Lemurian Archipelago - Sunday Market Place

new work - of Buddhas and icons

2006-06-25T13:30:00.000-07:00

I have just finished making two sets of ATCs on the theme of buddhas and icons. Here they are:

North Star Studio for Lease

2006-01-01T16:09:00.000-08:00

The North Star Studio is for lease. The current owner is off on another one of her adventures. Her spirit won't allow her to stay tied to one spot too long because she cannot say no to the siren song of her Muse of Journeys. The studio was left in great shape and even comes with a helper fairy named Providence. The towns people would love to see this studio open on a more regular basis.

A strange new flower

2005-12-31T17:44:00.000-08:00

A strange new flower
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

I planted a tiny poem and found these seeds on the topmost shelf. Happy New Year to all who share
the smorgasborg at the Soul Food Cafe

LEMON BUTTER-----Circa 1950-----

2005-12-11T22:21:00.000-08:00

So many brilliant artists
Tapestry makers
Post card swappers
Sweet potions and oil gatherers
Juices squeezed from ripe fruit
Old time stews and casseroles for winter months
Soups to tantalise the pallet
Pasties and pies to delight the hungry
But what of me I thought

Arty and crafty I am not,
Have never made one garment in 70 years
A knitted scarf is my total output now
Painter (Yes of rooms and houses)
No easel or tubes of paint are in my cupboards
A spinning wheel lies idle
Knitting needles and books fill a drawer
Crochet hooks now never used

I was feeling un-creatuive,
What could I make to sell at the market place ?
A bright light dawned as I looked through the
kitchen window
Lemons on my tree
Why not make Lemon Butter said I
************************
Here is the Recipe
*********
12 lEMONS ripe of course
12 ozs of Butter
12 eggs
3 lb sugar
METHOD
1.Wipe lemons,grate rind using only the yellow part,
Squeeze out the juice
2.Beat the eggs in a pan & add the grated rind,juice,sugar & Butter
3.Cook over boiling water in pan stirring until butter dissolves ,let water simmer under the pan gently stir occasionally
4.Cook for 15 minutes after the lemon butter begins to thicken
5.Pour into prepared clean jars and seal placing a piece of
grease proof paper on when cool ,then lid (Best to use metal lids).
******************************************

Ok, now to the Label......What to put.
Port Melbourne Lemon Butter 2005
Lois's Lemon Butter 2005
Home made Lemon Butter by Lois 2005
No I thought none of these seemed suitable.

Then It came to me
With permission from Imogen (Monika)

"Golden Grove Lemon Juice 2005"

Now it tastes wonderful,friends neighbours have
declined a jar saying it is the most fattening of spreads
better to buy from the Supermarket as it is made with low fat
ingredients...artificial sugar and what they use for butter who knows

So I will have it at the Archipelago Sunday Market,
look for me there under a bright yellow umbrella.
PS. I will need to put it into very very small jars
it really does'nt make a lot even with 12 lemons and 12os butter,and 12 eggs.....

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 12/10/05.

red umbrellas

2005-12-11T13:32:00.000-08:00

In faire trade

2005-12-10T16:56:00.000-08:00

Lois posted --- (about lost charity)

I ask Faucon

"Will they come again those times"
Oh wise one please tell me YES.

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 9-12-05
…………………………………………………………………………………………..

In response ..

The Goddess whispers from the sea,

"again and again,
as currents beneath the waves --
unseen, but known to thee."

And the maiden asked of mentors,
siblings, parents and teachers --
"is there a truth in charity and love,
found in each person and soul?"

and she was told to eat her porridge
like the other silent children,
and count her blessings and pray …

"again and again,
as currents beneath the waves --"

As a mother she asked of friends,
and lovers and children and dreams,
"as I gift life and love in charity,
do I speak to the soul or troubled mind?"

and she was told to bide her time,
like other confused parents,
and find wisdom in contemplation."

