Silk Road Scribe

red umbrella day

2005-12-11T13:38:00.000-08:00

market day in the Lemurian archipelago and today red umbrellas were very much in evidence

woodcutter's tale

2005-11-27T13:23:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time there was a village of woodcutters. It wasn't a large village but it was close to several forests and the inhabitants had naturally become woodcutters and had cut down trees for centuries. In the fullness of time, due to an increase in demand for wood, they had cleared the forest and replanted but the new trees had not grown well and now the woodcutters were all out of work. Only one forest remained untouched and legend had it that it was enchanted and therefore dangerous to go into; so nobody ever did. Some of the woodmen sought work elsewhere and some stayed and did other things and the village became very poor.

One day, a woodcutter travelling from another area, arrived in the village and saw the enchanted forest and did not understand why it was still there. The villagers patiently explained that the forest was enchanted and nobody dared enter it. The new arrival scoffed at this and thought he would have a bit of a laugh. He didn’t believe in enchanted forests so he made himself a grotesque mask and declared to the villagers that he would show them that he could go and cut down some trees and that nothing would happen to him. So he strode off to the forest. At the edge he put on his mask and walked in among the trees and, a short while later, strode out again. All the villagers, seeing his grotesque face, fled in terror. He thought this was hilarious and made his way into the village.

By now his face was getting sweaty from the heat of the mask so he walked up to the water fountain in the middle of the village and took off the mask to wash his face. When he looked in the water to wash his face, his face under the mask was exactly the same as the mask he had just removed.

Soulfood chocolate - dragon

2005-11-26T11:56:00.000-08:00

I chose my chocolate because it was wrapped in metal foil with an oriental design on it and this is what I found inside:

'"Colouring dragons
To enter simply click the image of the beautiful Chinese Dragon and print out an enlarged copy. Colour it. Write the phrase "Once upon a time in a faraway village..." and then put some action words in your draft book." Actually my dragon is one which I embroidered on a dressing gown I made for my husband,

Once upon a time in a faraway village on the other side of the world there lived a little boy called Yan. He lived in a small fishing village on the banks of the river.

One day Yan was sitting on the riverbank fishing. It was a warm, sunny afternoon. The fish didn't seem to be biting much that day and he was beginning to doze. So he wasn't surprised to hear the sound of sobbing coming from close at hand. In his dreams he thought it must be his little sister, who had fallen and hurt herself but the sound became so persistent that he completely woke up again. It seemed to be coming from behind a pile of rocks. He crept closer until he could peer round them.

Sitting on the river beach was a small, brightly coloured dragon; sobbing as if its heart would break. Yan was a kind boy who hated to see anyone in trouble and he didn't seem the least bit surprised to see a dragon. He climbed over the rocks and went down on to the beach.

"Hello" he said to the dragon which lifted its head mournfully, looked at him with huge, tear-filled eyes and carried on crying all the harder. "Who are you?" asked Yan, and then "what's the matter?" The dragon wiped a five clawed foot across its nose and whimpered "I've lost it. They're all so angry". "Lost what and who will be angry?" asked Yan, deeply perplexed. "Why, the flaming pearl, of course. What else do you think I'm talking about?"
Yan realised that this was going to take a while and sat down on a sun-warmed rock. "Please start from the beginning and tell me who you are and what's happened, otherwise I can't possibly help you". The dragon sniffed and appeared relieved that someone was willing to listen to it and it started to recount its tale of woe.

His name was Rang Chu and he was an imperial dragon - as anyone could see who knew anything about these things because he had five toes. He lived in a celestial palace, decorated with all the colours of the rainbow, with his imperial parents, brothers and sisters. It turned out that, just for a lark, he and two of his brothers had "borrowed" the flaming pearl and had been having a game of football with it. In a fit of enthusiasm he had kicked it too hard and it had flown out of the window and had now disappeared. In everyone's bad books, he had been temporarily banished from the heavens until he found it. This was how he came to be sitting on the riverbank.

Yan knew enough about rivers to know that anything that fell into the river would eventually find its way to the sea.

"My father has a boat which we could sail down to the sea. Come with me and I'll help you look for the pearl". Rang Chu gratefully accepted his offer. "But you must promise not to breathe any fire while you're in the boat or it will catch fire and we'll both be drowned". The dragon agreed to this condition.
Together they got into the boat, which leaned dangerously to one side with the weight of the young dragon prince. As an afterthought Yan said "wait a minute, I'm just going to fetch my cormorant. He might be very useful". So saying, he climbed out of the boat, ran up the beach, untied the cormorant from the piling on which it was perched and carried it back triumphantly to the boat. "If the pearl has fallen to the bottom of the sea he will be able to dive for it", he explained to the dragon.

The current took them swiftly down river, through the flat marshy estuary and finally to a beach of fine white sand. They tied the boat to an old tree and set off to look along the tide line to see if the pearl had been washed up. As they kicked the piles of seaweed to see if it was hidden underneath, Yan found bits of coloured sea glass, shards of broken porcelain and brightly coloured shells. Soon his pockets bulged with his trophies. Rang Chu had no pockets but he had good eyesight and eagerly scanned the beach for anything he thought Yan might like.

After several hours of fruitless search they began to feel hungry. Yan's cormorant caught them some fish which Rang Chu carefully grilled with a blast of fiery breath, so as not to scorch it. In the meantime Yan explained the problem to the cormorant. It asked Yan leave to go and consult the shore-dwelling cormorants.

It was quite excited when it eventually returned. The mermaids have got your flaming pearl. Except that it's not flaming anymore", it added. Yan was aghast to hear this for he knew how difficult it was to get back anything lost to the mer-people. "Do you have any ideas?" he asked the cormorant. It thought for a while and then said that the mer-people would return it if they were given something in exchange. Yan racked his brains to think of something. "Why don't you fashion a necklace?" asked Rang Chu at length. "with what?" "Well, you've got pockets full of stuff" replied the dragon, whose eyes had just fallen on a piece of slivery wire. "Use the wire to wrap round some pieces of sea glass and put the wire through the holes in the shells. Then you'll have a wonderful necklace". Yan thought this was a great idea and found a large, flat stone to use as a work surface. He selected bits of green glass and pink shells and, in no time, had assembled a necklace fit for a queen. He proudly showed it to the dragon and the cormorant. The cormorant agreed to act as go-between and flew off with the necklace safely wedged in its beak.

Yan and the dragon eagerly scanned the horizon for the cormorant's return. They waited and waited. The sun was just beginning to go down and the beach was flooded with pink and gold when the bird returned. He flew down to join them and carefully put the pearl on the sand before them. The dragon was so pleased he could hardly restrain himself from breathing a veritable fire ball. "Careful" warned Yan. "It's all very well to dry the pearl but you don't want to incinerate it". The dragon agreed this that this would not be a good idea and asked Yan to look after it for him. He would return to the celestial palace next morning but, for now, he wanted to spend some more time with his new-found friends. They had another meal of fish and then settled down for the night, with Yan leaning against the dragon's side to keep warm.

At dawn the next day Rang Chu took his leave and flew into the sky. Yan and the cormorant stared after him until their eyes hurt and he was no more than a speck in the sky. "Do you think we'll ever see him again?" asked Yan. "Depends on whether he plays football again, I suppose" smirked the cormorant who was feeling very pleased with its role in the story.

Although Yan and the cormorant watched for him, all they ever saw, or thought they saw, was a dragon shaped cloud apparently chasing the sinking sun from time to time.

the cherubim's tale

2005-11-26T11:55:00.000-08:00

On my journey to the House of Serpents you will recall that I was removed from my donkey Ariel by a hooded rider and that I only discovered its identity when its hood slipped off as it was leaving me. Well, while we were flying, my cherubim decided it wanted to talk. In fact it proved to be a very talkative cherubim, what with having a captive audience and all that. I’m always eager to hear other people’s stories so this way I was killing two birds with one stone.

The cherubim told me that when it is not helping out lost strangers in the outlands of Duwamish, it normally resides in a fresco in a church that goes by the odd name of St Nicholas of the roofs on the island of Cythara. I’d heard of this island and of this particular church. In fact there is another curiously named church on the island called St Nicholas of the cats. Apparently St Nicholas kept cats to keep the serpents away. Does the House of Serpents have a resident cat, by any chance?

St Nicholas of the roofs is so called because the church has two roofs, one on top of the other but nobody seems to know why this is and the church is full of frescoes peopled by all sorts of creatures, many of whom are employed in a similar fashion to the cherubim, who was currently acting as my flying taxi. Unfortunately the contributions from the tourists were not enough to keep them all in the pristine condition they could wish. My cherubim pointed out that the price of armour oil being what it was, it was no wonder its amour was starting to go rusty and that this was why a number of them had sought employment elsewhere – being a pretty face just didn’t hack it. Although I had my trusty digital camera with me the cherubim wouldn’t allow me to take a photo of it, as the bright light from a flash was harmful to frescoes and it was already looking a bit faded around the edges.

It recounted to me all the marvellous things it had seen, it had been present when Jesus of Nazareth had been crucified and had ascended into Heaven. It had seen the arrival of many of the other frescoes over the decades. I asked it if it had a favourite fresco and it replied that its favourite was the Tree of Jesse. It passed the time of day by inventing histories for all the people depicted there. I asked it to describe the church for me. It explained that this particular church was considered so special that the people from Unesco had declared it to be worthy of being nominated to cultural heritage status and that there were a total of ten such churches on the island. It personally had not visited any of the other churches, not wishing to know what the competition was, but it assured me that hearsay had it that the others were pretty good too, although of course, not in the same league as St Nicholas of the roofs. St Nicks had the added advantage of being situated in a woodland spot, not in the middle of some baking hot village in the middle of nowhere, although St John’s did benefit from the river running by. St John’s was also inhabited so there was a constant to-ing and fro-ing of resident monks, priests and visitors, which made life all the more interesting.

St Nicks, as it affectionately described its home, was also home to a large collection of icons. The icons were housed on an iconostasis (posh name for a wooden screen), but they were an arrogant lot – too much gold – and didn’t have much to do with the frescoes. The icons were actually convinced that they were the sole reason tourists visited the church. The cherubim sniffed in disgust at this. I could see its point. All that glitters is not gold. The icons were also considerably smaller than the frescoes and from their lofty perches looked down upon the frescoes. Poison comes in small packages they say and the cherubim didn’t have a good word to say for the icons, snooty lot that they were. They disregarded the frescoes, who were afraid of the light and lived in the dimmer recesses of the church. They didn’t wear rich clothes either, for their clothes, such as they were, were distinctly threadbare. No bright colours either, their colours having faded in successive washes as misguided restorers had sought to renew their colours. Nor were the frescoes decorated with silver or gold. What they did have however, was the detail with which their clothes had been painted and the liveliness of their facial expressions, particularly those who dwelt in Hell. The angelic ones, on the other hand looked stiff and uncomfortable. Who was to say which were the better off. My cherubim explained that it was perfectly happy where it was, on one of the columns just inside the entrance to the church so that it had a good vantage point from which to observe all the visitors to the church. On a good day, you might get half a dozen. The individual visitors were by far the best contributors, the coach tours were just rabble. All they wanted was to be able to boast about how many churches they’d visited and to buy a T-shirt. Sniff.

I asked why it was wearing a hooded cape. Oh that’s just a gimmick it replied handing me a business card on which I read the logo “Black Cape Enterprises. Flying Taxi Service. We take you beyond”. Beyond what, I wondered but thought “well I have already gone beyond my normal boundaries, so why not?”

forthcoming events

2005-11-26T11:53:00.000-08:00

10th of December. It is Red Umbrella Market Day and we will be having special night market at the Archipelago to view some potential goodies for Christmas. The market will have many stalls, under red umbrellas of course, and sideshows and the divination tent will be open.

17th December is Baba Yaga's Masque Ball.

The idea will be that on those days there will be material and links to specific event blogs so that everyone can post something 'simultaneously'

Masques and masks

2005-11-26T11:52:00.000-08:00

"MASQUE" courtly form of dramatic spectacle, popular in England in the first half of the 17th cent. The masque developed from the early 16th-century disguising, or mummery, in which disguised guests bearing presents would break into a festival and then join with their hosts in a ceremonial dance. As the form evolved, the important elements retained were the use of the mask and the mingling of actors and spectators. Reaching its height in the early 17th cent., the masque became a magnificent and colorful spectacle, presented in public theaters and, with more splendor, in the royal courts. The actors personified pastoral and mythological figures, with great emphasis placed on music and dance. The foremost writer of the masque was Ben Jonson. However, it was his collaborator Inigo Jones, the theatrical architect, famous for his elaborate costume designs, settings, and scenic effects, who gave the masque its greatest popularity. Some of their more successful masques include The Masque of Blackness (1605) and Pleasure Reconciled to Virtue (1618).
from www.bartleby.com - the Colombia Encyclopaedia

Pandora is hoping to have some very special masks delivered in time for Baba's Bal Masqué.
Please put a picture of your mask and your costume into Pandora's Costume Box of Performances, together with anything you might wish to perform

Baba has been thinking about a masque bal

2005-11-26T11:49:00.000-08:00

Baba has been thinking and when Baba thinks anything is likely to happen. She has been wary of all these artistic types who have descended upon her and has decided to test them a little. She is planning to have a Masque Ball in her Boudoir. Everyone is expected to come in full costume, make a grand entrance and amuse Baba with a short act. Is that a distant cackle I hear or that old rooster crowing joyfully?

Pied piper's call

2005-11-26T11:42:00.000-08:00

When le Enchanteur is in Pied Piper mode there is electricity in the air and Pegasus cannot resist coming to take someone with her, on the wings of imagination. Le Enchanteur is playing a tune that the hardiest of travellers will find hard to resist. Follow her and go for a night ride, beyond that Harvest Moon, with Pegasus. Pegasus will take you anywhere in the world. He is yours for the night.

Get yourselves up and moving off early to the Sunday Market at the Archipelago.
Le Enchanteur is offering a special divination deal this Sunday. You will have to contact her to enter her tent and participate and gain self insight.

All roads lead to the Market Place on Sundays. Catch a raven, a donkey, a ferry or whatever means of transport available.

And now! Simply enjoy the realm. We will have a Maidens jaunt to the Amazon
Queen's palace for old time's sake but not for a week or so.

Raven courier - postcard home

2005-11-26T11:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Mum and Dad,
just to let you know that I’m still travelling. I’ve been staying in a place called Duwamish for the last couple of weeks and last night a whole group of us met up to go to Vi’s festival of lights. We danced the night away. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk again for a couple of days. We should be moving off to the Amazon Queen’s camp in a week or so.

Vi's festival of lights - the party

2005-11-26T11:40:00.001-08:00

A hunter’s moon had risen earlier in the evening. Initially a deep orange as it appeared over the horizon, it was now the colour of clotted cream with indistinct patterns on it that could have been celestial landmasses. Moonlight flooded the woods and the autumn trees stood in silhouette, their leafless branches making a lacy tracery against the moon.

