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#6 Training Begins: The Sword April 6, 2020

Posted by wimynspeak in Sourceress: The Book of Fear.
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Nothing is ever as it seems, neither in time nor space nor the threads of circumstances that make up a story or a life. No matter how it is experienced, there is a flow of truth that is related to perception, and another which is harder to define for it is not often recognized for what it is: THE Truth, the ultimate. We will not presume to lecture on the latter, for that would likely be fruitless. Most of us live in the relative truth that is our story, and it will help to keep this in mind as we return to find the girl beginning, or so it seems, her sword training in that once-upon-a-place-and-time that is neither here nor there …

The first time the girl felt the sword in her hand she was blindfolded. She thought maybe this was because her teacher was blind, so that she might share her experience, but the old woman assured her this was how they all started, each warrior in their lineage. When she felt the cool hilt against her palm, and the weight of the sword pulling at her muscles as she struggled to hold it steady, a tingle, a current of energy, like lightning, ran down the length of her arm and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Just feel it,” the old woman said, “its weight, its power.”

The girl nodded. Even had she wanted to speak, the awe of the moment carried away all of her words on a soundless breath.

“Now,” said the old woman, “put one foot in front of the other; it doesn’t matter which, and leave some space between them. Good. Now turn the front foot out slightly so your feet are at an angle. Yes, that’s it. This is how you set a strong foundation.”

The girl didn’t stop to wonder how the woman could “see” her stance. She had stopped questioning the blind one’s abilities and knew that though her eyes were no more than seers of shadows, the old woman, in her own way, still had certain and precise vision.

“Hold the sword out in front of you. “

The girl again did as she was told, willing her arm and weary muscles to stop shaking; the sword was much heavier than she had anticipated.

“Shift your weight front to back, keeping your spine straight, your head high, and the sword steady.”

It took all of her will and resolve to do as the blind warrior instructed, but once again the girl complied. When the old woman asked her to switch her stance again, she did so, the sword growing heavier and heavier until her arm, against her will, began to tremble noticeably with the strain. Only then did the old woman tell her to stop.

“Rest the tip of the sword lightly on the ground,” she told her, “while I remove the blindfold.”

So the blindfold was removed and the girl, eager for a glimpse of the Sword of Wisdom in her hand, turned her eyes downward and opened them slowly: Her hand was empty! With this revelation, the feeling of weight that had been the sword disappeared and she couldn’t hide her disappointment, feeling she had been tricked.

The old woman laughed, though not cruelly. “We are all disappointed the first time,” she said. “But do not feel cheated. In order to wield this instrument properly, you must know and trust that the energy of the sword is as real and powerful as the sword itself. “

Though she was not sure she understood fully what the old woman had just told her (she was beginning to see there was much she did not understand), and the taste of disappointment was yet sour in her mouth, still the girl felt a growing excitement about this new discovery: pure energy as a source of power.

The old woman waited silently, feeling the girl’s dawning awareness, more certain with each rise of the sun, each time they met, that the sword had chosen wisely. Finally she said to the girl, “Your sun cycle threshold is approaching and your blood time will surely come soon too, I suspect. We must be ready.”

The girl nodded, certain of her desire (and her destiny) to follow the path of the warrior woman whatever that meant – to be ready — but felt a fiery fear burning in her gut. Her father still did not know of her trainings, and both her mother and her mentor were adamant that he should not. She thought of all the warrior had taught her since their initial meeting, and she kept their secret faithfully, but was young and still wished to please her parents. The old woman put her arm around the girl and began to speak as if the girl had spoken her thoughts aloud.

“When we are children,” the old woman began, “we depend on our mother and father and the elders around us for everything. This is as it should be. But sometimes those who love us can begin to fear for us, for our safety, for our happiness. This usually happens to people who, for any number of reasons, have their own places of hurt, pain, and anxiety. Your father is such a man. He cannot see you as anything but his precious babe in arms, suckling at her mother’s breast, and so, to him, you are still vulnerable and need his protection. And because of the stories he’s been told and the evil he believes to be always lurking about, seeking to take revenge on the weak and unprotected, he cannot simply let you go to follow your path. That would be far too frightening, and he would feel himself at fault if anything hurtful were to befall you. For sure, the path of the warrior is not without its dangers to body and spirit.”