"again and again,
as currents beneath the waves --"

As an aging crone she asked no questions,
but spoke to strangers one and all,
"Thank you for just being -- in passing close,
and gifting me selfless love unknowlingly."

And in return she got nothing,
like others finding peace,
which she cherished dearly …

"again and again,
as currents beneath the waves --"

Festive Season - Hermitage Publications

2005-11-26T23:56:00.000-08:00

Travellers!! If anyone has anything they would like to add to the Hermitage Publications Peddler's Cart for show, buy or trade most welcome, please email the details to me.

The plan is to get a Christmas spirit going and trading is fun!

Hermitage Publications - Imogen Crest

http://hermitagepublications.blogspot.com/ (link takes you there>>>)

Just Musing

2005-11-26T04:37:00.000-08:00

Found Miracle

What indeed is the greater miracle?
To lay my hands on a stricken child
and breathe Light and dream’s melody
to blend with tortured spirit now content?

Or allow an aging man to release
his sorrowed grief into my midwife arms,
and walk ever on with a lighter step?

Or that another trusts and loves enough
to tell me my presence surely helped,
even when they perceived nothing at all,
but then find they have cured themselves,
for fear of disappointing my quiet heart?

Or that a girl laughs at my whistled joy,
and grows to skip around adversity,
and never becomes sad or ill at all?

Thankfully I will not be called to choose,
for these found things make up my gifted day.

dark gardens

2005-11-21T12:03:00.000-08:00

On the stump again

2005-11-19T17:35:00.000-08:00

The storyteller is on the stump --
regaling passers-bye with wit and song.
The came this ...

COMMAND

One does nor command a wizard, of course -- not even a prince; but faint hope can create a ripple in the Current, that he would know and come.

"By proclamation this day remembered,
By the hand and benevolence of his Majesty,
Prince Ranjold, a celebration will greet
The birth of their daughter, Lengine.
Gifts by rank will be honored
And remembered in thrine."

All was right and proper by custom and joy -- after all, what was nobility for but to give excuse for holiday and amusement? It had been so when Ranjold had been born -- celebration and gifts; most by command -- some by plotted aspiration. All were gone now, forgotten, possibly abused -- the giver and the gifts. Only one singular gift remained -- nestled in a silk-lined box of gold filigree. Anuur had come that day twenty and four years past -- unbidden, scarcely expected. Amongst the piled treasures of homage and less he placed the twig of a broken branch -- grey, sharp, barren. No one dare speak or question -- even the scowling Queen, for all knew that flowers grew where Anuur passed and lightning praised his name. It was know that the wizard was alive. Would he come?

The child prince had never questioned the twig suspended from the cradle bow, nor why he later carried it within a pouch around his neck. It was called the "Thorn of Anuur" and it was enough. Thence, when Ranjold was fourteen the dreams came -- and he knew. He alone understood. He had been gifted life!

The branch jutted out into the road 'round a curve unseen -- tree long dead, roots uptorn by wind and flood. No matter. As the farmer passed by with labored cart of market goods and hopes for home and kin, the protruding grey finger snagged a sack of seeds. The tear was not great, nor the golden trail of grain but a scattered hint of fortune. It was enough. Had there been clouds in the sky they might have chuckled. Had it rained the farmer might have covered his load. Had it snowed he could have come another day. No matter.

At weighing time the farmer was dismayed to receive less in coin than required to purchase the new plow so needed for the spring. So he had to sell his favorite horse, also admired by his faire betrothed Anne. With smaller plow and lesser steed he returned to eventual loss of both land and bride. Such events were common to the time and place. No matter.

The farmer's horse was claimed by a young merchant and later a minor knight. Thus bolstered by apparent elevated in station and with a purse of wagers won the knight traveled far and wide. Eventually he became a captain in an attacking force that sieged the town. Such events were common to the time and place. No matter.

