Surrendering In Order To Move On

I've left a box sitting outside my caravan. It's a surrender box. I can feel it's presence there but at least what I put in there is no longer sitting on my shoulders, weighing me down, making me feel inadequate. So many are the worries and insecurities I've left behind that I couldn't possibly name them all again, but I can name guilt, fear and discontent as a few amoung them.

It was a symbolic gesture to put those worries there, written on tiny pieces of paper, but it worked. I feel lighter. I can now think seriously about continuing on my journey through the Land of the Standing Stones.

I've already been warmly welcomed so I know my footsteps will be blessed as I nurture my creative spirit.

A Brief Note on Detours

A Brief Note on Detours

I wanted to see some Bog People today.

My local natural history museum has an exhibit about the Bog People culture of north-western Europe, and I was hoping to get a glimpse of the peat-soaked remains of some of my distant ancestors. (“Hey, there’s Uncle Ingmar!”) However, unknown to me, a 10 K Run that had been organized to occur in the vicinity of the museum. As I tried to get to there, I got caught in a tangle of blocked-off streets and crowds of people. I finally gave up and turned around.

Being somewhat miffed at having wasted the gasoline (I’m not kidding) and disappointed at not seeing the Bog People, I tried to salvage the trip by detouring to another museum in the general area. This museum is dedicated to displaying the remains of Ice-Age fossils. When I arrived there, I was delighted to discover that the park area around the facility was being converted into “Pleistocene Garden”, displaying the modern-day descendants of the native plant-life from the Ice Age.

I felt myself being transported back in time 25,000 years. I imagined I saw a giant sloth lumbering through the brush and thought I heard the trumpeting of a distant mastodon. And, I even think I caught a flash of the tawny hide of a saber-tooth cat slinking through the tall grass.

At the risk of sounding clichéd, if there was a lesson to be learned today, it was merely the reminder of that adage, “it’s the journey, not the destination, that’s important.” I went looking for one thing and ended up with something better.

Text and Image: Lori Gloyd (c) May 13, 2006

Fountains Abbey, Yorkshire

  

New poetry

My creative writing class is now doing a poetry unit (I have not written poetry for, oh, maybe 30 years?)... here are a couple of my first attempts:

Passport

Well worn pages,
Grey crease on a blue folded cover,
Embarrassing photo.
Like an ancient roadmap
Expressions of my wanderlust
As solid occurrences in time.
My passport lets me avoid my life.

---*---*---*---*---

Gone

You were sitting in the noisy restaurant
stabbing at noodles in your soup when you tried to tell me;
our conversation wandering aimlessly,
darting over,
under,
and around
what really needed to be said.
“It’s a great opportunity”
“It’s what I really want to do”
You looked into my eyes for confirmation…
But I was already gone.

Land of the Standing Stones - The Welcome

I walk slowly in the moonlight, with the Standing Stones on my left, shielding me, then revealing me as I pass each one. The path ahead of me looks like a never-ending, wide, zebra crossing. I feel so calm as my bare feet touch on the cool earth. I try to dig my toes in but the ground is too hard. I don't mind. The cool air is so refreshing after such a hot day and I look up at the stars never wanting this feeling to end. The Stones are singing and whispering, even though there is not even a light breeze. I like to think that this particular song they're singing is just for me at this very moment. This is something I would never have done at home. Walk at night, in the moonlight, bare-footed, alone and wearing this simple, thin summer dress? Never. I wouldn't even consider it. But this Land is changing me in subtle ways. Ways that only my soul mates could discern.

Now I realise that maybe I've stayed out too long. I'm starting to see things. Up ahead, walking towards me in time with my own footsteps, is what must be an apparition. As she walks nearer I can see the serene smile on her face and despite my apprehension a matching smile steals across my own face. My feet are moving of their own accord now but I feel shy under her direct stare. We are now face to face and the smell of her faint, flowery perfume calms any fears I had. Her eyes are a soft, kind, confident, brown. They search my face questioningly and then as if she has now seen what she came to see, her smile widens and then she turns around and walks back the way she came. She never looks back at me but her perfume follows me back to my wagon and I feel safer than I've felt in a long time. There is another feeling there as well but I can really place it. As I sit on my bed and ponder this strange encounter, I try to recall what she looked like but I can only remember her eyes, her smile and her scent. As I snuggle underneath the thin covers of my bed, I finally realise what that other feeling was. It was a feeling of absolute acceptance and welcome.

le Enchanteur is at the Hermitage

Le Enchanteur has gone ahead and has already arrived at the Hermitage and can be seen here relaxing with Imogen Crest, the Hermit who is the caretaker of the Lemurian Hermitage. They are plotting and scheming, planning the big night when travellers present something at the Hermitage amphitheatre. If you look back at the Hermitage archives you will find others have rehearsed here too.

le Enchanteur managed to find time to go to the old folly, the natural ruins on the beach and sat listening to the wind and the sea, looking at the world through her special tinted glasses.