“My mother,” the girl asked, “does not have these fears?”

“Oh, your mother has her own stories,” said the wise warrior. “But she was lucky, as a child, to be surrounded by strong, loving women who were able to set aside their own concerns and allow the woman in the girl to emerge. She does this now, for you. She is able to hold a vision of you as a courageous, wise woman, while your father, in his mind, will not let you grow up but must always keep you dependent on him …”

“So he can keep me safe.”

“So he can feel like he is keeping you safe. Safety is an illusion.”

“Is there nothing we can do to change his mind?”

The blind warrior chuckled deep in her throat. “Oh, my dear, people have been trying to change others since time began. It has never worked. Your father will either gain this wisdom on his own, when the time is right and he is ready, or …” She stopped, seeing the girl’s furrowed brow. “Do you still have your Cup of Creativity?” she asked.

The girl nodded.

“Drink from it often in the coming moon cycle,” the old woman told her. “and see what you will see.”

That night, the girl sat at her window, drinking from her cup and listening to her herbs singing. (You remember, earlier ,I told you this would be so.) The air was redolent with their sounds and their odors, distinct as notes on a scale, carried to her on a light breeze. It had rained earlier in the evening and the girl could smell the scent of rainwater mingled with wafts of basil, lemon balm, thyme, and rosemary. She breathed deeply, humming along with each exhale, wanting to preserve this moment, for she had a feeling her world was about to be irrevocably altered.

The next time they met, the old woman brought the actual sword, but instead of handing it to the girl, she used it to draw a circle in the dirt. “Step into the center,” she told the girl, who silently obeyed. As the girl did so, she felt a winding energy move up from the earth, swirling first about her feet, rooting her in place, before it spiraled upward, eventually forming a halo vortex above her head. The halo pulsed with light, like a prism, and flowed with a gentle movement that was at once relaxing and invigorating. She didn’t know how long she was in the circle, but when she opened her eyes the light had shifted and the old woman, looking pleased, seemed very intent on something the girl herself could not see.

“It is as I thought,” the blind woman said. “There are powerful forces protecting you. But that doesn’t mean we can be complacent. Powerful protection is only required by those with powerful enemies.” When she the look on the girl’s face she quickly amended her statement. “Perhaps enemy is too strong a word. Let’s just say there will be obstacles and leave it at that.”

Here, too, we must leave our story ‘at that.’ We have had a glimpse of magick at play, and sensed, perhaps, a bit of the mayhem to come. But only a bit. For stories must contain a precise measure of particular elements, and it is only in the telling that each individual recipe becomes clear … and nowhere is it written that we must like it. Only that we remain true to its essence and telling.

Copyright 2020 Linda Maree/Linda M. Gabriel

#3 Activating the Warrior: The Sword August 21, 2019

Posted by wimynspeak in Sourceress: The Book of Fear.
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And so we are, finally, past the beginning, and now we enter another phase. In this phase we will meet the warrior, and, eventually, the girl will be gifted The Sword of Wisdom. But of course we are not there quite yet. And it must be said that the warrior is not what we think. Or perhaps even who we think. Or why. When one travels back through time and language one learns that ‘war,’ the word and so, too, the idea, in its original meaning and various spellings, had more to do with the confusion of things rather than violence, killing, and the obliteration of people and things. And so our warrior has more to do with cutting through confusion than with cutting through flesh — destruction, unless it is the destruction of useless ideas. Hence, The Sword of Wisdom, for it is wisdom that cuts through confusion.

We return to our story, then, this once upon a time in time, just before the little girl’s eleventh sun cycle threshold, to find a very old woman showing up at the village gates…

She was dressed very much as all the women in the village dressed, except for one thing: at her full, plump waist was sheathed a great sword, so long that, despite her remarkable height, the tip of the jeweled scabbard all but dragged in the dirt. A sword of that size would take, one might assume, great strength to wield, and though the woman was large, taller and heavier than the people who lived in this recent long-ago time and nearby far-away place, still she was undeniably old and no one was likely to be ridiculed for failing to imagine that she could handle the great sword.