Lights of all descriptions had been hung in the trees round the glade. Huge pumpkins that had been hollowed out were placed in a large circle. These ones didn’t have the garish Halloween faces carved in them but lots of round holes in symmetric patterns, which allowed the light to spill out. Gourds, which had been hollowed out too and had patterns pierced in them, hung from branches.

A large trestle table had been set up in the centre. Covered in a white cloth, it was already groaning under the weight of the food that had been piled on it. All the gypsies in the camp had been busy cooking for days in preparation and a sharp spicy smell hung in the air.

In the camp the fires burned brightly casting shadows over the coloured wagons. At Lavengro’s suggestion, one of the gypsy women had gone with Vi to Pandora’s Wardrobe to help her choose something to wear for the evening. It had been a difficult choice and she was just putting the final touches to her costume. She now appeared at the top of the steps of the wagon. She was wearing long heavy silk pants, a long sleeved silk shirt, a jewelled waistcoat and jewelled slippers. A kerchief covered her hair edged with little golden coins and she also wore a large cape, which billowed as she moved. She came carefully down the steps and immediately four children seemed to appear from nowhere. Each of them carried a lantern. A woman behind them carried a glass pitcher of water, which would be sprinkled in libation before the meal began. Other figures now drifted into the firelight and sounds of laughter filled the air together with a multitude of different accents. The firelight lit their faces and their gaily-coloured costumes for everyone had rummaged to the bottom of their clothes chests to get out their finery for this festival. The air was still and the fires burned with steady flames.

When everyone had assembled Lavengro called for silence and as the last chatter died down his strong voice resounded round the camp “welcome travellers one and all to this festival of lights for Vi”. Loud applause greeted this announcement. “We will proceed to the glade of enlightenment where we will make the blessing and give thanks. The meal will be followed by music and dancing. Michael will now play the proceeding song” and a man standing on his left shouldered his violin and bowed out the first notes. As the last notes faded away the crowd processed towards the glade and in the silence that followed only the night birds could be heard.

There was a gasp of awe from the children as they entered the glade and saw all the lights. They fanned out in a large circle around the table. The woman carrying the glass pitcher walked into the centre of the circle. She poured water first on the ground and then on her hands and threw the water up into the air, droplets spinning out in all directions. “For and with this water we give thanks for our food and for our lives”. Lavengro, taking Vi’s hands in his own and holding them up in the air, added “and for Vi." He clapped his hands and said, “let the feasting begin”.

There were purple figs, with their masses of red seeds gaping through slits in the skins, golden persimmons glowing in the light and fat dark dates. Stews flavoured with wild mushrooms, wild duck eggs, and a hot dry goat stew flavoured with red chillies vied with each other in the aromas they gave off. The Indian gypsies had provided mounds of sweetmeats, wrapped in the fine edible silver foil. There were baked apples with walnuts and cinnamon, desserts of wild damsons and jugs of ruby wine. The crowd fell to with a will and for a while, only the sound of people eating broke the silence that had descended over the glade.

At length, when all the food had been cleared away the crowd moved back to the camp for the music and dancing. As the feast was in Vi’s honour, Lavengro led her in the first dance – a slow, graceful dance involving lots of swirls, which showed off Vi’s costume. After that the dancing and music began to speed up and would get wilder later on. Carpets had been dragged out of the wagons and colourful cushions were piled up so that the non-dancers could sit and watch the fun.

The Enchantress was one of the first to get up and dance and looked stunning in her blue dress from Pandora’s wardrobe. Anita Marie had decided to wear her skin-tight black leather “Avengers” cat suit with black high-heeled boots, which unfortunately hindered her dancing as they stuck in the earth. Gail was wearing a flowing multi-tiered red skirt, a black top, gold hoop earrings and soft black shoes that seemed to be moulded to her feet. Karen was dressed in wood green and had garlands of wild flowers twisted in her hair. Monika, the hermitess, wore a pumpkin coloured gown with necklaces of seeds and Traveller wore a dress of green and purple, echoing the fluorite necklace she wore.

The musicians played their assortment of pipes, drums and stringed instruments until people could dance no more and their voices had grown hoarse from singing. Many hours later when the fires had burned down to embers the last musician wiped his violin and, wrapping it up in a soft cloth, walked slowly back to his wagon. A dog barked once and it, too, lay down to sleep.

Duwamish chronicle

2005-11-26T11:40:00.000-08:00

Last night saw the annual celebration of the festival of lights, this time in the gypsy camp. Travellers from all points of the compass had assembled and Vi was the guest of honour to celebrate her recovery to good health.
Residents of Duwamish commented that this particular festival had produced some of the best music that had been heard for years. The local food suppliers complained that the shelves had been swept clear as if a horde of locusts had descended on the town but they happily jingled the resultant coins in their pockets. No arrests had been made although there were reports of very curious smells emanating from the woods. Sales of violins had apparently also increased.

Festival of lights and more

2005-10-21T07:13:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone
Gail has been planning a Festival of Lights in the Gypsy camp and we agree that while it may not be Vi's birthday on Nov 1 we will simply celebrate her good health, along with others who have not been well and are still here to
celebrate.

This time last year, as many of you will recall, we had the ravens up on Soul
Food looking out for Vi. I sent a host of them out from the rookery and the
good news is that you are well Vi. So we will save the birthday celebrations
until the 22 when you have your birthday Vi.

Now the festivities are going to be quite substantial. Here is a sneak preview
of just some of what is planned.

1. A special trip to the Isle of Ancestors for November 2nd. Folk will be taken on a night ride, leaving from the camp, to meet the Ferrywomen who do this trip.

2. Halloween Party in the camp. There has been a lot of planning and the aim is to have everyone come in costume and do a presentation. It can be something borrowed so don't get stage fright but remember, Soul Food's main purpose is to provide a stage for you all.

3. Show off projects like the Altered Book for Frida Kahlo that Gail has been doing. See Baba's Soul Day to view this project.

4. A Footprint Challenge - to create a footprint for a friend or ancestor who
has greatly influenced you and your creative work.
See http://www.dailywriting.net/FootprintChallenge.htm to see some samples of things people have done on shoe insoles.

5. Muse giving! Thanksgiving is such a lovely festival. We don't have it in
Australia but I have often had a Muse Giving at this time of the year and
encouraged people to offer things that people might be interested in doing. For example someone might ask the Amazon Queen to take them to the Reflective Lake and leave an offering for the muse.

and so much more. It is all beginning. And then there is the Advent Calendar in December. My goodness! And I am supposedly retired.

love to all
Heather

Lemurian archipelago - a visit to my own island

2005-10-21T07:06:00.000-07:00

The enchantress has waved her magic wand again and each of us now has an island in the Lemurian archipelago. Mine is called Laroc.

Yesterday I went to visit it. Alec, who had taken me to White Owl Island, very kindly agreed to take me there. As it happened it's close to where he had left some of his lobster pots so he was happy to take me as it gave him a chance to see if he had caught anything. The island is close to the mainland but not close enough to swim across to it nor to walk across the strand at low tide. It's small - you can walk round it in a couple of hours - but is home to a host of seabirds, a particularly rare vole and masses of wild flowers. There is only one small pebbly cove and a single white painted cottage with blue window frames sits huddled up under the cliff for protection from the occasional spells of bad weather.
Alec dropped me off and said he would return for me, after having checked his pots. The pebbles scrunched under my feet and brought back childhood memories of one particular Easter seaside holiday.

My parents had rented a holiday cottage at a place called Bee Sands on the North Devon Coast. We were quite a houseful with my parents, my younger sister and brother, three of our cousins and me. I must have been about 12. The cottage was right on the beach, which was a shingle beach. I remember that the weather was not particularly kind to us but that didn't stop us from spending hours on the beach collecting shells, coloured pebbles and sea glass and returning to the cottage with our wellington boots full of water. They never had time to dry out before the next soaking and there was always a row of boots with newspaper stuck in them by the door. The cousins showed us endless card tricks and we spent a lot of time sketching. Cousin Robin went on to become a graphics artist and my sister is now a well-known watercolour and mixed media artist in the US. My brother and I, whilst we could both draw and paint, didn't possess the skill of our sister or of our cousin.

I looked down at my feet as I crossed the shingle and knew I could spend hours here, beachcombing, too. Coloured bits of glass caught my eye and I bent down to pick some of them up and tucked them away in one of my pockets. If I wrapped each piece in wire I could fashion a sort of necklace with them. I walked up the beach to the cottage and went in.

It was warm and dry inside. White painted walls and cheerful red and white checked curtains greeted me. There was a fireplace with a fire already laid in it, a table, a chair, a bed with a colourful patchwork quilt on it and a small cooking range. Someone must have been expecting me for the kettle was singing merrily on the hob and a china mug had been set out nearby. A stone jar, with a handwritten label marked "inspiration tea", contained a number of muslin bags with crushed dried leaves inside. I sniffed one but couldn't identify the smell. Even when I poured the boiling water over the little bag I didn't immediately recognise it. It was only when I had taken a couple of mouthfuls that I realised that it reminded me of cinnamon and chocolate.

A driftwood sculpture - a sort of figure I guessed to be a representation of the spirit of the place with seaweed for its "hair" - hung on the wall and there was a pile of driftwood in a basket near the hearth.

I carried the mug of "inspiration tea" outside and sat on the bench, leaning back against the cottage wall. It was warm in the sunshine and I nearly dozed off. I would endeavour to return here to spend a couple of days in writing and contemplation, if I could, before we moved off to the camp of the Amazon queen.

High above me the gulls carried on an incessant chattering and squabbling, the black and white guillemots were lined up against the cliffs facing each other in serried ranks and I caught the occasional glimpse of a puffin - or sea parrot as it is affectionately known because of its huge multi-coloured beak. The island was mined with rabbit holes which were also home to the puffins and you had to tread carefully if you did not want to end up with a twisted ankle from catching your foot in one of these holes. Sea pinks covered the cliffs in their green pincushion tufts and the coconutty smell of the yellow gorse wafted over me.

I could hardly believe it when I heard Alec's shout announcing his arrival. I rinsed the mug out and replaced it in the kitchen, closed the door behind me and walked down the beach to the little boat. Alec had two glossy blue lobsters in the bottom of the boat and was pleased with his catch. I too was pleased with my catch and the inspiration tea was already bubbling away inside me.

Traditional Irish wake at the gypsy camp

2005-10-21T07:04:00.000-07:00

All the travellers on their way to the Gypsy Camp are invited to take part in a traditional Irish Wake to celebrate the life of Megan's mother.

The dear lady will be celebrated with song, story and poems. The Gypsy Chief will sing the traditional Wake song The Parting Glass.

An Irish Wake is a joyous occasion, to give thanks for the life that was lived, and the time shared, with a beloved person.

All are welcome. Sing her on her way to Heaven!

Gail
In memoriam

the wheel of life spins slowly on and spinning takes us with it. At first it's slow, as a child you wonder whether you will ever reach the end of your journey. As the days flow into years and tens of years, the end approaches all too fast until you career like a rollercoaster towards the mouth of the tunnel and disappear in a flash of golden sparks, a catherine wheel that gives one final gaudy show and is then eclipsed.
Let us raise a glass and wish Megan's mother safely on her way to the other side.

Vi's Festival of lights the gypsy camp

2005-10-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

The next traveller's celebration day at the Gypsy Camp will be Vi's birthday on November 1.
I have just been down to the Gypsy Camp for a cup of tea, and they tell me that as November 1 is also Diwali, the Indian Festival of Lights, they will be hanging up lights through the trees and the
caravans in honor of the Goddess Lakshmi, who brings good fortune.

The Gypsy King has decreed that Vi will be a Goddess for her birthday and that it will be celebrated with lights - doesn't matter what kind, candles, stars, sunshine, sparkling gems, lanterns,
campfires - Vi will be bathed in the light of our love and respect for her.

It sounds like it will be a lovely night and though I know October 31/November 1 will be a busy time with all the activities planned, I hope you can make it.
If you want to know more about Diwali, try http://www.diwalifestival.org/

I'll be reminding you all again before the event. I have also posted this at the Gypsy Camp and L'Enchanteur.
In the meantime, of course, everyone is welcome at the Gypsy Camp at any time. Just loll around and listen to the songs and stories or share some of your own.

Party On!

Gail

Pearls

2005-10-21T06:16:00.000-07:00

There are 30 pearls on the string, uniform in neither colour nor shape. They slip through my fingers like a rosary as I chant my litany of memories. The 2 green pearls represent the envy I felt when my sister gave birth to the two children I could never have. The black ones represent the loss of loved ones. The irregular freshwater or baroque pearls - depending on how you look at them - represent the times that things didn't go according to plan and went completely pear-shaped and the brightly coloured, almost iridescent ones represent the wonderful holidays we have been lucky to have abroad in exotic places. I note with sadness that the black ones are more frequent now. In between are the plainer pearls untinged by sadness or excitement but happy nonetheless. I count my blessings.

Passing the time in Duwamish

2005-10-21T06:14:00.000-07:00

Sunday market day

2005-10-21T06:13:00.000-07:00

Hello Travellers
It is Sunday Market Day over at the Enchanteur's Island on the Archipelago and all passport carrying travellers are welcome to join in and participate freely. The Enchanteur has organised an Ozzie style bar-b-que and the Ferry Women are taking people across to show off their wares. Talent Scouts and Gallery owners will be there checking things out what is new and quirky.

So if you have a piece, advertisement, photograph or idea that you want to put up for travellers of the Silk Road to see make for the Island post haste. One blog per person please.

If in any doubt about the location of the Archipelago in relation to where you are in the realm check the map on the Grotto Blogger. It takes an hour by boat and five minutes by Raven. Pegasus does free rides on Market Day and if you say the right magic words he will come and take you.

Travellers from all corners of the realm will be making their way to the Island.

cheers
Heather

Gusari camp - just six places

2005-10-21T06:11:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone
You better get on your bikes folks because faucon is only offering six 'soundings'. Given how much work is involved, given his integrity I think this is an incredibly generous offer. So the first six to knock on his door will be the first to receive his soundings. The condition is that these people will have to report on this experiment to the rest of us on the Gusari Blogger. Seems fair to me don't you think?

Now no stampeding darlings!
cheers

Heather

Two weeks in Duwamish

2005-10-21T06:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Travellers
After having been on the road for eight weeks le Enchanteur has decided to let us stay in Duwamish for two weeks before moving on to the Lemurian Abbey for the performance in the banquet hall. By all accounts highwaymen have been marauding up and down the roads to the Abbey, kidnapping travellers and plundering and stealing things so it would not be a good idea to head down there for awhile. Hopefully they will get bored or the Amazonians will drum them out of the realm.

So make yourselves comfortable here and consider whether you want to set up a peddlar's cart and if you are up to the final part of the journey. The final leg will take you to the Abbey, to Baba Yaga's and on, by caravans, across the little desert, by camel, to the Amazon Queen's Camp. At the Amazon Queens camp there will be great celebrations and preparations for the 2005 Advent Calendar which will be released during the 25 days of December.