A hapless crow spied the trail of seed strewn about the road. He fed, and by some magick song called others of his kind. They found the spot to their liking and stayed a bit -- harassing travelers and creating an endless din. A wandering monk retreated and took another route, delaying in kind a wedding feast. With nothing to do save drink and quarrel the distressed quests destroyed the inn in which they met. The dowry sadly went for repairs and the groom had to quit his studies at the university. His dream of scribing a journal of popular medicine for home and hearth lay forever in the pile of broken dishes and maiden tears. No matter. Such events were common.

These dreams continued in many form and pattern -- rippling outward from a torn sack to shattered lives and endless grief. Life is not faire to be sure -- but who would ever know? One man did, and in passing the branch, returned a pace or two. Even he could not see the future, yet he knew the purport of the sharpened spine. Anuur broke it off -- simply that and nothing more. Later he chanced upon a celebration, and though not required, he left this smallish gift. Faith? Fortune? Magick? No matter.

When the Prince took reign from his ailing father he kept the twig close at hand. He listened closely to advisors and crones, educators and niggling relatives, but … Before he spoke a word of command or privilege, he always paused and pondered, "What joy will I bring this day? What chance remark or idle boast or thoughtless deed will harm another -- perhaps unseen? Where will fall the seeds of my thoughts?" The kingdom was peaceful and the people kind and bountiful. This was often so in that place and time.

The Prince wished that he could call upon Anuur -- command his presence and another gift, that his daughter might be so blessed -- but love commanded engenders only fear. So he tied the withered branch above the child's head -- and waited. Could life recycle by desire alone? Would the wizard come? No matter.

Silky Oak Divinations

2005-11-18T23:54:00.000-08:00

We have set up the divination tent beside the Silky Oak and visitors can go inside the Oak, with the Silky Oak Spirit and have a mystery unravelled. Any takers?

Always a poet

2005-11-18T08:44:00.000-08:00

I heard a story of awe the other day
and changed it into a poem,
because that is what I do.

FINE ART

Little girl at an easel,
apron too big and stool too tall,
painting what she sees and feels --
just like the teacher asked.

All around is diligence,
kids drawing pets, kids having fun,
painting what they see and know --
limited by time and space.

"What are you drawing here?"
queried the teacher stern and grey,
seeing no shapes or patterns
of normal childhood.

"I am painting God's face,"
chimed the girl of bright laughing eyes,
with strokes of innocence
and a child's mirth.

"But no one knows of that!"
distained the teacher dogma bound,
with sense of awe withered
by a spinster's choosing.

"They will when I am though!"
pronounced the child from knowing,
as perhaps we would right now
if not for growing old.

Bottles Again

2005-11-15T02:47:00.000-08:00

DJIN CONUNDRUM

There are bottles now aplenty
in the cobweb corners of order --
some bold labled plainly for review;
others piled in random distain.

'Bottles of Djin, I fondly call them --
some with contents you might recognize,
if I let them out -- 'er dusted them
and sipped the heady potion again.

The secret to life's sought balance
is perhaps found lurking here abouts --
but I still don't know for sure, my friend,
whether to put Djin in, or let it out.

gift of the sea

2005-11-13T10:52:00.000-08:00

Preparing for Christmas

2005-11-12T21:18:00.000-08:00

These are a few Christmas Cards that I have brought to the market today.

Sunday Market

2005-11-12T17:35:00.000-08:00

Sunday Market
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

The Secretary is on her way to the Sunday market as she wants to replace the wings for her tiny donkey. Her first set has been worn out in the long distance flight to the Farthest North. She has a basket of very nice blankets for sale, much like the one she is using here.

Gypsy Camp stamps for trade

2005-11-12T15:22:00.000-08:00

Gypsy Camp First Day covers are still up for trade. I have had some beautiful trades already from some of the brilliant artists here. If anyone would like to trade art for a first day cover with four Gypsyt Camp stamps, just contact Gail.

