~A Mermaid's Tale~
~A Wyld Sea Witch surrendering to the Ninth Wave of the Goddess ~Archive for feral
Wyld moment
Because the weather has been so great, I have not been attending to writing or anything much indoors, I just feel I should make the most of it no matter what. In fact I am about to make some lunch and then walk up to this point above to look at the view, which takes about an hour and a half to walk. When everything is fixed here I will pack up a note book to write in and set off up the hills. Yes I know how lucky I am, I thank it all every day for unfolding in front of me, these beautiful spaces hold everything I need to live to the fullest in my being. They ground me with their peace. I walked through a field of wild flowers and grasses on Saturday and was held by them, in the moment. The wyld spirit felt strong there. I stood and listened intently, feeling the energy of the growth and the beauty of its language. I watched a tiny white- tinted blue butterfly, so delicate, it landed in front of me and I watched it warm its wings in the pool of sun. I looked at all the different species of grass and flowers only recognising a handful of names.
More butterflies appeared and flitted around me, so busy in their work of survival and so beautiful in the dance of it all, totally unconscious of their beauty, they exist, the delicacy of their performance..the wisdom they use to find exactly what they need in each flower. The silent communion between the source and their searching. The same silence in that present moment, as I watched, and felt it, attuning to it, except it was not total silence.
The bird song, the soft hum of bees, the far away sounds of children playing . As I walked back, I tuned into all the sights and sounds and smells around me, the soft slap of my feet against a dried out mud road, the distant sound of a garden mower. The smell of a barbecue fire, the sap of sun warmed trees. Everything around me is burgeoning green. Each year it never fails to take me by surprise, just how green , how thick the leaves are, how many shades of summer there. It all just keeps on thriving. The energy of it pulses through me and around me, I breathe it in deep and send it back out, thanking the gift of the moment, thanking the wyld and all its aliveness.
Feral
This is my power animal, a white wolf, and one who you will occasionally read of here, though she will never reveal her name to you..She guides and protects me at all times, treat her wisely and greet her with respect and she will sit a while and watch you with eyes of deep wisdom as you read my pages.
Scorn her at your peril…she does not suffer fools..nor does she need to, she is not of your world.
She guides me constantly , and protects me fiercely, never more so than through my creative and spiritual journey, which started a long time ago.
I write for the first time here of the year, 1992 , the year my journey began when the stripping away of my psyche and my personal world took place. Material spiritual, geographical…. In healing my self and learning, much serendipity was energised and activated. I awakened to healing more, knowing more and new abilities of sight inherited, though my heart and mind were always open.
I learned the why and how..
So many came and taught and helped me. As I reflect back, I nod in thanks to them.. and see also the ones who are there now.
I met a Tohunga who told me many things, a meeting I will not forget, as much of what he prophesied is now coming to pass.
He warned me about the new age and what it would demand, and amongst other things, he showed contempt for those who made false claims, who built false dreams and promises.
As other indigenous people do so, he worked to protect the secrets of the earth, to ground the energies and much else besides.
Not long after that I took my first Shamanic journey along with a shamanic healer. She, my wolf came to me then, along with another power animal, who chooses secrecy.
I have worked with it, and others ever since.
But she, my wolf, is my primary source and works closely with another, of another clan.
She has introduced me to much wisdom and magnified the truths of the wild and saved my life.
She has shown me lately other members of her pack. It is to honor her and the wild that I write.
I do so with great humility and respect for the sources I draw from, for I know only too well how much they are plundered, stolen and appropriated by those who are false… and show great lack of humility and gratitude for what is given openly and freely and from the heart.
The way of the spiritual warrior is true in nature, and has no posturing nor arrogance, nor fakery.
What is the Wild?
It is what we are loosing , a little bit of each day, and what very few have true knowledge of, some who do, visit these pages.
I welcome them.
It is the space between the here and now and the morphic resonance in between, it is timeless, rich in deep infinity and has no essence of time, it is what we must fight to protect as it will save us, it is what taught us, before we knew how to learn. It is the guttural cry at injustice and the howl of a wolf in winter.
It is what danced in the caves and lit up the shadows, it is the hand print in paint upon the wall, it is the deer running there in an outline, it is the rhythm of a frame drum and the bloody stench of birthing and the sigh of death.
