Rainbow Beach Frolics and a poem for Triton

Having only just arrived on Rainbow Beach and leaving my boat moored at the water’s edge, I was escorted across the beach by the group of women who had come down to greet me. As they directed me towards a couple of huts set a little back from the sand dunes further back on the beach, another figure stepped out from the shadows. The women I was with moved aside to let her through. She reached forward and took my hand.

”Come with me. I have something to show you, something you have been looking for.”

Her hand felt cool and soft as she led me back towards the sea. As we stepped into the cooling water, pushing forwards deeper and deeper, I grew increasingly fearful. She felt my hesitation and held on even tighter, holding my hand in such a grip that it was impossible to escape her clutches. Wading further out terror began to grip my soul. Was she trying to drown me?

”Now swim.”

And without releasing her hold she pulled me swimming behind her. Glancing back I could see that we were heading out wards, further and further away from the seashore.

”Dive down.”

She pulled me below the water. I struggling to break free but she merely turned and spoke calmly

”Trust me.”

And since it was now clear to me that there was no other choice but to do just that, I surrendered, wondering if this was the end. I waited for my life to flash before my mind’s eye, but no images, ghostly or otherwise appeared. Furthermore it suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t struggling for breath. And so with new found trust, I opened my eyes.

To be honest, I did reckon at this point that this was a realm where anything could and probably would happen. But being a closet romantic, I suppose I was really expecting something pleasant, you know, like a sparkling underwater city, Atlantis maybe, illuminated by starfish and glowing rocks with beautiful mermaids combing their long golden tresses as they sat together in small groups on the rocks. Well, to put it mildly, this is not what happened.

Opening my eyes I found myself staring into a horrible cavernous hole, dark and dank, which on looking up seemed to have 2 googly eyes placed above it.

”Oh bloody hell, it’s a friggin’ monster! Just my luck!”

Remnants of biblical stories from my childhood about some guy called Jonah who was swallowed by a whale began to stir through my memory. Hardly anyone’s idea of nirvana!

I tried to turn and get away fast. But my loyal companion wasn’t having any of it. She looked at me sternly and I had the distinct feeling that if I didn’t behave myself this tale was over. So collecting any pieces of my mind that hadn’t already slipped into unconsciousness, I floated my ground.

”Who goes here?” boomed the loud mouth.

”Me.” I squeaked.

Registering surprise at first, presumably at my utter stupidity, the monster suddenly began to laugh, causing huge swirls and waves in the water, and making me very seasick. Still at least he was laughing. Maybe I might survive this encounter.

”Well then little Me, what gift do you bring? Any who dare to enter my kingdom must bring a gift. But this cannot be an ordinary gift. It must be something that was given to them and which they in turn used and added to, and then they gift it to me.”

Oh god! Wouldn’t a nice bit of candy rock not do? Why does everything have to be so difficult around here? Thinking hard and fast I tried to figure out a way to appease him. What did I like to do, an ability that I could say I had been gifted with, and that I could create something out of on the spot?!

And then suddenly it seemed as if all my outer masks were being lifted from me, as if all my years and years of hard won images and beliefs were being torn away . Dutiful daughter — gone. Attentive mother — slipping away. Loving wife ——— At this rate there wasn’t going to be a me at all! And sure enough all that was left was somebody stripped of her former life and sense of self. Is this who I am? A nothing? Reflecting for a moment on the possibility that I was no longer me, I found myself feeling light-hearted and free rather than distraught and lost. I was just ‘me’ whoever ‘me’ was!! I began to laugh and my companions laughed with me. Suddenly the monster stopped.

”I am Triton and I am growing tired of waiting.”

Oops! Frantically searching through the remnants of my shattered mind it suddenly occurred to me that I loved poetry, and that reading poetry always felt like a gift from another’s soul, so perhaps I could offer a further gift by gifting a poem to Triton. And so upon deciding that this would be my offering, the poem began to fall out of my mouth, the words seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. They were mine and yet not mine.

A GIFT FOR TRITON

 

WHY?

Why didn’t you see

on that day

that now seems

so long ago,

and yet and yet,

it is as if I am

still standing there

beside the lilac bush

your mother planted.

I remember

it was in full bloom,

glorious lavenders and purples

and every shade between

and something bright and red,

a dash like a gash –

why didn’t you see?

Why didn’t you hear

the fluttering of my fingertips

as they reached for stems,

something to hold on to,

though to be fair

the butterfly was louder

as he pushed his way

out of his cocoon?

