Monthly Archives: October 2006

Leave Taking

The call has come
and I must leave you for a time
I go to the hills high above the town
to dream, to write, to renew the faded memories
of distant days, of places I once knew
a northern island, or a beach on the wide Pacific
I trust I shall not be forgotten
for on my return I’ll need to seek you
in the far places or where the winds
of bitter winter dare not find you
May all be well
with you
on Calabar
or by a temple gate
a garden spot
or dark arcade
Take care, my friends
the time will go quickly until I greet you once again.

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Halloween Treat For You!

barani1-5.gifBERNADINE BERNADINE SANTISTEVAN, DIRECTOR OF “The Cry” was kind enough to make a special trip to my blog “Owl Creek Bridge” in order to share some stories about making her Supernatural Thriller based on the Legend of La Llorona.

I am very excited to be able to bring you her story because
Bernadine is a great example of taking hold of your creative dream and making it live.

Please stop by and check it out here:

http://anita64.wordpress.com/2006/10/27/the-cry/

Happy Halloween from

Anita Marie

Lemuria Awaits

 

The prophets were true to their beliefs. They knew that after the great flood mankind would move away from sacred teachings and remain hidden. But they also knew that one day the cycle would end and these teachings would once again emerge. That is what is happening to us. We are drawn to the mountaintops of Lemuria looking for something, something that will spark our inner wisdom and spirit. It is our rise to consciousness.We will once again believe in a higher power, love and respect for each other and respect for the Earth, the basic foundation of spirituality. Our religious beliefs make no difference as it is not part of this reclamation; spirituality and religion vie for no position here, for as we travel this hallowed ground, a renewed spirituality will awaken and emerge in us. Do not underestimate the power of the experiences we will have while on this journey. They will awaken within us something that has long left our consciousness but longs to return to the soul. And in a form of reincarnation, we will become those ancient Lemurians, a proud and humble ancient society, and from them we will learn much.On our journey to the mountaintops we shall dress warm, don our winged shoes, and carry our special bag, for it will take us far. Let us begin; let us make this journey together for there is safety in numbers. We shall tread swiftly, making sure our steps remain true. The time has finally come.    

love & light,

sage ©

 

 

 

 

 

Unbroken Circle

reiki-hands.jpg

I was angry, I was mad,

It took all the life I had

Just to keep the circle broken.

Non-anger came and nested,

In my heart sweet healing rested.

Now the circle was whole again.

I was wicked; joyed in sinning,

Fruit sweet at the beginning,

But bitter at the core.

Goodness came and like a rider

Of the night, angelic strider,

Overcame the dark with light.

I was selfish, I was greedy,

Kept my gifts from all the needy,

Withered miser to the bone.

Generous cherubs entered pealing

Shouts of laughter now revealing

Superior strength of generosity.

Let the circle be unbroken as

The liar hears truth be spoken

Overpowering all his lies.

He who has ears to hear now

Let him hear it and allow

Life’s circle is alive, again.

 

Mother Bear 

My Garden of Hope

The winding path led me to a secluded spot past the knoll over-looking the Abbey at Lemuria. My special bag tight in my grasp, I was dressed in a purple and yellow swirley skirt fluttering around my legs, an orange silk blouse tucked neatly in at the waist and red organza slippers adorned my feet. I mean, this was a special occasion, right? No mundane colors for me, no sir, my running age won’t give up everything to old age. 

I came to a mound of moss which seemed to beckon, fanned my skirt out around me and sat down. The pungent odor of the earth filled my nostrils with nostalgia as anticipation fueled my senses to open my special bag. I pulled apart the silk drawstrings and poured out the seeds, which seemed to fall and lay on the ground in a pre-destined order.

There was a myriad of seeds, but only five of them fell out. I picked each one of them up and placed them in the palm of my hand, noticing each one had a name inscribed in gold. Each beautiful seed, shiny and smooth to the touch, was emblazoned each one with the name of my husband, my daughter, my two grandchildren and lastly, my mother. A cool breeze gently brushed across my cheeks, which caught me by surprise, what with the calmness in the air that was apparent only a few seconds before. An omniscient message perhaps?

On my knees now, I lovingly prepare the earth as a sleeping place, laying each seed into their new home, and then covering them with tender loving care, the velvet smooth earth feeling comfortable between my fingers. What ordinarily would have been a simple act, turned into a commitment to fulfill a mission, a message to the finality of it all?

As I stood up, I shook the remnants of the soft earth from my skirt and glanced at the finished row of seeds nestled in their velvet loam earth beds I had just created. A feeling of calm and contentment enveloped me, grateful for the change in what was once my chaotic, unsettled life. I had a good feeling in my heart, but waiting to see what would come of all of this would be my greatest challenge. Also wondering what the rest of the seeds represented only added to my inquisitiveness. I knew somehow I would have to put all of this from my mind. Diverting my attention I looked out over the horizon, rummaged into my special bag for my spectacles, cocked them briskly on my nose and went in the direction of the myst.

sage © 

         

 

     

MILADY FOG

She drifts in from the sea

to wrap herself around me,

a soft cool shroud concealing me

from the world I shun.

She loses me in silver haze

but keeps me safe

from prying eyes

of those who seek to do me harm.