The remainder of us will have to navigate our way through those rainbow coloured mountains. It is not very far as the crow flies and you can get here quickly if you have a pair of winged shoes. But whatever you do, don't let anyone have the bag filled with precious things. Be assured that you will need them.

On A Mission

I am always on a mission of some kind, whether it's fact finding or answer making, there is always a mission. Travelling these roads with my special glasses makes me magically see things I have never seen before. The owl talisman reminds me to be wise and not jump to hasty conclusions. My quest is always about fear and superstition, and finding what's real, what's really true. I set off with all the things in my drawstring bag, affixed to my leather belt. The red winged shoes will come in handy. I see all the other travellers gathering, and preparing for this journey of the heart...
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

Dancing in my red shoes

I feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, only the road along which my red sparkly shoes are dancing is paved with a rainbow, not yellow bricks.

Remember how Dorothy clicked her heels and said, ``there’s no place like home”? I clicked my heels together and little silvery wings sprouted out of them. Suddenly I felt like a child running again, so light and quick that my feet never touched the ground.

I feel at home on the rainbow road, carrying my little bag of goodies again – I thought I’d parted with them but here they are again, the tiny anchor, the medallion with the unicorn stamped on it, those strange glasses – will I meet the mysterious Lord Anselm again, I wonder?

I think of all the wonderful characters I met on my last journey – Christabel the educated donkey, the beautiful unicorn, the quarreling elves – I miss them, especially Christabel, but this journey will be different again, with new characters to meet and new adventures ahead.

Time to catch up with the other travellers – I click my heels, and off I go.

Banging My Zills

I have discovered that some of my traveling companions love to dance and so I am sharing this story with them......

Banging My Zills: An Adventure in Belly Dance

"So what's so funny about learning to belly dance?" I told a friend who laughed out loud when I told her about my plans. Several years ago, I decided that I wanted to learn to belly-dance. I have always loved to watch people dance, but I was always too self-conscious to get out on the floor and dance myself, especially now that I am middle-aged and have packed on some extra “baggage in the rear.” Reactions from friends and family to the announcement of this endeavor varied from person to person, but most fell into the category of "you've got to be kidding!" In spite of the nay-sayers, the desire to explore the creative act of dance was too much for me to ignore, and after some research, I located an inexpensive belly dance class at a local adult night school.

On the first night of the class, I arrived before anyone else. I had struggled over what to wear. What does one wear to a belly dance class? I had already made up my mind that I was NOT under any circumstances showing my navel! I finally decided on wearing a dance leotard and sweat pants for the first class.

As I waited in the dance studio, other students began arriving. The first to enter was a petite blonde in a tight T-shirt. She strutted into the studio with considerable jiggle. A mild pang of apprehension caught me in the stomach. A few minutes later, a second student arrived, a young brunette in shorts so taut you could ricochet a coin off her butt. Great, I thought, I'm going to be surrounded by a bunch of skinny teenagers. Next, a well-groomed woman and an adolescent who I assumed was her daughter entered the room in matching designer exercise suits. At this point, I think I groaned aloud. I felt so out of place in my grungy sweat pants, and I wondered how bulgy I looked in my leotard. What was I thinking!

As panic began to work its way through my mind, I looked for a discrete way to make a speedy departure. Before I could act, a laughing, boisterous group of women entered the room. The group was comprised of several middle-aged women, a few of them women of ample endowment. I relaxed a little.

