It was a gentle kiss, not forceful nor erotic. A sublime unification of two spirits was all we asked at that moment in time. A moment when the heavy summer night enveloped us, a dusting of stars across a moonless sky and the songs of the night creatures echoing out into the darkness. Oh there would be days for the completion of our totality. That unbridled coupling beneath sun washed sheets. A place where every nuance of passion is countered one by the other. A time immemorial recognition of every muscle and every sinew, a time when each cell in our being aches deep within. Be it need, desire or an answer one may never know, it calls to us, loses each unto the other, burns our souls to ashes and spins our needs to dust. But tonight it’s a gentle kiss, a lingering breath on a gently kindling spark.

Headlights on the highway, that ribbon of progress that drives our night time dreams away. Alone, no we’re not alone, as this gentle planet spins the light of day to the dark of night. A million lovers part. Tenderly banking the embers of the flame that guides their hearts. A million lovers unite. Blazing the spark white hot into a roaring inferno. Night into day, day into night, we are. We are dancers on a stage that without us would have never born the fate of existence. The beat, the pulse, the cadence, is the beginning and the end. Its why we simply are. The gentle planet spins.

A soft night time breeze cools the moisture from your gentle kiss. I can still feel the softness of your lips, taste the elixir of your essence and catch your scent upon the breeze. Its maybe a longer stare than most would expect but our beings must feed when our bodies cannot. Like the millions we walk amongst two more lovers part. I watch your back recede into the darkness, hear your engine roar and watch the tail lights fade off onto the highway. Now and again, I wish our gentle planet would slow its spin. A few more hours in the night, a longer kiss, a tighter embrace. But the band is playing and the dancers must take the stage. And the gentle planet spins.




Deep in the night I knew I loved you.When all was hidden from the harsh, bright, cold light of day. As I think back, I wonder what it was, the tome and timber of your voice ? Or the flash in your eyes, like a storm across the valley. Rolling in across my soul like sweet rains on a moisture hungry field. But as I watch the branches dance in the late evening breeze it’s a myriad of emotions that run through my soul. Do I cut and buck like a wild mare across a prairie vast? Head off for the mountain peaks and the forests safe? What is this and why is it? I also know as with any stallion you’ll race the winds across grasses blowing ,cut me off at the pass, go straight up on your hind legs , scream into the sky, the winds, and the ether. Display your dominion and know it could be fleeting should I take to heel.


For what has been predetermined through the ages falls under no man’s domain. It is the will of the Gods or the impulse of nature, I know not which. Just like you’re a djinn out of the desert and don’t give me that old sleepy eyed grin, for I know better and yes, I know where the magic lies. I’m a spirit of the mists, a moon shadow dancer in the forests, a nighthawk when the full moon rises over the swampland.  But when the sun rises in the dawn what does it bring? Another million miles of distance so far yet so close. Our spirits are flying wing to wing, yet far to far apart to feel one or the others touch upon our skin? When does our rambling cease? When do we accept the great what is, let it be and finally breathe, your lips on mine, my lips on yours, the eternal dance of the intertwined lovers.  Of this I have no idea, but when the nights grow long and I need to feel the reassurance of your embrace, to taste the sweat upon your skin and hear you moaning in my arms shall I wait in my dreams and hope to touch you in the night? Or shall I do as the women before me  who loved those men who sailed the unknown seas?  Face the winds and stare out at that lost dark horizon, waiting for the one heart that beats in unison with mine to breach life’s storms and sail on home.


zeta3   I can already see the lengthening of the shadows and the shortening of the days. I think for the next month I will wear shoes as little as possible, connecting with the gentle earth, feeling the grasses between my toes and the sun baked soil beneath my feet. I guess it’s an attempt before the nights become long and all that’s grown so vibrantly throughout the summer falls into the dark slumber of the Winter for me to solidify my spirit with the Earth. A time for me to be one with those beyond the immediate realms of man. Now if that seems too deep, I’m just a Carolina girl, standing barefoot in a sun washed horse pasture looking for her mount, a big refreshing cup of sweet tea swirling with chunks of ice rapidly melting back at the stable. But its way more than that.

adm  I am one that can cast my eyes skyward to the jet arching upward in the skies and if I do not close my mind to the immediate task at hand I can feel the passengers and I know their stories. The heart ache of the young mother at the window seat. Looking out down below as the landscape flies by. Oh how she would rather be at home with her babe, embracing each moment of growth, absorbing every nuance of her child. For times like those are why she was really born. Not this. Endless travel, empty nights in a sterile hotel room, when she ached to smell the sweet crown of her child’s head and whisper away any new found terrors in the night. But the mortgage did not pay itself, so here she was heart torn and flying.

