I used to draw a lot before I got caught up with doing digital constructions. Here’s a drawing done in Prisma Color pencil then placed on a computer generated background.

Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

At the top of the mountain where the Temple People live and love, there lies a lake of such depth and stillness that it is said if you peer into its surface it will reflect back onto you that which you need to learn and acknowledge is a part of who you are, or perhaps might even become. Curiosity always played a big part in my life, to date at least, even though there have been many times when it would have been better if such leanings could have been overcome. Still on this day, in this season of summer, and here on this magical island where anything could, and usually does, happen, I chose to climb the mountain until at last the Lake lay not far off in front of me. The nearer I got to the sacred waters the slower my approach became. It was as if I was being pulled in two directions, the one diametrically opposite to the other. Musing on such a discrepancy and wondering about my unusual hesitancy, I believed that the fear, for such it could only be, was due to the intuitive knowledge which communicated to me that here and now indeed a new vista, a vision, was about to be unveiled, and yet too there was that part of me which balked and resisted, wanting only to maintain the status quo. Well that is not the way of those who choose to follow the path of the Goddess, who dream of becoming priestesses of the Divine Realm even while still walking in this world. Oh the yearning to learn to live both here and not here, this indeed was the driving force and pull of my life, both then, and yet even now. And so this same deep inner force called me towards the edge of the Lake and even a part way into the healing waters. And so it was that as I stood knee deep in strangely warm water, all of a sudden the calm surface began to ruffle and then broil and swirl, until I believed that the current would grab and drag me down to its depths, where I should be drowned and lost forever. Ah the taste of fear is such a one that it never really leaves your tongue, so that the memory takes on a life of its own and manages to infiltrate and crawl through every little chink in your life. Perhaps it is because once you face your possible death, nothing ever really seems the same again. Ever. But then I didn’t die that day, at least not in the usual way that we understand death. But indeed I did die, in a manner more horrific and horrendous that any I could ever have imagined. This is what happened, and what the mirror which was the Lake, revealed.

After a time which seemed to last forever and yet which only lasted perhaps as long as it takes to tell the tale, the Lake grew calm again. Peering into it and seeing my own reflection, a voice began to speak, in strange tones, the only characteristic that was discernable being that it was the voice of a female, but most certainly not any such that one might meet walking through the dusty roads and streets where humans reside. Perhaps this might be a voice one might encounter in a dream, or if one is far enough risen in the realms of the Priestess, in a sacred grove. But today this voice spoke to me from the depths of a lake, which oughtn’t to have surprised me given that I hail from the magical isles of Ireland, a land which places great store by the sacred waters in the wells which spring up all over the countryside to offer the healing gifts of the Great Mother. But I digress; let me continue my tale. The Voice spoke the following words, words which will linger long in my memory, yes even mine which many say was lost on this adventure undertook with L’Enchanteur across many lands and wondrous vistas.

‘’My name is Love and you have come here to learn the ways of the Divine Feminine, without which you may never become all that you were born and destined to be. Listen to my voice. I shall be your Guide, even when you no longer hear me speak in your language, still you will feel me resonate in the deepest recesses of your soul. Whenever you hear the inner stirrings of your heart, when you listen with your inner ear, it is I who you will hear. Follow where I lead. Sometimes the path will be gentle and to your liking, quiet and filled with light and a sense of well being. But there will also be times of darkness when all the shadows of your soul will seem to be reaching out, attempting to trip you up and hold you down caged in a dimly lit hall of what has oft before been called ‘purgatory’.

‘’But you must needs be brave and find your courage and keep going. On these days it will be enough just to rise up and keep going, looking neither left nor right, but hanging on to hope, a hope that sometimes will be justified, and at other times, not. And in those dark days when you feel alone, bereft and lost, then and only then will you be made ready to follow in my steps. Until you die first to all you are, you cannot discover the truth of who you will become. You are not who you think you are.’’

The image faded, disappearing as gradually as it had materialized. Now there was no image in the mirror at all, no reflection, no, not even my own image. I had come face to face with the beginnings of the truth from which I had spent a lifetime running away from. I was, am nothing. Falling to the floor, I wept.

Soul Sister

by Lori Gloyd

Inspired by the Tholos Dreaming prompt

Selene skillfully navigated her silver Camry around a hairpin on San Pablo Pass Road, gliding in and out of the shadows cast by the sycamores and cottonwoods. The road rose out of Santa Theresa and curled through the coastal range. As Selene rounded the curve, she slowed for a moment and gazed towards the Pacific, sparkling in the mid- morning sun. Already she felt some of the tension release from her neck and shoulders.

Selene’s week had been difficult. As the admissions director at the university in Santa Theresa, she had scrambled from one emotion-charged meeting to another, endured the harpings of several unhappy program chairs and administrators, and had every computer workstation in her department go offline from some unknown glitch. The week had been typical, but for some reason she felt that she was butting heads with all her constituents. To top off the week, the members of the recruitment and retention committee panned her proposal for an innovative marketing strategy to attract and retain more students. So unhappy were the members that the committee chair insisted that she re-write her entire proposal to make in “more in line with the current university systems”. Whatever that’s supposed to mean, she thought.