In a few minutes, the studio had filled with seventeen women of various ethnicities, sizes, ages, and attire. A woman about my age sat on the floor next to me. She had on a flowing dance skirt and several brass and silver bangles on each wrist. As we waited, I tried to imagine what the instructor would be like. I envisioned a sultry, middle-eastern woman, gracefully gliding into the room. That image evaporated when a small, muscular woman with a blond ponytail enthusiastically bounced into the studio and introduced herself as Leela, our instructor. She looked more like a Nebraskan cheerleader than a belly dancer. At first, I was a little disappointed with her bicycle shorts and tank top, but after she took care of some registration details with the class, she reached into a plastic grocery bag and pulled out a silk scarf with a leopard-skin pattern covered with hundreds of small gold beads and coins. The coins loudly jingled as she tied the scarf around her hips. Immediately, the cheerleader was gone and woman of elegance and gracefulness stood before us.

She quickly called the class to order, punched a button on her cassette player, and began a series of slow belly dance moves designed to warm us up. We did some head slides and snake arms (ala I Dream of Jeannie), rib circles and belly rolls (neither of these having anything to do with barbecues or bakeries), and some hip bumps and shimmies, all to the slow, rhythmic beat of a middle-eastern drum.

As a result of my having studied and practiced tai chi chuan for many years, I was very adept at imitating the instructor's movements. In spite of this, I felt uncomfortable watching my moving image in the mirror. I found myself comparing my movements to those of my classmates.

Then I noticed something. Most of the younger, more athletic women had pained grimaces on their faces as they struggled to follow the instructor's movements. One of them stopped the movements altogether and muttered "I can't do this!" Then I looked over at the older, more ample women. A few obviously had experience with the movements but the rest struggled as the others did, trying to complete the movements with ease and precision. Yet all of them had smiles on their faces, laughing and joking with each other when they fell out of time with the music or when their bodies completed a movement in some outlandish manner. They didn't seem bothered by the fact that they were not doing the movements "perfectly." They seemed in tune with their bodies. They were having fun.

After the warm-ups Leela went over the plan for the class and announced that next week we could purchase our zills and have them fitted. "You don't want to go losing a zill when you bang them in front of an audience, " she quipped. Zills? Whatever they are, I'm sure not going to bang MINE in front of anybody! The woman with the bangles seated next to me, noting my quizzical look, leaned over and whispered: "Zills-- finger cymbals. It's great when we all practice then together. What a racket we make!"

The instructor continued. "I'll be taking orders next week for hip scarves for anyone who wants to buy one. In the meantime I have a few here that you can borrow for today." I hesitated for a moment, but then walked over to the plastic bag with a few of my classmates. There were a variety of scarves: purple silks with gold coins, green with iridescent bugle beads, turquoise triangles with sequins. I selected a simple black silk scarf with hundreds of silver beads and coins. I watched how the others tied theirs on and followed suit. Then I looked in the mirror and smiled. I did a brief hip shimmy. The silver coins made a pleasant jingle. The brunette in the tight shorts said, "That looks great on you." She turned to the instructor. "I'd like to place an order for one like hers." I did another shimmy and couple of hip bumps. The bangled woman chirped: "Honey, you oughta have those hips registered as lethal weapons!"

Leela reconvened the group to teach us some basic moves for a routine that we would be learning during the rest of the course. After teaching us a basic walk, she demonstrated a simple spin and urged us to follow along: "Keep your hands open! Drop your shoulders! Keep your eyes fixed on a point in the room so you don't get dizzy." I slowly began turning in place. I reached out my arms and unclenched by fists. As I picked up speed, I felt like I was flying through the air. My whole body relaxed and I melted into the music.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my chest and I almost lost balance.

"I am SO sorry!" exclaimed the woman next to me. She had hit me in the chest with one of her outstretched, bangle-encrusted arms. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," I replied, rubbing the spot where she had clobbered me.

"You're going to have a bruise, though. This sort of thing happens sometimes. You have to develop a sense of humor about it. Your spin was really great, though. I'm sorry I messed it up."

"Thanks, it's okay."

The instructor walked us through a few cool down exercises and then dismissed class. As I gathered my things, the bangled woman said: "Oh, by the way, my name is Rosie. Will you be in class next week?"

"Hi, Rosie. My name is Lori," and to my surprise I responded enthusiastically, "Yes, I'll be in class next week."

"Great, Lori, see you then," she called as she walked out the door.

Before I untied my borrowed hip scarf, I looked once more in the mirror , shimmied, and smiled.

Text and Image: Lori Gloyd © May 5, 2006
Postscript: After studying belly-dance for a couple of years, I injured my back (moving furniture) and had to stop. Perhaps someday, I’ll pick it up again.

