Donkey Story
Cher-lynn speaks
I am speaking directly to you,
because faucon will not tell the story,
nor any of the other dozen miracles
encountered/embraced since out joining.
How do I tell it? Each day we meet strangers
and depart with them and us the better for it.
A married couple on verge of disillusion –
now they sing as one and I know more of respect.
A man in despair over a lost brother –
faucon did this Kalbadam thing
and my feet are still tingling,
but there is sunshine in the grotto
where the man carves a statue –
now.
Forget all that! Here is what happened.
We came upon a meadow – a whole valley
it came to be realized – dying!
The fragile eco system
sustaining life and prayer and dream
was imbalanced. Partially this was from
diligent beavers above – building dams,
which is their right without question.
and man built dams,
which is their right,
but perhaps in question.
Be it told by right,
more than 7,000,000 trees, animals
and insect spirits were be undone.
“No,” I cried. “This will not pass!”
“Then it will not be so,” said he.
“I have a debt or two to call upon the Tengri,
and we can do this if you will pay the price.”
“What then must I do – I but a flight-lame donkey”
“Agree in advance that whatever the price
to save this valley you will pay it – it is called prayer.”
I realized in an instant that this decision
had little to do with a parched meadow
and dwindling fern and hidden frog;
but that this Attention existed because
of my choice to have it so,
and that my decision here
merely echoed a vote for life
everywhere.
“Volo”, said I.
As I turned to faucon, he was transformed
into medieval garb, with longish hair,
sandals and fearsome sword.
“I am Kiyan, the Gusari,” whispered he in thunder.
“I will speak to the beaver of the high valley
we passed yesterday. You will transport them there.”
“I am not allowed to fly,” I stammered.
“I did not say take them!”
I pondered. The beavers gathered at my feet,
longingly, trustingly –
understanding that their future rested
in my willingness to help –
unable to fly,
barely able to speak,
but of Source for all of that.
“Save them!” commanded the Shadow Light.
So, I stopped the universe in its path
‘till the future meadow caught up;
for all things are in motion relative
to each other,
and we need not go anywhere,
but be
and bid the tremulence come to us –
and this I can do.
Kiyan lay in the meadow – arms akimbo,
and I by his side,
weary from having flown to ever,
but having a debt to pay
and desire to sing.
The Tengri scurried clouds to bow
and ancient dust begat tears of welcome,
and we danced in the rain
and will again
tomorrow.
papa now trudges ahead,
a bit slumped perhaps –
but I??
I find that I must for ever more,
find a flower
and give it to a stranger.
I can bring this gift to thee –
and that is better than flying
any day.
A Footnote: A Descanso
Descansos are a fairly common sight where I live. This picture shows one just one block away from my home. It is dedicated to a jogger who died from a heart attack on this spot about three years ago. His friends and family still maintain it and sometimes, at night, candles are lit.
Image: Lori Gloyd (c) May 17, 2006
Willow by Traveller
Ariel followed me into the spinney and took a long drink from the spring and then lay down on the grass and promptly went to sleep – without even a ‘by your leave’. I sat down beside him and leaned against his warm side. I was tired now ………….
I hadn’t intended to close my eyes, honest I hadn’t but well, you know what it’s like. When you think you have reached your destination and you were anxious about the journey. Would you know where you were going? Would you recognise the destination when you got there? My thoughts started to drift off when I was aware of another presence in the clearing.
