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#2 Still the Beginning: The Cup July 31, 2019

Posted by wimynspeak in Sourceress: The Book of Fear.
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And so we find ourselves yet at the beginning still, though, to be clear, it is not the same beginning. Life has moved on, as it does, in a flow of cycles and seasons, and this beginning finds the child sitting quietly occupied in play while her mother carries on with her chores. Her father is not present at this moment, out working at the business of financial livelihood and, as best he knows how, the care and security of his family. (We will see later that this seemingly beneficent belief in his role as family guardian has some unintended consequences, which may cause more than one of us to question the usefulness of such “truth” in our own lives, which, to digress even further, is the purpose of story – to engender introspection and questioning.)

The girl, as promised by the giver of the wand, has indeed grown both strong and kind, and always seems to know her mind and the desires of her heart, though she is not prone to insisting on having her way. If this seems inconsistent with the usual manner of such a young one, so fresh in this world, so be it. We will continue in this vein nonetheless. And so …

Once upon another particular point in that same recent long-ago time …

Just after the girl’s second sun cycle threshold was reached, a beautiful woman, with hair the color of silvery moonbeams, a dress iridescent with the light of a thousand stars, and gossamer wings that were at once as blue as the clearest afternoon sky and as seemingly inconsequential as morning mist, appeared at the family’s abode. She found the door open, as it nearly always was, and the little girl sitting on the floor, the Wand of Desire at her side, while her mother hummed sweetly over some mending. When the winged woman stepped inside, the child and her mother looked up at the same time and smiled identical smiles.

“Hello, little one.” The woman’s voice shimmered and sparkled in the air around them, like sunbeams playing in their own light, and the child laughed with delight. “I have been looking for you,” the woman said to her, and the child nodded in apparent agreement.

The young mother rose from her seat to brew some tea and offered their guest some sweet cakes she had baked earlier. The woman accepted graciously and sat down to wait while the child crawled onto her mother’s lap to suckle. The women sat in companionable silence, nibbling on cakes and sipping tea, until finally the child was satisfied and slid from her mother’s arms.

Then, without hesitation, the little girl approached the shining woman, who lifted her onto her own star-shimmer lap and stroked her baby-silk hair with the same motion the child’s mother used to soothe her when sometimes at night she had frightening dreams, always the same: a great fire and an immense expanse of space where the darkness was impenetrable. (We will see later, of course, how these dreams relate to and even presage the future. For now, we remain in the moment of all-is-well.) The woman spoke to the child’s mother over the silken head lying easily against her breast. “She is growing tall and strong. You have nourished her well.”

The mother nodded, pleased, recognizing the truth as it was spoken. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Soon it will be time for the little one to be weaned. She will know,” the winged woman said, inclining her head toward the Wand of Desire lying on the floor where the child had been playing, “when she is ready.” The woman paused and stared as if considering some long-distant place. Her eyes dimmed to the palest of blue, as clear as water, and she herself turned momentarily translucent, as if she might disappear, before gathering herself and returning firmly to the present. “I have a gift from my sisters in the Land of the Fae,” she said finally, and brought forth from the light of her wings an exquisite little cup. The cup was the color of the moon at its fullness and was encrusted with colorful gems that gleamed as if lit from within.

“Oh!” the young mother exclaimed. “It’s so beautiful!”

“Yes,” the woman of the Fae said, “and there is no other like it. It was created by an ancient alchemist in gratitude for a favor done for her by my many-many-times-great-grandmother. The alchemist used materials she found in my land and imbued them with her own very special magick.”

The winged woman handed the cup to the little girl, who took it and squealed with delight.

“What is it for?” asked the child’s mother, certainty and uncertainty fighting for precedence within her. Another special gift? she thought, glancing at the wand lying on the floor near where her daughter sat in the faerie woman`s lap. The little girl was gazing at the cup, seemingly entranced by its shimmering light. What kind of child receives such favor, and, more troubling, what might be expected from such a child? What be the cost?

