The Abbey’s Secrets Revealed – Part One

10 03 2009

I wandered slowly through the abbey grounds smelling the musky scent of the flowers and bushes as I did so, and hugging a tree here and there. The grounds would be considered by some as overgrown and untidy. True, they weren’t the manicured gardens one might expect. But they exuded a wild beauty that did justice to the abbey itself. The structure soared skyward, its spires punching holes in the fluffy white clouds that drifted slowly across the sky, their shadows following like puppy dogs on the ground.

I stepped inside and was greeted with a draft of cool air. High above, stained glass windows brought in the sun to shine as spotlights on the stone floor. It was an eerie sensation when the saints whose images were cast in the glass looked down on me from above, and up at me from their reflected images on the stone paved floor. I wandered the length of the nave. Hard, uncomfortable chairs replaced the pews I remembered from my local church back home in Wales. A scattering of the faithful kneeled with heads bowed. I felt as a stranger, probably because I had not stepped foot in a church for more years than I care to think about. I had long ago lost my faith in organized religion when I saw all the graft and greed of those so called good people around me. Men who confessed their sins every Sunday, then, on Monday, went right back to their lawless ways. I had worked for men like that. One in particular I remember. He attended mass every day but refused to treat, he was in the medical field, sick people who could not pay top dollar. When he asked me to help doctor the books come tax time, I’d had enough. “Have at it,” I said to him, and walked out of the office leaving him stranded until he hired someone else…someone who I hoped would not be intimidated by his overbearing manner and who would not be a willing participant to his less than ethical ways.

Just before the huge altar with its monstrous Christ on the cross statue, I turned to the left out of sight of the worshippers. I gazed at the stone work and wondered how in the world people managed to build such palaces of God without the heavy machinery and cranes that we would use today. I started to turn away and head back to the sunshine lit nave when I caught sight of three stone steps leading to a tiny door. I looked around for a sign that would indicate it was a restricted area. Seeing nothing that would indicate I wasn’t welcome, I tried the door. It opened, the hinges groaning as if they hadn’t worked in a long time. I was greeted with a musty, not altogether unpleasant smell, but not pleasant either. A narrow, low passage led off into the gloom. The passage was lit by oil lamps set so far apart that the light from one barely met with the light from the next one. The flames flicked slightly so I assumed there was a draft coming from somewhere, perhaps the passageway led back to the gardens. I jumped when the door slammed shut behind me. When I saw that the door could not be opened from the inside…there were no latches or door knobs, I knew I was in trouble.

Vi Jones

©March 10, 2009


Dream Seeds that Give the Artist Fruit . . .

1 02 2009

Are they edible?

I thought of the words a poet friend of long ago sent to me – three fragments about the Voice of God, and the poems rang out in my mind as Speck and I journeyed onto the island of the Temple people.

As the waves rolled, and the moon beamed out, Dido sang to us a song.

Song of the Seed

A seed that gives you wings
Is made up of all number of things
It lives in the ocean’s of the heart
It can make your souls’ potion
It finds a place in the earth of the artist’s birth
And gives you some kind of worth
“I am oh my God but a tiny seed
which thou hast sowed in the soil of thy love
” (from Bahai Prayer)

Holidays Summer 2008-2009 935

Speck chirped along providing a backdrop for the song. His little chirp was itself like a tiny seed.

We came close to the shore, and it was time for Dido to leave us for a little while. We made our way to find the place where our seeds were. I thought about seeds that give us wings, and wondered were they might lie hid.

The Moreton bay figs that lined the shore began to chant using an Eastern scale. Ah such trees, to hide in, climb in, and to wonder at. I remembered all the trees of my life, the Pointsiana, Frangapani and apple orchards.

Apples – was it apple seeds I must find? Golden Delicious, Granny Smiths I could taste each apple as my heart named them. A tree that bears fruit was most likely what I sought, but I did not know what kind of fruit, because I did not know what fruit lay on this island.

Speck climbed into my pocket because the morning light was coming. My pocket is lined with a rainbow reptile carpet to make him comfortable. I knew he would rest awhile and now I must find them without his song- it was time to find my own.

As I walked deeper into the island, other trees sang to me of the Temple and the seeds that awaited me there. I heard distant giggles. I came across stairs leading to a river.


