Monday, November 2, 2009
i walked the line 'tween god and man
had no dirt within my hands
oh i thought my world was Grand
with all these castles made of sand
oh but you know the tide's a'coming
and i must stop my soul from runnin'
'cause I hope it's all God's plan
here in castles, made of sand
How does one know they're a mystic? A magickal creature? In our own way, all of us; being One essence, undivided; are the very beasts and champions of mythology that we read about. We are the ones we've been waiting for; if waiting exists at all, in a place beyond clockfaces. The tribes of the Sun and the Moon exist; here, now. Whether my intentional spellcrafting friends at Liquid Fire Mantra, the fashion elves; working their rarified ideas into substance at AD2013, my circus allies and fellow magickals in the ever-expanding Mythmakers, or the olde world ways of truemagick, divinations and connections with the seasons of this realm epitomized with my sisters Circle, part of the now-defunct Academy of the Ancient Arts or otherwise, the signs and sigils are there. A pathworking made of real magick; of the true and manifest movement through the realms of the Consciousness; is evident, everywhere.
Magick, real magick; is, of course; related directly to awareness. To self-realized consciousness. To living in your Higher Self. One of the things i've truly appreciated about my fellows in the Mythmakers and beyond is their authenticity; these are no mechanical bellydancers; no contrived prestidigitators; no glorified shamans. These are real beings wrought of substance of fine consciousness; inevitably; beautifully bound to paths of freedom and personal expression. From the elves living in the Valhalla mountains down to the wandering Lost Boys (and girls) of the Hawai'ian islands; tribes of Divine beings walk this planet; visible only to those who can see such beauty within themselves.
It is one of the great jokes of the magickal world; as I see it. In order to see the beings of this delicate Creation in their Divinity; one must be able to perceive the Divinity within themselves. See ourselves in something more clear than a circus mirror.
(the author with Lord Hjeron; King of Earth)
I shall always remember my time travelling with the Mythmakers. It was a movement for this changeling through the realms of the earth through the aspects of what passes for 'performance'; here. Having spent the previous three+ years living in the faerie mountains of Tahingaard (Lake Tahoe for you earth-folks); there was a deep need to learn the ways of grounded movement; and this could be done best by allying myself with the earth king. It's a story in itself, eventually to be told somewhere; wrought of words; pictures; and truefeeling. The picture above was at a folk festival that we landed at, high in the northern territories. I had awakened to the sound of Scottish bagpipes. Joelique Spiritfeather (aka Joelique MacGregor) was sleeping it off on the couch-slash-bed in the front of Calliope's Dream, my magickal caravan that travelled through the realms with me.
Scotland has always been present throughout this incarnation; her green fields and unfiltered elementalism bringing the tone of this realms into greater clarity. Though it was not until last summer when I travelled with Noah MacLaine and Patience Yanderling on the faerie roads through Scotland; moments like this one catch the echo of her strength; reminding us of the weirding ways that truly define the movement through the Consciousness of this place.
I find the artifice of this realm distant; as if seen from a long way away. Earlier tonight; synchroncity (or similar) led me to the blog of a novelist writing about novels. Her title, "Tribal Writer" brought a feeling within me; so I investigated. So interesting ... this world, of papers and paychecks; of conventions and side-real shadow-plays on humanities fears and aspirations. Within it was written much on the craft of writing as defined in this place; at least from their point-of-view. It was fascinating. Fascinating, and alien.
I do not come from such a place. Lady Story, Calliope, is my mother, my sister, my daughter and my lover. She holds me in Grace, and I am her childe; woven from the very fabric of adventure. My tales are manifest; physical; wrought from the true-experience; crafted together with photography and memory. The process of metaphor exists only to further illustrate the High Selves that exist within all beings, the result of their aspirations for self-realization manifest. Having come from such a place; the idea of imagining stories seems far. Rather, it is the divination of what meaning there is in the human condition; of what lessons and pressures shape the lifetime of an individual. Is one manner better than the other? MORE authentic? I think not. All artifice, all imagining; is real, somewhere. I read on, as the twists and turns of what passes for story-form in this realm were presented, digested and absorbed; thankful for the reflection. Resonant, I send a thank-you to the author of such things, in recognition of their wielding of Story.
This world is so much more than it seems to the unseeing eye. The Sight reveals an Eden, a potential constant Shamballa, where WE are the gods and heroes and creatures of mythology that are prophesized to populate such venerable architecture. Though this entry merely touches on such reality, it is my hope that inspiration will continue; that this 'blog' becomes ever more vibrant with the process of life-in-action, of magick; and beauty; and Love.
In particular strength was when we arrived in the realms of Faerieworlds. Apparently, House Froud; known for their tomes on Good Faeries, Bad Faeries as well as the Labyrinth and Dark Crystal films and much more; had created a pocket universe; a bubble-realm of shared belief; granting hospitality and solace to the many faerie-kin that move through this human incarnation. I had met with Prince Froud there, and purchased a Cerronus mask, complete with horns, from him. In a later Story, it would be used as the dakini's of Ashland asked me and Noah to incarnate as avatars of Great Pan for their ritual (that was a great night; which involved me changing into furry pants butt-ass naked in a transparent UK-style telephone in the corner of a local pub called 'The Black Sheep'). At the time, Prince Froud; myself and Hjeron ended up in rendevouz in the dusk hours; each of us led, individually and without congress; to assume our faun shape.
It was there, in Faerieworlds, that I purchased a few of the fae auris; magickal ear-pieces made by Liquid Fire Mantra, and enchanted them; gifting pairs to Cicada Corazon, Joelique Spiritfeather; and MacLaine. Such wares are so beautiful, ideas harvested from the far fields of manifestation by the royal elves; Forest & Cassandra. I remember meeting with them, in the faery market, full of sigilwork and dextrous mudras ....
(ahhh ... bare-chested me; reminds me of the olde days; in the deserts; the sun; lifetimes away from this Now)
It was a beautiful time. A part of the 'Journey with the Mythmakers' storyline, which will eventually find itself into publication. I like this. This form, this Telling within the flickers; this 'blog'. So interesting, fiicker-magick. Computers, as they're called. Caged lightning, bouncing back and forth endlessly between floating mirrors. An infinity of boxes, emulating a sphere. Here, in this digital universe, words are things of great substance; their echoes cast across the akashic web; affecting the world at large. So different from these years spent in the mountains; full of ritual and moonlight. A great doorway appears before me, beckoning me to share the experiences of this faerytale life. Mmm. Rally. Though these pictures are a year old, still they inspire me. I put them here as checkpoints, reminders of the Great Tales that are to be transcribed; the lore & legend of Today's mythology; the virtue of those of us who aspire to live within the Now. They are part of a much larger Story, of course. Only time will Tell.
To be continued as this blog evolves :)
- Griffin LeFaye; faerytale champion