I can see the confusion in the grandmothers eyes as she sees the hatred, distaste and fear in the other passengers eyes when she unwraps the food she lovingly packed for her family in hours late, the night before. Near exhaustion and journeying from a far land, her heart carried her as cooked and wrapped and hoped. Hoped her grandchildren could laugh and play in a new Country, that the spark of life would return to the eyes of her son, and that her daughter in-law would not shed tears of fear every time thunder roared across the sky. For she is an old woman who lost the love of her life to bomb dropped from the sky. Probably not directed at the old farmer with the sun bright smile, gentle hands and his meandering herd of goats. But it took him anyway. So now because she dresses in the way of her people, in the fashion commanded by her God, they look in fear. She breathes deep, fear, they do not know fear.

am    I know the deep heartache of the executive in first class, the tie around his neck suddenly a choking noose as he stares at the photos of his wife locked in a torrid embrace with his partner of many years. I can feel his need for a bourbon, yet it’s too early in the day, his need to punch something, but that would get him arrested and his need to simply cry, yet he would look foolish to all that should revere his power, his savvy. I also know that he always suspected but was never certain. Now he replays every encounter, every across the table smile or gaze across a crowded room. I also know his gallant heart is broken and he wonders what it was all really for, this endless travel, the acquisition of all this fortune. In the end his money won’t kiss his forehead and tell him I love you, I’ll be along soon as he moves from this world to the next. I also know he’s ordered a double.

adm3   I am one of the many who deny and one of few who know. We are the children of the legends and the spinners of the tales. We know the Arthurs, the Guineveres and the Morgianes . We recognize our kindred and guard them with our souls. A daughter of Druids, a storm across the ocean, no I don’t ride a broom, yet I can drive a stick. As July wanes under this wide open sky I can admit who I am, choose to visit worlds uncharted, lives being lived, and things I know nothing about. So with the hot summer sun, the winds and the wildness I stand in this Carolina field, grass between my toes and the sun baked soil beneath my feet. I know my mount has felt my essence as I with hers and will soon be ambling across the field meet me. The ice in my tea back at stable has long since melted. But its way more than that.

That Elusive Freedom

freedom 2I cannot help but sigh to myself as I watch the current sphere of political activity spin in this magnificent country. It just appears to me so many are simply forgotten. Maybe it’s  elusive to those whose claws reach out grasping for more and more power. Yet they fail to see, to reach out and touch what it is really all about. It’s about the mechanic, who keeps our wheels turning beneath us, sweating in a stifling garage, putting in a hard days labor so he can go home at night, hug his children and say one more day, I’ve got this. His back may ache, his hands may be sore, but his heart can be full knowing he can and will carry what is rapidly becoming an unbearable load. Its about the rancher, who puts those burgers in the buns so many want so much to prepare. Saddling up well before the sun crests the horizon. Last night’s leftovers will serve as sustenance here, pennies are tight, the time, the weather and the wolves are always calling the shots. Its about the farmer out on the tractor, who puts food on tables all over this land, endless fields before him, who knows a hailstorm rolling in could make or break him. Yet with true indomitable will, under God’s big sky he’s going to do what he can get in those crops he brought to life when the chill of winter was just lifting across the land. Its about the worker in the factory, laboring endlessly to put together all that makes our country run, working towards the day when he can step away, feel he did well and experience all he had just dreamed of those long days when work seemed interminable.Free

As those in the political arena reach their arms heavenward, a place I doubt they know or will ever see. I know in my heart what its not about. Its not about denying the mechanic his boat because they have seized a cause to enslave those who have not the power to fight. While they fire up their jets and fly to dinner. Its not about some Hollywood star who dishes vitriolic hatred yet cowers and cries to the powers that be when the favor is returned. Its certainly not about those who do the dark deceitful things and move on with no regrets and none of the so called justice that would be so deftly wielded to the average person’s destruction.cowboys

When the day comes that the mechanics jack fails and he is crushed beneath the vehicle he was repairing to keep a single mother on the road. His family will cry, they will scream and then they will smile because they knew he loved them. When the Rancher rides upon the herd  he left in safety as the night fell  and finds in misty light of dawn that the wolves have made a mighty dent in the number of calves he’d planned to sell in the fall. He will just a take deep breath, know he’ll cut back again this year and maybe one day he’ll finally get the see the ocean. When the farmer awakens in the night to a wailing storm stripping him of the fruits of his labors, he will bow his head to God and give thanks for his father before him who taught him to work harder and plant again. When the factory worker walks into the meeting and is told his job is going, the plant is closing and his dreams of peace towards the end of his journey are gone. He will feel his heart stop and know the little wood shop he built will have to get him through and no dreams will ever be realized. Fate exacts her own price and justice is framed on each individual’s capacity to fight on and build upon his knowledge passed on one to another. Freedom is evident to the individual yet, elusive to the pack that feeds upon itself.