Selene had gone home last night, drained and de-moralized, and had awakened Friday morning with a pounding headache. As she stood in front of the bathroom mirror putting on her make-up, she was astonished at the haggard face staring back at her. “Honey,” she said to herself, “you look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.” Then, in a rare moment of spontaneity, she called her office and told them she was sick and would not be in that day. A short while later, Selene threw her overnight bag and laptop case into the trunk of her car and took off.

She did not have a destination in mind and simply headed up into the mountains, away from the city, the university, and her headaches. She felt a pang of guilt. She had never played hooky in her life, not even as a schoolgirl, and now she was driving away from all her responsibilities.

As she accelerated around the curve away from the ocean view, she saw a small sign, partially obscured by brush: La Casa de los Arboles. Selene braked. The House of the Trees. Hmmm. Okay. As good a place as any. Selene turned onto the gravel road next to the sign. About a quarter-mile down the road she came to a low-slung adobe style structure tucked within a grove of oak trees with a number of small cottages behind it. The sign in front of the building read, Los Arboles Hot Springs and Spa. Selene brightened. She could not remember the last time she had a nice visit to a spa and immediately decided this would be her refuge for the weekend.

She quickly checked in and was directed to one of the cottages in the back, a small structure embraced by the limbs of two of the biggest oak trees she had ever seen. She entered the cottage and tossed her bags on the bed. When she had checked in, the desk clerk noticed her laptop bag and informed her that they did not have an internet connection here and that her cell phone would not work. “The goal of Los Arboles is to help our guests get away from it all,” he said. Selene had a brief moment of hesitation, but when the desk clerk slipped a brochure in front of her that listed all the spa services, her misgivings evaporated.

Not wasting any time, Selene slipped into her bathing suit and went looking for the hot springs. She wandered through the oak trees following the guide signs. She came to a embankment overlooking a ravine. There were stairs carved into the slope.

“Here!”, a voice called, “Are you looking for the springs?” A young blonde woman waved at Selene from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes, I am!”

“Great, you’re in the right place. C’mon down.”

Selene made her way down the stairs. She felt like she was entering some subterranean labyrinth. A pool of steaming water bubbled up in a grotto at the head of the rocky ravine, with a creek issuing from the opposite end siphoning off the pool’s excess water downstream. The natural spring had been partially tamed with a metal railing and seating carved into one end of the pool.

“Hi, my name is Sunnie and I’m the spa attendant. Anything you need, just let me know. Can I get you something to drink to start?”

“Yes, that would be nice. May I have some water please?”

“Sure, coming up.”

Sunnie scampered off. Selene eased herself into the hot water. She groaned. The water felt so good. It had a slight sulfur odor but it was not bad at all. She glanced upward and noticed a rocky overhang giving her the sensation of being in a cocoon. The hot water enveloped her like embryonic fluid. She felt very safe and secure.

“Here you are, ma’am,” Sunnie set a plastic cup of sparkling water on the edge of the pool next to Selene. “How does that water feel?” she chirped.

“Oh, it’s wonderful.” Selene sipped her water. “Makes you want to forget about everything.”

“Tough week, huh?”

“Oh, you got that right. I couldn’t say or do anything to please people this week.” Selene had not meant to reveal that to a stranger but she felt oddly at ease with Sunnie.

“Why?”

“Don’t get me wrong— I like my co-workers. They’re just not very receptive to new ideas.”

“Hmm, I hear that happens. Why? What happened? ”

“I worked for weeks on this proposal at their request, then, they shot it down, just like that!”

“Why?”

“Well, that’s a good question. First they said my idea was impractical, but when I presented my data, my supporting research, then they switched and said my plan would change the existing systems.”

“Isn’t that the idea?”

“Precisely. But it gets worse—when I stood my ground and pointed to the data, some of them actually got annoyed—said I was being too ‘inflexible’ with my plan, too narrow-minded in my thinking. I wasn’t taking into account THEIR points of view. I had considered their points of view and it is clear their systems are flawed. Mine is better. But here’s the thing that gripes me: since when did having confidence in yourself, believing in your own ideas and sticking to your convictions become a character flaw? Standing on principle used to be considered a virtue even when you disagreed!”

“Hmmm, I see your point. Why do you suppose that is?”

“I think our society has gotten to a place where we are so concerned about maintaining the status quo, not disrupting the complacency of the group, that new ideas are considered a threat. ”

“I see.”

“And if anyone takes a stand for their idea, that person is considered ‘hurtful and divisive’! Selene shook her head. “But I just don’t know what I can do about it, though.”

“Why?”

“’Why?’ Because nobody wants to be an outsider, that’s why!” Selene looked up at Sunnie and realized that she was ranting to a complete stranger which embarrassed her a bit. “Well, I think I’m done stewing now.”

“Okay” Sunnie handed her a towel and bathrobe and Selene quickly made her way out of the ravine and back to her cottage.