I came across a river leading to a cave.


I knew it was time to swim across to the cave, but waiting for me were the two sisters from the angel panel, looking into the river as if it was mirror.

“Sing our river a song”, said the younger looking one.
“And we will give you this mask let you pass,” her sister continued.


Where was Speck when you needed him that nocturnal creature?

to be continued….

(c) Words and Images Unity Bell
(c) Dream Seeds spark – Soul Food

To read more of this adventure head to Unity’s Cabin

Morgaine’s Detour

30 01 2009

I left the Vulcania with every intention of heading directly to the train station from where I was to board a train taking me on a somewhat perilous, or so I had been told, journey to the caves wherein I would meet with my Dream Master.

The irony of the timing of this venture had not escaped me.  Imbolc is fast approaching, the ritual lighting of candles and fires to welcome  the slowly increasing power of the Sun with its promise of good harvests in the year to come and yet here was I, not for the first time in my life it is true, going in entirely the other direction, headed inwards to the dark when all around are beginning to turn outwards to the sun and the light.

However, on my way to the station I was brushed by someone obviously well versed in the art of shadow dancing.  S/he appeared as a wavering of the light, quite, quite indistinct to most eyes yet I could define a figure within swathed in rainbow silks.  This person laid into my hand an invitation.  It was to the Sementivae Seed Festival and although I knew the meeting with my Dream Master was somewhat overdue, I would not ignore this opportunity to plant for the future before turning inwards.

I followed the sign to the Temple which lay within a grove – a place of great natural beauty and peace.


Above the entrance to the grove:


I entered and was amazed at how the outer look of the Temple belied what lay inside it……as the inside was, in fact, open to nature.  I took my place to sit quietly to meditate on the year to come and to offer up prayers of gratitude.


This place resonated deep within me, transporting me to another time.   I was once again walking in meditation the spiral path of the Tor on Summer Isle.  I was hearing clearly the chanting and footfall of those who accompanied me as I took the circular route to the top, whereupon we would welcome back the light and pray for  fecundity in the year to come.

View from the Tor across the Summer Lands (Avalon):


I was connected to the earth beneath me, feeling my roots sinking ever deeper into her welcoming arms, the energy of the earth rising in me, awakening the snake energy which lies within us all, travelling from the base up through the spine.  I am at one totally at peace, connected and energised.  I am ready for the journey which lies before me.

High pitched singing brought me back to the present.  Slowly I returned, my vision adjusting itself to the here and now.  Stretching and looking about me I saw the masks hung to one side of the Temple.  I was instructed to focus and choose one to wear for the planting.  I chose a simple full-face one – the blue of which drew me to it, it being the blue of our robes on Summer Isle.


I was feeling quite wistful as I made my way down the path towards the meadow, holding the small hand-crafted pouch which contained the seeds.


On reaching the meadow I closed my eyes and let my feet guide me to the correct planting spot.  On opening my eyes I saw before me a small stone circle,  it looked to be a medicine wheel and I knew this was my place.


I sat in quiet contemplation for a while, offering up my prayers for the futures of us all whilst very slowly and deliberately planting the seeds.

I stayed a while breathing in the wonderful surroundings, reluctant to leave the warmth and peace of this place that reminded me so much of  my ancestral home, but I knew I must.

It was time.  I arose and set out for the station.


Flame of Flamazia

23 01 2009

January 16, 2009


This happened the other day but I’ve been too exhausted to write about it until now.


I finally get someone to take me ashore since Nannie doesn’t want to go.  A VERY nice young man who works on the ship said he would be happy to take me IF we would take the wheel chair along (just in case).  Not sure if I said ok because he was such a friendly man and a real gentleman, because I really needed help to go since Nannie and Elsie weren’t going, or because he was so handsome in a classic sort of way (from Rome, Italy), or I really wanted to go regardless of the obstacles.  I put on my hat, packed a few things in my satchel: sunglasses and sunscreen, a few protein-granola bars (just in case), and the walnut from the Enchanteur, of course.  Plus a few items not yet to be mentioned.