Of course, the two weeks in Duwamish will not be boring. There is a trip planned to the Lemurian Archipelago and faucon has some Gusari Magic that he is going to provide for those who visit the nearby Gusari encampment. Trust me! le Enchanteur is not going to miss the Gusari Camp.

Just as well the Abbey has been put back for a few weeks is all I can say.

Night now thrill seekers
Heather

Out and about in Duwamish

Hello Everyone
I am not sure what you are all up to, how you are filling in your time in Duwamish but there are lots of 'activities' to choose from.

Let's see: The Duwamish Curiosity Shop has opened in the Duwamish Cemetery. It is inside a Mausoleum with an amazing angel, rescued from New Orleans, gracing the door. http://catamid.blogspot.com/ The Curiosity Shop will be a most interesting place to visit if the creator of 'Duwamish', Anita Marie Moscoso is up to her usual tricks. And given the story about Ballast Island I figure she is firing on all cylinders right now.

Then we have the Gusari encampment in a glade not far from the Gypsies. Ken (faucon) is offering fabulous stuff for us about these ancient wanderers and is even offering, as a Gusari, to provide private reading. Too good to miss!
http://gusari.blogspot.com/ I will be sending out invitations to join this later tonight but first Ken and I have to get some links right so that you can read up on the Gusari.

Apart from this a boat ride is planned for later in the week which will take us past the eerie Ballast Island and on to the Lemurian Archipelago where travellers will be able to spend time being creative on their own magic island tops, in custom prepared boat style sheds.

And Hermitage Publications will be providing an evening at the inn and you will be able to learn more about what is offering from them.

Last but not least travellers who have not been to the Isle of Ancestors may just want to get to the ferry and go on this once in a life time journey.
http://isleofancestors.blogspot.com/ this is not something you miss.

Whooo whooo said the White Owl as she dipped her wings and flew back towards White Owl Island.

Cheers
Heather

Baba Yaga's handmaidens

2005-10-20T08:05:00.000-07:00

This picture sums up for me what we are as doorkeepers/handmaidens. The sculpture, by Auguste Rodin, is entitled the 'cathedral'. The hands are protective, enfolding, offering sanctuary. All who enter our doors will find peace from the world outside and inspiration for their lives.

White Owl Island

2005-10-20T08:02:00.000-07:00

Shortly before 4pm I picked up my swansdown cape and my little pouch and set off for the quay.

It turned out that Madame Livia had been in communication with the Enchantress while I was in her bookshop and, by some special arrangement between the Enchantress and the Magiratha, had managed to organise a trip for me to White Owl Island to meet the Magiratha. She had told me to be at the harbour at 4 o'clock and to look for a boat with a white owl painted on it. So here I was, punctual to the minute, looking around for the boat.

The little boat was easy to spot and I walked eagerly to the edge of the quay and announced my presence to the young fisherman in the boat. He told me his name was Alec and that he would take me out to the island. His mop of brown curly hair lifted slightly in the breeze and a huge smile lit his sun-burned face when he talked. I handed him 5 owlets - special coins with a picture of an owl on them - the price of my trip.

He pushed the boat away from the quay and we were off. I installed myself in the bow of the boat and wrapped my swansdown cape around me to keep me warm and dry. Although it had been warm enough on shore, now out at sea there was a distinct chill. The water was a deep blue with little crests of white. Tall cliffs loomed on our left and sea birds called to us as we passed.

We were in open water now and headed towards a small dot on the horizon. Alec increased the speed of the boat and we soon reached the cliffs of White Owl Island. He took the boat into a small cove with a small rocky quay at which he anchored and helped me to climb out of the boat. He told me to make my way up the cliff path and I would be met. He told me that he would be waiting for me when I returned.

I slowly walked up the path, not really knowing what to expect. I soon became aware of a whisper of wings in the air and looked up to see first one and then two and then three snowy owls hanging in the air above me. They greeted me with soft tuwit tuwhoos and their big yellow eyes gleamed like lamps in the now setting sun. As I neared the top of the path I could see the outline of a woman silhouetted against the sky.

She waited until I had reached the top and then took my hands in hers. "Welcome to White Owl Island. I am here to take you to meet the Magiratha (or Owl as she is also known). Please come with me." By now the sun had gone down completely and the sky was lit with the most fabulous sunset.

Glow worms started to light up along our path and the moon slowly rose in the sky, a bright orange harvest moon. I hadn't realised until now that there would be a full moon this night. I could still hear the whisper of wings and knew that the owls were keeping us company. We were walking along a path of springy turf, which I guessed would be home to a multitude of rabbits by day. The sky was beginning to light up as the stars came out. It was going to be an exceptionally clear night. The woman's warm hand squeezed my own as she urged me on. My heartbeat quickened.

At length we came to an elevation with a single stone in the middle and a rowan tree. Four priestesses were waiting. After a short ceremony during which the stone was anointed with honey and a star sapphire touched to my forehead I was led to the entrance of the labyrinth. I passed between the stones that form the entrance. I bore in my mind the thought that a labyrinth is not a maze. "It's more of a spiral. A journey with no false passages. No blind alleys. Walking in a maze we could be lost. Walking a spiral path requires only the knowledge that it is a path and not a maze. The road may curve. Directions may change. Sometimes we'll be walking the opposite direction for a while". After only a few minutes I emerged in the centre.

The White Owl was standing before me. I bowed before her holding my hands, palms upwards, towards her. The question I wished to ask her is hovering at the back of my mind. She said softly "I am a mirror to those who come through the winding way. I vow to be the sealer as well as the revealer. What is your question?"

"How can I make the most of this journey?" The owl gave me this blessing: "travel with your eyes and ears open. Listen to the wind. Be aware. Speak not only with your mouth but your heart. You will see much and you should spread the word of what you have experienced. Go in peace with the wind oh daughter".

I thanked her with all my heart and left her a handful of seed pearls in reconnaissance. Unnoticed, the priestesses had followed me through the labyrinth and now led me out, along the turf path and back to the small stone jetty where Alec was waiting for me. As he took me back to Duwamish the sun was just rising, streaking the sky with crimson, pink and gold.

"I will go where the wild goose goes, on wings of joy, winging ever south to my heart's desire."

North Star Studios and the bookshop of chaos

2005-10-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

I decided to visit the North Star Studios first. The blurb said that it was governed by Providence and that you had to make a wish. I was so busy wondering what I could wish that I bumped into the rickety garden gate knocking it right of its hinges. I immediately knew what my wish would be - I had the perfect gate at home sitting unused in a corner of the garden. I could wish its immediate transfer here, only after checking with the gallery owner of course, that such a gift would be welcomed.

I walked up the path through a truly exuberant garden and stopped to look in the window which was filled with mouth watering treasures - some raku sculptures, a magnificent ceramic torso and a Japanese doll. I couldn't wait to get inside.

The magic was upon me already. I stepped in to find a veritable Aladdin's cave of goodies ranging from wooden sculptures through glassware to jewellery, each piece more beautiful than the last. In a corner I found a silver horse prancing on a bed of uncut amethyst crystals. I just had to have that and duly asked the gallery owner if she would be kind enough to keep it for my return. It was only with difficulty that I tore myself away but I did want to visit the bookshop and the Wunderkabinett (the Old Curiosity Shop).

Madame Livia's Bookshop of Chaos was only a couple of blocks away. The doorway was very small and it was quite a squeeze to get in. Was the owner trying to discourage visitors from entering or leaving? Inside there were books everywhere, not just on the shelves but in tottering piles on the floors, a small table was completely hidden under a mountain of books and magazines and revues appeared to be in imminent danger of sliding off the chair on which they had been temporarily piled.

Madame Livia's appearance was as chaotic as her name. There was more than a hint of gypsy in her I thought. Her hair flowed around her in wild abandon and she was wearing the most exotic collection of jewellery - huge earrings, a veritable cascade of necklaces and bangles on both arms. In fact, she was wearing so much that the various bits of jewellery clinked against each other and tinkled like a myriad of bells whenever she moved. She wore layer upon layer of tiered skirts in a bewildering patchwork of colours and textures. I felt sure she must be related to Madame Eclectica in some way.

She scanned me shrewdly as I carefully made my way into the shop. "Greetings Traveller. Welcome to my little world of literary chaos". How was it that everyone in this land seemed to know my name? "Hello" I said and "thank you. Please tell me, how do you know my name?" "I can read it in your face" was her slightly unnerving reply. "You have been travelling for quite a while now and your adventures are leaving indelible traces on your face but only the aware can read them". I was beginning to think she must be related to Madame Rosa, the fortune teller, as well as Baba Yaga and all the rest and to suspect some sort of conspiracy. Were they all one and the same person but appearing in different manifestations in the different places we went to? I think I might have to have a quiet word with the Enchantress when I can finally nail her down. She seems to be so elusive these days.

I explained about the jigsaw puzzle map and asked her if she had any books on cartography. She told me to go and look under a dusty aspidistra plant in the back of the shop. "Would you like a cup of herbal nonsense while you are looking around?" she enquired. I replied that I would be delighted to taste a cup of herbal nonsense. She disappeared out to the back of the shop. When she returned a little later, Madame Livia was carrying a tray with two cups of herbal nonsense on it and a plate of fairy cakes. When I went to take one, the fairy sitting on the top of the cake flew off leaving a trail of fairy dust in the form of multi-coloured hundreds and thousands sprinkled on the top of the cake.

illustration of a fairy cake

The cake and the drink were delicious. "Do you know anything about White Owl Island?" I enquired casually as I drained my cup of herbal nonsense. "Indeed I do. Why, would you be interested in visiting it?" I told her what my research had turned up and explained that I was fascinated by these old rituals and would very much like to meet the Magiratha if that could be arranged. She told me she would see what she could do.

I continued browsing through the shelves which contained many interesting volumes. I picked up a book of beautiful floral illustrations and hastily put it back again when a picture of nettles stung me where I had been foolish enough to touch the page. I was lost in contemplation of some of the illustrations in another book when she came bustling back into the shop. "It's all arranged" she beamed, "you can go to White Owl Island this afternoon. Alec will pick you up at the quay at 4 o'clock." I thanked her and headed off to the Duwamish Inn as I still hadn't checked in, which I thought I ought to do if I was likely to be out all night. The Innkeeper recognised me from my very brief previous visit and showed me to my room on the first floor in the turret from where I had a wonderful view over the harbour.

Journey to Duwamish

2005-10-20T07:57:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in the garden at Baba Yaga’s when a raven brought me the invitation to spend a couple of days in Duwamish. My last visit there had been so short, hardly a visit at all as I was in a hurry to catch up with the rest of my group. In fact had had no chance to visit the Isle of Ancestors or even have a look round. I had also heard that there was a wonderful bookshop there and an art gallery.

It didn’t take me long to pack up my things and as they weren’t heavy and I knew that Duwamish wasn’t too far away I decided I would walk. I needed the exercise after sitting over my spinning and weaving for many hours at a time. There was an autumnal feel to the air as I set off. Fire tipped the leaves of the trees and cobwebs strung between the trees were hung with crystals, sparkling in the early morning sunlight, from the heavy dew. I saluted the spiders in their webs as I passed, now conscious of the invaluable work they do.

Eventually I came to the stream that I knew would lead me down into Duwamish Bay. The water chuckled and gurgled as it splashed down the rocky bed causing rainbows to dance in the spray. Altogether it felt good to be alive. Even the birds in the thickets along my way were singing their hearts out.

At length I reached the village and looked curiously around me, for it was the first time I would have had the chance to look around. Immediately ahead of me was a sign announcing the presence of 'Ye Olde Tea Shoppe' with the most enticing smells wafting out from it. I went in and chose a corner table near the window, from where I could view the comings and goings of people. After sitting down and ordering a pot of Earl Grey tea. I picked up several of the leaflets that had been left on the table. The first was a guide to the more interesting shops in Duwamish. The North Star Studios immediately caught my eye as did Madame Livia's Bookshop of Chaos. There was also something called the Enchanter's Wunderkabinett. I would certainly try to visit all three of these. The second leaflet bore a picture of a magnificent snowy owl and advertised private boat trips to White Owl Island, by special arrangement with the Enchantress. The third one advertised boat trips to the Isle of Ancestors. Duwamish was obviously a fascinating place and I wasn't sure I would be able to fit everything in. The White Owl Island trips only started in the early evening so I would have plenty of time to explore to my heart's content.

The prayer of the donkey

2005-10-20T07:56:00.000-07:00

O God, who made me
to trudge along the road
always,
to carry heavy loads
always,
and to be beaten
always!
Give me great courage and gentleness.
One day let somebody understand me -
that I may no longer want to weep
because I can never say what I mean
and they make fun of me.
Let me find a juicy thistle -
and make them give me time to pick it.
And, Lord, one day, let me find again
my little brother of the Christmas crib.
Amen.

From "Prayers from the Ark" by Carmen Bernos de Gasztold and translated by Rumer Godden

another article in the Duwamish Courier

2005-10-20T07:54:00.000-07:00

Much interest has been aroused in the corridors of academia by the recent discovery, in the Hermitage art museum, of a hitherto unknown manuscript. The precise nature of which is not known at this stage. There is no text but illustrations in a series of interlocking tiles reminiscent of a jigsaw puzzle. The central tiles, against a background streaked in silver, covered in intricate blue patterns appear to be Islamic but they are immediately juxtaposed to a section of a Christian stained glass window. Furthermore the inclusion of a tarot card from the notorious Alastair Crowley set (he was a renowned warlock) make this even more curious. What is the significance of the snake, a donkey unseating its rider, the woman in the boat and the old woman with bunches of flowers in her hands against a background of what appear to be bones?

The eminent "fictional art" historian, Dr Able Carol, has been called in to conduct investigations on the document but she is unwilling to make any comment at this juncture. It is hoped that carbon dating may at least prove whether the document is genuine or an elaborate modern hoax.

a magic map

2005-10-20T07:53:00.000-07:00

Just before I set out from Baba Yaga's to walk to Duwamish, Baba Yaga presented me with this map. "It's a magic map", she explained, "if the map falls into the wrong hands nobody will be able to read it for, as you can see, it is made up like a jigsaw puzzle and the pieces will move of their own accord into the wrong place. The blue pieces represent Mnemosyne Stream which will make anybody other than you forget they have seen it afterwards. Of course, when in your hands the pieces will always be in the right place. From the stream you will always be able to find your way". I thanked her profusely for this unexpected gift and tucked it away carefully. I wasn't expecting to have to use it, but you never know.....

News of forthcoming events and an update

2005-10-20T07:51:00.000-07:00

The Gypsies are having a celebration on September 27, in honour of Carol's 30th wedding anniversary. As this is the Pearl Anniversary, the theme will be pearls - offer your pearls of wisdom, wear strings of pearly shells, dress up as pearly Kings and Queens. We'll have the
barn doors down, Blind Murty is tuning up his fiddle, and the Gypsy Chief will be flashing his pearly whites.

