Lemurian Gypsy Camp

The Lmbani women have finished weaving and embroidering this beautiful sari for Vi, to present to her tonight in the gypsy camp as the lamps are lit to celebrate Divali. The celebration month of November will culminate in a birthday bash for Vi on November 22.

Vi has been declared a Gypsy Goddess for the month and will be thoroughly spoiled.

So light your lamps, candles and lanterns! The festival of light has begun! Banish the darkness, shine light into dark corners and bathe in the warmth of friendship and fellowship.

At Last … The Gypsy Camp

“I wasn’t afraid of Baba Yaga,” Augustus said. “Not at all.”

Moonbeam responded with a donkey laugh. “Don’t give me that, you were shaking like an aspen in a gale.”

“Well, I just wasn’t, that’s all.”

“You were the one who said she was a shape changer and that we were in trouble.”

“I just wanted to warn you that we were in uncharted territory and that you should be careful.”

“Well I’m not afraid to admit I was scared,” Moonbeam said. “Sometimes fear is a good thing.”

“Come on, you two, stop your squabbling,” I said. “The gypsy camp is right over there, at the base of the hill beyond those trees.”

We all three quickened our pace. It had been a hard journey with one or two unexpected challenges. But, now were here and ready for the celebrations.

#

I stopped at the edge of the camp. “Oh, my goodness, just look at this.” The scene before us was as a live painting. The colorful caravans looked like they had been polished up for a special occasion.

“Wow!” Moonbeams eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Gee Haw,” was all that Augustus managed, and he was usually such a talker.

The gypsies were all dressed up, the men mostly in colorful shirts and jeans, the women in beautifully embroidered dresses. Their guests, too, our fellow travelers, those who had taken different routes, mingled in groups excitedly chatting about their experiences. “We’ll have a thing or two to tell them, won’t we?”

The donkeys nodded. “Wait until the Secretary hears about the dragon and Baba Yaga,” Augustus said, shaking his bristly mane and expanding his chest until he looked more shire than donkey.

“Just don’t exaggerate,” Moonbeam warned him.

“Me, exaggerate … never.”

We were interrupted by the beautiful young gypsy woman. “I am Sandina,” she said. “I am to take you to Queen Ravenna’s caravan where you are to stay while you are here.”

“Queen Ravenna … oh my goodness … I expected to sleep outside … beneath the stars.” I turned to Moonbeam and Augustus. “Where can I bed them down?”

“Right over there,” Sandina pointed to a paddock near the stream. “I will have a young boy take them over there and see that they are taken care of, if that’s all right.”

“Of course, that will be nice.” I could see they would have lots of food, treats, and shelter if they needed it. They would also have a clear view of the any festivities, which I assumed would take place in the center clearing where a huge fire was already blazing.

Sandina led me to Queen Ravenna’s caravan. It was brightly painted and decorated in all the colors of the rainbow with designs of the constellations, with new moons and full ones, of owls and ravens, of sunsets and sunrises.

Sandina motioned to two handsome young men to unload my baggage. They were dark of skin like Sandina. Their hair was black as night and curly.

I climbed the steps into the caravan. It was furnished with a single bed covered with colorful woolen blankets. There were plenty of pillows and cushions all gaily decorated, and on the two side walls, flanking the small windows, tapestries hung … each depicting a scene of natural beauty. One was of a stag whose eyes were so life-like that they immediately arrested mine. The floor was coved with woven rugs of amazing colors and designs. . There were candles, too, of assorted scents. I felt like I was indeed in a queen’s palace.

When, I wondered, will I meet the queen?

Vi
©October 31, 2005

Pegasus by Right (7)

(I have finished the last two installments)


“I cannot believe in what you reveal,”
said I in patient musing,
“for there is not yet a witnessing
to sustain what I surely know.”

“so that then is the hidden quest,
our champion’s dream to unfold,”
she chime-tinkled in mirth and dance.
“all seekers wish to distill
knowing from believing,
and you would strive for something
less and more in yearning.”

Then I came to understand
what I had begun by this entrancement –
that to know something of wonder
is without meaning or worth
unless shared with others
that they might believe –
or find a seed of dream.

Pegasus now reclined before me,
expecting more — waiting,
for he is of a journey
after all.

What then, did I know so profoundly?
Simply that a place existed
in divine trusted certainty,
that might be claimed “most beautiful”
of all scenes of comprehension
within the balance of agreement
called humanity.

I did not have to see it to believe,
and no amount of believing
could enhance my soul fed knowledge.
It was my faith that such knowing
could engender awe and mirth in others
that called forth the Pegasus of dreams.

“Then let it be done,” I cried;
“but not for me, but all.”

The shimmering form of steed and maid
were but shadows against the portal light,
yet had they not protected me
I may have been consumed or drawn in –
I am not sure,
and cannot describe how I chose
to remain –
for in this bold jest I was correct,
and of this flight of Pegasus
I could not return,
and might never have been at all.

“You do not wish to see it then –
this panorama so enticing that
the ether now trembles
with the ripples of your request?”

“It was never for me,” I whispered.
“There is one whose dreams you surely know –
the girl next door,
my friend Alicia who laughs at my
attempts to sing to the flowers.
I have tried to make her know of flowers
and many things her blind eyes cannot behold,
and somehow she believes –
in me.”

