“Mirror, mirror, on the wall”

http://www.dailywriting.net/MirrorCeremony.htm

It was just before the hour when the last light of the day still lingers, stretching its waning mantle over the open plains, while the dense wooded lands have already crossed the threshold to begin the long vigil of the night.  I sat alone in my room, listening to the murmur of voices singing in harmony as they drifted across the earth, floating towards me from the monastery that lies on the other side of the valley.  Setting my half- read book down upon the small bureau beside the bed, I closed my eyes and began to take long, deep breaths as if I might somehow inhale their peace and tranquillity and goodness, as if the simple act of allowing their words and music to envelop my being might somehow alter the circumstances of my existence.  I wondered too, if I had followed a different path, made other choices, would I be happier now, or if not happy, then at least content?

After a time, after the last vestiges of their spirits had disappeared, folding themselves back into their cells for the ‘’great silence’’, I opened my eyes again, and was surprised to find that I had been crying – tears of regret for what might have been, for what could never now be.  But, like trying to glimpse something through a glass full of liquid and ending up with nothing except a vision of distorted reality, the water dripping from my eyes also distorted the present scene.

Restless now, I stood up and walked over to the window to look out upon the now black hills through which a stream gurgled its way over rocks and stones singing a lullaby to any who cared to listen. Every now and then the white light of the moon shone down upon its cold waters, casting an otherworldly glow upon it.

I am uncertain about what exactly happened next, but it seemed to me that a ray of bright moonlight began to drift through the night sky, falling gracefully downwards until finally it reached its destination – it drifted across the room I stood in, coming to a standstill at the gilt-edged mirror propped up against the corner wall. I walked slowly towards it, both intrigued and a little frightened of the icy-blue aura emanating from it.  

Standing directly in front of it, I saw a window, partially covered by bleached lace curtains ruffled by the evening breeze. There seemed to be a face, at once both familiar and unfamiliar, looking back at me, a countenance that was happy, eyes lit up from the fire within, lips parted as if she was sharing a joke with someone.  Without a doubt, I knew it was me, yet this was a part of myself I had never seen before.  In the background, the river and mountains were bathed in bright sunshine, and on my head I wore a wide brimmed straw hat, garlanded with wild flowers, a bunch of which I was holding out to ……. myself??  The clothes in the mirror were as different from what I was actually wearing as was the appearance of the features on my face.  Instead of dull and functional, they were flimsy and flighty and brightly coloured.  Bangle after bangle adorned my wrists and arms.  My feet were bare, unencumbered, free. Was this really me? Where was I? How did I get there?

Suddenly, without warning, it all disappeared, almost as quickly as it had come, and I was plunged back into darkness. Gasping I swung around to look out the window and I could swear that I saw that ray of light, my moonbeam, slowly dissipate as it returned to its source, And I began to wonder, if perhaps the vision I had glimpsed briefly had been a gift from the goddesses above, an offering of a divine image of who I really was, a picture of my soul. All that was required now was that I discover a way to free myself from my darkness and chains, and somehow find my way out from the depths where I was hiding.

I lowered myself down on to the wooden floor, closed my eyes and waited for my soul to come to me.

Returning to Riversleigh

RETURNING TO RIVERSLEIGH

 Based on the prompt “Sometimes I’ve believed as many as 6 impossible things before breakfast.”http://trainsofthought.wordpress.com/impossible/

“You’re going to do what?!! Have you completely lost leave of your senses?”

I stared back, without blinking, as if even this tiny, almost imperceptible movement might cause me to lose the mental balance I was trying to maintain in the face of my adversary. Having thought, reflected and considered every possible angle it was possible to take on my proposed journey, in the end I had decided that I would do it. I would not, could not, let her destroy my dream. For the first time ever, I was utterly determined to take control of my life.

I was tired, weary of living my days out as mere responses to other people’s demands, needs and wishes, as if I was nothing more than an empty shell waiting for the next sea creature to inhabit my interior.

It had taken me so long, too long, to gather up my courage and even enunciate it, a feat I could never have achieved if I hadn’t first practised it in front of the bathroom mirror, whispering to my reflection when the house was empty and I  knew that I was alone. Yet even then I still locked the bathroom door, just in case.