No one could know, of course, upon first meeting her, that the old woman had carried the sword an immense distance already; that indeed it had not left her side since she had received it all those long cycles and seasons past. They couldn’t know that the sword itself had grown in size and strength proportionately as she herself had done. And only she could tell that, recently, the sword had become just a shade lighter in weight, an infinitesimal measure shorter than it had been. This was how she knew it was time to find her successor.

The old woman had been raised to be a warrior ever since she had been given the sword at her blood ceremony when she herself had reached eleven sun cycles. An auspicious age to step into the blood flow, her own mother had told her at the time. She was lucky, her mother further explained as they prepared for her ceremony. Some girls, most girls, in fact, were a lot older when their flow found them, and by then it was usually too late.

“Too late for what?”

“To activate the warrior,” her mother had replied. “Because of the way things are in our world and in these times, for girls the warrior-self has to be activated early on or it will never happen, and the best time, the most auspicious time, is at first blood.”

“Never?” She couldn’t imagine such a thin slice of golden opportunity with no second chances.

“Well, almost never,” her mother had said as she finished braiding her daughter’s long chestnut hair and turned her to face her. “But it’s much more difficult. It will be easier for you. Besides, you don’t really have a choice; it’s your destiny. You have been chosen. And,” she said, smiling, “you are ready!”

The old woman hadn’t been sure back then, when she was just a child, that she wanted to be a warrior of any sort. And she would have liked to have felt as if she were making the choice, not being passively carried along on the tides of fate. But her mother had been right. She had fallen naturally into the training as easily and comfortably as she fell into the softness of sleep every night. After a while, it felt as if she had chosen her path, and she was satisfied.

Her training had been intense and rigorous. Warriors in her lineage, she learned, never set out to destroy, but to cut away, when necessary, that which obstructed, strangled, choked off, killed life. Sometimes, paradoxically, this still required the taking of a human life, but this was exceedingly rare and only considered as a last resort. And she was assured by her mentors that the day would come (soon, they hoped!) when warriors would not be required to kill at all. When they would have learned or, perhaps more accurately, remembered the secret that would allow only peaceful resolution to all conflict. When the mere presence of a warrior would inspire life-enhancing choices, collaboration, and cooperation. When the energy of polar opposite positions would come together to create a current of vital life force that nourished and sustained rather than maimed and destroyed.

This was the vision she held still, and she believed it was within reach; could possibly even happen in her lifetime, but would almost certainly happen within the lifespan of the child for which she now searched; the child whose eleventh sun cycle threshold was imminent and whose blood flow would likely begin within the same or the following moon-cycle. She was as sure of the inevitability of this awaited transformation as she had ever been sure of anything in her long, long life.

The only thing she had not been sure of was her ability to find the girl … in time. She had had to trust that she would be led to her. That her eyes that could no longer see would not be needed, and that it was the eyes of her soul, the eyes of the Great Ones, the eyes of her mentors long past who would lead her to the child. For this was also something that was not readily noticeable: The old warrior with the great sword was blind.

Going blind had been a surprise, sudden and traumatic. One day she simply woke up to darkness. She had had no warning, no premonition. She had been angry at first. How is a blind warrior to use a sword? But she had found that the sword, after all their cycles and seasons of practice and working together, had become an extension of her own arm, her will. The sword always found its mark, even when she could not see it.

Her other senses, too, had grown stronger (or maybe it was just that she had learned to use them and rely on them to a greater degree), her inner sight more acute and assured. And now her knowing had led her here, to this village. She was sure the child was here, could feel the certainty in her bones, in the peacefulness that settled around her heart. Her mission would be fulfilled, her dream for the world realized, surely. Surely …

We have come, now, to a natural pause in our story, a time for pondering. Who among us does not hope for peace, at least for ourselves, which is a start,? And who among us does not at least occasionally feel confusion, chaos, turmoil, like a great, foggy storm both within and without? We get a sense here of what is coming, and this is good. It means we are paying attention, even if we are uncertain. Attention, awareness, these are the first steps that can lead us beyond our blindness. For yes, in some ways, perhaps many ways, we are all blind. And so it is with some excitement and yes, some trepidation, that we await the meeting of the girl and the blind warrior, and the gifting of the sword. It must be noted, however, that wisdom is not bestowed so easily as desire and creativity. It will take more than the waving of a wand and the nourishment taken from a cup, no matter how valuable, how magickal, to gain true wisdom … to accept the gift and to learn to wield it with courage, grace, and humility.