Be there or be square!

Dear Gail
I really feel that what we need before the 27th - which is many days away - is for people on the road to all gather in the Gypsy Camp for a rollicking get-together. If everyone presents something, be it simply a tarot reading or a song, we can all have a jolly good time. More importantly I can snare some folk and send them along the road to where they need to be and to where they have not been. Otherwise I fear I am going to have to send out a search party for those who have been kidnapped by hooded riders.

So! Raid Pandora's costume box and get thee to the Gypsy Camp. The Gypsy Chief is waiting for your performance.
cheers
Sibyl

The party is really shaping up over at the Chamber of Horrors!

Visitors will be able to enter various rooms and hear stories about the Many Uses for Graveyards (these will surprise you) you'll learn about the history of Halloween and meet a Serial Killer who has taken on the most unlikely of disguises.

And are you brave enough to take a challenge brought to the Party by the Baba Yaga Herself? Try if you dare....

Theses are only the most recent offerings our many hosts have planned...stay tuned and we hope to see All at Halloween...you know NOT parts of you, ALL of you.

Anita Marie

Hello Hardy Travellers As the first group and the first to take upresidence at Baba Yaga's house I am about to invite you to a few blogs that will be associated with her house. There is the Golden Spindle out the back, which I have already included you in but now there are three new blogs to keep sure you don't rest - to keep you working your fingers to the bone. There is: Baba's Soul Day Celebrations for all the things you would find in South American market places during October and November. Baba's Boudoir which will be a bit of fun. Just imagine what kind of potions and spells, clothes and furniture, things stacked in her art draws. I am going to love the Boudoir. Baba's Handmaidens. Karen has done a profile for me and I am setting up a little corner at Soul Food and this will be where she can showcase stock, such as her maps, on her shelves. We have Anita Marie's curiosity shop as well and I plan to set up something for each of you - a gypsy page for Gail, Pandora's Box for Carol and so on. By the time we reach the Amazon Queens Camp the caravan we arrive in will be full of so many things to show the tribe. And you thought I had been quieter later. Quiet is dangerous! Usually it means I have been thinking.
love Sibyl

First, we are all heading down to Duwamish for a big gathering so that everyone is in one place. From there we will go to the Abbey and then on to Baba's or back to Baba's depending on where you are right now.
Word is travelling around the realm that there is to be a gathering of all travellers at the Duwamish Inn. Riders are coming to bring you from wherever you are located to stay for a few days in Duwamish - before heading to the Lemurian Abbey for a grand festival.

Some of you have been here before and I know you will be keen to revisit Duwamish and catch up with old friends like the Inn Keeper and the Ferry Women. You need to bring a special outfit, a wig, a mask, an act to perform before the Abbess, The Gorgons and the Amazon Queen who are said to be staying at the Abbey at the moment. I suggest you rummage in Pandora's Wardrobe to find the perfect apparel.

The Abbess is organising a banquet to celebrate your visit and she has asked me if you could perhaps do a poetry reading, a story telling session, a tarot reading, tell a fairy story or an old wives tale (wash her mouth out now)... oh I don't know. Some presentation of some sort that uses your distinct voice. It is a stage you see and I agreed because I figured you are all here because you are looking for a stage door, eager to walk out into the spotlight and be heard - as often as possible. You could just tell the people in the Abbey about a memorable experience on the road - or share a piece that you have written while here.

Shakespeare in the Golden Grove

2005-10-20T07:50:00.000-07:00

It is Winnie Cross's birthday on September 1 and I have set up a small Shakespearean Theatre for her in the Golden Grove. We want a crowd to be there on opening night so if you could sign in and post a comment or a congratulatory piece that would be wonderful
love
Sibyl

To flee, or not to flee: that is the question:
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the insults of angry Duwamish residents
outragèd by the nocturnal visitors
to their sceptored isle and from
that nether world
return once more to safety and the shore
and bid farewell to those brave ferrywomen
who, in their anger, all now have gone on strike?
Devoutly to be wish'd. To flee, to dream;
To dream: perchance to dream of that other world
wherein our heavy, mortal bodies lie.
Or ask wherefore we do desire to stay
in fair Lemuria, there to dwell
in pleasant creativity of thought.
To enter again that brave hermitage
where we have known such peace as cannot yet be found
here in our earthly lives unless we travel
to the flowing waters of the bath house
and, in sweet communion with dolphins bright,
wash all the cares away that wear us down.
Or quail before the Gorgon and prepare
a song or dance in which she might delight
and in return, each shall a gift receive:
a snake who will a true companion be.
No traveller returns, without that he
a visit to a nearby fountain makes
and in its healing waters seeks forgiveness.
But soft, who goes there? we hear a footfall
Of one who does approach for earnest speech,
us to the nearby gypsy camp to invite
where we, the lucky ones, will fortune find
inside the soft darkness of mad Rosa’s tent
for she will tell us what we need to know
and set us forth upon our path once more
when we will bless that fairest of enchanters
And sing Heather’s name aloud.

(this is almost, consonant for consonant, my version of the famous speech by Hamlet).

Pandora and Shakespeare

2005-10-20T07:49:00.000-07:00

One of the Enchantress' ravens has told me that a travelling Shakespeare company will be setting up in the Golden Grove on 1 September.

So, just to get you in the mood, I would like to invite you to delve in the costume box, choose something suitable and perform a favourite bit from Shakespeare's writing, whether it is an extract from a play or one of his sonnets. I know Heather is planning some suitably extravagant costume so why not come along and join the fun.
Wardrobe Mistress

Full Fathom Five

FULL fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Ding-dong.
Hark! now I hear them— Ding-dong, bell!

Wedding greetings to Faucon

2005-10-20T07:45:00.000-07:00

Wedding present

In a far away land called “HEARTH” (pronounced ‘Heart’, à la française), the wedding, deep in a woodland grove, came to an end. The lovers had plighted their troth and exchanged rings and had been blessed by the Rowan lady. Now it was her turn to address them. She handed them something wrapped in a woven grass cover, decorated with the last of the year’s thistle heads, already turning to thistledown. Inside was a dream catcher.

She explained to them thus:
"Hang the dream catcher above your bed so that it will catch any nightmares before they can disturb your sleep. But there is more. The circle represents the circle of your union and will contain all that you put into it. When you feel sad, it will comfort you and, if you hang it in a tree out of doors, it will sing to you as the wind plucks the strings, like an aeolian harp."

And so the couple lived their married life with all the usual ups and downs, moments of true happiness and moments of deep sadness. As the years went by the beads lost their bright colour as they faded in the sunlight and the feathers slowly drooped, lost their lustre and, one by one, flew away until only the strings remained. In later years, on sad days, they hung the dream catcher in the apple tree and the wind sang its songs of happier memories and replayed their dreams to them once more, thus lulling them to peace again, for their dreams had become forever entwined in its threads and no matter how threadbare their lives or the dream catcher became, there was always something there to give them heart.

Now you will feel no rain,
for each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
for each of you will be warmth for the other.
Now there is no more loneliness,
for each of you will be companion for the other.
Now you are two persons,
but there is only one life before you.
Go now to your dwelling to enter into
the days of your life together.
And may your days be good,
and long upon the earth.

(native apache wedding prayer)

dolphin bath and rumour have it

2005-10-20T07:42:00.000-07:00

Take you time and play with the Dolphins and visit that restless city Vi spoke of. We have a largish group going into the cave and coming down the road so we might just stay put until everyone has got here.
There is much to do. Gypsies to visit and baths to take and I do declare, I have heard a rumour, brought by ravens, that a Shakespearean Theatre has opened in the Golden Seed Grove. Stay tuned for details. It is scheduled to open on September 1. So dust off your good clothes, find a carriage and get yourself there. It is near the Lemurian Abbey. You won't miss it! The place will be aflood with candle light.
love
Sibyl
who is dressing for the opening.

a letter home

2005-10-20T07:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Mum and Dad,
You will remember that I talked to you of Lemuria when we last met. Well, a number of travellers, including myself, set off at the end of July from the Lemurian Abbey with Heather as our enchanting leader, on a creative journey. So far we have been to the Sybilla's grotto in Umbria, to the House of Serpents where we saw the fountain of forgiveness and performed for the Gorgon. She was so pleased with our performances that she gave each of us a snake to be our guides for the week that we were staying there.
From there we went on the most exciting night ride imaginable. I went to the tree of crystal souls.

We were then encouraged to go and visit Baba Yaga who lives in an extraordinary cottage perched on chicken's legs and surrounded by a fence of human bones, topped with skulls. Unfortunately, while we were staying with her we were all kidnapped and carried off to Koshchey's lair from whence we were rescued by 3 knights. We're now back at Baba Yaga's where we will probably stay until the rest of the travellers have caught up with us. In the meantime we are busy working on a tapestry along the lines of the Bayeux tapestry.

Rumour has it that a Shakespearian troupe will be setting up tomorrow so hopefully we'll get some good entertainment.

So far the trip has been quite extraordinary. The other travellers have had a wide variety of experiences - some delightful, some not so pleasant. Heather is an excellent guide and the enchantress is something of a hard taskmistress.
That's all for now,
love
Traveller
PS I hope to be trying out my skills as a cartographer

staying at Baba Yaga's

2005-10-20T07:39:00.000-07:00

Important Crossroad

By now you must think I am a crazy person. Invitations to join bloggers keep arriving and there seems to be no end to the journey. Well, I guess we all knew when we set out that it would take us a long time to get to where we were going. Of course it would help if anyone really knew where we will end up.

The good news is that the final destination is in sight. If you go and check out http://goldenspindle.blogspot.com/ you will learn that everyone is rescued from Koshchey the Terrible and that Baba has set up a special place where folk can gather together the things that they will carry with them in the Caravan that is to set out across the desert to the camp of the Amazon Queen.

When we finally arrive at the Amazon Queen’s Camp you will find it a bustling market place where people set up stalls and trade or simply enjoy the atmosphere of the place. Very exotic it will be. But first we need to pack things. You might put your prize pieces in Baba's Spinning place. You might weave some stories about the whole journey, make postcards, write travel articles, post photographs, display Tarot Cards, post sketches - it is up to you really. I am planning more sketches. My bath-house collection will be quite fetching I think. And then there is my Baba Yaga collection that I have to work on.

Ultimately, like the amazing Bayeux Tapestry which I saw in Bayeux France, we will have a story to tell and that, my dear friends is why we all clambered through that door, journeyed to the Abbey, explored Duwamish, visited the House of Serpents and so on.

Amazing really. Do you think there is another site out there, packed with as many exciting things as we have gathered?

So begin to consolidate, shuffle things around in your cases, prepare to pack, for we have a caravan to catch and miles to travel. Remember however, you do not have to keep up with everything. You are each initiates now so you have nothing to prove to one another or yourself. Just enjoy the adventure now and let what will be, be.
love Sibyl

Spinning and new travellers

Hello Folks
While some of us are working hard on Baba's Spinning Wheel there are quite a few folk wandering along the roads of this extraordinary world. Maybe we need to begin thinking about making some maps to show the way. I recall you doing something quite early in the piece Karen. Monika sent me a link and I drooled over this image
- golden spindle blogspot
There are some wonderful old cartography map sites with gorgeous things on them.

But I digress. It is my intention to have everyone stay here at Baba's for quite awhile. Baba's, as you have all gathered, is quite close, as the raven flies to the Hermitage, Duwamish, the Abbey and the House of Serpents so you can always go and visit those places whenever you like. And we all know those gypsies are camped nearby and the bath-houses in all these places are to die for. So just go on posting, writing, creating postcards, mail whatever takes your fancy really. Carol says she is sewing and I can imagine you embroidering something Leonie. Lois needs to get on with that spinning of stories of women and well, I have many sketches to do and things to write. The party over at Anita Marie's is really heating up and by Halloween we will all be in fancy dress and parading around in our best monster outfits. Too cool.
Now I will look and marvel as the magic happens.
Night now
Heather

Rescue

2005-10-20T07:38:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga was not amused when Koshchey the Terrible attempted to kidnap the talented women who had been working for her so she sent her three knights, the Red, White and Black and they found the place where Koshchey had enslaved the women and put them in front of golden spindles.

After a few harsh words the knights bought back the troupe, together with their spindles, golden thread and beads and they are now working near Baba's, spinning, preparing to head off on a Caravan expedition to the camp of the Amazon Queen where they will be able to display and perhaps sell their wares. Just one of the things that they are working on is a tapestry that details the journey they have undertaken to date.

Of course, by the time their caravan finally reaches the Amazonian Camp they will have even more wonderful stories to tell.

Sibyl Enchanteur

Knights to the rescue

So I started to weave the golden and silver apples in the hope that help would come. I had only just finished the outline when the door crashed open and a knight on horseback bounded into the room.

On the marble, black and white, chess-patterned floor in the hall, I could see two more knights lined up behind him and a few pawns hovering in the background. Dear life, I thought, what now. It seemed to me that I was living a fairy tale, something dreamed up by those dreadful but aptly named Brothers Grimm.

The Red Knight looked down at me and told me to gather up my golden spindle, thread and beads together with anything else I might have with me. Then he leaned down and hoisted me up on to the saddle in front of him.

Outside in the hall, I could hear the most dreadful altercation taking place as palace servants came running to see what was happening. The Red knight turned and yelled “oi, you two, stop that at once, this is no time for games, there are other maidens to rescue. The Black and White Knights looked up sheepishly; never ones to miss the opportunity for a game; they were in the process of setting up more of their pawns and positioning them on the hall floor. Reluctantly they packed them away again and started to give Koshchey a piece of Baba Yaga’s mind and he resorted to answering them back in a decidedly insolent fashion, but to no avail. The knights were simply not taking any nonsense from him. In desperation, Koshchey tried to summon his dreadful sisters in an attempt to keep his captives in his domain but the Knights simply switched them off. They were, after all, only holographic images projected on to the wall of the room and therefore not to be feared in the slightest. As the knights galloped out of the palace, the Red Knight turned in his saddle and called out to Koshchey “You will be hearing from us. We meet at dawn. Beware of the golden egg”. As they leaped up into the sky all we could hear was Koshchey gnashing his teeth in helpless rage.

And thus, we were returned to Baba Yaga’s fold, where we spent the next few days weaving another chapter into our tapestries of life and making things that we might be able to sell, en route to the camp of the Amazon Queen.

Kidnapped

2005-10-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

NO REST TONIGHT FOLKS

Hello Travellers
You have been working hard at Baba Yaga's and each night you have fallen into your bed, your doll close by for safe keeping, and slept the sleep of the dead. Frankly the Baba Yaga has been demanding and her work is never done.

Tonight, you just closed your eyes when you were started by what felt like the wind blowing in the window. Before you can gather your thoughts you are snatched by none other than Koshchey the Deathless who fancies you as 'a bride'. (He thinks you are competition Alex).