Why didn’t you?

Why?

Wild Longings for Unknown Worlds

Last night I dreamt about a mighty river, whose source was a spring, hidden deep within the misty summits of far flung mountains. This range of mountains formed a vast and imposing outline against ever deepening tones of blue, blue sky that peeped occasionally through gaps in the swirling fog.

All day the dream lingered on in my consciousness, yet always just beyond the reach of recall and recollection. Its remnants remained as an invisible landscape, it’s colours and textures just beyond grasping, and yet still marking and leaving impressions upon the course of the day as it unfolded. Later as I sat in class, head bowed down to my work, I thought I heard a voice and it seemed as if something brushed past me. A deep restlessness began to move through my body, so much so that there was little point in trying to concentrate any further on the task in hand. Quite suddenly it appeared as if the entire meaning of my life had just been imperceptibly shifted. Something or someone was calling out my name, beckoning me beyond the limits of my present existence. In the end I knew the time had come to leave.

Such restlessness was not new to me, but usually it was possible to quell it with thoughts and considerations of duty and responsibilities. Yet while such concepts could not be entirely ignored, still they could never be enough. There must be more. Life holds such vast reservoirs of untapped meaning and joy, the delightful investigations of which demand nothing less than at least the occasional setting aside of the daily drudgery of a humdrum existence.

And so I chose to listen and wait for that voice to call to me again. Past experience had taught me that the only necessary thing is to sit still with open heart, mind and hands, leaving behind all expectations.

The journey has begun.

Leaving

Front door swings open.

Crossing the threshold,

she turns back briefly

to kiss me goodbye.

”Good luck,” I whisper

into her freshly washed hair,

gleaming and smelling of new beginnings.

As she walks down the road

I call upon the Divine Mother

to watch over and care for

this child of mine–

heart of my heart, flesh from my flesh.

Cast away the stones,

blow away the mists,

so that the sun may shine

it’s blessings upon her

and the road may soften for her step.

For she is mine

and she is Yours,

and if any shadow should descend upon her,

if any terrible catastrophe should happen,

then the world would split wide open,

immense sorrow would rain down,

trees and stones would crack and their hearts fall asunder.

The world would surely end.

Images of Lemurian landscapes in Ireland.

 These photos were taken in Avondale House while walking on a track in the woods……I’m almost certain I heard L’Enchanteur’s laughter in the distance….!!

Raven ATC’s

Wild Flower Garden

Reclaiming My Inner poet [or Thoughts on a Most Disreputable Trade]

Sometimes my Inner Poet looks very respectable in a quiet, dignified sort of way. Sometimes. Yet her dark eyes cannot hide the wildness that lies hidden behind the veil, concealing a whirlpool of concepts and ideas, the genesis of which were begotton not in the head, but deep in the innermost chambers of her heart; her guts too have a voice. Her mind merely attempts to place some semblance of order upon all this chaos whirling and twirling within. There are days when her rational being simply cannot grab hold of anything that smacks of reality. This does not worry her (although others cast anxious eyes in her direction), since she knows with a belly knowingness that that which we choose to call the Real is nothing more nor less than a label, a conveniant name tag, a box within which to lock and confine meaning, so that any chance of its essential life force escaping remains minimal and limited. Still even limitations have their own boundaries and on certain days, perhaps just as the full moon waxes voluptuosly calling to all who still have ears to hear with their hearts, on these nights then meaning slips its bondage and it’s boundaries come unleashed. Then her long silver-grey hair slips out of it’s comb and stray tendrils straggle and dangle, refusing to be tamed. A bad hair day. Chaos reigns. The poet speaks. She cannot be silenced. No, not even by respectability.

Lovers in the Magic Garden

Waterfall of light

rushes from the wide angled arc of sweet blueness,

embraces the tiny shoot,

almost burst open.

Desire thrusts upwards,

desperate to kiss

the life that is gifted,

just because.

Flowers from the Magic Garden

ATC’s

To make these cards I gessoed old Pokemon cards, then painted a base layer, let it dry, then painted another darker colour most of which was wiped off with a damp cloth. Next I applied gel medium and stuck down some Arabic and Japanese newspapers, much of which were removed by sticking down strips of masking tape. This was then painted in watery acrylics to give a wash. Stamping was followed by collaging various elements, eg. pictures, transparencies, threads, beads, leaves, etc.