I looked up to see a tall woman standing on the other side of the spring. Her hair was a mass of leaves and she wore a long green gown and her skin had a greenish cast to it. “I am the spirit of the willow tree” she explained by way of an introduction. “My boughs bend in the wind but my roots go down deep”. “Your boughs too, have been bent in recent winds and you are struggling to hold things together. You need a rest to restore some of your energies. Come with me” she said, offering me her hand as she walked round the spring towards me. I was grateful that she helped pull me to my feet for, without her, I don’t think I could have managed it. She led me to a huge, gnarled, willow and a large rift in the bark allowed us passage through. She led me through green cathedrals of dappled light to a chair made of living, twisting sallow strands, suspended from a tree branch. Sit and rest yourself for a while and I will bring you some refreshment. She promptly disappeared. I settled myself into the chair which seemed to mould itself around me. I heaved a sigh of relief and let myself go. I felt as if I was becoming a willow strand as my body elongated and leaves appeared where my fingers usually are and new roots rushed away from my feet into the watery earth surrounding me, eagerly seeking nutrients. I could feel a new charge entering me, tiny prickles of sensation like when feeling returns to your body when a limb has gone numb. The prickles started at my feet/roots and flew into my body, racing along my arms, squirming up my neck and bursting out, like sparks, from the tips of my hair. I felt as if I was on fire. I don’t know how long this lasted – it could have been seconds, it could have been more, but there she was, standing in front of me again, a goblet in her outstretched hand. “Drink this”. “It will heal and strengthen you for it contains essence of willow and holly”. I have a gift for you too. So saying she strung a necklace of grass strands around my throat, from which hung a piece of carved wood. “This is made from holly wood, wear it at all times for it will give you strength when your own fails”. With this, she took my hand and led me back to the spring. “You have not yet reached the blind spring you are seeking but it is not far. Ariel will guide you now”. “Travel safely” and with that she began to fade until all that was left were a few of the leaves that had fallen out of her hair. I bent down and gathered them up and put them carefully into my knapsack, wrapping them in a handkerchief for safekeeping. Further on in my journey I would be able to take them out and touch them in wonder.
Departure – Traveller
I have packed my things into a small knapsack. I have my medicine bag containing a bottle of Rescue Remedy and some crystals, especially labradorite and amethyst. I have a magnifying glass, for my sight is not as good as it was, and it could always be used to light a fire, my pen, with its everlasting ink and my journal. I also have the things le Enchanteur gave me – spectacles, medallion with the unicorn on it, the tiny anchor, a pair of wings, map and an as-yet-unidentified object** wrapped in some soft cloth. Its use will be revealed at the proper time.
I reluctantly bade farewell to my gypsy caravan – having only just found it again after a gap of more than 35 years! It’s a beautiful caravan, housed in the museum of my birth town, Bristol. Ever since I was a child it has filled my imagination. Maybe I’ll have more time at the end of this journey to enjoy the experience of living in it.
I walked up the path from the gypsy caravan and stood in front of the door which leads to the New World. On the wall hung a wooden box with the words “surrender” engraved in it. What do I surrender, I wondered and then “I will slough off the boa constrictor that strangles my voices”. As I went through the door there was a tune in my head. My urge to sing out loud was tempered by an acute feeling of self-consciousness. I turned around and put that in the box too. I may find myself in all sorts of situations where self-consciousness might not be very helpful.
I was just wondering what I was supposed to do next when a warm body pushed up against me and I turned to find Ariel, the donkey who accompanied me on the trip to the Sybil’s grotto, staring at me with what looked like a grin on his face. I turned around and gave him a hug. I was so pleased to see a familiar face there. All around me people were calling to each other. Old friends greeted each other, new people were welcomed. Donkeys brayed, horses neighed and general confusion reigned as we tried to get ourselves organised. Eventually, with a buzz of conversation accompanied by the jingling of harnesses, a small group of us set off on the path leading into the distance.
I think I must have dropped off to sleep, sitting on Ariel’s back, in the warm spring sunshine because, all of a sudden, I jolted awake and realised that I was on my own. What seemed like a few minutes ago I was part of a group and now there was only me. I reined my donkey to a standstill and listened. All I could hear was joyous birdsong and the buzz of bees at work in the heather bordering the path. I looked up the path in front of me – nothing – and nothing behind me either.
I tried to get my bearings but we came through a different door this time and I had no idea in which direction the House of Serpents lay. All I knew was that we were supposed to camp at the Blind Spring that night so it couldn’t be too far away. “Oh, whatever am I supposed to do” I thought disconsolately and silently – or so I thought. A loud bray – a laugh? came from Ariel’s mouth. “I think this would be a good opportunity to look in the bag le Enchanteur gave you” said Ariel loftily. I climbed down and opened my knapsack to consult the map. When I spread it out I thought maybe le Enchanteur had made a mistake, for it wasn’t a map at all. It was just a bit of paper, tattered at the edges. I stared at it, feeling tears of frustration well up in my eyes. This can’t be right, I thought to myself. “‘Well, what are you waiting for? put on the spectacles” he said. He might be right, I thought. “Of course I’m right” he snorted. Obviously Ariel can read my mind …….