Poor Koshchey may not know what he is doing methinkums.
Not to worry. Baba Yaga and I do love a show.
All you know is that Koshchey has you and is taking you somewhere. Somehow you have to get back to Baba Yaga's if you are ever going to get to the Amazon Queen's camp. Or maybe not???
Sibyl

Kidnapped by THAT??? - more info
In ancient times there were palace run societies and common women were actively involved in cloth, textile industries. Women, often captured and kidnapped in raids, were hauled away to become captive slaves. They were not treated badly, not beaten or fettered but were employed in palaces and temples. Often they married local men and had children and were too encumbered to run away. Women worked chiefly in spinning and weaving, not for pleasure but as a part of a substantial industry. The palace manipulated business like an orb spider. It had a range of talented people in its web. You are taken because of your talent, to a palace and presented with a golden spindle, gold thread and beads. The looms have half finished cloth on them. Your task is to weave a story much as those who wove the Bayeaux Tapestries.
Help will hopefully come, to rescue you - but it may take time.
Sibyl

Kidnapped

After the long walk to get to Baba Yaga’s and the excitement of persuading the ants to separate the poppy seeds from the earth, I was ready for a little light refreshment. Baba Yaga put before me mouth-watering toasted teacakes, freshly churned butter and wild crab apple jelly together with a glass of elderflower cordial, but I had no sooner finished them than my head began to nod. Seeing this, Baba Yaga suggested it was perhaps time for me to get a little shut-eye.

She showed me into a minute room with a sloping ceiling, leading off the main room in the cottage. There was a small truckle bed almost hidden beneath a huge and colourful patchwork quilt. I climbed in eagerly and in minutes was sound asleep and dreaming.
Visions of trees softly blowing in the wind came to me and I seemed to float out of the casement window. A huge and ugly face peered into mine. “Got you at last” its owner growled. “I wanted you as soon as I saw you walking at the edge of Crypt Lake”. (Anita was right, I would have done better to have steered clear of that place but it was too late now). “And just who do you think you are and where are you taking me?” “I am Koshschey. You may have heard of me”. “I hadn’t, of course, not being familiar with Slavic fairy tales”. I felt Melita dig me in the ribs to indicate I should keep my mouth shut. “As to where I’m taking you, you’ll see soon enough. I intend marrying you three days hence”. This time I ignored Melita. “Marry me!” I spluttered. “You can’t possibly do that. I am married already”. “I care little that you may or may not be married already. That’s in your world, a thousand light years away from here and you’re in my world now and will do as I say”.

He spoke no more on the journey. I have no idea how long it lasted nor indeed by what method we travelled. I was aware of buildings in the far distance and, as we approached, I could see the onion domes on the tops of the buildings. We must be somewhere in Russia I thought, still in my dream. I’ve always wanted to visit Russia. We landed in front of a huge palace and he led me through vast doors into a marble floored room and then into the famous amber room. This is crazy I thought. This can’t be happening this room doesn’t exist; it was destroyed years ago. Yet the room seemed real enough. The walls were a warm golden yellow with intricate carvings everywhere. I have always loved the warmth of amber and I touched one of the carvings. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen in my life.

“I can see that you like this room. You will have plenty of time to admire it, this will be your home from now on, so you may as well get used to it” Koshchey said. “In the meantime” he continued," you can make yourself useful.” “Nikita” he called and a young peasant girl came into the room. “Give my future bride a golden spindle, some gold thread and some golden beads and show her how to weave a story.” With that, he turned and left the room, leaving me staring stupidly at Nikita.

“Weave a story?” I repeated, still dreaming, or so I thought.
I woke, burning with heat and threw off the bedclothes. But it wasn’t the patchwork quilt that I had had the night before. This was some fine soft golden fabric. I looked around me, appalled, as I realised that I was in the amber room of my dreams. “Melita” I called, “what has happened to me?” Melita’s soft voice answered me” you are in the palace of the four winds. You are to be married to Koshchey in three days unless we can find a way out of here. You had better do as he said and start weaving. It will take your mind off our predicament and it may turn out that what you weave will weave a magic of its own”.

I had never woven with a spindle, but Melita, who knows how to do such things, showed me what to do. She suggested I start to weave a picture of the golden apples of the sun and the silver apples of the moon as they have magical properties.

In the bath house

2005-10-20T07:34:00.000-07:00

Hello Fearless Journeyers

It will be at least next week before we take off to the Amazon Camp, but knowing the Enchantress we could get waylaid. Mercifully she is busy organising donkey rides to the House of the Serpents so that should give all of us time to consolidate. Of course, it is about right that we should end up with Baba Yaga herself but personally I have found her to be just like Mrs Hair, an elderly woman I loved as a child. Coming to Baba Yaga's has been a bit like returning to the Arches and sitting with Edna for a few hours. She was the only grandmother figure I knew and she was there on the Ancestors Isle along with figures I did not really recognise but just knew to be related to me.

Anyway, the Gypsies have clearly heard that we are here for they are camped nearby and Gail tells us are planning a night of song and dance. Perfect!

In between visiting the Gypsies take some time to write some mail or articles for the Raven Courier. You can always hire a Raven to take you up to the Hermitage and that lovely Art Room or back to the House of Serpents, to Duwamish for a visit to the bookshop or to those stables that provide horses for night rides.

The Bath House is a tiny bit sparse, my dears. I have prepared a special treat: A Remembrance Bath. Soak in a rosemary infused bath which will return to consciousness one of your favourite memories. During this time of consolidation, if you feel you have the time and energy to share this remembrance, please post it at the Bath House.
Many Thanks. Your bath awaits...Eclectica

A mosaic for the bath house

(I made this mosaic some years ago at a mosaic course)
I lay soaking in the rosemary bath in the recently opened bath house, run by the expansive Madame Eclectica.

It was just what I needed after a somewhat stressful day, spent running hither and thither and seemingly not achieving very much in relation to the effort expended. Here in the baths all you had to do was lie back and allow the water to wash away all the physical and mental dirt accumulated over the last few hours. It was bliss. The smell of the rosemary oil from the crushed leaves was intoxicating. I had been looking at one of the mosaics on the wall and drifted off into a dream. The mosaic was a modern copy of a very ancient original, depicting two fish. Pisces. My zodiac sign.

Pisces, oh pisces
where are you going
drifting along on the crest of a wave?
I´m going to see what my true love will bring me
when I greet him at dawn on the sands of the brave.
What will you wear my fine fishy friend
when you slip out on to the strand?
why, a tail of sorts,
no need for shorts,
and a starfish to put in my braid.
What will he give you, my sweet mermaid,
as he touches the shells on your breast?
why a necklace for sure, from the isle of the blest.
A necklace of coral, beyond compare
that he stole from King Neptune´s lair.
And what will you do in return?
I will give him the moon and the sun,
a garland most rich and most rare,
to wear for a year and day
for we may not meet
each to each for to greet
without the enchantress shall say.
Are you sad
are you glad
are you mad
are you bad
tempered?
I will temper myself as hot steel
and cool my heels
in the shallows
until Lethe allows
our return.

Soul hand

2005-10-20T07:33:00.000-07:00

Hello Everyone
There is something to do http://babayagas.blogspot.com/ while you are in the Baba Yaga's house. Of course, not everyone is there yet.
love Heather
Trace your hand and create a soul friend who will do your bidding

Baba Yaga

2005-10-20T07:31:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga - In the courtyard at dawn.

Everyone gathers, expectant, surprised that we have to go back to the House of the Serpents by foot. The Enchantress comes and tells us all that our guide is the doll she is giving each of us. (Find a doll or make one) Her final words are to use the things we had in our bag, the one she gave each of us at Duwamish and that if we should lose our way, or be in need of help, all we have to do is ask the doll what to do. She says that the doll will assist, that we must keep her with us at all times, that we must not tell anyone we meet about her and that we must feed her when she is hungry and give her drinks if she is thirsty. She tells us that it will be quite a few days before we reach the Camp of the Amazon Queen.

Amazon Queen? But what about the House of Sssserp....?

You greet your doll and introduce yourself and when you look up again everyone has gone. What is it with everyone rushing off like this? The doll says that you have to go through the woods and ask the old lady who lives by the lake the way to the Camp of the Amazons. She assures you that she will know how to get there. Having read all your fairy stories you realise that going to ask the Baba Yaga anything could prove interesting.

Baba Yaga is the fearsome creature, the crooked woman whose nose is hooked like a bird of prey. Her name means 'to know, to see, to foresee' and she is the seer associated with the moon crescent. The Baba Yaga has the power to transform herself into a myriad of shapes, often a toad, sometimes a hedgehog, frequently a bird. The Baba Yaga is often depicted as an evil old hag who eats humans, especially children, but she is known by many to be a wise, prophetic old woman. In appearance she is tall, bony legged, pointy headed and has dishevelled hair.

Worse the doll informs you that the hut she lives in has a fence around it made of human bones and topped with human skulls and eyes intact. The gate is fastened with human legs and arms instead of bolts and a mouth with sharp teeth serves as the lock.

According to the doll, who seems to be a fount of information, one person who lived to tell the story said that "she commands the sun and it obeys her, she changes the stars in their course, she causes clouds to form in the air and makes it possible to walk on them and travel the country. She can turn herself into a young woman and then, in a twinkling of an eye turn herself back into an old woman. She has the power to turn a man into an animal and she likes to move freely along roads and valleys and over mountains. Her business is to cast spells, gather herbs and stones, make pacts and agreements."

Right! You think. If this is the only way to get to the Amazon Queen’s camp....

You check your bag for the journal, sketch book, spectacles with fairy qualities of sight, anchor, unicorn talisman etc and find someone has added a card with the address http://babayagas.blogspot.com

You head down the mountain, over the bridge that Heather sketched, past the mill and the gypsy camp, which is silent now bar for a barking dog.

Document your time with the Baba Yaga who, of course, sets you tasks before helping you to reach the Camp of the Amazons where the Queen will greet you warmly and be anxious to hear about your journey. Do remember to send any art work by courier raven to the Hermitage Art Room for Leonie to display - when she is there and not at Baba Yaga's place.

Your tasks will appear on the Baba Yaga site or by mail.

In the courtyard at dawn

After a mere cat’s lick of a wash and a mug of tea, hastily swallowed down, I went to join the others in the courtyard as instructed. I just had time to say farewell to Hiss who gave me a beautiful little carved wooden snake which, he told me, might come in useful one day, if only to remind me of the few days we had spent together.

The Enchantress came to greet us and told us that our guides would be the dolls she was currently handing out to everyone. Her parting words were that we should use the things she gave us when we first set out on this trip and, if we need any help, we should ask the doll. She proceeded to give us further instructions about the doll and informed us that it would be quite a few days before we reached the Camp of the Amazon Queen.

What the **** I thought we were supposed to be returning to the House of Serpents, not gadding off to God knows where, when we’ve only just got here. She’s a hard task mistress is our Enchantress.

My hand wrapped itself comfortably around my bad angel. She fits neatly into the palm of my hand. She’s been carved from some honey-coloured stone. I have no idea how old she is. She is also accompanied by a doll. Perhaps it’s meant to be a symbol of myself holding my doll?

I told her who I am. She smiled and told me that “Traveller” was a good name for me. She introduced herself as Melita and the doll as Comino. I was tempted to ask her about her doll but decided that it might not do to ask possibly indiscreet questions at this stage. I was so engrossed with our conversation that when I next glanced up, there was no one else in sight. I was completely alone. Now where had they all gone? Gail and I had only just started reminiscing about childhood books and obviously had lots more to chat about and now everyone seemed to have gone off and left me.

Melita touched my arm and reminded me that she was still there. She told me that we would have to go through the woods and ask the old lady who lives by the lake (did she say it was called “Crypt Lake”?) the way to the Camp of Amazons. As an afterthought she told me the name of this old lady – Baba Yaga. I nearly fainted. Without taking any notice of my malaise she continued to regale me about Baba Yaga. I knew a fair amount already but what she added did nothing to reassure me. Baba Yaga’s house – a hut on chicken’s legs – sounded as if it had been put together by a pantomime stage set designer high on magic mushrooms. He wasn’t the only one I thought grimly as snatches of Mussorsgky’s music entitled “the hut on legs” from the Pictures at an Exhibition suite floated through my mind. Very disturbing pictures they were too, if I remembered right. I was not at all reassured.

I assumed that, yet again, we had little choice in the matter and the Enchantress obviously knew what she was doing (?). I checked the contents of my bag again and found a visiting card with an internet address on it for Baba Yaga. I would have a look at that website next time I came across a computer to see if it would provide any clues as to what I was letting myself in for.

I headed down the mountain, past Heather’s bridge and the old mill, with its wheel turning with a splash of water. Out past the gypsy camp, so full of life the previous night but now silent. A dog barked in the distance.

The first part of the route was easy going over level pastureland dotted with summer flowers reminiscent of the high Swiss Alpine pastures and I walked knee deep in perfumed waves. Bees buzzed in the sunshine. As we walked Melita filled me in on some of the more unpleasant facts she knew about Baba Yaga. It soon became apparent that they knew each other quite well although Melita refrained from telling me how they had first become acquainted.

From time to time we stopped to refresh ourselves at streams as we came across them and nibbled some of the fresh rolls cook had put in a red spotted handkerchief for me to bring on the journey. I would miss her tasty offerings.

I hadn’t taken much notice of our surroundings until I realised that we had been slowly climbing and were now approaching the edge of the plateau. I looked down and saw below me a bright green lake with steam rising from the surface. It looked an idyllic spot but Melita turned me away saying, “that is not the lake of our destination that is the lake of lies. Its beauty hides poison in its depths. Anyone who seeks to quench their thirst in it will perish”.

She led me down a side track, through a wooded copse and we came out on to a valley floor covered with stones and sparse bushes. The mountains in the distance had snow on them.

“This is Crypt Lake” said Melita and indeed I had never seen such a beautiful but desolate place and a cold wind nipped suddenly at my ears. As we walked along the valley floor we came across a notice board stuck in the stones with

TRESPASSERS WILL

written on it. Trespassers will what, I wondered, looking more closely to see if I had missed something. And I had. Down in the bottom right hand corner were three letters PTO. “Please turn over”. I walked round to the other side of the notice and the message now made much more sense

BE:
GRILLED
PICKLED
ROASTED

Tick where applicable.

I took out my pen with the everlasting ink and marked a large cross next to the first option. It was just possible that someone was playing mind games and "grilled" didn’t necessarily have any culinary connotations.

“Well done” said Melita, nodding approvingly. “We’ve no time to waste now, we must get to Baba Yaga’s cottage before nightfall or else it will be the wolves making a meal of us”. She started to walk so fast that I had difficulty keeping up with her. As we rounded the bend in front of us, the sight before our eyes was so incongruous that I came to an abrupt standstill. There on a patch of beautiful greensward – totally at odds with its surroundings – was a fence made of bones with skulls perched atop. But it was the cottage that really took my breath away. No ordinary cottage this for it seemed to have legs. As we approached, the legs stood up and the cottage waved somewhat shakily in the air as it leaned towards us, as if it was trying to get a better look at us. “It knows we’re here” said Melita, rather stating the obvious. “Now just remember what I told you about the food”.