It is the innate power, the instinctual knowing, the animistic joy, the passion, the sharpness of wonder, it is lust and poetry and laughter, it is the touch of a mans hand and the rake of a bears claw, it is the wailing and grief at the death of a loved one, whose hand is held as she slips away too young.
It is honor and loyalty and a raw love of truth. It is the knowing and the instinct of the seer. It is the backbone of a mans honor.
It is the green in the flash of an eye watching in the shadows. It is the storm of thunder and the kiss of snow, the dazzling bright white of lightning on water.
It is the bark of a known tree, and the sap of a young one newly met.
It is the new moon in all her phases, and the sun in all his stations. It is the guidance of the stars, and planets to those who follow.
It is floating naked, on the sea in the deep dark and looking UP at the wheeling, reeling, motion of the bright jeweled stars above.
It is my spiritual home , it is what teaches me, a wanderer, free spirit, much traveled, witch , cunning woman , hedge witch , wisdom seeker, writer, carer, healer, activist, womanist, herb gatherer, herb grower, food grower, …wisdom seeker..seer..
Looking at the world, the earth, the wild, through the shamanic lens. As a result, learning through wiser eyes how to help her..and protect her.
fe·ral (fîr‘əl, fĕr‘-)
adj.
-
- Existing in a wild or untamed state.
- Having returned to an untamed state from domestication.
- Of or suggestive of a wild animal; savage: a feral grin.
[From Latin fera, wild animal, from ferus, wild.]
Fool Moon In a Scorpions wake, hound dogs and hedge hogs
Some long winded titles get your attention dont they? But read on it may just be a hook that has meaning and relevance.
First lines and images are like ghosts that haunt you, and fish that dont want catching, they just wont leave till you have them in your net,
but then they slip and slide all over the place, whipping their spines and tales, dissolving into labyrinthine castles and caves, till you have them safely corralled on the white sheet of paper.
Only then they dont quite conjur up what you hoped they would, something with an essence, a taste, an ache you cant quite explain is not there, or maybe the sentence doesnt take you anywhere you thought it would. But the best part is yet to come, you cock an ear to the echo, look out the maps and polish the compass, lean into the urge and stay with the process.
Trying to capture a salt water woman.
She is tall,strong, hair the colour of treacle..that whips around her face.
Her skin is lined by the wind
she holds the sea in her mind at all times.
It is an ever changing map to her. A blue print of tides and waxing moons dissolving time, shaping and changing.
She wears second hand clothes usually mens, large bulky coats and faded jeans.
and so it goes, she is there, clear as daylight begging me to tell her part of the story and I have no idea where she fits in all, or if she needs a story all of her own.
… SO..Well if the moon looks as good as she did last night, I might just go down to the rocks and holler, like a hound dog. She is in Scorpio for Beltane as well, so very potent for the pagan calender people oh and the faeries.
Been doing stuff and writing till late, tired enough to starting seeing things that arent there, but that is normal for me anyway.
I could of sworn I saw a hedgehog last night scittering across the road at full pelt. I was mentally willing whatever it was to get there before the squash machine got her. But I think it was just a blob of seaweed being blown across the road like watery tumbleweed in the wind.
Happy moon.
FURNACE ROOM LULLABY
Neko Case (2000)
ALL NIGHT
ALL I HEAR
ALL I HEAR IS YOUR HEART
HOW COME? HOW COME?
I TWISTED YOU OVER AND UNDER TO TAKE YOU
THE COALS WENT SO WILD AS THEY SWALLOWED THE REST
I TWISTED YOU UNDER AND UNDER TO BREAK YOU
I JUST COULDN’T BREATHE WITH YOUR THRONE ON MY CHEST
ALL NIGHT
ALL I HEAR
ALL I HEAR IS YOUR HEART
HOW COME? HOW COME?
SO FAR UNDER THE BED INTO THE BEAMS YOU’VE GONE
I’VE GONE YOU’VE GONE
I’M WRAPPED IN THE DEPTHS OF THESE DEEDS THAT HAVE MADE ME
I CAN’T BRING THIS SOUND FROM MY HEAD THOUGH I TRY
I CAN’T SEEM TO FIND MY WAY UP FROM THE BASEMENT
A DEMON HOLDS MY PLACE ON EARTH ‘TILL I DIE