We chatted, as I allowed myself to be pushed in the wheel chair from the ship onto the Island and through the city streets.  Cataldo remarked that I looked like a celebrity being escorted rather than being pushed, in my wheel chair, with my exotic straw hat with feathers and fancy sunglasses with red and green polka dots on a white frame.  Pleased with the gracious acknowledgement, I just nodded each time he said this.  (He was probably looking for a good-sized tip.)  He had assumed I wanted to shop, but I kept waving him on, (practicing my royal wave), past many interesting stores I might like to return to visit, if there is time.  But at my age you prioritize your energy and time.  And I know what I wanted to do.   I wanted to dance.


A few years ago, after I had an outburst of anger regarding the plumber (charged too much and was too incompetent), Nannie talked me into doing a collage session about my third chakra, the fire chakra.  I had been drinking some herb tea at the time and, lo and behold, there was a dragon on the Celestial Seasonings tea box.  Perfect!  Then I found 2 similarly shaped pictures, one online and another from a magazine.  Last, a catalogue had a great picture of a compass rose.  I moved all the pictures around until I found what I liked, then glued them down.  Talking to other people, I called it my third chakra dragon; I thought of it as the Flame of Flamazia.





After first thinking it was silly to imagine what a combination of pictures would “say” to me, as Nannie suggested (she wanted me to answer a specific set of questions suggested by someone or other from some book (I can’t remember), I secretly tried it my way a few weeks later and came up with this:


          I am the dragon residing at your third chakra, your fire chakra.  I give you outer-directed energy to move and dance, as well as inner-directed energy to burn up fear and anger, and to transform the fire energy into creativity.  Combined inner and outer energies become manifested creativity.  You can chart a course as to how my energy is directed and used.  BEWARE: I can burn others as well as yourself if my energies are not properly handled or used in anger.


Flamazia developed from that card, as I learned to release anger energy and transform it into manifesting the healing energy of dance.  Now she is a cherished aspect of who I am.


          I think of this as Cataldo and I chat and pass shop after shop. 


          “Here, madam? Here is a good shop.”  I am obviously thwarting his job with the waves from my hand.  “Keep going.  Keep going.”


          I finally see the sign, a small sign, but extremely colorful, mentioning the Fertility Dances.  I tell Cataldo to stop, that I want to visit this store (it happens to be the one with the sign but I don’t tell him that).  Looks like one of those New Age stores Nannie so loves, but I try to avoid although I enjoy some of the products they carry (like my Crone Stones).  But I don’t like coming out of those places with my hair reeking of incense.


          Cataldo assists me to stand, as if he is a Prince and I am a Princess.  I glide into the store (or so I think I do, delighted as I am with being treated elegantly).  Sure enough, filled with incense.  I ask the woman behind the counter about where the Fertility Dances were being held.


          “Why…um… did I hear you right?  Fertility Dances?  You want to know the whereabouts of the Fertility Dances?”  Ms. Many-Nose–and-Ear Piercings with Multi-Colored Hair stuttered as she looked me up and down.   I guess my destination was incongruent with my appearance.  She didn’t see the Princess.  Probably more like a dowager Auntie way beyond menopause, heavy set body, some wrinkles, a little out of breath from just walking to the counter, and to top it all, she probably saw me get out of the wheel chair.


          I jutted out my chin and glared at her, saying in my best haughty voice, “My reasons are my own.  Where?”


          Stepping back a bit, she nodded to a door behind her.  “Through there.  We take no responsibility if there are any problems.  None!  Whatsoever! No matter what!”


          “Fair enough.”  I opened the door to see a narrow, winding path on a slight incline wending through a colorful array of flowers.  I walk slowly, I look at the beauty, I imbibe strength as well as sweet fragrances.  Taking off my shoes because this is holy ground, I feel more like the real me again.  The climb is easy, but I am drawn to go off the path when I come upon a red fox (a very red fox) sitting on the path.  She waits and watches me, then moves off the pathway.  I decide to follow.  Soon I’m at the top of a hill where a glade is covered in (what I call) fairy grass.  Very fine, light green, about 4 inches tall, so fine that the slightest of breezes has it all swaying, dancing.  The fox, who had moved to the center of the glade, appears to grow larger, start to swirl, then poof! disappeared.