Following the Serpentine Road - A Journey of the Heart

Travellers are photographed here, preparing to leave on a new Journey of the Heart. In response to the call of the Rainbow Serpent Priestess, who dwells at the House of the Serpents, they have left to follow the Serpentine Road towards the House of the Serpents.

Note that they are each wearing the special glasses le Enchanteur provided, along with a candlestick, a tiny anchor, a medallion with the imprint of the Unicorn and a set of wings. Each bag contained something that was chosen specifically for the recipient and there is also a map showing where we will be staying on the first night.

The Lemurian Hermitage will provide us all with accommodation for a few days. While we are there travellers will be asked to dip into Pandora's Costume Box and present a performance, as a rehearsal before performing, on stage, for the Rainbow Serpent Priestess at the House of the Serpents.

Don't panic! Presentations may be a simple reading of someone else's work. Leonie Bryant presented the work of Silent Lotus who has sent a poem to feature in the Hermitage Art Room.

To join the Lemurian Hermitage please contact either Monika Roleff or Heather Blakey.

The long and winding road..........

We set off in our caravan, full of trepidation. The names of the places we are passing through are unfamilar and threaten our sense of self. Some journeys are undertaken because there is a need to pass from one physical space to another. Some journeys we endure as we run from one cirumstance to find safety in another. Yet other journeys only take place in our minds as we go deeper and deeper into our own selves, trying to discover who we are and where we should be in this world.

It was easier in days gone by. My parents, for example, found the reason for their way of life and what happened to them could be explained by their deeply held religious beliefs. That gave them the strength to endure what could almost not be endured - holocaust, the death of two children, illness and old age. Now, the old signposts are down and instead we have new prophets amongst us and materialism appears to have succeeded as an ideology.

We, who dream, have never been so urgently required. We may be the very travellers who find the key to the meaning of life and the survival of the planet. We have to travel carefully but not too quietly through this land, we must make ourselves heard but not because we are so brash we cannot be ignored. We have to have light minds. A sense of humour is essential - I hear there are mischievous pixies at work in the caravans......but thats no problem, when the survival of life on earth is at stake we need everyone we can find to help us and also to help us to laugh because there will be tears shed because I predict tears before we reach our destination.

The land is beautiful, mountains on the horizon, spakling lakes under blue skies, spring flowers everywhere and trees covered in heavy pink and read blossom - the scent is indescribably sweet in the warm air. I know there are difficult mountain passes ahead of us. That we may be attacked or ambushed. I know there are highwaymen in the area.........I have friends around me and tonight, we will make a camp fire, and cook a communal meal, fresh vegetables and fruit,
someone might sing, or tell us a story. I will have my knitting and will tell a story if I am asked to do so.

Tomorrow we start trekking up into the hills.........

Red shoes..........

Red shoes......dancing shoes? I am dancing.....no I'm not, I'm daydreaming - again! I always wanted a pair of red dancing shoes and also the ability to dance like a ballerina. I always joked (can you see the tear sliding slowly down the chubby cheek) that I was a barrelina , too plump, too awkward and clumsy to be a dancer. I wanted to float gracefully across a stage in a tutu - but my legs looked like tree trunks. I wanted to wear star-spangled dresses and go ballroom dancing - but I had two left feet.

You know - maybe its time to try again!! I find now I am older and finally growing into myself I am not as fat and clumsy as I thought I was - or I was told I was? - and it might just be possible to put those shoes on. I hope they are comfortable because its a long long time since I looked at shoes as glamour items - I think - "if I know I have feet then my shoes are useless!! "

Perhaps in this enchanted land I will find myself full of grace? There are strange melodies floating in the air here - reminding me of the mysterious island in Shakespeare's "The Tempest". Magic afoot? Aha, a pun.....the magic is making me smile with aniticipation.

Look out world - the first great Barrelina is about to dance the lead in "Swan Lake."

Avebury Stone Serpent

When this whole thing started, the Standing Stones tour,

I was searching around on the net among my favourite links,

looking for something, I know not what. I have an obsession

with lost things, and finding answers. Below is a link of

one man's impression of some stones, and his vision of

what they looked like. They are now lost to us,

lost to the world. There were times when the

Serpent vibrated on the earth, and was sacred. These

are not new things, but very old, and I like to look into

the origins of things. Being on this road made me dig up

the link and lay it out like a map, put my magic

spectacles on, and look at it again with new eyes. Actually,

I can't conceive of it being there, this amazing thing, and

I am struck with the feeling that I am sad of its passing.