Copyright 2019 Linda Maree/Linda M Gabriel

Queen of Doves June 23, 2017

Posted by wimynspeak in General.
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Once upon a time, when Earth was still but a tender infant, a call went out to the great queen, asking for her blessing for the emerging new life on the blossoming little planet. The queen, delighted, put on a cloak of white feathers over her ruby-heart gown, unfurled her strong wings, and flew across the universe, ready to shower the infant Earth with her most potent star-shine and breath of love.

But the queen, being immune to the particularities of time, arrived an eon or two too late, for duality had already settled onto the tiny blue orb. The great queen was saddened to see this and cried bitter tears, for she believed her gift would not be accepted in the face of such reality. Luckily, magick was still alive and well, and the queen’s tears became a flock of doves that flew about her head, beseeching her to grant her blessing in spite of the seeming futility.

Appeased, the queen agreed to hand over her blessing to the doves, who, in turn, vowed to share with any who were ready to listen. The queen’s words of blessing were as numerous as the stars: kindness, compassion, unity, wholeness, and so on. When the doves had collected all her words, the queen again donned her cloak of white feathers and flew back to her distant realm … and the work of love on Earth began …


Instructions January 31, 2015

Posted by wimynspeak in Bee Write!, General.
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Listen up, all of you. Once you have set out, it may be awhile before you have another chance to ask questions. Some of you will be gone a long time; some will be back almost immediately. Remember, it is not the length of the journey that is important, or even what you accomplish along the way, only that you complete it.

You will begin your quest right here, in this place, by turning yourself counterclockwise three times with your eyes closed. Then, without looking, you will slide into time at that skinny space between past and future, and turn to squarely face the present. Once there you must always be on the alert and watch for any discomfort or unwillingness on your part to be fully engaged. Be honest about this at all times because, if you’re not, any unacknowledged emotions that only seem to disappear when ignored will surely come back and trip you up at the end. I can’t stress this enough, though I know some of you will forget and will likely want to lay the blame elsewhere. I will tell you now: It is not a fault of the design but a consequence of not paying attention. Heed my words!

Once you are established and the time seems right, you may proceed along the invisible path, the one that glows, but can only be seen when the inner eye is activated. If you get lost on this path, or you can’t find the light, please ask for directions, advice, water—anything you need. Ask! There will be guides at all the crucial points along the way, though sometimes you may not recognize them. Some may look like beautiful angels, to be sure, but some of the guides may be cranky, crippled, miserable, homeless, hungry, rich or poor. Some will be well dressed and well educated, some not. Some you will like, though it is not necessary. Some are not even human. Animals, books, trees, and the like, even illnesses can all show up as guides and can help you find the way, as long as you’re not afraid to interact with them and ask for help.

This is where you get to experiment—have fun! There is no script, save for the very beginning and the very end. What you do in the infinite present in between is totally up to you.

Once you get to the end of the path, you must dig deep into the earth, using your own two hands. Get dirty! Sweaty! Smelly! It matters not how long it takes, only that the task is done. It is hard work and so worth the effort. In fact, it is necessary. You cannot retrace your steps on this journey, and this is the only way back to where you are now.

Once it is deep enough and long enough, climb down into that hole you’ve dug, lie down, close your eyes, and slow your breath until it is no more than a hint of a whisper, a ghost of a sigh. This is where it gets tricky if you have not been honest with yourself along the way. This is your last chance, and I have to say, most make a good show of it at this point; though it may be difficult, it’s not impossible. Once all loose ends are taken care of, simply roll over onto your belly and dive down into the dark, where you will find your way through that skinny portal out of the present and back home once again.

Ready? Enjoy your journey!

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