Once again and on and in
there were many shapes and forms
prancing just out of sight and wonder,
and I knew then also that of this
Pegasus as a focus of everbeen.

I then spoke of what I had planned
all along — what Pegasus must have sensed,
but somehow needed for me to invoke
the power of the words.

“When the collage of splendid wonder
is finally painted of the magick points
of vision and sacrifice of Shernai –
pray give it her as is her right –
and pray withhold my name,
for it is her love and trust
that brings us here,
in faith.”

(to be continued)

Coral is afraid no one will recognize them
if they come to the party in costume. A discussion
revealed that they think everyone will pretend
not to recognize them, and then they won’t know who
anyone is.

Jade suggested that they ask the donkeys
who probably won’t be fooled — Fran??

Anyway, her is the costumes for the girls,
which they made for themselves (mostly).

‘quoise — is the Jolly Green Giant in green leotards
and sweatshirt, with a “can” made from a large grocery bag
crayoned to look like green beens.
We still haven’t figured out what to put on her head

Jade — she was most insistent on something based on the song
“with her head beneath her arms”. I had saved this piece of silvery foam
packing material which I cut and punched holes in.
Jade stitched it together with string to make a “T-Tunic”
large enough for her. Then she has a hood made form a
thrift store black shawl with a pumpkin mask. Then she has a “head”
made from a soccerball with a human mask over it,
and a huge axe made of cardboard. I don’t know how she will
carry any candy she gets, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

Coral — she wanted to be a fairy and found a little girl’s
ballet costume with a frilly tutu at the thrift store.
Wings were a problem (for me). ‘quoise pointed out
that when Coral uses her crutches (not often) she sometimes
plays like flying. Ah-ha! We fastened some plastic window screen
to the crutches after spraypainting them purple, which flutters
around when she waves her crutches. She looks more like a
violet butterfly and is dangerous to anyone within six feet, but OK.

Me?? a sea monster. What else.

Nessie

Not having enough room here for a Day of the Dead altar and a Divali shrine, we combined them…the lights twinkled all night long. It was beautiful.

For Halloween, I thought I would share this tale with you. It actually happened, just as I tell it…

I took my early morning cup of tea out onto the balcony, and sat down to admire my favourite tree. A raven flew down and perched on a branch. He turned a beady eye on me, and I, as is my wont, bid him good morning. I don’t actually talk aloud to birds, you understand – I direct my thoughts at them.

Having bid him good morning, my mind wandered to the line from Poe – “Quoth the Raven, nevermore…”

The raven at once turned his back on me.

“Ok,” I thought, “Poe didn’t go down too well.” I hummed a few bars of the Scottish ballad, Twa Corbies.

The raven still resolutely refused to look at me.

I now leaned forward and directed my thoughts in a more concentrated manner – but this time I thought before I thought, if you see what I mean.

“OK,” I said, “ravens have had bad press from Poe and folklore – you’re sick of hearing that stuff. Tell you what I’ll do – I’ll write a song, a poem, in praise of ravens – of all black birds. I’ll sing of their beautiful shining black feathers, the perfect way their wings fold back against their bodies, their courage, their protectiveness – I’ll sing of the way ravens have helped people, and how they take it upon themselves to be a warning, to be associated with bad luck, because they are noble birds that do not think of themselves first…”

By now the raven had turned round. He was looking at me, disconcertingly, from either side of a slender twig, two bright yellow eyes looking at me…

“I’m not as famous as Poe,” I thought at him, “and not a great poet, but my words are sometimes heard and sometimes travel over vast distances, and I know a woman who loves ravens and will be glad to let others know of my song.”
He hopped around the branch, closer to me, his bright eyes still fixed intently on me.

“I will sing of the beauty of the raven,” I promised. “You are surely the handsomest bird of all.”

We continued to observe each other in comfortable silence for a couple of heartbeats, and now, here is the spooky bit.

“You have my word on it,” I said. “From now on, I will sing in praise of ravens. No more quoting Poe, I promise. You can go about your business now.”
And he flew away.

My painting titled ‘All Soul’s Night’ was based on the music of Loreena McKennitt. Happy Night to All!

ALL SOULS NIGHT

Bonfire dot the rolling hillsides
Figures dance around and around
To drums that pulse out echoes of darkness
Moving to the pagan sound.

Somewhere in a hidden memory
Images float before my eyes
Of fragrant nights of straw and of bonfires
And dancing till the next sunrise.

I can see the lights in the distance
Trembling in the dark cloak of night
Candles and lanterns are dancing, dancing
A waltz on All Souls Night.

Figures of cornstalks bend in the shadows
Held up tall as the flames leap high
The green knight holds the holly bush
To mark where the old year passes by.

Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides — photo
Figures dance around and around
To drums that pulse out echoes of darkness
Moving to the pagan sound.

Standing on the bridge that crosses
The river that goes out to the sea
The wind is full of a thousand voices
They pass by the bridge and me.

This piece was inspired by the imagery of a Japanese tradition which celebrated the souls of the departed by sending candle-lit lanterns out on waterways leading to the ocean, sometimes in little boats; along with the imagery of the Celtic All Souls Night celebrations, at which time huge bonfires were lit not only to mark the new year, but to warm the souls of the departed. – L.M.

Music and lyrics by Loreena McKennitt

My painting entitled “Celtic Fire” is also of Loreena McKennitt