We went through the little gate and I tried to make myself as thin as possible to keep out of range of the sharp teeth that formed the gate posts. I didn’t fancy being someone else’s meal. A rope ladder was let down from the front door of the cottage, now high above my head. “It’s alright, up you go” said my companion, “but just to make sure, I’ll go up first and give you the all clear”. So saying, she climbed the ladder with, what I thought, remarkable agility for a stone carving. Inside the cottage, the floor sloped dangerously and someone was desperately trying to prevent the crockery from cascading off the table. “Down” said a stern voice, and immediately the cottage began to descend slowly and somewhat unevenly as the legs folded themselves up again, hitting the ground with a slight bump.

“Greetings Melita, I see you have a traveller with you” said the owner of the stern voice. She was old, "as old as the hills" one might be tempted to say, for the wrinkles of her face had formed a most dramatic landscape in which her eyes were the merest twinkles of light in the shadows on a river at the bottom of a valley. Her nose was a jagged escarpment and her mouth a cavernous crater. Her hair resembled a hedge with an assortment of wild plants twining through it. Old man’s beard held sway amongst the hop vines and berries of red bryony adorned her ears. Her clothes were made of leaves bound together with grasses and on her feet she wore the husks from a horse chestnut tree, once summer green but now autumn hardened. “The spikes help keep my feet dry” she explained as if I had asked the question.

“But I haven’t introduced myself yet,” she said. “I am Baba Yaga and you are?” “My
name is Traveller and and thus I do” I replied. “Well, “she said, “you must be a little hungry by now. What was on the menu tonight? Let me see, grilled, pickled or roasted. Which is to be?” “Grilled” I replied hurriedly, hoping I had guessed right. ”Oh, so you want to be grilled do you, my fine friend. In that case, who are you really and who sent you here?” she shot her questions out like machine gunfire. ”I really am a traveller” I started, beginning to think a bit more about who and what I was. “When I first joined the Lemurian Abbey I was travelling in search of something although I wasn’t quite sure what it was I was looking for and since I was doing a lot of travelling at the time, the name stuck in preference to my other world name. I’m still travelling but of late, it has been more in my imagination. I started out with a group of people, most of whom I have still to meet as we keep getting separated, but that’s another story. We are on our way to the camp of the Amazon Queen and I’m told that you can perhaps point me in the right direction”.

A long silence ensued while she digested my reply. "If I tell you how to get to the camp of the Amazon Queen, in return, will you do something for me?" she asked. "Somebody has mixed earth into my poppy seeds and I haven't the time to sort them out for myself. Perhaps you could do that for me?" Before I had a chance to reply, she continued "just go back down the ladder and you'll find them in a basket at the bottom of the steps. You can throw the earth away of course, but please put the seeds into this handkerchief".

I climbed down the steps and Melita came with me. "How on earth am I supposed to do this?" I asked. "Oh, that's easy," she replied. "The ants will do that for you. All you have to do is ask them to help you." We set off to explore the garden to see if we could find any ants and finally found some busying themselves in a clump of poppies in the corner of the garden. "Go on, don't be afraid" encouraged Melita.

"Ahem" I started. "My name is Traveller and Baba Yaga has told me that I must separate the earth from her poppy seeds before she will tell me the way to the Camp of the Amazon Queen and I was wondering if you could help". Big intake of breath as I had uttered this request without taking one. Ant Number Two (ANT) looked up at me. "What will you give us in return?" Oh help, I thought, now I'm really stuck. But again Melita gave me the answer. Tell them you will give them the rest of the rolls Cook gave you. That should be sufficient. Ant Number Two decided that this was acceptable. "Bring the handkerchief and the basket over here, tip the contents of the basket on to the handkerchief and we will do the rest for you". I did as instructed and watched in amazement as hundreds of ants swarmed out from under the poppy plants and began to carry away the earth leaving just the tiny black seeds on the handkerchief. In no time at all there was not a speck of dirt remaining. I broke the rolls into tiny pieces and laid them on the ground for the ants to carry away to their lair and triumphantly carried the handkerchief of seeds back up the ladder where I restored them to their owner.

"Thank you, Traveller, that was well done", said Baba Yaga warmly. "Now I can get on with preparing for the next planting". "It has to be done when the moon is right, you see, and that is tomorrow. I'm so glad you came along".

Gypsy camp

2005-10-20T07:28:00.000-07:00

Meanwhile Luna (in the Hermitage) heard the call of the gypsies who are camped in the glade by the creek below the Hermitage.
When the moon is full tonight make your way to the camp http://lemuriangypsies.blogspot.com and check out what Gail Kavanagh is offering.

When you get to the camp a gypsy offers to do a Tarot reading for you and you cannot resist.

She asks you a question and lays the cards on the table.

Tell us about the night in the Gypsy Camp and your reading. These can be posted in the Enchanteur Blog until we get everyone joined up to the Gypsy Camp.

Make the most of your final days here but remember that you can and should keep contact with our gracious host, Monika the Hermitess. Who knows, she may choose to walk some paths with us.

love SibylVisit to the gypsy camp

I had only just got back to my room when there was a tap at the window and the raven that had brought me here was on the ledge outside. I opened the window and the raven hopped in and settled itself on the table. I saw at once that it had something tied to its leg. I untied the piece of grass holding a leaf on which had been written the following:
“Gypsies encamped in the magic glade. Midnight. Be there or be square”. So I was to be spared the trials and tribulations of a performance and a visit to the gypsies sounded like a great way of spending the evening. Perhaps there would be some dancing. Perhaps there would be some magic. Who knew?
I went back downstairs and found the hermitess. How was it that she always seemed to be around when I needed something? “Follow the path past the willow tree and then down into the valley. You will find the gypsy encampment by the stream. Enjoy yourself”. I thanked her and made my way along the path she had indicated. It wound down the hill through a forest of beech trees, moonlight dappling the leaf mould on the floor, and glow worms placed at strategic intervals lit my way where the trees overhead were so thick that no moonlight streamed through. The path must have been longer than I thought for by the time I got to the bottom I was quite warm. Ahead of me I could see the light from the fires. Someone was playing a violin – a lively, swirling dance and as I approached the fire I could see a couple of gypsies dancing, with wild abandon, in the clearing, their forms silhouetted against the fire which crackled and roared as more combustible stuff was thrown on it. The flames leaped higher and higher and cascades of sparks like fireworks burst up into the sky. There seemed to be other people there other than myself and the people who were obviously gypsies, probably the other visitors to the hermitage.

A gypsy woman came up to me and touched me softly on the arm.

“Want to know what your future holds?” she asked. Now, if there is one thing I have always wanted it is to have my fortune told. So, of course, I went with her into a tent, set a little apart from the rest of the encampment. We both sat down and she started to shuffle the cards. She laid them out on the table and told me to choose four and to turn them over so that we could what I had chosen:
Failure. The High Priestess. Abundance. The Chariot.

The gypsy sat still for a while contemplating the cards. She was silent for so long that I began to fidget and I was beginning to feel just a teeny weeny bit uneasy.
“So, you have met the High Priestess. She is the one who has set you on your journey and who keeps watch over you. The chariot is your means of transport. In your case your journal is your chariot for it is the writing in your journal that transports you into other lands and which, at the same time, carries you forwards. Abundance you will find all along the road. You only need have the eyes to recognise it when you come across it. The last one, failure, is more difficult.” I had started to relax with the first part but now I sat bolt upright again. “Failure or defeat, it depends which way you look at it. You have already encountered failure so it may be that defeat will be yours. Not to be defeated but to defeat someone or something. The time has not yet come”. She took my hands in hers, lightly following the blue tracery of veins on the backs of my hands. Then she turned them over and touched the lines in the palms of my hands. “A long and happy life, my dear. Walk with spirit and you will find your truth”. She stood up, indicating the audience had come to an end and moved her hands through the air, clearing the energies in the tent. My head felt muzzy and I half fell half stumbled through the tent flap into the cool air outside. Dark figures were still twirling around the fire and the violin was still being played with vigour but I felt changed in some way and charged.
I walked back up the hill to the hermitage, turning round once to see the flames burst into life again as someone threw another log on to the fire and wondered.

When I got back to my room I found a message waiting for me.

Hello Travellers
Don't over indulge down in that Gypsy Camp will you? I plan to have my Tarot read while I am there and I hope to get time to post the results.

The Amazonian Group have headed off for the Isle of Ancestors. They will soon be down at the River catching Ferry Boats. You will remember that journey well. Personally I don't believe Heather has been the same since she went there and she is still wearing the coat.

We will be leaving at dawn. Make sure to rug up and put your walking boots on because we have to head back to the House of the Serpents on foot and it is going to take us a few days to get there. I am told the guide is good and will take us via Crypt Lake which Anita Marie discovered on her way here.

Now be ready at dawn. Will meet you in the Hermitage Courtyard.

Sibyl Enchantress

Settling in at the Hermitage

2005-10-20T07:26:00.001-07:00

Actually! It is timely to break the news that everyone is going to have to make themselves comfortable in the Hermitage for at least a few days. Wild storms down the valley are causing havoc and mud slides mean we will be stuck here for awhile. Even the Amazon riders are not going to head back to camp. I fled up here on a Raven's back after I sang to the Frog Goddess and her waters broke. The rivers are swirling and flooding and we really must stay on high ground. Even the House of the Serpents is not secure for the moment and residents have been seen leaving for higher ground.
So! If folk want to sign up for an artist retreat while you kill time just let me know and I will sign you up to the Hermitage Art Room - which is the new name for the old Soul Food Cafe Art Room. All the archives of the old group will remain but it will be refurbished and given fresh life.

The first project is to photograph, sketch, collage, sculpt, and paint something for the Hermitage. You might walk along that lovely beach path and find a spot or sit quietly in some part of the Hermitage. Feel free to get out and about and explore.

While you all do that I am going to set about setting up some more venues, will weave some more of my spider web. I have made myself a big list and should be sorted by the time the storms clear and the rehearsals are over.

Now Sibyl! Would you get out of that bath-house and make yourself useful darling. There are rehearsals to supervise and...

love Heather

Hello Everyone
Word has come through that the paths are passable and we will leave the Hermitage after the rehearsals have finished. The Amazonian Campers will be leaving for the Amazon Queen's camp, while the Cave of the Enchantress group will be wending their way back to the House of the Serpent for more festivities. Instructions about departure times will come through soon and you must be ready to leave at short notice.

Before leaving make sure to visit the Hermitage Art Room which Leonie Bryant is looking after and have a bath in the expansive bath-house. We should have Karen's bath-house page up soon.

Visit to the Hermitage

2005-10-20T07:26:00.000-07:00

Everyone in the Cave of the Enchanteur heard the commotion, the clatter of hooves as the riders came into the cave ready to take newly arrived residents to the camp of the Amazon Queen. Mares waited with stable women and a party of twelve is now riding the night skies towards the Lemurian Hermitage, which has only recently been occupied by a hermit. The Hermit has agreed to provide residence and will allow travellers to rehearse their performance for the Amazon Queen within the sanctuary of the Hermitage.

Given that, as the Raven flies, the Hermitage is not far from The House of Serpents, some willing Ravens, from the Rookery, have kindly offered to provide safe passage for those who wish to visit the Hermitage and join the fun as people pull out costumes, wigs and masks and strut their stuff.

Please let me know if you want to book a flight and I will reserve a room for you at the Hermitage (sign you in as a guest). You will be able to join in and participate during rehearsals. Alas, the Queen of the Amazons is only able to accommodate one party at this stage but I am negotiating a visit after we leave the House of the Serpents.

The hermitage

OMG did I really not read the small print before signing the contract for my ticket to the hermitage - another performance. I really wasn't prepared for that. Obviously not only a visit to the dressing-up box was required but also a consultation of the instant-party-piece-box.
I decided I would travel to the hermitage by raven this time. I had to think carefully about which hermitage we were going to – not the one in St Petersburg (Russia) - one of the world's greatest museums but to the one which is home to the Amazon Queen.
In my new guise of thieving magpie, I exchanged my swansdown cape for one of magpie feathers. Since ravens and magpies belong to the same family perhaps I would have to revise my view of magpies as being the killer whales of the bird world (for their habit of stealing eggs and killing baby birds for food). My feathered cape was quite spectacular as it was made of wing and tail feathers of a dark green/blue hue and a lustrous sheen. We flew through the night sky, dark with storm-threatening clouds and no moon that night. My raven guide assured me that that wouldn't be a problem as the
Hermitage was only a couple of miles away as the crow flies. What a strange expression. Does anyone know the origin of that expression? And how appropriate for my present situation. After a short flight my raven set me down on the gravel in front of the main door. I pulled at the chain to ring the bell and hearted it clang somewhere deep inside the building. The door opened, seemingly of its own accord and I stepped forwards into the entrance hall.
A tall lady came forwards to greet me. “You must be Traveller, I have been expecting you”. I followed her into a large hall with a minstrel's gallery running around it. Tapestries hung on the walls and there was rush matting on the floor. Tall vases filled with bulrushes stood in the corners. There was a stained glass window on one side through which the light streamed casting rainbow patterns on the floor. A delicious smell of cooking floated up from somewhere. “I will show you to your room and then you can join us in the refectory for a snack before I show you the dressing-up box”. Oh help, I thought. I’m really going to have to put in some practice for this next bit.
She showed me to a turret room with views over the fields and woods. There was a smell of something woody in the room and I noticed that a small bunch of wild flowers and herbs had been tied together and hung on a hook near the window. After giving me directions to the refectory, she left me to get settled. It didn’t take me long to sort out my things so I followed my nose to the refectory, down a number of winding corridors with ceilings so low that I had to stoop to avoid hitting my head. The walls were covered with whitewash and a number of pictures adorned the wall but I didn’t pay these much attention. My stomach was more interested in the prospect of food.
When I got to the refectory I found that a place had been set for me at the table, but seemingly I was to dine alone. There was a wooden platter, a mug and a jug of some frothy liquid which, on closer inspection, turned out to be cider – my favourite. I helped myself to the bread and cheese. Replete after my snack I considered my situation. I thought that some of the other travellers were here as well but the hermitess had made no mention of them and I hadn’t heard or seen anyone else since my arrival. Very strange I thought.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the hermitess herself. “Come along now, we need to find you a costume. Come with me to the costume box”. I duly followed her out of the refectory and outside into the garden. We walked until we were out of sight of the hermitage itself and came to a greenhouse. She opened the door and motioned me to follow her inside. “This is where we grow the costumes”, she explained as she showed me rows and rows of costumes seemingly growing at a rapid rate. Each was tied to the sort of canes you see in vegetable plots and as the costumes grew, they were tied for support to the canes. Some had only just started and others were obviously nearly full-grown. “Choose any one that you like. Whichever you choose will fit you so don’t worry about size. You will need these special golden scissors to cut it off the plant”. She bent down and showed me where to cut the stem of the plant at a point just above a bud. Thus a new costume would grow when I cut mine off. “You will find various accessories on the shelves, take what you want”. I had a vague memory of someone saying something about mediaeval costume as a group of troubadours was supposed to be stopping off at the hermitage. I wandered up and down the rows until I stopped at a silky red dress, with flared sleeves edged with blue brocade with a white under sleeve.