So the politicians reach skyward with empty hands wailing the benefits of their power. I for one know that the time is rapidly coming that open hands outnumber calloused ones. On that day, there will be no burgers to flip, no jets to fly and no words in the form of empty promises to console a spoiled populace that has no idea of how to adjust their sails against the storm.


Slowly, go slowly, but go.

DSCF3296Backroads and crossroads , winding journeys and volatile endings. As with one or the other it seems the time to move slowly, like a spirit in the mists. But as with both ,the time calls for one to simply go. Oh yeah, wait on the barista to call your name, but by all means snap that laptop shut, grab that coffee cup, count that change, throw that head back , get in that car and roll. Hit the closest gas station, blow the buttons off that suit, shed it like a serpent sheds its skin on the path the new growth. Slide those hips into old cotton cutoffs, a soft sloppy T-shirt and shoes made for flying. Top off that tank and put the pavement, the pain, and the towers in the rear view mirror. When one hits upon the crossroads, remember, deny them  all and make your own path  home. 13700025_1037513742990919_3316540249742300804_n

Let the city become an afterthought and if you think the sparkle in lady’s eyes as she breaks your five dollar bill to pay that last toll as you roll for wide open country is for you, you’re correct. For she’s your sister in spirit, she’s been there, but the time and the world shackled her, and she could never find her wings to fly. Yes, she salutes you,  and somewhere in the night as you watch the headlights fade out on the highway. Let your mind seek her out , her tired eyes and hardship numbed soul, the gunfire and sirens of her world. She’s thinking of you, the girl she was, the girl she lost. The gentle fields of her youth and heart calming countryside. The time when life was simple, before her spirit fired and the city’s siren song beckoned her to perdition. Send a thought her way, let her  into your eyes as you roll past farms, fields and that big old world that on which today you gambled. Let her feel your pulse, the thunder of your heartbeat as you encounter pathways and precipices . Let her know that one in the dance of the sacred female spirit has broken free. Her cheers for you will resound across the miles. Go slowly , but go, go for yourself , go for us all, but most of all  go for her. For she is us and we are many.




Dom Avigo

The Sun was setting behind the tall stand of Oaks at the edge of the field as I focused my gaze intently  on the crystalline droplets of moisture forming on my chilled glass of Madeira .They started small, the faintest glimmer of liquid and then multiplied in size until they released their hold and ran together in tendrils racing like rain swollen rivers down the sides of the glass. The evening itself held a restless air about it. Oh the waking night creatures were in their first preparations to head out for their time of conscious existence after the long slumber of the daylight hours. But here at Stand, everyone seemed tighter than normal. Now let’s be honest. Up until about three hours ago I had been in 2016 busily inputting an online order at the local grocers for tonight’s dinner items. But like the cry of a  hawk hunting across an open glade, I received the summons to Stand. So here I was, coiffed and tightly laced into a corset, feeling  perspiration drip between my breasts. The only remedies to the cloying evening heat being the strand of pearls around my neck, which seemed to absorb any cool that floated up from the bottom land by the creek they could detect and the rich vibrant Madeira which had had been kept in the springhouse since Summer had settled upon the land.

Obviously tonight’s dinner at Stand, which was the name of illustrious abode of my compatriots, was quite the affair. A fine piece of high ground was Stand, near where the rivers met the sea, with excellent access to all things worldly in both its time and others. The large house was typical of the abundance of the year 1825 in the deep South. Large columns graced the entrance providing for a sweeping veranda where one could gaze down a winding drive lined with huge spreading Oaks . Grey clumps of Spanish moss adorned the ancient trees branches swaying gently in the breezes that rolled in from the abundant pasturelands. I took a deep draught of Madeira and pondered tonight’s apparently lavish spread. A huge side of beef seemed to have been turning gently on the spit out back  of the house for the most of the day, excellent meat, cooked slowly and gently so it would melt in ones mouth. A well seasoned cast iron pot full of young potatoes , onions, and several spoonful’s of pork fat had been buried deep in the hot coals under the spit to mingle their flavors and caramelize the sugars , in the end becoming crispy rendering all as flavorful as could be. Tomatoes, cucumbers and little slivers of white onion floated in a peppery vinegar dressing and were chilled in the springhouse, in the same fashion as the sweet red Madeira flowing abundantly on the veranda. But I digress on the meal instead of the moment or the reason for the grand affair. I caught Issy’s eye as she replenished the other attendees large goblets of the rich red refreshment that looked to be tonight’s intoxicant of choice. Yet my reason for being summoned here still remained unknown to me, and the sideways glance from Issy let me know she had not a clue as well. So a surprise then? I did not need a surprise, my time was turbulent enough without being jolted in this one.