I put the specs on and looked again at the map and now I could indeed see something. Dim shapes began to form before my eyes. Images began to appear but it wasn’t a conventional map at all. I blinked and looked away from the map at my surroundings and realised that what I was seeing on the map was actually the landscape around me. There were no place names on the map but I could see buildings and people on the page. It was as if I was looking through a pair of binoculars. I swept the spectacles cum binoculars over the map/landscape, in search of something that might give me a clue to my whereabouts or my destination. I could identify the door through which I had just come but that was all. A faint blue line on the map turned out to be a small stream. Aha, I thought, where there’s water there must be a spring so I will follow the stream to its source (hoping of course, that it turned out to be the right one).
After I had made my decision, I found I didn’t need to wear the specs anymore so I carefully put them back into the knapsack. I was sure I would need them again. Now I could see the edge of the stream in the distance and walked towards it, over the springy turf. Ariel almost raced ahead of me, so eager was he to take a drink while the going was good. I knelt down on the bank, giving thanks both for the water which I was about to drink and for its presence, for surely it was meant to help me find the blind spring. My face stared back at me, not yet dusty and careworn but excited about the new adventure.
I would happily have tarried a while on the stream bank but Ariel nudged me on to my feet. “Come on, we have to get going, we still have a long way to go” he ordered. “Do you know where we are going?” I asked him, knowing full well that he might have known all along. “Of course I do, but you have to find it for yourself” he replied. We followed the course of the stream for the rest of the day, stopping in the early afternoon for me to eat the sandwiches I had packed and for Ariel to nibble on a few choice thistles. The stream was getting smaller and smaller and there were no signs of habitation anywhere around. We continued, up hill now and the going was harder. Rocks appeared to twist my ankles. At this point Ariel suggested I rode on his back again as he was more sure-footed than I.
We were almost at the top of the hill when the stream appeared to dry up completely. I dismounted and cast around for a sign of it re-appearing higher up the hillside but there was nothing to see. It was getting late and I knew we only had a couple of hours of daylight left. Ariel seemed disinclined to talk at this point so I scrambled up to the top of the hill to see what lay on the far side.
Some way down the slope grew a small spinney of trees. I called to Ariel that I was going to take a look and slowly made my way down the hillside. Bright green and luxuriant undergrowth gave way to spongy tussocks of grass. I had found water again. My feet disappeared in brackish water but I struggled on, the water sucking at my boots, leaking in through the stitches. At length I came to the edge of the spinney. It was very wet there. I could just make out a path, which I followed, stumbling over the tussocks, into a clearing filled with greenish light. In the middle a spring bubbled forth merrily – but was it the blind spring?
posted for Carol Abel
My Cher-lynn
We are in a dense part of the woods,
where shadows can linger
as long as they please,
or their work is done …
there is so much of Source here,
they must protect a bit.
Cher-lynn bats her eyes thrice –
a signal she wishes to speak.
“papa, why haven’t you posted
a heart map like the others?”
“that is why, I guess.”
“Well, I appreciate that,
‘everyone’s doing it’ is not a reason,
but we have discussed so much of ‘heart’
and soul and open hand …”
“If they wished to walk with us,
they would, little one …
but tell me, what would you say?”
“I’d tell ‘em how you can’t map a heart,
really — since the concept of heart
is only a physical representation
of the soul’s balance ‘tween’
spirit an humanity. It is
ever changing, I mean –
and a map implies
bounds and means.”
I pluck an apple
from just beyond her reach,
which spiritually means
another universe
methinks.
“I’ve seen you standing there,
firm stance by staff and will
in the road –
with open hand extended,
heart upon your sleeve,
eternity in your eyes –
and whistled song.