I touched the fabric, imagining how it would move with me when I walked. I hesitated a moment longer and then bent down to cut the costume carefully off the plant. She stood watching me as I slipped the dress over my head. ”You see, it fits you perfectly and it’s just the right colour for you. I think the gold crown and the golden cords plaited into your hair would finish it off nicely” she said as she picked up these last items from the shelf. “I expect you will want some time to rehearse your piece so I suggest you take the dress off and go back to your room. I think the others are probably practising at the moment”. She’s right, I thought as I walked back to the hermitage for I could hear snatches of song and a few muffled curses….

Magpies

2005-10-20T07:23:00.000-07:00

One for sorrow, two for joy,
three for a letter, four for a boy.
I spy with my little eye
Something that glints with gold,
Something borrowed, something old
And something that someone surely will miss.
For I steal where I can – from a baby’s pram,
From an open window, a cluttered table,
A street, a shop, a garden – all have something to offer.
Jewels of a lady, beads from a child,
Shell from a snail, pebble from a path,
Words overheard in a tram -
all are grist to my little mill.
I line my nest; I hoard them away to gloat over.
I serenade them; turn them over with my beak
And add to my collection every day.

The Fountain of Forgiveness

2005-10-20T06:53:00.000-07:00

Hello Residents of the House of Serpents

This week the House of the Serpents celebrates The Day of the Serpents and visitors have taken the opportunity to have a private audience with the Gorgons. By all accounts this has been an amazing experience for everyone concerned although there are a few more songs to be presented.

Cook has made up large picnic baskets and guests are invited to enjoy a special luncheon on the banks of the Duwamish River. This is the river that winds down to meet the ocean at Duwamish Bay and by all accounts Anita Marie has stories to tell.

If you wear your spectacles and use the special ear piece you will be able to decipher the rustling of the leaves, hear what the gurgling waters have to say and talk to birds, insects, reptiles and animals.

While you are on this excursion be sure to get your serpent to help you find the Fountain of Forgiveness. It is said that if you drink from these crystalline waters you will find it in your heart to forgive an old grievance.

Upon return to the house spend some quiet time writing a letter of forgiveness.

Enjoy the days activities
S Enchanteur

The letters you write after drinking from the fountain of forgiveness do not have to be published anywhere. A news item about the day will be more than sufficient.

And I love the news flashes from Lois, Barbara and Anita Marie. The Raven Courier is filling with news. Fabulous.
cheers
Sibyl

In which Hiss and I visit the fountain of forgiveness and launch a krathong

The day dawned bright clear so, having nothing more pressing to do, Hiss and I set off to explore the grounds of the House of Serpents. I had been told that there was a fountain of forgiveness and I was interested to see what it was like. Not because I had anybody or anything to forgive, I didn’t think, but because this fountain was very old and was reputed to have healing properties. I knew it was quite a way away so I took some refreshment for myself. I regret to say that I didn’t pack anything for Hiss as I guessed (quite correctly as it happened) that he would be able to feed himself on the frogs near the fountain.
I had been told to follow a well-worn path through the woodlands to get to the fountain as it was a popular place and that I would have no difficulty recognising it from all the votive offerings hanging in the trees.

When I got to the fountain I sat down in the shade of a willow tree while Hiss went off to find a frog or two, ate my packed lunch and thought about things. I allowed myself to drift into a sun-warmed doze. I saw myself on a darkened beach launching my krathong onto the waves. Launching a krathong on moving water is a Buddhist idea. You make a krathong from a cross-section from a banana tree; attach flowers, foliage, one candle and three incense sticks. You light the incense and candles, place it on the water (stream or river) and push it off and it takes away all the bad things that have happened to you during the course of the year. I decided I would make a krathong and would put my letter of forgiveness on it and launch it on the little stream that flowed away from the fountain of forgiveness.

Having thus decided, I returned to my room in the House of Serpents to write my letter. Hiss confirmed that what I was about to do was a good idea and asked if he could add his bit in a PS at the end. He was feeling a bit guilty about the number of frogs he’d consumed recently. I waited until dusk had fallen to return to the fountain to light my incense and candle and send my krathong on its way. I watched it drift away until my eyes hurt with straining to see the ever diminishing flame in the darkness. Eventually all that was left was a faint aroma from the incense sticks.

I made my way in peace back to the House of Serpents.

Getting to know you

2005-10-20T06:51:00.000-07:00

Hiss and I get to know each other better - much to the consternation of some of the locals

Article in the Duwamish Courier

2005-10-20T06:50:00.000-07:00

Snakes alive!

The Medusa Fountain Court Banqueting Suite was yesterday the venue for the prestigious annual celebrations by the Association of Serpentine Promotion (ASP) as the Day of the Serpents drew to a close following the traditional apple-collecting and bee-awakening ceremonies in the orchard.

The table was piled high with the best golden plate ware and the chef had done himself proud with the selection on offer. Guests of honour, the snakes themselves, slowly crawled from their holes behind Medusa’s fountain, still a bit sluggish after their long winter hibernation, and slithered over the huge refectory table as some of the ordinary guests gazed goggle-eyed at the sight. The snakes flicked their forked tongues, tasting the aromas in the air and daintily helped themselves to a few of the more succulent delights before retreating whence they came.

A long-term resident informed us that, according to popular legend, everyone who eats from the table will enjoy creative fertility – a gift from the snakes. In return for this gift custom has it that guests must perform for the veiled Gorgon.

We were lucky enough to witness one or two of these acts and the quality were consistently high. Of especial note was the dance by newcomer on the scene, Heather the enchantress, whose sensational costume and belly dance wowed the audience. In appreciation of the truth of her performance the Gorgon lifted one of her veils but we were not permitted to know what pearl of wisdom was passed over to the lucky recipient.

Thus ended another hisstorical banquet.

Presentation to the Gorgon

2005-10-20T06:49:00.000-07:00

Oh dear, is it really my turn. You’re sure you don’t want to go instead of me? My voice, an elephant’s trumpet in the shower, is reduced to a mouse’s squeak when I’m put in front of a live audience. Oh well, for better or worse here I go:
in the
shadows of
the sallows a
sibilant hiss
of susurration
sings sweet
songs of silken
strands
into my
dreaming.
the sages'
sacerdotal
voices salute
the saffron
sunrise
strumming
sitars
in a symphony
of sound
while scrawny
satyrs swirl
and sprinkle
silica shards
into the stream.
Seers listen to
the scratching of
sepia scarabs
in the sand-
filled skulls
and instruct
the scribes.
I swoon in
scintillating
salivation of
slaves serving
serous sherbet
in scallop shells
and before
my eyes
the shrouded
shades
shuffle,
silhouettes,
in the shadows.
I will sleep
again.

Dinner is served

2005-10-20T06:47:00.000-07:00

Greetings Travellers

Well it is good to see that you have all managed to find your way to the House of Serpents. The Mistress of this house has many faces and she will reveal those in due course. We will be here for at least a week so please make yourself comfortable and be sure to avail yourself of the postcard stand and send word back to Soul Food that you have arrived safely.

You will note that I have been dragged into the twenty first century and have become computer literate. Heather helped me set up my own email account and I have even signed up for blogger. What an achievement for me.
Fate is smiling upon you all. It so happens that we have arrived here at the House of the Serpent in time for special New Year festivities, beginning with the Day of the Serpents.

The Day of the Serpents is the day when serpents come from the forest to the house. On this day the people who live here shake the apple trees in the orchard so that they will be bear more fruit and wake the bees from their winter sleep.

The awakening of the snakes corresponds with the awakening of nature, the beginning of life, the awakening of creativity and general creative regeneration.

Honoured as deities the snakes are invited to eat with us. Crawling out from their slumber they lie on the banquet table and make themselves comfortable. After tasting a little from every dish they return to their holes.

This year you are invited to participate. You watch fascinated as the snakes emerge to join us at the filled banquet table, sample the food and then slither back to their holes. Once the snakes leave you sit down and enjoy the banquet, chatting with everyone, meeting the local resident seated beside you.

The resident tells you how it is now predestined that everyone who eats from the table will enjoy creative fertility and you marvel at the concept. Custom demands that in return for this gift, in return for being blessed by the snakes, you must perform for the veiled Gorgon who sits on a throne made of red coral. The residents points to the Pandora's dressing room which is full to overflowing with wigs, hats, costumes, masks and props and tells you that performers whose voice is authentic not only witness the Gorgon remove one of her masks but are given a piece of wisdom. Be wary Alex! No man has ever lifted the veil that covers her 'real' self

Tasks

1. Prepare a presentation for the Gorgon

2. Write a news report that can be included in the Duwamish Courier

good luck

E.

Songs for the Gorgon

Oh Travellers
The Gorgon is clearly happy with the songs that have been sung already for she is unleashing snakes as gifts for singers.

After you have sung you will meet your snake who will be your companion for the remainder of your time in The House of the Serpent.

The Gorgon has not done this before. She must be impressed.

Waiting, with anticipatory pleasure for more songs

Sibyl E.

Postcards to Soul Food Café

2005-10-20T06:45:00.000-07:00

Dear friends, well I finally made it and you just would not believe the journey I had to get here. We started off on donkeys then flying horses and ended up on shanks pony. The picture shows the latest results of the House of Serpents’ very successful last breeding programme.
Love, Traveller

Ran out of the room on the other postcard. This is the serpent stair in the recently renovated temple found in the grounds. Forgot to tell you I met a talking cherubim. I’ll tell you all about it later. Love. Traveller

Meeting at the quay and a journey

2005-10-20T06:42:00.000-07:00

I have some good news and some bad news, depending on how you view things. The Ferry Women have withdrawn their services after local residents of Duwamish expressed outrage about them doing 'tours' to the Isle of Ancestors with living people. This means that we now have to take the longer route back to the cave. Raven messengers have flown back to Duwamish to say that inclement weather makes access to the cave impossible for several weeks so we will have to return by a longer route. We will pass through the Mountains of Myrr which the writer of the Song of Solomon (1V6) said he wanted to retreat to.

Since most of you have travelled lightly I have packed small bags for you. Each bag contains spectacles, a candlestick, a tiny anchor, a medallion with the imprint of the Unicorn and a set of wings. However, each bag contains something that has been chosen specifically for the recipient. It also contains a map showing where we will be staying on the first night.

This bag is very important. Should you become separated from the group these things will become essential. You may choose to wear the spectacles for they are purported to have fairy like qualities which reveal wonders to those who wear them.

At the edge of town a guide is waiting with 12 donkeys and will lead you through the mountains of Myrr. I have to pay the Ferry Women and try to placate the residents so I will meet you at the House of the Serpent, near the Blind Springs at the foot of the mountain. We will stay there tonight.

Safe passage travellers
The Enchantress

Imagery

You set out from Duwamish on the back of a donkey that insisted you ride upon her. She has a name and talks to you about the coming journey. Within moments the guide leads you into a heavily wooded forest. Gnarled branches spread their long arms across the path, whispering as you pass.

The words of the Enchantress ring in your ears and you touch your bag to make sure it is still with you. Everyone is quiet and contemplative and the hooves of the donkey seem to be beating a tune as you travel on the well worn path.

Suddenly the quiet is shattered. A group of hooded riders surround the party, surround each donkey. Chaos breaks out. The guide has gone. Before you know it you are being whisked away by hooded riders who do not reveal their identity. Riders head out in twelve different directions. The group has been separated and you are alone.

All you know is that somehow you need to reach the Blind Springs and the House of the Serpent.

Record your journey.

ARRIVAL AND ABRUPT DEPARTURE

Oh my goodness, whatever am I to do, I groaned inwardly. I had just arrived at the inn in Duwamish only to be told that my group has already departed, and on donkey back. The innkeeper handed me a tattered piece of parchment with the following inscription:
To Traveller – urgent – forced march on donkey required to reach House of the Serpent A.S.A.P. Ariel waiting at the gibbet. Love. Enchantress.

He also handed me a small leather bag. I decided I would investigate its lumpy contents out of the sight of prying eyes.

The innkeeper looked at me with some suspicion when I asked where the gibbet was. “Follow this dog leg until you get to a fork. You can’t miss it and if you do, the ravens will guide you”.

Swallowing my misgivings I headed out in the way he had directed. The road wound on and on. I decided I had better investigate what was in the bag as it had obviously been given to me for a reason. There was a clump of rowan trees at the side of the road so I stepped into their russet dappling and, crouching down, tipped the contents on to a large flat stone. Imagine my surprise when I found a pair of spectacles – how did the enchantress know I’m short sighted? But perhaps these are no ordinary spectacles. There was a candlestick, a tiny silver anchor charm – somebody must have lost that off a cherished charm bracelet, I thought. There was a little medallion with the imprint of a unicorn on it and a set of wings. The last items were a map and a small book whose inscription on the outer cover bore the curious legend “dictionary of runes ancient and modern”. I opened the book but all I saw were masses of indecipherable characters – 1234567890asdfghjklyxcvbnm

I carefully packed everything away and tied the bag securely to my belt. This was obviously going to be a pretty extraordinary journey. I peeped cautiously out of the rowan grove before continuing on my way but there was no sight of anyone or anything. I hummed Ruthie Henshall’s pilgrim song as I walked and wrapping my swansdown cape closer round me, turned up the speed of my Mercury winged shoes to get to the gibbet faster. I could see ravens circling overhead in the distance and knew I must be approaching my goal.

Pilgrim how you journey
On the road you choose
To find out where the winds die
And where the stories go

All days come from one day
That much you must know
You cannot change what's over
But only where you go

One way leads to diamonds
One way leads to gold
Another leads you only
To everything you're told

In your heart you wonder
Which of these is true
The road that leads to nowhere
The road that leads to you

Will you find the answer
In all you say and do?
Will you find the answer
In you?

Each heart is a pilgrim
Each one wants to know
The reason that the winds die
And where the stories go

Pilgrim in your journey
You may travel far
But pilgrim it's a long way
To find out who you are

Pilgrim it's a long way
To find out who you are

Before I had gone much further there was a loud bray and a shaggy, honey coloured donkey blocked my path. The donkey opened its mouth and brayed. I looked at it blankly. It brayed again. I continued to look at it blankly. I didn’t know how we were going to be able to communicate until I thought of the spectacles – maybe they were magic and I would in some fashion be able to see clearer. I put them on and this time the donkey’s braying revealed that HER name was Ariel. I was to mount her and she would take me to catch up with the rest of the group. Ah, I thought, these spectacles are a sort of translation device as well.