The woman of the Fae read the young mother’s struggle in the way she watched her child and so spoke to her gently and with understanding. “It is the Cup of Creativity,” she said. “When she is weaned she must drink from it often. This cup is hers and hers alone. As the current guardian of the cup, it is my choice to pass it on, or to hold it for another. The word, the praenomen, by which your daughter is known to the stars, was whispered to me in a dream, and so I set out on my long journey to find her.” The woman smiled, wishing to further reassure. “If she will accept the cup, I will be her faerie mother,’ she said. “Not in the ways you are her womb-mother, but in ways you cannot be. I will be here to watch over her and to guard the cup.”

Rather than being reassured, however, a dark cloud of concern crossed the young mother’s face, and the faerie knew that the woman understood far beyond what she might have expected. The Fae woman would not lie to her in the presumption of protection.

“Yes,” the faerie said, “unfortunately there may be those who would wish to destroy the cup or to harm the one who bears it … No, no, you mustn’t worry.” She spoke lightly, reassuringly when she saw the distress deepening and taking over the young mother’s face, so that it was collapsing into a mask of fear. “We do not know that this is so. It may be that these are but the stories told by the ancient ones to frighten us into awareness. Rest assured I will allow no harm to come to this child. She will be protected. I promise you. Do you believe me?”

The young mother looked deeply into the faerie woman’s eyes, which were now the sapphiric color of a crystal blue sky on a warm May morning, and saw there only truth. She nodded and, finally, smiled, her fear dissipating into the void. “Yes,” she said. “I believe you.” She knew in a way she couldn’t explain that the faerie woman was incapable of speaking anything but the truth.

While the women were talking, the child had climbed down from her faerie mother’s lap and taken the cup with her. She picked up the Wand of Desire and chewed on it for a few moments, as was her habit. She was only a babe, really, barely two sun cycles out of the womb after all, but she understood, in a way that needed no words, that tonight she would nourish herself at her mother’s breast one last time, and that tomorrow she would begin drinking from the beautiful cup the nice lady with wings had given her.

When the little girl’s father came home, she ran to him as she usually did, and threw her tiny arms about his neck. “Look!” she whispered in his ear, pointing at the cup sitting on the table.

“How beautiful, my love,” her father said, setting her down and giving his wife a quizzical look.

She tried to explain everything to him in detail, wanting him to understand how important this was; what it meant for their little girl. First the Wand of Desire and now the Cup of Creativity! “The faerie woman said this cup is so special there are those who would destroy it,” she told him, wanting only to convey the cup’s special value, not to frighten him.

“What?” Her husband looked suddenly worried, stern. “Then we cannot keep it. I will not allow it!”

The man’s wife was taken aback at her husband’s vehemence, forgetting her own initial fears; then she remembered the faerie woman’s promise. “My dear,” she said, taking his worried face into her two hands and drawing his gaze so that he peered deeply into her eyes. “It is not for us to allow or not allow,” she said gently, but with conviction. “It is as it is. The woman of the Fae has declared herself our daughter’s faerie mother and has promised that no harm will come to her. Our little one is protected by our love and by faerie magick.” She smiled. “It will be all right.”

The man looked deeply into his wife’s eyes, and there he saw the moon and the stars, and a bright, polished gem the color of a crystal blue sky on a warm May morning that could only be the truth. He nodded, softening. “Yes, well … “ and he turned his brightest smile on his precious child, who stood by, watching her parents, the wand in one hand, the cup in the other.