Why would anyone need a map?”
Me? I don’t say nuthin –
nuthin at all!
Interior Cartography #1
Interior Cartography #1
Night has fallen, and I am sitting alone next to a campfire eating some of cookies given to me by another traveler. After a fine lunch along the road with some of my colleagues, I decided to continue ahead on my own because I wanted some time to myself. Here, in the night, with only the sound of the popping firewood and the breeze rustling through the foliage, I spread out my scrolls in front of me. Sweet Albert stood nearby, dozing, his saddle and tack resting on a stump.
A while later, Albert’s sonorous voice broke through my concentration. “Is that a map of Lemuria?”
“Yes,” I said tersely, not wanting to engage in conversation. Several more moments passed in silence.
“That’s not a very good map,” he said.
Not at all astonished that Albert could read as well as speak, I said “I know.”
“You need re-draw it.”
“Yes, Albert, I know…”
“You should mark descansos on it.”
“Albert! I know what I have to do.”
“Then do it.”
“I know,” I sighed, as I put another descanso cross on my map.
Another moment passed.
“Can I have a cookie?”
I gave him the entire bag.
Image and text: Lori Gloyd (c) May 17, 2006
Surrendering
We count the days on descending fingers
until the lease expires
and the roof over our head
is gone.
Everyday the things
that make our home are
packed and piled
building higher and higher towers.
It is not known if
we will ever unpack them again.
My family,
and others who have all the answers,
cluck disapproval.
Failure.
They cannot even provide their family with a home.
I am afraid.
I am ashamed.
I went to college.
I earned good grades.
I work hard.
I do my best.
I am kind.
I volunteer.
My best is not good enough.
We count the days on descending fingers
until the lease expires
and the roof over our head
is gone.
I dream of homes.
Small palaces –
a few rooms
under a roof,
Windows,
one above a sink
with spigots for hot and cold
water
a bath, a tub, a toilet.
Walls to keep out cold
keep in warmth
light shining from windows
making golden pools
on the snow.
When we married, I promised
my husband that I
would make any habitation
he provided
a home –
now, when that home is a tent,
I want to run away
find an apartment for myself.
By myself.
When I ask myself
why
am I renigging on
the covenant
I value as my life –
the answer is ugly.
Shame of the disdain
of others.
The opinions of others
who do not love me.
I surrender my pride
for love.
Map of my Heart
Some years ago I made this map of my heart as a chessboard – inspired by the quote. Unfortunately I’ve forgotten the name of the book it came from, and the author.
Map of My Heart
Travellers have an interesting approach to the study of geography – if you want to know where you’re going, they say, look at a map – if you’re not going there, why do you want to know where it is?
Sometimes travelers have a destination, sometimes they don’t – after all, it’s not the destination that matters, it’s the journey, and what you might discover along the way. And when you do get to your destination, you’ll move on again when you get fed up with it.
My father had a huge collection of maps and sea charts because he never knew where he might want to go next, and sometimes he just went where the wind and the tide took him. So the map of a traveller’s heart may have clearly marked pathways and destinations, but most of the time it’s just scribbled notes, plenty of sidetracks and a few of those signs that travellers leave by the roadway for other travellers to find.
The map of my heart meanders all over the place – there are green Irish hills and rocky Scottish coastlines, sun baked Spanish towns and outback roads with gum trees fading into the distance. The descansos that mark my passage along these roads are little bundles of twigs, signs for those who come after me.
A single broken twig marks the time I left Ireland and my childhood behind. A simple memorial for everything that passed then, including the companion of my childhood, a greyhound called Moffy, who was run over a few days before we went across the water.
A bunch of heather marks the first time I went to Scotland – it flutters at the side of the road, telling those who come after that this is a good place with happy memories.
There’s a couple of shells for the year I spent in the Channel Islands, with the sea always within walking distance – and how I loved the tiny shell covered church on Guernsey! I went there every day.
There’s a sad little bunch of wilted flowers marking the road that took me from England to Australia. I left broken hearted because of a love affair that didn’t work out. A piece of my heart is indelibly worked into this part of the map.
