On Angels' Breath
I let the images dictate the text and this was the result, creating image prompted poetry.
Riversleigh Manor is a rambling old house with twenty five private quarters. This house was once the house of Lord and Lady someone or other and was later acquired by the Abbess and belongs to the Lemurian Abbey. Paths lead through the Grove Seed Grove to the Gypsy Camp, the Hermitage and the Lemurian Abbey. Riversleigh Manor is the base home of those who have decided to come ad find the Magic Faraway Tree, which is said to be within the Enchanted Golden Seed Grove.
Word has reached us that travellers are climbing the Faraway Tree to reach the Land of Standing Stones in order to free and warm the stone artists that are trapped within.
It is not easy to reach this land. In an increasingly materialistic world, where so many are driven by a seemingly insatiable desire for power and possessions some folk are so calcified that they may need help up the tree. A host of helpers have come to the tree to help pull you up if you are feeling weighed down by fears, anxiety or a sense of insecurity.
The requirements of an artist cannot be fulfilled by material means so travellers must travel lightly, bringing talismans for those who will help to warm their internal artist.
In the Land of Standing Stones you will calm and concentrate your mind, awaken an artistic vision and embrace the joy of art.
As I returned for the night from a great workday in the castle workshop I hear the tinkling of bells from the deck. I have become familiar with this sound. It always seems to invite me to meditation and once I am ready it enters my mind and plants the thought path I should follow. This is the way my wisdom tree calls me and I look forward to answering it. It always directs me to something I need to understand. The tree was the best thing I added to this apartment.
I've been painting this this weekend. I finished doing chores. Did my best to keep away from the computer. I can't resist uploading this. I'm so happy to have finally finished these. Happily, painting doesn't hurt my shoulders as typing this does. Bursitis is not something I welcome in my life. Its disruptive and painful.
Hello ladies, I believe I have finally finished remodeling my room here at Riversleigh and thought I would let you peek into my sanctuary. I decided to plaster the walls a gorgeous periwinkle blue and then added some raised vines stenciled around the windows, but then I discovered a crack in my wall and now the vines are pouring out of that as well. I was arranging my clothes in the wardrobe and happened upon a small door which led into the most wonderful room of all, which is now my secret sanctuary, full of my most adored books, ink wells and paper for writing, getting my good chair in there was a bit of a task but of course the magic of riversleigh allowed it to fit.
So I arrive,
Riversleigh Manor House
Today I took a walk in that glade where the gypsies used to camp - it is empty now, for the tribe has moved to Riversleigh and is setting up camp in an apple grove nearby.
I remember the first time I got my own room. It was barely more than a cupboard with a bed at the end, but it was wonderful. For the first time I knew what it was to close a door, to be private and alone, to craft, dream and read.
Heather asked for us to think about Solitude and what it means to us. Well, I'm not sure what it means to me but I can tell you what it's done to me.
'In the first place, to have a room of her own, let alone a quiet room or a sound-proof room, was out of the question' ... ~Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own 1929
Many changes have been occurring in my life, lately, mostly for the better, after some hard inner struggles. I am now able to have a room for creation. A place to call my own. I am just beginning to invision the look of this place, some are needs and some are wants. And so, I am off to make a room ...
I started a new job today,
- click on the above link to go there.
I am homesick, where is home?
A 'view' of Owl Island
Actually taken near the Antarctic
by unknown photographer
Note: I am posting these early so that you can share them with friends as you wish. I did this on another site lart year, and people complained they had no time to think and share. The story offered today has been published in five lanquages to my knowledge. It is also in my book "In Retreat."
The foot-washing ceremony that evening was very special but did not prompt any immediate call to write or expand on the experience. That was to come later. More impactful was the presentation that night dealing with the aspect of night and day viewed differently now and during the time of Christ when the day was seen as starting in the evening, not with sunrise. I walked about a bit beneath the redwoods and firs, winding through the Stations where the bronze tablets were blank faces in their recessed niches. I whistled, of course, as is my want, and was quite alone. I returned to my room at midnight and armed with a pamphlet from the presentation, wrote this to end Day One.
Manasi here, writing from the Folly in the Garden.
… I went to draw the banyan tree. A big, minimally-shaped chunk of granite had been erected in front of it. As I stood sketching, a yellow-green chameleon ran down the trunk and squatted on the stone's highest point, staring at me. Two crows perched silently in the branches above it. The tree, the lives that sheltered in it, and the stone formed a small perfection.
I am very interested to know what le Enchanteur is up to. Not only has she dyed her hair with purple streaks but she is scrubbing sweet potatos to serve with the casserole that is on the menu tonight. It is not like Sibyl to roll up her sleeves and make herself this useful. I am wary because I think she is trying to ingratiate herself with Ebony Wilder to curry some favour so to speak. Will keep you posted.
To be this tiny dancer again, unselfconscious, moving with liquid awkwardness from one newly attempted movement to another. Yet the sensation was more one of flying than dancing. It was not a series of movement, it was one heavenly period of movement untethered by the planet's intent to force gravity on me. No one can teach you to feel this, some do, some don't. I'd probably not have thought of the sensation being one of flight had I not (one a hundred dollars worth of dare) thrown myself out of an airplane over na old airfield in southern Ontario. I was seventeen, an age when rational thought only gets in the way of a good time.
I turn the doorknob slowly, realizing I have been gone from my Riversleigh room for longer than I had anticipated. I had wandered off to the Faraway Tree and gotten lost in a VOID Land (Voyage of Inner Discovery Land) and had lost track of the time. Finally I wander back in, hungry again for the warmth of my room and company of my new creative friends.
It seems I have taken up drawing again I use to draw all of the time when I was a kid but havn't done it for years I am very rusty but having fun with it here are a couple of picts I did yesterday for a swap im in called zetti tarrot mine are of the eight of cups the first one is my favorite and the one im using for the swap
There are lonely mountain streams
Since there may be others at the Manor with my name, I thought I would take a new one. My name here shall be Manasi. It is pronounced MAHN-see, and it means ‘of the mind’ or ‘thought-full’.