And it is here we come to the end of another scene, another pause in the pacing of the telling, though of course, life for our happy-so-far family continues on, as it does, even if the story seems to rest. By the time we are ready to rejoin the flow, bypassing the ongoing seasons of mundanity that would become simply boring in the telling, the feelings of anxiety produced by the gifting of the cup would seem to have dissipated. But like many seeds that fall on fertile ground, when the right elements come together to nourish it, the seed may indeed germinate and grow. But that is still some time in the future. For now, we must focus on completing the beginning. To the unstoried, it would appear that not much has yet happened, but this would not be so. Much of life and story occurs below the surface of our awareness, and if we are wise, we will recognize this blindness of reality and take it into consideration when we note that, in this moment, though there be ripples in our little family’s glassy pool of calm and truth-as-we-know-it, all is yet well.

 

Copyright 2019 Linda Maree/Linda M Gabriel

Playing … an exploration of surrender May 26, 2019

Posted by wimynspeak in Bee Write!, General.
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I was born magick in a world of logic and reason. Creativity was tolerated in children in the context of play, but the real world was the ultimate arbiter of life. When I was a little girl, I may have been allowed to draw moons and stars on my forehead with blue paint and golden glitter, but these kinds of antics were not tolerated in my grown-up self. “Play” was frivolous and must be put aside. I would have said then that I surrendered to authority, giving up on magick and settling into the mundane. But now I know, to have followed the magick would have been the surrender. All I did was give up on my true self. It was not surrender but betrayal. The worst kind of betrayal. And I have been working since then to make it right. To win back the trust of the one who should have been … always … the most important in the world to me. Myself. Once you lie to yourself, it is so much easier to lie to others. Once you betray yourself, betrayal becomes your imprisoner, your signature, the mask you wear, the face you show to the world. Others do not call it that – betrayal — for most wear the same kind of mask. We call it reality, the real world, just the way it is. And we are told we might as well accept it. Life is not fair. Surrender. Give up.

But true surrender is not a giving up, it is a giving in to a higher calling, a purpose. It is a type of courage that calls one to live from the heart, serving the voice within that tells us that there is infinitely more to life than what we can see. That magick still exists. That we ARE magick, and our magick serves a powerful energy that can only emanate from spirit. So, rather than weakness, rather than loss, to surrender is a means of service above and beyond any we thought capable of. Surrender calls us back to our essence, and there …

Playing … I am as a child again. My thin, straight red hair has been transformed, in my imagination, into long, black waves, thick and abundant. My skin has darkened somewhat and my bearing is regal. I feel exotic, different, and I relish my differentness. On my head sits a golden crown in the form of snakes, their heads rising above my forehead, where I used to draw the moon and stars, proclaiming to all my worth. I wear a long white gown, so that I feel as if I am enrobed in clouds, my power as wide as the sky. In my right hand I carry a long sword, but it is gripped casually, a relic from the past that I treasure for what it has taught me, but it is not the source of my power. It is not who I am. Some have called me princess, but I am no prince-ess, no lesser-than prince. No priest-ess. No god-dess. None of these. I am neither s\he nor fe-male. I am simply who and what I choose to be in the moment I surrender to my choice. Nameless until such time a name is possible. Until new words are created, new vocabularies formed, new tongues proclaimed throughout a land revived and reborn.

Playing … I am as a child again. My thin, straight red hair has been transformed and my head is topped with tight black curls. My skin has darkened and my body broader, huskier, more muscular than before. My voice has deepened and drips with authority. I carry no weapon, and yet I feel that the moon and stars would bow at my feet, were I, priest of all that is sacred and holy, to command it. A channel of energy rises through me, and I have a choice: to follow that which is seductive and promises the kind of power and authority that most men dream about. To be the saver of souls, the changer of lives, the maker of rules, the arbiter of life … mine and others. Or to surrender to the unknown. The unseen path that draws me with the power of the soul and the dread of responsibility. The path of service. The path of the change rather than the changer, giving way to the moment with acceptance and a willingness to act when it is time to act, to be when it is time to be. The path of vulnerability. The path of courage.