But further on there is a beautiful twig of frangipani, redolent of the soft summer Queensland day I got married, and many flowers following it, as we welcomed our beautiful children into the world.
Another broken twig marks the end of my father’s journey – he died and is buried in the land he came to love. Other broken twigs show where my beloved brother in law and his wife came to the end of their road.
The Australian map of my heart is covered with signs left for those who come after – some are warnings, for not every path I took or every choice I made was the right one. But all the beautiful flowers have taken root and have grown into gardens of grandchildren. This way, they say, is the right way – this is where my feet walked gladly and the campfires still burn a welcome to all.
It rambles all over, this map of my heart, but there never is a destination, only the journey – never a home, only the places where the heart rests and finds a piece of what it has been searching for. Home, the travelers say, is where you go when all the travelling’s done – and mine isn’t done yet.
Walled Garden
Exhausted from trawling through the mangroves and 
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.
strange encounter
As the day wore on and daylight faded I grew tired; tired of the adventure, tired of talking to Patience and Sox, too tired to even care about feeling tired. It seemed to me that all paths would take me in the same direction. Wherever I travelled I travelled with myself. I would have to go back to the gate and start again. I would have to find the surrender box and give up even more….pride, joy, hope, I would have to learn to live in the moment.
I lay down thinking I would rest awhile. The day drowsed; I felt the warmth of the late afternoon sun and the sound of birds and insects busy all around me and my eyes began to close.
When I awoke, there was an old woman sitting near to me. I recognised her for I had met her once before, in another time, in another world. She was me. I reached into my bag and pulled out my secret item – my mirror and looked at my reflection. My own true self peered back. I looked like the old woman, lined, sorrowful, wearing black.
“What you will see in the mirror is a reflection of your state of mind,” the old woman said to me. “and I am a physical representation. Fill your head with doubts, with pain and sorrow and I shall appear to you as a crone, fill your heart with joy and I shall come to you in the colours of the rainbow.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I don’t know how to be happy, I don;t know how to forget the pain, the hurt, the losses. I want – oh I really really want to do so, to “move on” as they say in the so called real world, but it is so so difficult.”
We sat in silence. Then she said “I think you need to eat,” and began to gather wood for a fire.
“Come.” She beckoned and I followed. She showed me which plants were safe to eat, which might be poison, she showed me where to find food for my animals and how to prepare it and then she taught me how to build a makeshift stove on which to cook my meal. The food was so simple, but nourishing.
“Nourishing is a word you need to consider,” she said.
“How do you know what I am thinking?”
“I know because I am your true self……have you forgotten our previous meeting?”
I stared at the old woman, bewildered.
“I thought that that was a dream, a metaphor for something.”
“This is the country of the enchantress my dear,” the woman said to me. “All things are possible here.”
By now it was dark and we sat together silently in the firelight. I could not help looking at my companion, trying to understand, but her face remained inscrutable.
“Nourishing,” she said suddenly. “I said that you should consider the word and you are wasting my evening by trying to sort out your feelings about me, and about what my meaning could be. What you really need is to decide what will nourish your life. Just as the body cannot live without sustenance, so too with the spirit, and your spirit is starved of joy and courage. This is why you have been allowed to travel along the Serpentine Road. You have to find both of these and more or your journey will not succeed. You have been granted two companions for the road and you will find that they might teach you both how to be joyful and how to be courageous.”
I called my little dog over and held her close, allowing the warmth of her body to melt a little of the ice that had formed around my heart. The old womans clothes began to slowly change colour, from black to red, her face lost some of its lines, her hair regained a little colour.
“If you don;t love yourself, noone will love you,” she said suddenly, as if in explanation. “I am going now, but I will be with you along the Road, look for me when you least expect me.”
I found myself alone once again except for my animals.
“This is the strangest place I have ever been,” I thought.
“There are stranger places,” the woman’s voice sounded in my ear. I turned but there there was noone around. “Just continue down to the shore and you will find what you find.”
I knew that I had to make a detour from the Serpentine Road and go where I had been directed. In the morning I would go in the direction of the sea.
Serpentine Road 