Evan Castille headed the household here, I had known him for Millennia. He headed all the grand households where we, the Watchers, the Travelers, the Orchestrators of Civilizations congregated. He simply and quite deftly  avoided my questioning gaze. His actions were those of one who could not withhold an evident truth and had simply taken the opportunity to feint away any conflict. It was at that moment that I felt a primal heat at my back , a vibrant presence behind me, like a hungry and dangerous carnivore was at the ready to pounce. I slowly lifted my glass to my lips, took a deep swallow of Madeira, and turned to look up over  my shoulder. If hearts leap, mine surely did, he was swarthy and stealthy, savvy and cunning. Yet in all that there was the sparkling look to the eyes I’d known all these years. Dom Avigo,  Assassin and  Emperor, Templar and Trader, now stood provocatively close at my shoulder. Between us had passed centuries and tonight his hypnotic  black eyes held amusement, mystery and a deep abiding danger.

The world around us fell away as it always did when we were together. The fine feast and  conversations of the other guests became white noise in back ground as if we where the only two inhabitants of all the worlds and universes put together. “So ? The Mage?”  I asked as I ran my eyes over that countenance I had known, loved and hated since before the time of man was recorded by the written word. He wiped the sweat from his brow as was his way of deciding the answer to a question. “Yes” he said. I never broke the contact of our eyes and we watched each other intently as the pieces I suspected fell together in my mind.  “I thought , but I was not sure, it seemed so, the worlds, the times ,the passing in and out make it hard to know”  I answered. “Odd way of going about it Dom Avigo” I stated. His dark eyes sparkled with the brilliance that only a true genius, a wise one, a Mage can hold. “Pour me a glass” he said”Tonight is not tomorrow and yesterday has passed in this world and forward. Let’s let it be, yet I’m glad its settled, that you know ” he leveled his gaze at me with the last statement . Issy had swept by while we were locked in the dance of recognition and filled my glass. I emptied it in one long swallow, let its intoxicating nature take me  and stared off at the horizon. Well ,well, I thought, things just got interesting.  Dom Avigo was here at Stand and apparently in 2016 as well.




A warm thick Sunday morning. One of those July days where the clouds float close to the earth with no demarcation as to where the sky meets the land. Mists from the heavens and mists from the earth are all intertwined, one is the other and the like. My coffee was cooling when Issy chimed in, or floated or simply connected, I don’t know now, probably will never know the how or the why.13263758_1159318890793658_8771859339196564438_n

But if an extra sensory dance is what one can have while  the world around one races at light speed this was it. Her kitchen still held the cool of the passing night and even as the times were different, things  in our natural sphere were all the same.  The heavy air hung over her world as it did in mine. I could smell the lemon oil mixed with a bit of camphor & turpentine she had used on the hard woods out in the main part of the house mingling with the aromas of baking biscuits and frying ham. Also the heady scent of the rain washed magnolia’s out in her yard.  I guess she took this quiet time before everything started to awake to allow herself to roam as did I .

The boys had been gigging out on the creek late last night even in the torrential rain , and it was a good trip. Lots  of fat frogs had ended up on the stick , the cornmeal and dredge was ready for them.The thick meaty legs were now soaking in a sweet milk bath . The  white corn  had made out in the middle of the acre, along with silky new potatoes, and snap beans  in abundance. Issy imparted that she had thick chunks of late season fatback already waiting on the snaps, nice fatty pieces, sliced and covered in cheesecloth in the spring house.  Howard had brought  apple cider vinegar from Hendersonville last week when he went to see the girls who were summering up at Flat Rock  to get away from the stifling low country heat. Carol Ann was pregnant and having a hard carry, so  the cool mountain air made her time somewhat bearable. Now there were cucumbers, onions and tomatoes floating in a tangy brine. Sunday was good down her way.  Except  that the dogs got upset when the day was becoming new and woke her up. Yanks moving through maybe,  Evan had gone to Charleston Friday, so she’d taken the long gun herself and sat the on porch until dogs calmed. Oh and by the way, did I know that Olivia was back at Delphi.13482892_1173932762665604_3216734618955349267_o

I guess I was  drifting  on her musings of Sunday morning in a different place , so the importance of the news she hit me with took a minute to sink in. I knew my time was as turbulent as most had been, lots of discord and a huge disconnect to the spiritual side. But Olivia being back at Delphi was news. The sacred Isles had always held a certain passion for all who are like me, not like anyone knew how or why to implore of Olivia the Oracle anymore. Maybe a true Mage now walks among us, I’m not sure. I don’t want to think Issy, Please. When is Evan do back?