Since I didn’t have any choice I mounted her back. It was just as uncomfortable as I had feared and remembered from childhood rides on the beach at Western-super-Mare. Ariel ambled off. We passed the gibbet – mercifully there were no grizzly remains – and the ravens merely cawed at our passing.

We soon entered an old wood. Swathes of moss hung from the branches overhanging the pebbled track. Lichen and fantastic orchids covered the trunks and lush ferns grew on the forest floor. I could hear the occasional twitter of birds high in the foliage above me and once, I caught sight of a bird about the size of a jay, with a brilliant flash of turquoise wings – not any bird I had ever seen before. A slight breeze made the leaves brush against each other in sweet susurration.
I had no idea how long our journey would last so I set about making a mental inventory of the objects the enchantress had given me and touched the bag, wonderingly, to reassure myself it was still there. Apart from the birdsong and the ripple of water somewhere nearby there was no other sound. The sun’s rays dappled the path before us and I was beginning to relax and enjoy the soft clopping of the donkey on the path. Evidently it led somewhere as the pebbles were worn smooth with passage and few weeds grew between.

I was deep in my reverie when Ariel suddenly brayed again. I looked up but could see nothing. She brayed again and I hurriedly put the spectacles back on but this time I couldn’t understand a thing, only sense that something was terribly amiss. Before I could ask her what was wrong a huge shadow fell on our path. I looked up and wished I hadn’t. Blocking our way was a huge winged horse with a hooded rider astride it. All of a sudden the rider appeared at my side. How did that happen? I didn’t see it dismount. By now, I was beginning to know better than to ask the obvious. The rider towered above me but I could see nothing of its face. It stretched out a sleeve towards me and somehow managed to mount me on the horse and set me in front of it. “Wings” a voice said. “I beg your pardon.” “Hurry up, we haven’t got all day. Put on your wings. I know my horse has wings but humans weigh too much and we have a long way to go. I don’t want to tire my horse so be a good girl and put on your wings”. I felt in my leather bag and my fingers touched the feathers. I withdrew the feathers and looked at them in disbelief. The wings had the same turquoise colours that I had seen on the bird in the woods. They looked ridiculously small and I seriously doubted they would be able to support me. However, my guide was beginning to get impatient and almost snatched them from me in its haste to fasten them to my back. “You will need to hold the anchor at all times as it will keep you on the horse” it added, touched its horse’s flank with a trailing sleeve and we were off. At breakneck speed we rose through the forest canopy and popped out into blue sky with fluffy clouds high above us. We sped higher and higher until the land lay like a map below us. I looked down but the landscape was meaningless and I had no idea where we were.

I began to feel dizzy as we flew higher and shut my eyes against the rush of wind in my face. Eventually I think I must have dozed off for a while, leaning comfortably against my rider. When I woke again, it was to see the land rushing up to meet us. I closed my eyes, waiting for the bone-jarring thud of landing but none came. Instead there was a slight sound of something brushing through foliage and I opened my eyes again. I looked round at the rider with a question in my eyes but it said nothing, only placed me gently on the ground. As it turned to go, its hood slipped off and I saw that the rider was a cherubim. I almost burst into laughter at this incongruous sight but restrained myself just in time. It might not help matters so I pretended to sneeze instead. The cherubim said “go to the pool in the grove and your way will be revealed” and disappeared.

I looked around and saw that I was in a small clearing with a very old stone building with a weather-worn stone plaque affixed to the wall but it was difficult to read what was written on it. Close by a natural spring bubbled ebulliently out of the rocks. I was glad to wash off some of the dust that now covered those bits of my skin not covered by the swansdown cape. It was completely silent there. I sat down to think. This was where I needed my wits, I thought. I had packed them, hadn’t I. Hadn’t I? Oh, yes, I had. Thank goodness for that. I carefully took out my wits from their little cobweb bag and dusted them off. But what does one do with wits? Put them on one’s head so that they are nearer the brain or wear them round one’s neck so that they are nearer the heart? In the end I put them back in their bag and hug it from by belt and hoped that would do the trick.

I sat on a bit longer and then decided to explore my surroundings. First I went into to the chapel for that is what it was. It was very dark inside so I took out the candlestick but then realised I had nothing to light the candle with. I went back outside and laid the remaining objects from the bag on the ground and inspected them carefully. As I turned the medallion over in my hands the sun glinted off it, casting reflections on my cape. If I could use the sun’s rays to start a fire then maybe I could light the candle but what to use for kindling? Necessity is the mother of invention – I would use a page from the dictionary of runes. I only hoped I wasn’t going to need that page. I tore the last sheet out of the dictionary, which didn’t seem to have anything written on it and carefully took aim with the medallion. I hoped this was going to work as well as using a piece of glass. I twisted and turned the medallion for ages until at last a tiny brown dot appeared in the middle of the page. It grew rapidly as the fire took so I quickly lit my candle. I stood up carefully so as not to extinguish the bright flame and carried it inside the chapel. As my eyes grew used to the dimness I could see a wooden screen in front of me with pieces of cloth hanging over it. I set the candlestick down and carefully picked up the corner of one of the fabric curtains and pulled it aside. Underneath was revealed the most beautiful painting. No wonder it had been covered up, it needed to be protected. As I looked at it my heart sung, for it was a picture of the archangel Michael. Then I knew I would find my way. I moved to the next picture but it wasn’t a picture. It was just a piece of wood on which someone had burned some curious symbols. I couldn’t make any sense of this and my candle had nearly burnt out. I carefully lifted the piece of wood off its hook and carried it to the entrance. I sat down on a convenient block of stone and closed my eyes allowing my finger tips to trace the slight indentations of the burned symbols and allowed my mind to wander.
Hieroglyphs? No. Runes.

Follow the fish

This was where I was going to need my battered copy of “runes ancient and modern”. I started to thumb through the pages in search of enlightenment. Unfortunately, runic is not one of the languages I speak so it was going to be a laborious job, trying to match up the characters and find the meaning of the script. Then I thought of my translation spectacles. They had helped me understand what Ariel, the donkey was saying to me. Maybe they could help me decipher this. The spectacles were the plainest pair I’d ever seen but perhaps their plainness belied their innate qualities. I put them on and realised I could now read the symbols. In no time at all I had the words: Follow. The. Fish.

“Follow the fish” what on earth could that mean. It appeared to be an instruction of some sort. I took out the map and unfolded it; I hadn’t looked at when I had first inspected the enchantress’ gifts to me.

It didn’t look much like a map to me. It looked like a childish depiction of a fish but on closer inspection I realised that the eye was a cartographic symbol for a church. Maybe this drawing of the fish was, in fact, a map. Could the scales be rocks and the feathery bits on the tail fins be trees?

I walked over to the spring and sure enough the water gurgled happily away between rocks and I could now discern a worn path disappearing out of the clearing.

Since I didn’t seem to have any other choice I returned the wooden plaque to its hook in the chapel, made sure I had left nothing behind and set off between the rocks. The path twisted and turned but it was a lovely warm day so I was quite content to follow it. The path took me through a rocky gorge with yellow gorse flowers in full bloom, their coco nutty perfume wafting through the air. Brightly coloured birds flitted from stone to stone or foraged for seeds among the thistle heads. At length the walls of the gorge got lower and I found myself crossing a grassy plain. In the distance I could see a wood and in the further hazy distance could see a chain of mountains, purple in the now late afternoon. I stopped for a drink in the brook, using my scallop shell to scoop up the water and then, as I scooped up more water to wash my face I saw that my face had changed. There was the light of adventure in my eyes and a broad smile told me I had got this far safely.
With renewed vigour and a spring in my step I approached the wood and soon came to some ruins, which rampant undergrowth was doing its best to claim. I had better tread carefully here, I thought, for there might be snakes ……

This place must be the House of the Serpents and the pool must be the Blind Springs.

I hoped I wasn’t the only one here and that I would soon meet up with some of my fellow travellers. Would the enchantress be here as well? I was longing to meet her.

You are shown to your room by a guide

2005-10-20T06:37:00.000-07:00

When I knocked, albeit somewhat timidly, on the door to the Sybil's cave I was unsure whom or what would come to answer my summons. Imagine my surprise when the door opened and there was no-one there. Or at least, I thought there was no-one there until I heard a faint meow and looked down to find a beautiful calico cat with white feet and green eyes - my beloved Pebbles who died last year. When she first came to us, from the animal refuge, she had no voice and when she opened her mouth to meow it was only a silent meow that escaped and she was as light as thistledown. Eight years later she had developed a meow that could be heard from the bottom of the house to the top and was a healthy animal with fur as soft as a rabbit's. Nourished with TLC she came to be my boon companion and would come and sit on me whenever and wherever I sat down, purring her head off and looking adoringly into my face. I was desolate when I had to have her put down as she had developed a tumour. Now she had come to rescue me.

She turned away from me and headed straight for the nearest clump of peonies – Bowl of Beauty, my favourites. I followed her through, along a woodland path. Teasels and foxgloves stood sentinel on either side. At length we reached a thatched cottage set in a woodland glade. The garden was a mass of typical English country garden flowers and roses climbed the trellis over door. Your room is on the ground floor I understood her to say, for she had not said anything aloud. Make yourself at home and I will come and visit you in a while for I have much to tell you.

I went through the low front door – the wooden duck affixed over the front door was meant to indicate that you should do just that – duck – or hit your head. I hit my head. Nursing a bruised forehead I entered the cottage and looked about me.
There was only the one room – obviously I was to have the entire cottage to myself. The windows on the front of the cottage flooded the room with light. Rushes had been strewn on the stone flagged floor. Against the back wall was a wide bed covered with a variety of lightweight quilts. There was a bedside table with a beautiful Tiffany lamp on it. Close to one of the windows was a table and chair and a vase of flowers in an alcove at one end of the cottage held a wild bouquet of salmon pink oriental poppies and bronze irises with the foliage of an acer palmatum to set them off – they were the plants I intended to plant on her grave when the rockery is finished. The other end of the room had been partitioned off and this turned out to be a shower room – there was no shower tray, you simply stood on the pebbles and the water drained away. A pink lotus had been planted in a large ceramic pot that stood in the bathroom.
I will be happy in this room.

The door and the vista beyond

2005-10-20T06:35:00.000-07:00

Our journey to the Cave of the Sibyl will not be as arduous as it was for pilgrims and adventurers who sought it out in the 13th Century. It has been abandoned for a very long time and we are going to enter by a very special doorway. You have heard about new technology where the door opens when it scans your retina? Well, in this case, you have to produce an honest image of the doorway that represents the door to your inner world and you will gain immediate entrance to the cave which is full of the most amazing things.

Check out http://www.dailywriting.net/Doors.htm and either sketch your door or simply write about it. When you enter the cave you will be shown to your quarters and you will have a room of your own http://www.dailywriting.net/WritingRoom.htm

The Enchantress

My door is in a little street paved with cobbles. Curiously enough the name of the street "rue pavée d'amour" means the street paved with love. Above the door there are two inscriptions “abandon inhibition all ye who enter here” and “in order for us to discover new lands we must be prepared to lose sight of the shore”. There are two panels in the lower part of the door, when these are open you can see, in one, a series of numbers. These represent the lotto that is life - thank goodness you don't have to find the right combination to get through the door! Behind the other panel is a heart, for this indeed will be a journey to and through the heart.

I will trip the light fandango to reach the crock of gold that lies at the end of this rainbow.

Packing

2005-10-20T06:25:00.000-07:00

Welcome to L'Enchanteur et la Muse

I was delighted with the response to my suggestion and now that the chairs are filled we are ready to start our quest. The nature of this quest will unravel with the passage of time.
But, first we need to pack. We are going to take up residency in the long abandoned Grotto della Sibilla, in the Umbrian Mountains in Italy. The Grotto was first mentioned in mediaeval, not classical legends and the Sibyl pronounced her oracles there for hundreds of years.
I don't have a recent map but I am sure we will manage to find the Grotto and will settle in quickly.
Now you have to think about what you will take with you, especially given that you will need this case to bring home the treasures you gather during our stay.
I want each of you to find a small suitcase and quite literally pack for our three month stay.
love
Heather

This is my travelling persona

Packing

When I was a child we used to play a memory game. A group of us would sit in a circle and the first one would start off “I packed my suitcase and in it I put …. “. The next child would repeat this sentence and add their item and so the game would proceed around the circle until someone forgot one of the items and we had to start over again.

Oh how I hate packing. I’m accustomed to packing as if I was going on an arctic expedition and the prospect of having to travel light fills me with dread. As I’ve reached that stage of my life frequently described as the mental pause I know I’m bound to forget something vital so I have decided to go against my grain and pack light, relying on the enchantress to supply me if I really need something. I must not forget my wits however even if I forget everything else. I have decided to take my hooded cape – made of swansdown and therefore light as the proverbial feather but waterproof – which will serve as my main outer garment. I will need a belt of some sort from which to hang my scallop shell (ancient symbol of all pilgrims) and my little gauze pouch with the seed pearls sown on to it. This, my shamanic bag, contains tree essences and crystals my friend, Jane of the Green Heart, has given me for this journey, and a dream catcher. In common with many people born under the sign of Pisces, I have problems with my feet - I would be much happier in water than on land - therefore I will pack my Mercury shoes, with the wings attached to the heels. These will assist me in my flights of imagination. One of the material objects I will take with me will be my digital camera without which I never travel for I surmise I will see many things of wonder and I would wish to preserve them in some more permanent way than my memory can. I will also need to take a journal, a pen filled with everlasting ink and some zip lock bags for storing all those found objects I will pick up.
I think I'm ready now.

Introduction

2005-10-20T06:19:00.000-07:00

At the end of July 2005 I joined an online creative writing group organised by Heather Blakey (henceforward to be known variously as Sybil, Heather, or the enchantress), owner of the best creative writing website I have come across: www.dailywriting.net.

Heather was to be our guide in an imaginary land where a number of travellers (about 10 in the first group) were to travel to the Sybil's cave in Umbria and from there to a number of other places. In a series of guided imagery exercises we were to record our adventures which we would also publish in a blog (weblog - a sort of online journal). We started with one blog and now, 8 weeks later, we have nearly 30 different blogs. The idea of 'publishing' our work in a blog (to which only team members could post comments) was to enable the other travellers to read our adventures and for us to be able to comment on the writing and artwork that the others had done and thus encourage each other. Some of the travellers, me for example, had never done much creative writing so it was quite a challenge.

Heather's instructions to us are written in italics and my humble offerings are in a normal font.

Obviously this is my own version of the adventure. Other versions will be very different.

Heather suggested that we made ourselves a 'cave journal'. Below are pictures of the front and back covers of mine. By the time you have finished reading this you will realise that the cover pictures contain symbols of my journey.

The front cover shows me (as a young teenager) sitting in a boat in a cave and there are images of cave paintings, scallop shells (symbol of all pilgrims), etc. collaged over it.

The back cover is a picture of Minerva (Greek goddess of wisdom) with an owl on her left arm. The original painting is by Klimt. There is no particular significance to the other images collaged on top.