          I drop my satchel and my shoes, take off my hat and sunglasses as I listen expectantly.  The wind increases.  The branches of the encircling nearby trees dance, make music as they chime together, each pair sounding a different note.  And from somewhere, a tinkling of bells as I move to the center of the glade, wondering if I, too, will disappear from this very spot like the red fox.  My bare feet feel the earth’s vibrating energy, all slowly moving up my legs which now feel stronger and need to sway.  The energy courses up to my hips and belly, which have suddenly lost weight and now gyrate, as if belly dancing.  The energy reaches my heart, and I can feel the blood pumping stronger than ever, bringing oxygen and nutrients to every cell in my whole body.  My arms move in the unabashed joy of being as they lift to the skies in gratitude.  The healing powers of dance overcome me, as I danced.  And danced and danced.  Joy, ecstasy, thanks.  Flamazia’s flame afire as I release all the built up energy, transformed from anger and frustration to creativity manifesting in dance, as I honor and acknowledge the power of the third chakra, as I recognize the roots of anger in fear and sadness.  I dance… throwing off energy, heat and light… I am the fireworks!


          I wake up collapsed on the ground, not know how much time has passed.  The sun is now close to setting.  I am naked and my hair has obviously been flying all over and is now all tangled.  What happened to my clothes and hairpins?  Yet I feel so peaceful and contented at this moment, even though I know tiredness and exhaustion will settle in as my body returns to its “usual” state – for now.


          From the distance, I hear calls of “Osbeth!”  “Osbeth!”  They are searching for me.  I can’t allow them to find me this way. (Nannie will never let me out of her sight again.)  No matter what, this time was worth it.  A. Sachs said: “Death is more universal than life; everyone dies but not everyone lives.”  And I have lived, regardless of how people see me now.


          My satchel lies close at hand so I grab it and fumble around for that walnut Enchanteur gave me.  Yes, just what I need to beam back to the ship, hopefully, straight to my cabin so no one sees me like this.   The Flame of Flamazia’s fling is over!   (for now) 



Dancing to the Symphony of Life

23 01 2009

In one of the valleys of this magical island, I found a grassy spot.  It was a beautiful day, with bugs and butterflies all around, the sweet smell of ripe, red apples in the air, and a refresing breeze touching the leaves and grassy tops ever so lightly. 

I heard the voices of my loved ones drifting somewhere in my memories, like some pink and white cherry petals floating on a crystal clear stream.  Their voices became stronger as I walked deeper into the grassy area, and the memories became little drifting candles pulling me deeper into the river of things that happened a long time ago.  I felt the tucking at my feet, and felt how the memories now flowed through my body, warming every part of my being, and reminding me of places in my soul that have been cold for so long…

I started the slow dance to the rythm of the memories, and became one with the trees, the wind, the air, the clouds.  My feet moved around in the grass, leaving spots where the stems were bent and broken, releasing the smell into the air.  I was taken back even futher, remembering the faces that go with the voices of my loved ones…

My whole body was part of the rythm now, swaying and swinging to the music that flowed in and out of me.  Higher and faster, the dance went to a place high above the valley I found my body in, and I looked down at my body as I was flying and soaring on the wind.

I saw the tunnel of light open up before me, and so wanted to go there…all my loved ones were waving at me, beckoning me to come closer, to join them in their world of pure light and perfection…

But I suddenly felt the silver chord that connected my spirit to my body, jerk.  I knew that I had a choice: Break the chord and fly into the tunnel with my loved ones, or go back to my body…

I felt the sun beating on my back, but at the same time the wind was cold in my face.  I looked at the tunnel of light, and looked down at my body…

Then I thought back to the music of that mellow, grassy spot down in the valley, and to the rythm of Life pulsing through me as I was dancing down there.

I looked back at the tunnel of light, and whispered a “See you soon…”, for I knew that the music would stop playing one day, and I would be free to go into another symphony with all the ones I loved.

When I returned to the grassy area, I saw the fairy ring of mushrooms where I had danced, and left that place knowing that I had left my footprints there forever.

The Symphony

When I had her all the time,

I thought,

we had all the time in the world…

So I spent a lot of time

without her…

Now I know

that evey human being

only has so many breaths,

and the life you breath into others

are the only breaths worth remembering…

Take time to listen to the music of Life’s beautiful noise,

Compose your own songs,

direct your own symphony.

Dance to the rythm until you are out of breath.

Refuse to throw your time away –

it is your most precious gift.