 

There are times

when she is cruel

as when she caused my ship to founder

upon the rocky shore,

then let me wander aimlessly

into places I should not go.

She can be cold and unforgiving

of the mistakes I might have made.

 

Will I ever find my way

back to the light of day?

Will I ever lift her veil

and walk into the future

where the sun doth shine

brightly and hopefully?

 

Alas, like a fly caught in a spider’s web,

I cannot leave her,

my Lady Fog so dear.

I have not the courage

to return from whence I came.

I live instead within her shroud

forever as a ghost

drifting slowly from the sea.

 

Vi Jones

©October 25, 2006

Alone at Dawn

a musing – faucon
……………………………..

There are memories most pervasive
of thoughts beyond the lost words endured
in seeking truths as foundations
for my yearning, churning youth.

Then there are phrases caught forever
in the web of my patterned constructs
that guide the search for balance
on the fulcrum of my soul.

Two such glimmers of gifted wisdom
seem to be in conflict of intent,
and I sense that life’s mysteries
are found in such discordance.

“To love any woman profoundly,
you must love all women a little!”

“If I am to see love in everyone,
I must first embrace love of one alone!”

How can both thoughts be true in wonder,
if one must listen to mind and heart
to forge a plan of human touch
and echoed painless passion?

Within Phinominal Expansion
one might project:

“The relationship of the love of one
to the love of every man,
is as the ratio of the greater part
to all of love imagined”

Yet this universality
doesn’t direct which should be the greater;
nor if by expanding all love
the distinction may dissolve.

A mystic might cleave this Gordian Knot
by surrendering to Divine love first;
and then approach each new stranger
as both ‘the one’ and ‘of all’.

A pensive crone or wizard might allow
that ‘to love oneself’ is paramount –
with all love flowing naturally
from knowing love by living.

But, as a poet with a sense of awe,
I might leave such mysteries alone;
and just craft a lens and mirror
that thee might encounter love.

Finding My Way

 

I’m sitting on a bench close to Lemurian Abby, my special bag in hand. Not knowing what I will find, I contemplate its contents. 

The morning air is sweet, filled with lavender and roses, my senses heightened as each quiet breeze passes by. Today I feel melancholy, beset by memories of days gone by, trying hard not to give up the things I love to old age. But my special bag held tight in my grasp takes my mind off my woes and beckons me on as I muster up anticipation to peek inside.

I reach in towards its warmth and the first thing that touches my fingertips is the spectacles. I lovingly place them to my face, jauntingly affixing them onto my nose. What was a beautiful setting moments before, now becomes an even more vivid apparition as garden hues, birds a fluttering and the morning sun become even more colorfully apparent. What is the saying, “looking at life through rose-colored glasses?” Almost instantly I feel more relaxed and filled with a calming repose. Something tells me I shall need these later to allow me to see the journey path I must follow.

Next my anxious fingers reach in and feel of a candlestick, most likely to light my way, a tiny anchor to hold me firmly to a place I must stay for a while, an imprint of a unicorn, a symbol of purity and a harbinger of good fortune and prophet of great things to come, a medallion, which I’m sure will have a place in my journey as I go along, a set of wings to no doubt carry me far, perhaps to attach to my red shoes?

“Well, now that we have seen each other,” said the Unicorn, “if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you.” Is that a bargain?”
Alice Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll.
 

Thinking my special bag is now empty I set it down on the ground next to me, but hear a rustling sound emitting from it. Excitedly I retrieve it and once again venture my finger tips deep into the familiar folds of darkness. What is this? A packet of seeds? Oh not ordinary seeds, these are dream seeds I find. Oh my mind is racing. Years of walking many paths have enlightened me as to the nature of dreams and brings to mind how they fit into four general categories: (Exotic Dreams, by Stanley Krippner/Andre de Carbalho)

  1. Numinous dreams – divine power
  2. Transpersonal dreams – going beyond personal concerns into those of all humanity
  3. Transcendent dreams – making contact with a higher or divine knowledge
  4. Spiritual dreams – relating to the spirit or ultimate human values.

“to sleep perchance to dream…” 

Strangely enough I am now filled with anticipation and hope; despair and desolation now gone to a distant past. What powers has this special bag? I know now I must keep it with me at all times; I feel it shall show me the way, give me the energy and determination I will need to complete my journey and perhaps impart its wisdom to others along the way.

I’m anxious to get going. I make sure everything is back in my special bag, all tucked in safe, grasp it firmly in my hand and off I go. I think I hear my fellow comrades up ahead. 

“To know who and what you are, you must first find who and what you are not.”      

sage (c) 

        

     

Cab ride late one night

Birds of Omen

Oh give justice to their wellspring

feathered guests florid thought,

clairvoyant message invisible for

naught.

 

Darkness intuitive owl opens gates

of the dead,

Odysseus’s hawk clutching dove

proclaim utmost dread.

 

Corvid’s gifted black charred

malevolent trickster, drink

flow of magic,

its concocted elixir.

 

Tho’ auspicious crane not show

malcontent,

he standing one-legged,

I cry solemn repent.

 

Rooster red cockscomb cry outspoken

blare,

sign of bold courage,  his showdown

iced stare.

 

Envision winged flight birds, origin

of scribe,

bird songs music to be.

 

A charged moment makes it an omen,

weep swift contrition into a

bittersweet sea.

sage ©