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Mankind is a fallen being incapable of good
unless united to its inner light.
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All Men are endowed with the inner light
even though they may be unaware of it.
Continue reading at France & Vincent

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Mankind is a fallen being incapable of good
unless united to its inner light.
*
All Men are endowed with the inner light
even though they may be unaware of it.
Continue reading at France & Vincent
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Built by the sea
But not of the sea
These enclosing walls…
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It is a ‘Celtic’ thing
The Spirit tied-to-tide
And it is still understood
By today’s Old Bones…
Continue reading at France & Vincent

There are hills the world over full of legend and mystery. Having read books and watched shows about them all, Howard couldn’t help wishing for something legendary in the hills around his Scottish home. There probably wasn’t even a legend or mystery in this neck of the woods. Even still, he’d walk through the undulating bracken and moss rich landscape whenever he got the chance.
Upon one hill alongside a well-beaten track was the most curious of rocks. From the right side is ridges and curves gave it a look of a black panther minus the ears. If a mystery lay in these hills it was here. A rock shaped like a big cat would exist only if it guarded a secret, right?
Continue reading at Mason’s Mind Menagerie

morning libation
honey embalms the moment
awakening dreams
caught in eternal amber
time yet drinks the wine of life
The sun rises over sea and field, winter and summer, seen and unseen behind the veil of clouds, turning all it touches to gold. I think of Midas, the king whose desire for riches caused him to kill the thing he loved most with his golden gift. When they found his tomb, there were traces of honey-wine in his feasting cups… even his drink was made of gold, but his legendary power could neither give life nor ward him from death.
The sun too can bring bounty or destruction, but here it brings only life and light. I drink in the morning, tasting sunlight and dew on my lips. In a moment outside of time, poised between day and night, I live eternity.

once, I would have scaled it,
that guardian stone of hidden realms,
mountain giants could just lift it,
yet I’d be faster than most elves;
Continue reading at Antonia Sara Zenkevitch

Moorland memories
Dawn rises gold in summer
My feet miss your paths
Winter may look back with love
Spring turns hopeful eyes forward
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Reblogged from Jacquie Biggar:

I’ve been busy trying to get my upcoming release, The SEAL’s Temptation finished in time to go into the multi-author box set, Irresistible- Spring Into Love and unfortunately my reading has lagged. But, I did manage to get two wonderful books done in the last couple of weeks.
Either one of these are recommended reading. Click on the covers to visit Amazon to pick up your copy.
Continue reading at Jacquie Biggar

Once more we found ourselves gravitating towards the tower of an ancient church. As we were meeting in Bamburgh, it seemed only right that we pay our respects here. It may seem a little odd that although we are not precisely Christian, we spend a lot of time in churches, but Britain has long been a nominally Christian country and for centuries the Church was at the heart of political power…and its churches at the heart of village life. There are few other places where so rich a history can be studied without fuss by anyone who cares to walk through the door.

This area of the North was once a place of great sanctity and home to more saints than can be imagined. Many of them were ‘small’ local saints, possibly ‘adopted’ from pre-Christian mythologies, others are well-documented historical figures and were amongst the most beloved of their kind.

This stretch of the northeastern coastline played a pivotal part in Christianity’s establishment in this country and there are still echoes here of the Celtic faith that was ousted at the Synod of Whitby in 664 in favour of the Roman version of Christianity. Prior to the Synod, it was the Ionian version of the faith that had taken precedence in these parts and two of the most important figures in bringing that faith to the area were King Oswald and St Aidan.

Oswald had been raised as a boy at the monastery of Iona, but when he came to the kingship and took up his throne at the royal seat of Bamburgh, local Christianity was being gradually ousted by an Anglo-Saxon form of paganism. Determined to bring what he saw as the true faith to his people, he sent to Iona for missionaries. They sent him Bishop Cormán, who managed to offend everyone and convert no-one and who accused the northerners of being ‘too stubborn’ to convert. He was soon sent packing. Aidan spoke out against Cormán’s methods and as a ‘reward’ was sent to King Oswald at Bamburgh in his place.

Aidan established the monastery on Lindisfarne, Holy Island, in sight of the castle and set out to bring his faith to the people of the land. His methods were gentle, he spoke courteously to all, no matter how high or low their station. Like his Lord, he accepted all souls with kindness, while he himself practised poverty and frugality. He and King Oswald became much loved and brought the people back to their shared faith.
Continue reading at France & Vincent
I had half expected the town to be deserted.
That is Memory again.
It acts like some indifferent film director moving extras around, concerned only with their ebb and flow.
Over time the ‘peripherals’ fade leaving only the ‘principals’ behind.
And that goes for events too…
I have no memory of our initial ‘run up’…
Only the camber to the stones and the ravens, wheeling and cawing, and eventually settling in unison on the portals as we approached.
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Continue reading at The Silent Eye

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…Face of moving water
Breathing in water
The water a breathing face…
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Today I will speak to you
For, today, we hold a race
A sprint to the death
Whose spirit yields to the swiftest
The fleetest of foot…
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Continue reading at France & Vincent