Give it to the ones that will keep you breathing

after their time has dripped away,

for all eternity…


Catching the Mare

21 01 2009

I went down to the Caves of the Dream  Masters again today, to ask for a memento of this journey.  The way to their caves is steep indeed, with the steps carved out of the very edge of the mountain.  Descending into the valley where I found one entrance to their dwelling, I went into the Shadow Land of the depths below where the sun could reach, below where the wind could blow freshness into the surrounding darkness, on and on into the dampness where the smell of rotting leaves and stagnant water clung to me with sticky fingers.


 The three of them met me at the entrance of the cave: Red Robe, Purple Robe and Yellow Robe.  Their pointy hats sat like penguins above their beady eyes, and they all had eerie smiles tucking at the corners of their mouths.  I wondered if they could see all the dreams that we encounter…would that not be enough to send any mortal to the Land of Eternal Madness?

We did not speak.  I produced a bag full of Lemurian Shekels, and it disappeared into the deep folds of cloth around their thin bodies.  They gave me my prize: A dream catcher  with perfectly symmetrical patterns weaved within the circle, and three feahers dangling from the bottom.  Two of the three turned away from me, and the other one shooed me out of the cave.

I made the lonely trek back to the top of these depths, to a spot where my walnut could beam me back to Vulcania safely.

I was extremely tired when I got back to my cabin.  I hung my dreamcatcher above my bed, and fell asleep almost immediately.


Natural law is abandoned in this dark, stifling dream.

The Night Mare is saddled, no one hears me scream.

The Alp* is feeding ravenously on my constant pain:

Poking holes in my sanity through which my soul and spirit drain…

Helplessness spreading like toxin through every part of me,

Suffocating! Paralyzed! No way to ever break free!

But then –  The Alp is caught: Ranting and Tangled in the web

of the Guardian Catcher above my head….

I find my wings to escape:  Away

to the glorious start of the New Day.


*The Alp:  The rider of the “mara” (Old Norse term for the demon that causes bad dreams.) The Alp would sit on the victim’s chest to immobilize him/her, and cause pain, suffering and sometimes suffocation.  The word “night mare” is derived from the word “mara” –  the demon appearing at night.

Poem by Maryna, 2009


At the Phoenix Fish Taco Stand, Part I

19 01 2009

It was shortly after eight in the morning when I went ashore from the Vulcania.  As I walked down the overbridge to the dock, I deeply inhaled the sweet scents of plumeria, wild gardenia and other growing things.  I had my backpack, filled by the ship’s galley with food provisions for a long hike into the island’s interior.  I had also packed my journal, a small pick,  fossil brush, tweezers, a flashlight, a strong rope, and a change of underwear.   I also had my bag of trinkets from Admiral E, including the walnut that had transported me to and from the Revenge.  Since I had no idea where I was going, it would be no use to me now.  I would walk.  But that was fine with me.  I wanted to see the Island.

I heard a noise from the ship’s promenade above me and I turned to look.  I could see Albion walking ahead of two of the ship’s security officers.  He had his hands cuffed behind his back.  Apparently, he had not persuaded Captain D that the abandoning of his post was due to mental incapacitation.  He seemed not to be bothered at all with his incarceration – he was laughing and chatting with the officers.  In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself.   In fact, so did the guards who happened to be women.   Indeed, they were all having way too much fun.

Then he saw me.  He smiled even more broadly and mouthed something to me.  I could not make out the words.  Then he puckered up and made a kissing motion towards me.  MWAH!

Coolly, without returning the smile, I acknowledged him with a slight nod of my head.  He smiled again but shook his head as if he were bewildered by something.  Then he and his guards turned a corner towards the general direction of the brig and disappeared.

Good, I thought, he deserves a time out, and at least he won’t be busting into my adventure this time.

I stepped off the dock and onto hard ground.  Several twisting streets fanned out from the dock area.  Each had souvenir stalls, closed up for the moment, lining the streets.  I imagined that in a few hours when the travelers emerged from the Vulcania, the quiet street  would be a chaotic mass of people haggling with the stall keepers over the price of plastic knick-knacks.

