Cracking the Egg — Believer

Warm and protected, safe inside, I lack all worry, fear and responsibility. I curl around my very self and sleep a perfect sleep. But not for long. A faint stirring troubles my heart and soul and wakens what has lain dormant-asleep-unborn for how long?

The time of gestation is done; the moment of birthing is near. It’s a dangerous business birthing another; it’s terrifying to give birth to oneself. What if it doesn’t go well and I’m not fully formed? Suppose I emerge from this sanctuary only to be instantly caged by fate? I resist the urge to stretch, to push against the walls of what has been my haven, but instinct is powerful. I tap tentatively, desperate for an answer of certainty but none comes. I scratch feebly with my nails then claw and kick until I am free.

Surrounded by shards of debris I am higher than my mind could ever have imagined. I perch on the edge of a cliff, in the midst of a snow-capped mountain range, extend my wings, catch a thermal. . . . . . . and soar!

Numinous Raven Dreaming (Inserting Images) by Heather Blakey

To insert this image I took my code from Picture Trail, clicked the insert image box with the little tree icon, and put in this part of of the address.

http://pic2.picturetrail.com/VOL1017/4092147/11014219/165364916.jpg

Word Press only needs the actual url address of the image and not the other html code.

Hope this helps and makes life simpler for everyone.

On reaching Duwamish Bay — SoulSister

We came in on the ship, sailing into the port late in the evening when twilight was beginning to fall. Lamplights were slowly coming on, dotting the harbour with bright, luminescent lights here and there. The fog seemed to be billowing in like clouds off the surface of the sea. After docking it took us all a while before we found our land legs again and felt steady enough to begin our search for somewhere to stay for a night or two. Someone suggested that since the hour was so late, the best course of action would probably be to divide up and for each of us to head off in a different direction and seek shelter. We agreed to meet up again at 10 pm and share our findings.A large market square lay just beyond the end of the port, and although it lay empty now, there was plenty of evidence of the busy day that had been. Now however the maids and men were all retired back to the hearth and hearts of their homes and families. Large old houses surrounded the market square, many terraced, but some with gaps in between. Heading for one of these I discovered that it was a narrow laneway, that seemed to stretch far ahead into the distance. As I stood at the entrance to the lane wondering whether or not to see what lay ahead, a figure emerged from the fog as if out of nowhere, and she beckoned to me with her hand. She was tall and had an air of peace and serenity about her. Her long black hair hung down her back over her tan coloured leather dress, heavily embroidered with images and symbols impossible to decipher from such a distance, and long fringes dangling from the hem and apron. Her eyes were almost as dark as her hair, and she flashed a beautiful and gentle smile. I think I heard her whisper, ‘’Come with me’’, but cannot be sure whether it was really her voice I heard or the sound of the wind whistling down the narrow passageway. So I followed her, and as I wandered down after her, I could hear the receding voices of my travelling companions gradually becoming more and more distant, until finally I could hear them no more. Before long I had completely lost any sense of my bearings and was completely and utterly lost. The dim glow of the lamp lights were left far behind, so that it seemed as if the further we walked, the deeper we slipped into darkness. After what seemed like hours spent twisting and turning down alleys and backways, we finally stopped in front of a huge oak door. My companion knocked 3 times, and there was a sound as if someone was scraping a sharp object across a stone floor. The heavy door was slowly pulled open by a tiny woman with long silver hair tied back in a ribbon to expose her face, which was pale and almost transparent in appearance. But like my new companion, she also smiled a warm smile of greeting. I think she uttered ‘Welcome’, but as before, cannot be certain that I didn’t imagine it.

A huge fire burnt in the grate on the further side of the room, throwing long shadows across the floor and casting dancing shapes against the wall. Three armchairs were drawn up alongside the hearth and I was directed to one of these by the bent old woman. The younger woman also sat down, and then I saw that a small table was placed beside my seat on which a full glass of wine was placed. She motioned for me to drink. So I lifted the glass of deep, ruby red wine to my lips and never before or since have I ever tasted such nectar from the gods. It was such a wonder to me that I forgot my manners and gulped down almost half the glass in one long draught. A warm heat began to infuse my body, and with it an accompanying drowsiness. Unable to keep my eyes open any longer I let them shut, but although heavily somnolent I did not sleep, nor did I think that either of them meant me to.

It seemed to me then that the room became filled with the presence of many beings, but whether they were male or female, adult or child, I cannot tell, for although I sensed them nearby, and even heard whisperings, I could make out neither image nor sound. One thing I do know is that they meant me no harm. For some reason, known only to themselves at this time, they wanted me to know that they were here too with us in Duwamish Bay. It remained to be discovered why. I must have finally drifted off to sleep, for when I awoke I found myself alone in an empty, cold and dark room. I pulled myself to my feet and made my way towards the door which lay ajar. Pulling it closed behind me I turned left, wondering how I would ever find my way back to my companions. Yet I need not have worried for it appeared that I travelled no further than about 100 feet from the entrance to the laneway, and there they all were, gathered in the middle of the square, animatedly debating who had found the best option for our accommodation. The town clock sounded the hour with ten ringing bells.

Phoenix Child

Journey of Fire.

Satchel full of things

to take, flint and

paper, apple and quill,

notes for the way.

Travellers all,

gathering,

excitement crowd.

A page of history

disintegrates in the flames.

(copyright Imogen Crest 2006.)

Tao, The Way

Before I leave on the Journey, I am leaving behind everything but barest essentials for good hygiene, my journal, and this image. The calligraphy in the center is Tao, The Way.

I think it is appropriate to focus on finding The Way when when embarks on a journey. What is important to remember is that The Way is not merely finding a path, or following a path, but most importantly it is HOW we follow a path. It is the Way of Right Action.

I zip up my duffle and I walk out the Abbey door.

Digital Construction: Lori Gloyd (c) July 16, 2006

Setting Out – Cosmic Egg

Ready to travel the path of the Heroine
Heather Blakey July 2006

Broody Incubation

The folded arms of the bird goddess cradle you and your creative self amid a deep, watery, abyss of cosmic space.

Hush-a-bye, baby,
in the tree top.
When the wind blows,
the cradle will rock.

Gently the bird goddess places you and your creative self within an egg shaped urn, together with a flask of life giving blood

Toora, loora, loora
Toora, loora, li
Toora, loora, loora
Hush, now, don’t you cry
Ah,
Toora, loora, loora
Toora, loora, li
Toora, loora, loora
It’s an Irish lullaby

The bird goddess squats upon the egg, within which you and your creative self lie, arms pressed tightly against your body. The bird goddess concentrates, broods, provides warmth.

You concentrate, brood, enjoy the warmth
Images drift before you

Hush-a-bye don’t you cry,
Go to sleep-y, little baby.
When you wake you shall have
All the pretty little horses.
Blacks and bays, dapple grays,
Coach and six white horses.
Hush-a-bye don’t you cry,
Go to sleep-y, little baby.

Upon incubation you and your creative self emerge from the egg only to see a world that looks different. You experience a sense of renewal and regeneration and a vision of purpose forms.

Find a way to record and communicate that vision.

by Heather Blakey July 2006