Playing … I am as a child again. My thin, straight red hair has been transformed and my head is topped with tight black curls. My skin has darkened even more and my body is long, lean muscular. Around my head, a white halo-band of beads and tassels. Strung beads hang from my neck, crisscross my breasts, and shells encircle my waist and my feet, marking me as a dancer. My weapon, if you want to call it that, is my joy. If I could, I would use it to bludgeon others into surrendering to this celebration, giving in to the exuberant persistence of life. But surrender can neither be forced nor coerced, and so I dance. It is no more than an invitation, but it is what we know to do, we mothers, grandmothers, sisters and daughters of the world and the spirit. This is the story we carry within us, the story we use to paint the sky with rainbows, to draw the moon and stars on our foreheads, to tattoo our bodies with the scars that mark us as courageous in the face of our failures and steadfast in our vulnerability. We dance a reminder of the blessing of surrender and the power of choice.

— Linda Maree

Goddess Journey: Bast June 18, 2017

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logoGoddess Journey: Bast

Intuitive COLLAGE Workshop for Women

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Avenue, Sarasota

Saturday, July 1, 2017 from 2:00-5:00PM

You gather in circle, the rising quarter moon sharing the night sky with uncountable stars. An ornate alabaster jar is passed, and you anoint yourself with fragrant oil, calling on ‘she who protects,’ remembering that the only difference between a protector and a warrior is choice. You close your eyes then and become still, opening your arms wide so that you feel the power around you and revel in your own strength, the independence of your own heartbeat, and the wonder of the melody your circle of hearts create as one …

Come join us as we use the intuitive collage process, along with simple creative writing prompts, to call on Bast, she who protects, to guide us on a journey of independence, strength, and beauty … together.

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously and joy-fully, according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Let me know if you can attend. Hope to see you there!

Goddess Journey:Kwan Yin February 12, 2017

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logoGoddess Journey: Kwan Yin

COLLAGE Workshop for Women

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Avenue, Sarasota

Saturday, February 18, from 2:00-5:00PM

Pink petals rain down on a vibrant landscape, where all those assembled turn their faces skyward and allow themselves to be washed in the beauty and magick of the moment. Neighbor smiles upon neighbor, and it is understood without words that this day, at least, all will be nourished, all blessed. Voices, raised in a song of gratitude, merge with a gentle wind whispering its benediction and the sweet name of compassion: Kwan Yin … Kwan Yin … Kwan Yin …

Come join us in the hive as we use the intuitive collage process, along with simple creative writing prompts, to call our own inner Kwan Yin of compassion to blossom, nurturing us, our world, and our creative process.

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously and joy-fully, according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Let me know if you can attend. Hope to see you there!

Still Following the Bee: Sweet Sanctuary December 3, 2016

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LogoStill Following the Bee: Sweet Sanctuary

Intuitive COLLAGE Workshop for Women

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Ave, Sarasota

Saturday, December 17, from 2:00-5:00PM

You gather in the Sweet Sanctuary of the winter hive, you and your sisters, preparing yourselves for the eagerly awaited descent into the dark of the longest night, the night of visions, a time when you can see what is invisible in the light. You hum and dance your way into readiness, savoring the buzz of excitement that permeates the hive and fills you with gratitude for the present moment of communion and the deep desire that is the magick that creates what comes next…

Come join us as we use the intuitive collage process as well as simple creative writing prompts to enter our Sweet Sanctuary and ready ourselves for the descent into the longest night of clearest vision.

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Let me know if you plan to attend.

Still Following the Bee: Great Hive of BEEing November 6, 2016

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LogoStill Following the Bee: Great Hive of BEEing

Intuitive COLLAGE Workshop for Women

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Avenue, Sarasota

Saturday, November 19, from 2:00-5:00PM

You close your eyes and listen to the still aloneness that seems to envelop you like a soft, warm blanket. Your body quiets and you imagine yourself entering the great hall of the great queen, creative sovereign of this sacred realm. She has summoned you, and you honor her with your presence. When you open your eyes, you find that you are not alone after all, for the great hall is filled to capacity and you are caught in the crush of all that is supportive and wondrous. The queen offers her communion, and all present in the Great Hive of BEEing accept her gift with gracious gratitude …

Come join us as we use the intuitive collage process as well as simple creative writing prompts to enter the Great Hive of BEEing and enjoy the communion of our inner queen, calling us to BEE.

