albans Cathedral. Image by Michael Reeve.

Shrine of St Alban, St Albans Cathedral. Image by Michael Reeve via Wikimedia Commons.

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Together ~ Di #writephoto

A new dawn,
Is this the last of old,
Or the first of what is to come?
Times are changing,
The earth is reclaiming her own,

Continue reading at pensitivity101

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Together ~ Honoré Dupuis #writephoto

We walk this path, distant but together, like shadows: our steps leave no mark on the wet sand, no-one is there to notice our shimmering shapes.

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Points of view

Some eyes see only through a darkened haze
Behind dark lenses, blinkered, self-conditioned
Blind to the dancing joy where rainbows arc
Afraid to see the colours life commissioned.

Some eyes see far in pastel coloured glory
Leaving life behind them as they sail
Upon a golden mist of wonder in the morning
To reach a world that glows behind the veil.

Some eyes look inwards, seeing only self
Or mirrored images of other eyes
Colouring their vision with their fears,
They live in hope that every mirror lies.

Some eyes are dull and lifeless, hold no light,
No spark within, of happiness bereft,
All joy extinguished by the flow of tears
As sorrow weighs the pittance they have left.

Some see with certainty in monochrome
In black or white there is no compromise,
No shade of grey compassion in their glance,
No empathy or kindness in their eyes.

Yet some illuminate the world they see,
And some eyes burn with passionate desire,
Some hold the lambent argent of the seer
That radiate a visionary fire.

Then, there are those that simply look with love
They view the world with pure serenity
Within both dark and bright discover joy
And innocent, they see as children see.

In these eyes you may see a soul reflected
Held safe in beauty in another‘s view,
Look deep and take the gift of other’s seeing,
The soul into whose eyes you gaze is you.

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Together ~ Kim Blades #writephoto

After traversing

the dark

fathomless

seas

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