After showering and dressing, Selene settled herself on the bed with her laptop. Although she did not have an internet connection, she could still work on the re-draft of the proposal. She’d show them. She’d come back with a proposal that would work for all of them. God forbid anyone’s toes gets stepped on and they actually have to change their thinking. Selene stabbed at her keyboard. She drafted several proposals, tweaking the data, running new scenarios. Each time she deleted the draft and started all over.

“What do these people expect?” she muttered. “And don’t tell me that I’M inflexible and narrow-minded.”

Suddenly, a revelation hit her. I AM inflexible. I am inflexible because my plan IS the right way to proceed and I’m NOT going to change one word of it!

Selene glanced at her watch and grabbed her cell phone. The committee chair should still be in the office. No cell reception. If I hustle I can make it back to campus in an hour. Selene would march right into the chair’s office and talk to him again. She would stand her ground.

“Damn the status quo!” she said as she packed her bags. “This is a matter of principle!”

Selene grabbed her bags and headed to the office to drop off her keys. She intercepted Sunnie on the way.

“You’re leaving already? Didn’t you like it here?”

“I loved it here! This place is wonderful. You’re wonderful. Thank you so much. I feel like a new person. And I have you to thank for it?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Why?”

“Exactly! You know all the right questions to ask. Have a good day.”

Selene walked away with a look of determination in her eyes.

Lori Gloyd © 2006

Though m’lady Emrys and I (faucon) met too late in life
to conceive a child of warmth and glee;
I did once say to her –

“every woman should hear at least once in her life –
lady, will you bear my child!”

and, as fertility rests in the soul as well,
and we have together produced
a ‘Child of Light’ …
and its care
shall consume our passion
evermore and now.

my words you already know –
and those written of a Priestess
on the Calabar “Early to the Temple”
are excerpts from poems sent to her …

Know her words also:

I will look into the dawning
To watch the faeries harvest dew,
touch the sidhe’s hearts a’spawning
sprites and pixies with wings of blue.
I will look upon the daybreak
just before the sun does rise
And gaze upon the misty Lake
to wait for a falcon to arrive
I will wander in the crystal morn
harping soundwaves on the wind
and revel in love newly born
and yet has ever been

In more ancient times fertility rites took many forms
such as Beltane and simpler survival needs –
certainly not following the rules of today.

Here is a story where my Gusari character Kiyan
is caught in a dance of a different sort.

faucon
…………………………………………………………………….

Maiden

The goats were a mistake, but Kiyan knew he must take some of the blame. When the word went out that he would perform magic and stories for the children of the village, those out in the high pastures herding goats decided to take a short cut. Unfortunately, the forest path went through his specially prepared camp. Now the pot of stew was filled with dirt and his khana pavilion was broken and torn. Even his mild disposition produced a sigh as he set about repairing his preparations. His many secret visitors would be disturbed if the camp was not perfect.

Thus he was somewhat distracted and his normal shaman sensitivity gave no advanced warning of the visitor’s approach. A slight shadow across the ferns and a small broken twig gave late warning. The Gusari tumbled aside and came up with drawn kama sword — trained reaction from past events. He found himself staring into the doe-like eyes of a young girl, though her exposed turn of calf and hint of budding breast beneath her shift caused him to upgrade his first appraisal. She stood quietly in the half shadow of a spruce and waited for his call. A slight breeze seemed to play with her hair, but it may have been a trick of the sunlight flickering through the waving branches. She looked at him without fear, while her steady eyes and slight smile told of a secret. Kiyan went into the center of the glade to sit on a rock and gave her a nod. She came with some hesitation.

“I come as a messenger of things I do not fully understand. My older sister has sent me.”

The Gusari had nothing to say, but gave her time to gather her thoughts.

“She has been married for two years now. My uncle was injured in a battle last year and this somehow affects their ability to have a child. She is living with great distress and yearning.” The girl looked down and played with the grass with her bare toes. “She will come to you tonight, after dark so that you can not see her or know her name. She is not comely and somewhat bashful, but said to tell you she is strong and passionate — that you will be pleased.”

Again, the Gusari had nothing to say, but nodded, partially soas not to embarrass her almost tearful eyes. She turned and walked slowly toward the path by the stream. The she stopped and laughed.

“If you are here in two years at the Spring Sharing, I will come too.”

Then the maiden skipped into the shadows and was gone.

For fun, I got my aura and chakras scanned and measured a while back.   This is how they appear on paper.   The jury is still out with me on whether I buy all of this.  It’s not that I don’t believe that our bodies and spirits have energy, for we are wonderfully and mysteriously constructed beings.  But  how do I know that the gizmos they hooked me up to were really reading anything?  I may have been taken by charlatans for all I know.   Anyway, it’s a pretty picture, nonetheless.

Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

Enchanteur benefiting from a Chakra Session on the Isle of the Temple People

For Julia With Gratitude

Filling the Well
by Touch Drawing

sent by Megan Warren

Enchanteur’s Fertility Dance at the Folly.
by Heather Blakey

Dionysian Ecstasy
choreographed by Heather Blakey