I needed to find somewhere where the locals congregated so I could ask questions about the Lemurian ruins and in particular The Sacred Vault.   Gail had mentioned a tavern called the Sea Dragon that she and Captain D. frequented whenever that made this port.   I located the tavern,  but it was not open yet.  I would be a bit wary of entering this establishment alone anyway.  I looked a ways down the street from the tavern and saw some activity.  There appeared to a stall that was open.

I made my way to the opening of the stall.  It was, in fact, a large plastic tarp stretched three ways between two palm trees and a cinder-block building.   Across a large window cut into the front of the building was counter and a few bar stools.   Under the tarp were a few picnic tables and a dozen or so plastic deck chairs.   A faded wooden sign was tacked to one of the palm trunks that read “The Phoenix:  Fish Tacos and Seafood Cocktails”.  Underneath that was a smaller sign:  “Breakfast served,  7 to 9 a.m. Daily”.

There were a half dozen people under the tarp and seated at the counter, mostly local Island People and a couple of scraggly old men that might best be described and “old sea dogs.”   A large man with an apron stood behind the counter wiping it down with a rag.  He glanced up at me.

“The Boat-People are out early this morning,” he boomed.   A mild chuckle rose from the patrons.  I looked down at myself.  I guess I did look like the typical tourist with my khaki pants, tee-shirt, and a Boston Red Sox baseball cap.  All I needed  a bottle of Dasani and  a camera around my neck to complete the look.    I weakly smiled and shrugged.

“Can I get you something, ma’am,” asked the bar tender.

“Um, something cold would be nice.”  I slid onto a stool at the counter.   The bartender flipped off a cap and set a bottle of Jarritos in front of me.  I thanked him and took a swig.   “So,” I started, “I am wondering if you could give me directions to the Lemurian Ruins.”

The bartender and one of the old dogs at the counter laughed.  “Do you mean the one where the UFOs land or the one where the ley lines converge?” asked the bartender with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, I heard they saw Bigfoot out at the South Ruins.  Maybe you want to go there?” said the old man.  They both started laughing.

I must not have looked too amused because the bartender said, “Sorry, lady, but the Ruins are very popular around here for a lot of funny reasons.  You really don’t need directions – just sign up for one of the guided day tours of the Ruins.”

“I was looking for one in particular.”  I pulled a map out of my bag.  “Could you show me where I could find the Sacred Vault?”  I noticed the bartender glance at the old man.  “I’ve never heard of it,” he quickly said.

“Really.  Is there someone else here who might know?”  I was not going to be shooed away that easily.

After a moment of silence, the old man answered.  “Well, I reckon Old Tilly would  know.”  He pointed to a table in the corner near one of the palm trees.  “She knows pretty much everything about the Island,  old, new, other stuff.”

“Thanks.”  I slipped a Lemurian shekel towards the bartender, picked up my drink, and headed over to the table in the corner.   As I approached I saw a blanket-covered heap leaning against the tree trunk.

I cleared my throat.   The heap stirred.  Then I said,  “Um, excuse me.  Hello?  Are you Tilly?”

A wrinkled hand emerged from the blanket and pulled it away from an equally wrinkled face.  “Yeah, I’m Tilly. Don’t talk so loud.  Geez, my head.”  She looked at me closely as she straightened ” Whadja want?”

“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, if you have a moment.  The guys at the counter said you could help me.”

“They did, huh?  Hey, Hector!” she shouted to the bartender, “bring me a Bloody Mary, extra Tabasco, oh, and a couple of fish tacos, light on the cabbage – gives me gas.  Charge’ em to Boat-lady here.”    I nodded my head to Hector.

“Okay,” she said, “Shoot.”

I sat down and plopped the map in front of her.  “I need to know where on this map I might find the Sacred Vault.”


“Why?  Well, I’m looking for something.”


“Something I lost”

“In a five thousand year old ruin?  You really look good for your age. Oil of Olay?”

“Look, I just need this little bit of information and I’ll be on my way.  Can you help me or not?”

Hector set the drink and a plate of tacos in front of Tilly.  She took a loud sip of her Bloody Mary.

“The answers are not all that easy,” she said as she stirred her drink with a stalk of celery.

“What do you mean?”

Tilly reached into the recesses of the blanket wrapped around her and pulled out a blue silk-wrapped bundle.   She set it on the table and unwrapped it to reveal a set of Tarot cards.

“Cut the cards,” she ordered.

To be continued.

L. Gloyd (2009)