Winds 

Heaven forbid the winds of change have started to blow. We have started to peer behind the curtain and figure out the ruse. All we truly want is to live, laugh and love. To watch the sunsets give way to the nights path and see the sunrise grace the land again. To see the wonder in our children’s eyes as they awaken  to a pristine winters snowfall or to smell the rain cleansed freshness of a new spring morning. But they found the worst that was in us and enticed us with a shiny bauble and a wheedling song of glory in things not souls. The flowers that grace the meadows are free, the stars that decorate the night skies have no price, the heat of passion between two lovers comes not with negotiations but with  joyous surrender. On those times we embrace the magic of such , those of the dark places, those whose souls are an empty void, quake in fear.

When the storms uncontrollable roll across the land, when the lightening strikes with the fury of a lover scorned across the hillsides, when the very body of the  earth shakes like a dog beset by fleas they try to blame us. Put guilt upon us for the happenings they cannot control. By all costs they must have power . Alas they don’t realize it’s a poisonous dark power upon which they feed. Not the power of freedom and joy but the power of enslavement and hate. If by any chance we start to seek the light, embrace the joy and pull back the curtain revealing their deceit . They pit us one against the other taunting us with in the injustice of better baubles than the other. They know that should we  ever awaken and step off their treadmill, that their feast of darkness will subside. That we will turn as one, a force of light against the feasters of dark . Free will towards goodness is seven fold the power of thier enslavement and force towards what they preach is right. This they know and harbor deep within their disguise , yet they toss and turn in sleeplessness for that gnawing unsatiable hunger for power from darkness keeps their nights with out rest . But should we unite  and embrace the sunrise, smell the flowers , dance barefoot in the streams once again.  If we can finally find the heart to kiss our children,  hug our neighbors and throw the mighty stick of freedom into the gears of their cleverly built treadmill. They will starve and crumble feeding each upon the other . They will be cleansed from the earth by the brilliance of the light like a moldy fabric set out on a sun kissed summers day. 

So today as  phrases are parsed and photos are shared trying to enlarge the rift. Take the time to smell  the flowers , smile at your co workers and embrace the natural world. Be the stone that starts the ripple , for ripples turn to waves are and many become a tsunami. Rip back the veil and return magic to this land. For it’s there in songs of the birds, the blowing of the breeze  and the coursing of the babbling brook. Be what they cannot control. Thank the sun and moon, the clouds  and the rains, you’ll feel the strength and they’ll retch in fear. Be the ripple. 

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Prelude to Dances 2016

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The tapers in the vestibule must have been beeswax this morning for Alexandra’s eyes did not burn after Midday Mass as they did when the simpler ones created from fat renderings were used. This was a good thing all in all, for she bathed this morning and wanted the scent to linger. The copper basin had been filled in the pre-dawn hours with water hot from the kitchens below. The boiling liquid had been infused with oils of rosemary and lavender. She had luxuriated in it as the fragrant warmth had brought her to the world after the night’s gentle sleep. She was not afraid to say she had admired herself although vanity was a sin Brother Barnababus has lectured her on from the very first days he noticed her budding beauty. Yes, she had raised each of her slender creamy legs to the sides of the basin propping them one at a time upon the soft rolled copper edges and admired their toned perfection. She had also taken the blade Mira the girl from the spice road had given her and shaved them slick. It had been weeks since they’d received the missive, a simple statement from her Father in Outremer and she had allowed a time to pass before beginning her preparations and questioning its content. Yes she had even taken the blade and sculpted the growth in her nether regions into a perfect triangle. Dear Brother Barnanabus would have been apoplectic if he knew she had admired herself in the long piece of polished silver she had in her room. If he knew she had smiled when she noticed the delicacy of her waist, the full ripeness of her creamy bosom and how her long legs flowed down from the now perfectly sculpted golden V of soft blonde hair the held her innermost secrets. Brother Andreas on the other hand would have lauded her embracing of her womanhood in all is raw uncovered glory. He would have approved of her taking what the hand of God had so perfected and making it better with the hands of man, or in this case woman.