And now here I was, standing directly opposite my “Just in Case”.

“No! I won’t allow it! Someone has to be responsible for you if you cannot do it for yourself.”

Yet, there must have been something about my demeanour that made her hold back, for her voice lacked its usual conviction. An air of uncertainty seemed to permeate the room, already growing cool in the early autumn evening. I looked beyond her to the world outside, where the sun was casting its last rays through the rust and orange leaves, edging them with a delicate gold outline as they hung suspended from the branches of the trees outside the window.

She changed her approach.

“Why? Why now? After all we have been through; after everything I have done for you? Why do you want to leave me?”

Her voice rose to a whine, and I turned my gaze back upon her, wondering if she always did this when she didn’t get her own way. She sounded so much like our mother, who we had buried just over a year ago. Was she trying to manipulate me just like Mother had done through all those long, dreary years after I returned from university and accepted a position in a company to do a job I hated, just so that I could look after her? Did Elinor want me to continue to live my life like that?

Shocked at this sudden realisation, I turned away and sighed, unwilling to engage in an argument of recriminations and accusations.

“This has nothing to do with you. It’s not that I want to leave you. It’s simply that I have things I want to do and they don’t involve you. There’s nothing you can do to change my mind. I’m going, and I have no idea when I shall be back.”

Then I turned and walked out the kitchen door.

Upstairs in my bedroom where I had spent most of the last 30 years of my life, I began to pack a small carry-all with the few bits and pieces which I reckoned were essential. I had no desire to bring any of the accoutrements which I had gathered through the years, filling my life with what amounted now to nothing more than representations of shackles and chains that had held me down. I had no need of any of these in the place I was heading to.

Later, when darkness had claimed the night as its own, I sat on the carpeted floor of my room. The curtains were pulled back so that I could watch the crescent moon peeping through the clouds as they blew past her. Just a week ago, when the New Moon had gleamed brightly in the westward sky at twilight, I sat in this same spot, having lit a candle on my altar while a stick of incense filled the room with its mysterious aroma suggestive of another, a higher, dimension of being. It was then that I had finally made the decision to take charge of my own life, to go on this journey into the Unknown, to live my life before it was over, to find out who I was before it was too late.

It was strange really, how it had all come about. 6 months ago the only altars I was aware of were to be found in churches. And now here I was, sitting cross-legged on the floor, praying to the Sacred Feminine! Elinor was vaguely aware that something different was “going on” as she put it, and didn’t hesitate in letting me know. She didn’t agree with these new fangled New Age ideas, and hated the fact that they seemed to be infiltrating her home. Once she even said that she no longer felt safe within these walls and couldn’t help worrying if I was about to turn to the Black Arts. For a few days afterwards I had a strong inclination to rush out and buy a witches costume, but I refrained even while I amused myself imagining the predictable outcome.

I suppose it all really began at the beginning of the summer. It was one of those almost perfect June late afternoons, when the long days stretch far into the night, and no matter how dark the night itself became, you knew that it would not last for long, that within a few short hours the first glimmers of the early dawn would start to stretch across the vast firmament.

On that particular evening, when work was thankfully over for the day and the promise of 2 more days unblighted by the dreaded alarm calls in the mornings lay in front of me, I left the cold, grey, soulless building where I worked from Monday to Friday, 9am – 5pm, and turned left towards the river, instead of taking a right turn to the bus stop. I was experiencing a strange and overwhelming desire to walk in the opposite direction I usually took, to run away from yet another overcrowded and stuffy bus-ride home.

I ambled down the broken path, taking my time, in no particular hurry to get anywhere. By now most of the shops were beginning to pull down their shutters, marking the end of yet another work day. Some of these premises had hardly changed since they were first opened, perhaps almost 100 years ago. This was the old section of the city, largely untouched by modern development, and one of my favourite places to wander through. Here people still nodded their heads in greeting as you passed. Sometimes an old man or woman might be sitting outside while waiting for the customers who rarely came. They especially loved to engage passers-by in easy conversation.