“He’s do in a bit, he was to ride out in early in the new day”. She responded.” Saul took Clove and rode out to meet him down at the ford near the wateroaks. Evan’s on Bounty so he’s got speed between his legs.” The ship was in, that’s what she was waiting on, black peppercorns in off the spice road. They’ll make today’s dinner a true feast. I took in what Issy was telling me, and realized she was being a bit evasive in her own southern way. Because if Olivia was at Delphi and there was a Mage in my time, something was brewing, just like the storms that grew to billowing thunderheads  out off the coast. But this July Sunday, I would so much rather hear of dinner and Evan and of course the shimmering copper Bounty. A fine blooded stud that Saul had pouted about until Evan  sent a message up Kentucky way to have him brought home.  Of Saul and Issy ? I knew, but was not sure what exactly it was, but it was something that called them together on those steamy sweltering summer nights. Oh well she had to live in her body as well as her spirit.

Issy , I said or imparted to her, “The ones Lothar and Karl fought against are roiling again.” Byzantium had been rough for us both, our kind was hunted for men did not want think outside of the present, yet they battled for where  they would be in end, not realizing there was not one. Issy returned, “They are in the hall, Karl and Lothar, that fight gave reward and they had been many times. The survived the growth of our warming star, so their time was complete” Wow, Issy, I try not to go that far back, I fled to the Emerald Isles and the mists when the stands gave way and the world fell into the sea. Truth be told, that time was good and I can still hear the tinkling of the fountains ,taste sweetness of the wine and feel softness of the breeze. But today, I had not the drive nor the will to look too far into the past. For one like me it became the present when viewed, but one that was unalterable as was my now.

So a Mage Issy? I could almost feel her joy at the moment, Saul and Even were coming down the path. I guess a Mage in my time was not as important as peppercorns in hers.” Do you know him?” She inquired. “Maybe and possibly again no, its too much of a stretch. ” I responded.” Issy it’s Sunday morning and I’m tired, this time is rough, I think Ill make my day like your peppercorns, the important thing is the experience.” Issy was breaking away, her focus on Saul, Ethan and the peppercorns. I take a deep breath at moments likes this , here and there and everywhere. Oh well if there’s a Mage, I’ll see him soon enough.





13308375_1166734406718773_923204620257378219_oSometimes the night can just swallow you whole. A million stars ,a million fireflies, a million thoughts and a million moments lost in time. Flowing like the waters of a cool mountain stream, never holding on and simply letting go, slipping and dancing, rolling on by. I bless the miracle of the orbs as they dance around the universe for the ability to disconnect and simply roll with the changes.

The sun sinks, the night rises, cloaking all that was illuminated in the harsh  bright light of day with a soft dreamtime glow. There comes a point where the sun kisses the lands goodnight and out there in the darkness I can touch the magic of the realms. I guess, in reflection , not many do anymore, reach out into the void of eternity and grasp the tendrils of quicksilver that are filaments of the magic more often than not ignored in this wild electric world. But I must, I must simply embrace the ancient addiction I came with to this world and the life on this blue ball that I have never known without it.

The darkness which comes with the pulse of raw unbridled energy, or is it the knowledge of the many who have come before? Calls out to my wandering spirit. A siren song, a tingling down my spine and am I one with the night, yes I have fought it, but it calls like a wolf on a lone mountaintop.

So it is what is and I give in like falling into the arms of a lovers long awaited grasp, the seas with stormy waters, a thousand lightning strikes across mountains high, a wind strong and fierce across sands eternal. The ability to strike out on my own across the eons, kiss the wind and fly. I was always the dirty tanned loner child, toes in the creek, eyes in the clouds. Still to this day, I wonder for what I search, my night mentors seem to let me roam.

So I’ll go tonight , a multitude of searches, valleys, hills prairies and pastures. Maybe it is a dream, maybe it is a reality, answers I don’t know. But what I do know is that I do have wings and I can fly. So like my sisters in the glade before me, I am out there, I am the breeze on your cheek, the call of the night bird in newborn hours, the moonlight reflection on waters dark , the shooting star across the sky when the night seems long. I am the watcher on the wall, the lover in the mists and for this I unshield my soul and soar. With quicksilver in my hands the magic calls and we shall dance. Tonight the moon is new.