Dear Brother Andreas, Alexis smiled to herself as she climbed the chiseled stone steps to the Parapet high above the city. He may never have danced to the music of passion but she was certain in the dark hours after Vespers he choreographed many a play. Even today as they recited the long remembered prayers she had seen his dark eyes sparkling as he noted how her dress, how her very presence electrified what should have been a dark and Holy room. Alexandra had been tightly laced into her finest frock of emerald green. Created from a soft delicate fabric found only the spice lands. A weave so fine it shimmered with every breath in the very the faintest of light. The low cut bodice trimmed with black lace at her décolletage allowed the snow like whiteness of her plump firm breasts to glow magnificently in all their splendor against the darker fabric. An eye drawing outline if she must say so herself. Brother Andreas had not missed it either. She had passed close to him as she left the vestibule where the simple daily prayers were recited. She had noted the beads of sweat upon the darkening growth of a midday beard across his upper lip  and in all honesty she longed to lick them off, to feel the coarseness of his new grown beard and taste his manly essence. His dark eyes may have held firm in the solemnity of the moment but deep inside them she could see the flicker of a flame, the caged passion of a lion roaring to be free. Alexandra always wondered what tortured demons lay so deep in the soul of such a man that he had pursued the way of the cloth. Too many times she had found herself adrift in his smoldering black eyes, felt her blood run hot when she passed close to him and smelled his musky male scent, he was coarse and vital is so many hidden ways. She paused a moment on her climb to lift her thick honey covered locks off her back and allow the sweet air drifting down the stairwell to cool her. It was brisk and refreshing allowing her once again to feel the full vigor of her womanhood, the subtle yet all-encompassing power of a life giver in her most powerful time.

A few more minutes of climbing the spiraled steps and she would be almost to the Tower’s top which hosted her secret room, her look out and her shrine. Oh the rotund and fretful Brother Barnanbus had riled against it, such isolation was not proper for a lady of breeding and shouldn’t she be in the nursery learning the ways of her kind. But her Father had overruled him and allowed her this concession knowing in cases of the spirit they were much more alike than further apart, and he himself was a thinker, a brooder, a solace seeker. So thus Alexandria had her sanctuary.

Suddenly she was upon it, her priceless perch from high above the castle walls where one could look out at the mountain valleys, weave her fantasies and craft her dreams. Oh the room, round with a large window overlooking all that she could not touch and lands where she could only dwell in the wild regions of her mind. It seemed brighter this time than upon her normal entry and she noted that the thick candle was already lit in its cradle upon the wall. Had she left it glowing the previous day? Surely not for it would have long since melted away. Quite possibly a member of the garrison had come to the Armory next door and entered her abode instead. She thought of the missive from Outremer. Although she knew not what it had said, she was truly hopeful her father would be returning from his service to the lands of his rule.

She fluffed the overstuffed goose down pillows as she positioned them next to the window. A steady rain was cascading down from skies and glazing the expertly set stones that formed her immediate world. It was a candle glow day she thought as the mists crept down from the mountain peaks and settled in around her tower top ,obscuring her view.  The burning candle flames gave the room a dim golden quality with the only light issuing from the burning candle on the wall. She lit a taper and gently moved around lighting her myriad of assorted candlesticks adding more of a golden glow to her eyrie. The brillaint jewel toned pillows she had fluffed combined with the earthy scent of rosemary branches and pine boughs strewn  across the floor gave an exotic quality to her surroundings. If Brother Barnabus were to see her now stretched out languorously on her pillows amongst her softly glowing candles he might have felt cause to burn her as witch. She smiled at the thought as she kicked off her slippers letting her feet be bare and removed the cumbersome petticoat to allow the silken emerald material of her dress to caress her now slick shaved legs. She untied her long hair letting it cascade around her head and loosened her restrictive bodice so her tightly bound breasts had some freedom of movement. She was catlike, she was raw. She radiated the unbridled femininity of a girl rising to the precipice her power and she was certain that mages throughout the land could feel her vibrant glow emanating from her tower to theirs. Alexandria settled back to dream.