On this particular evening one old lady, who I could not remember having seen before, beckoned me over to her. She invited me to sit upon a chair set up beside her own. She began to talk, as much to herself as to me, or so it seemed, but most of what she uttered I couldn’t understand. I wondered if perhaps she was speaking a different language. Still I did manage to catch a few odd phrases. She seemed to be reminiscing about an old house, maybe her childhood home, or some place she had visited many years before I was born. I think the house was called something like River’s Way. One thing was certain though, this house seemed to be a haven for ravens.

I sat and listened to her for a long time, until the sun slowly began its turning towards the west, sinking lower and lower behind the huge stone and granite towers that lay off some way in the distance, near the centre of the city. With some regret, for I had enjoyed listening to the soft timbre of her voice, even though most of what she uttered escaped my understanding, I said my goodbyes and wished her well. She smiled up at me as I stood to go, a smile of such rare beauty that it stunned me with its tenderness and simplicity.

Suddenly, she reached down into the embroidered pocket of the apron she was wearing, and pulled an old and much used book from it. As she handed the book to me, she muttered some words, which sounded like an incantation, as if she was blessing me. She reached for my hand and wrapped it around the book and in this way let me know that she wanted me to keep it. I thanked her, and then, responding to some deep-seated impulse, I bent down towards her, giving her a hug, and kissed her upon her soft, lined cheek.

As I walked away, retracing my steps back towards the city, I felt an uncharacteristic joy welling up inside my being. If anyone had asked me why, I would have been hard put to give a reason.

Wandering through the Halls of Soul Food Cafe

Writing Prompt: http://trainsofthought.wordpress.com/sfcnooks/

MEMORIES OF CLAIMING MY NOOK

It is late in the evening. The rain that seems to have been falling for days has finally stopped, though one can still hear the drip, drip of heavy drops of water fall from the house eaves. It has been such a long and dreary time here in recent months. There has been little to stir the imagination into new dreams of open-ended possibilities.

Days begin and end with such heaviness of heart that sometimes it is difficult even to pretend to smile. A frozen face is as difficult to chip away at as a piece of precious and hard marble. And yet I know of a sculptor who can see the soul in the block of stone. Like Michelangelo, she knows what lies beneath. It is time to seek her out again, to find my way back to the mystical landscape where L’Enchanteur resides.

Yes, this is where I must go, quickly, now, before the dawn breaks, carrying all its concomitant responsibilities that push their insistent little fingers across my eyes and down my throat, forcing their way into the deepest recesses of my soul. They claim me for themselves alone.

But not today. Before they rise, I shall be gone. I am retracing my steps, back to that magical land where my soul and creative life first found its voice, back to that hallowed ground where the first tiny fragile seedlings of my inner being began to sprout. I am returning to the place where it all began, where dreams are nurtured, a magical world where one can wander freely through the halls of enchantment.

Many moons ago I crossed the threshold of Riversleigh Manor, and it was here especially where I found my true home, a space to call my own. Each night I fell into my bed, my heart full of all that suddenly transformed from what some would have deemed madness, into possibilities and reality. Each morning I awoke with a song in my heart and I couldn’t wait to jump out of bed and race downstairs to join my fellow travellers. Truly it was a magical time.

I shall embark on a long and overdue sojourn, a journey back home, a re-turning, where I shall take my ease and meander once again through those wondrous halls of Soul Food Cafe.

To begin I have found the very first entry I ever made on SFC. Indeed it was the very first piece of creative writing I ever engaged in! Meeting L’Enchanteur was quite simply the most amazing experience of my life. I felt like a child who had been taken by the hand and escorted into some heavenly abode, an emporium of exquisite toys and games created for nothing more than the pursuit of happiness. Hand on my heart, I can honestly say that I do not believe that it is possible to experience elsewhere the levels of delight that lie in wait here, hiding behind hidden thresholds and magical portals.

Soul Food Cafe is exactly what it says it is – food and nurturance for the soul.

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 What is written below was first posted on Soul Food Cafe in July 2006.

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.