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Let me know if you can join us!

Still Following the Bee: Crown Your Queen! September 25, 2016

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Honeycomb MoonStill Following the Bee: Crown Your Queen!                      

Intuitive COLLAGE Workshop for Women

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Ave, Sarasota

Saturday, October 8, from 2:00-5:00PM

You sleep and dream, and in your dream you see a broad door with a heavy brass handle. When you turn the handle, before you appears the vast landscape of your imagination, the gateway to “possible,” to all that is magick. You dance into this dreamscape and a pathway opens up, straight and true, and you follow it to a massive throne, intricately carved and highly polished, which beckons you to sit. When you do, a golden crown, the color of sweet honey, appears and you place the crown on your head, declaring yourself Queen, sovereign of all you can imagine …

Come join us as we use the intuitive collage process as well as simple creative writing prompts to discover the throne of our imagination and crown ourselves Queen of all that is possible.

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Please let me know if you can join us.

Still Following the Bee: Sweet Honey Rain September 2, 2016

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Honeycomb MoonIntuitive COLLAGE Workshop for Women

Saturday, September 17, from 2:00-5:00PM

Still Following the Bee: Sweet Honey Rain

The day it rains honey you are caught in the deluge, and as you close your eyes and lift your face to the sweetening clouds, you open your mouth and drink in the glistening golden drops. The honey rain coats your throat and you find yourself humming a tune that is at once familiar and yet unknown. The hum turns into a melody and the melody finds words, until you are singing the song that has been within you since the first beat of your heart. Now, it sings you into sweetness. You smile as you swallow the precious gift.

Come join us as we use the intuitive collage process as well as simple creative writing prompts to brew up a storm of Sweet Honey Rain and drink in the song of our soul, savoring the sweetness that sustains us.

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously, from your heart, according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Please let me know if you can join us!

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Avenue, Sarasota

Still Following the Bee: The HeArt of the Hive July 31, 2016

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Honeycomb Moon

Still Following the Bee: The HeArt of the Hive

Intuitive COLLAGE Workshop for Women

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Avenue, Sarasota

Saturday, August 13, from 2:00-5:00PM

You have followed the path spiraling into the dark center and now you sit and wait. All around you are the quiet whispers and hums of your sisters coming and going, the magickal music of life. You feel a sweet vibration as it rises through your core, settling around your HeArt, where it emanates a golden light. The honeyed light grows and you are bathed in the realization that the journey to the center has indeed brought you to The HeArt of the Hive, the HeArt of generosity, a HeArt in loving communion with itself.

Come join us as we use the intuitive collage process and simple creative writing prompts to enter into The HeArt of the Hive, where our generosity thrives and love is the sweet honey we share with ourselves.

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Let me know if you can join us!

Still Following the Bee: Your Sweetest Magick July 1, 2016

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Honeycomb MoonIntuitive Collage Workshop

Still Following the Bee: Your Sweetest Magick

July 16, 2016

Women and men invited to attend this one!

They gather in the grove under the light of a summer moon waxing toward fullness, then move quickly down a spiral path, toward the center, where darkness deepens and the moon’s light cannot penetrate. Some find the absence of light soothing; others find their anxieties rushing to the surface, though none turn away. Whether they arrive in a state of trust or fear, all recognize the sanctity of this dark womb-hive and honor the gifts of its sweetest magick.

Come join us as we use the intuitive collage process and simple creative writing prompts to enter into the dark womb-hive of creative sanctuary and discover there our own sweetest magick.

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Avenue, Sarasota

Saturday, July 16, from 2:00-5:00PM

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Please let me know if you can join us!

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