She was not long on the pillows in the lands of her imagination when the door to her sanctuary opened, a figure entered turning to face the door as he pressed it shut, and yes it was a male. The identity of the being was less than discernable as he simply leaned face forward, back to her upon the large oaken door and stilled. Hands above his head, a simple piece of paper in his right as he took breaths of such depth she dared not announce her presence. She simply watched, feeling no danger and waited for him to turn. Oh but when he did. Alexandria felt her heart leap, Brother Andreas. But not as she had known him. The restrictive collared garments of the priesthood gone. Tight chamois leggings defined his thighs, a sweat stained linen shirt cut low at the neck showed a swath of dark curly hair that adorned his chest. Although sometimes given to heft, too many cakes she thought, and the animal power of his being pulsed from his very skin. Dark eyes appraised her, they were not solemn, and they were all at once those of a predator and then again those deep dark eyes that sparkled as a lover. Aware that her bodice was open at the top and her breasts all but visible, Alexandria shifted on her cushions in a fashion so her long golden hair would at least cover her somewhat. Her brilliant blues eyes locked with his dark ones as she did, but he was not a man who needed glimpses. He was a man that could take in the whole picture and at this very moment still waters rose as they drowned in each other’s gaze. Time ceased to exist between the two, a million thoughts one or the other had in the deep hours of the night passed through their minds  In the end Brother Andreas broke the silence. He simply raised the parchment in his hand and said “Outremer, your father has requested a Knight, a Templar. I am to serve”

The rains on the castle walls could surely have reversed themselves and poured through her window overlook upon her for the icy chill that ran down her spine. The large dark eyes of Andreas besieged her, and brought to light a fact she had denied for many months. Albeit untouchable, a Priest, one committed body and soul to their God, she loved him. She took in his visage, tawny skin, night black hair, a boyish charm when he laughed and a dark brooding look when he was lost deep in thought. Templar she thought? For a man such as this given to overindulgence of cakes and hours of study this was a death sentence. But she also knew quite possibly she was missing her mark in her assessment. The man held the fire of genius in his eyes and an indomitable spirit. She felt herself go slack, “Andreas” was all she could say as she stared into the mesmerizing darkness of his eyes.

The man she’d loved through times turbulent and testing stood at the door to her eyrie. The reality of the missive hung between them and was cast away. Brother Andreas was no more, he was simply Andreas as he moved across the room, grasped her close and buried his face in her golden mane. It was the power she felt within him as he was upon her, a masculine heat long held at bay, the rippling muscles of his arms as she ran her fingers down them, curious inquisitors, yet finding their grasp and holding on he was all and then he was not. She had never known the male body, only renderings, depictions, and stories passed by scullery maids in the night. Yet his lips found hers, both salty and sweet. The course hairs of his cheek caused a bit of discomfort, yet she felt her body submit as he arched above her, the weight of his loins upon hers, the scent of man and the power of desire. The mists rolled and the sweat poured, the hardness of his manhood pushed against the untried regions of her womanhood, and she succumbed to the weakness of submission, the two became one. So they united there overlooking the valley deep. A woman bred to the Throne and a Priest resonating with all the power of the dark lands. She tasted the salt of his sweat as he crested above her and he felt the sweet succulence of her surrender as she took his member time and time again as the sun sank over the valley. They were what they were meant to be, neither Princess nor Priest just lovers embraced in the ecstasy of what had been preordained for a millennia and they had no clue, just joy and a love that would outlive the world.

Ash Denton sat on his Jet, the results were back. Darn should he open the folder? He had come miles, made millions and yet his true birth right remained a mystery. So now the Church had released the age old documents. Ash Denton the mogul, the billionaire was about to know exactly who “HE” was…

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.

Elusive

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.

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Drive

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.

 

 

Drive