I often get this feeling of "What if" and it always gets me

thinking. Now, on this road, I understand things about

serpents I never knew before. Being near these things,

the fascination that they once existed, makes me look

at the world with new eyes. I was terrified of snakes,

and had no idea what to do about them, but now it is

a different thing. I am wary of them, and give them

their space and better understand them now. Once I was

within a foot of a large snake, and was amazed as it did not

move and made no effort to strike me in any way. It was

like a frozen moment, one of the stillest moments I have

ever had. Again for me the subject is fear and superstition.

I feared what I didn't understand.

Avebury Serpent, Britain - link:

http://www.crystalinks.com/avebury.html

(Scroll down to the middle and see the lost formation.)
copyright Monika Roleff 2006.

I am with y'all, I'm just laggin behind. Carrying a writer's block is heavy, most of the time. But see all the little rocks in this creek? They are parts of the block breaking away from me. I have turned them over and over in my mind so many times they are smooth in my hands and in my head. I can pick them back up now and turn them into something besides that burden. Bits and pieces tumbling around, warming in my hands, they will become a story. Surely they are already becoming one.

island of trees

A View from the Road

It is morning and our caravan has pulled out. Along the Road of the Rainbow Serpent in the Land of Standing Stones, we came about a small lake with these mighty sentinals guarding it.

Lori Gloyd (c) May 2, 2006. A 100% computer-generated landscape in Terragen and enhanced by Photoshop. (No part of this is a photograph).

The Night Raid

The Night Raid

I finally managed to drift off to sleep with the image of the House of the Serpents still engraved on my mind's eye. I had not bothered to put the items back into the bag, instead placing them all on a small table on the opposite side of the wagon.

I do not know how long I had been asleep when I was startled to consciousness by a bang, some foot shuffles and the muffled sound of whispered curses. I slowly turned the handle on a small lantern beside my bunk. As the light came up, I could make out a tiny hand, with long red finger tips, reaching for one of the stiletto shoes on the table.

“Hey!”

Two small creatures, one with a dark fuzzy mop of hair and the other with long streaky blond hair, shot up from behind the table, each holding a shoe by a pointed heel.

“Hey! Gimme those!” I shouted as I bolted from my bed. Pixies! Angry too by the looks of one of them.

The blond one tittered and giggled as she flitted up towards the ceiling of the wagon. “I can fly, I can fly!” she wailed.

The other one, with the dark fuzz of hair, glowered as she hissed, “Taffy, shut up! You’ll wake the rest of the camp.” The Dark One, shoe in hand, flew upward as well, heading towards the smoke opening in the ceiling.

I leaped as high as I could and grabbed Taffy by the leg.

A screech filled the wagon as Taffy began swatting me in the face with her free hand. Suddenly, I felt the wind get knocked out of me as the Dark One flew straight into my back, sending me sprawling on the floor. As I tumbled, I knocked over the table containing all the bag contents. Everything spilled to floor. The unicorn medallion fell directly before me, its gold face catching the light and shining brightly.

Both pixies screamed, dropping the shoes. As the shoes fell to the floor, so did the pixies with a loud thud. Realizing the importance of the medallion, I grabbed it and shook it in front of Taffy and her friend.

“You don’t like this, do you!” I taunted. “Tell me why you’re after my shoes!”

“Humans aren’t supposed to fly!” Taffy cried.

“Shut up, idiot” shouted the Dark One.

“Fly? These shoes will make me able to fly?”

“Of course not. Just give them to me. They’re of no use to you. You can’t possibly walk in them. So you might as well give them to me,” pleaded the Dark One.

I stepped forward and shoved the medallion in her face. “Tell me the truth!”

“Alright, alright. Anyone who puts them on can fly as fast and as far as they want. But, HUMANS should NOT have them. They’ll just go around making trouble for the rest of us!” The Dark One made a move towards the door behind her. As I followed her, I stepped into a shadow and the medallion’s brilliance faded for a moment. The binding spell broke long enough for Taffy and the Dark One to crash through the wagon door and race into the darkness.

I pulled the door shut and slid the bolt into place. I righted the table and put the contents back into the bag.

Flying shoes, huh? "Well, well, well", I smiled, "this indeed was going to be an interesting adventure."


Text and image: Lori Gloyd (c) May 2, 2006