Heather's Bottles

2005-11-11T04:29:00.000-08:00

Bottles of Djin

I had been mentored long ago,
to forget past fears and regrets,
"put them behind you, and move on."

and this I believed and give it a whirl,
and learned of PTSD and forlorn grief,
sinister shadows and cold, hard stones.

Then came a knowing, blessed relief --
that I am today what I have been,
and I saved those memories in boxes,
ordered on careful dusted shelves,
to be retrieved by controlled will,
and cherished.

Today I gained some mirthful wisdom --
to use jars instead of hiding boxes,
and thereby gain an easier,
possibly more enchanting view,
of distortions made clear,
and sharp edged demons
contorted soft and lonely.

Don't Drink Koschey's Punch

2005-11-09T18:19:00.000-08:00

For goodness sake keep the lid on Pandora's Box. Too many people have been drinking Koschey's Party Punch and we all know what untold misery that has generated. We need to make sure 'hope' stays safe.

Muse of the Sea - Open Garden

2005-11-08T16:50:00.000-08:00

Take a moment from your journey and slip into my garden by the sea.

Old Photos Found

2005-11-08T16:06:00.000-08:00

A trunk filled with old photos of the Duwamish Marina, and its regular side shows, have emerged. These two photographs are a part of a collection that will be shown in Duwamish in the near future.
Collection by Heather Blakey

Hidden Meaning

2005-11-08T07:10:00.000-08:00

There are those who search for hidden meaning
in scripture, poems and people's lives. I thought I'd
give it a try and have kept a list of
'codewords' required to let me on several blogs.
Some resemble the name of the gremlin who
used to live under my bed -- others the list of tabs
on the doll house I attempted to construct.

anyway ....

Pray sgjlkdy qkstyprkl,
jjlkszbn and tytyrhzms --
wqytsddplj ne crdyzxlbd,
for thee must ever fgklrtyp.

So there!

faucon

2005-11-08T05:52:00.000-08:00

Beau ty is in the eye of the beholder

Carousel Memories

2005-11-08T02:55:00.000-08:00

Today I spent hours sitting with Darryl in the Oncology day ward as they dripped chemotherapy into his veins. As I sat I drew and we remembered the days when we were young and went to Luna Park together. The Carousel bought back memories of carefree days, of the giggle palace, mirror maze, river boat ride and old ghost train. These days we ride a far different carousel and wonder when the ride will end.

"HEARTSON CHOIR TO VISIT THE SUNDAY MARKET ON THE ARCHIPELAGO

2005-11-06T18:24:00.000-08:00

On hearing that talent was in short supply,
and that free performance acts were unheard of
I decided to ask some friends of mine
If by chance they would like to sing in a market place
On an island in the Umbrian Mountains.
No sooner had I mentioned Umbrian then all hell broke loose
22 women and a few men all dressed in black slacks and red tops
descended on my doorstep.
Red bows in the females hair,red shoes on dainty feet,red earings on the ears of young blonde faces ..(The blokes are pretty convential).
Ok ok ok I said to them...now we travel light
A back-pack a few bits and pieces and your red folders and music.
**********************************
We would set off on the Sunday evening....
But firstly I had to arrange with the Donkey Union Sec for some
travel arrangements....This done ,"No trouble Fran they call her".
Don't ask about the donkeys I said to the choir as they opened their mouths to speak....just get on ......don't argue.you don't need to leave 20 or more donkeys on your front porch for too long.
You must be firm with choirs, as they tend to all babble at once
Highly strung as my Mother would call them, like actors.
The journey was without mishap ,a warm night a clear sky ,starry heavens and a full moon...what more could we want.
************************************
We arrived to a crowd gathered at the entrance gate to the Market Place to be greeted by many familiar faces
Coridal ,tea and water was offered and some nice home baked cookies and cake...Some for us some for the donkeys.
We formed a 1/2 circle under the tall bay trees in a shady spot.as people kept coming in and rustling chairs and stools and bales of hay to sit on the noise was of a very high level....
Maryanne ...The Choirmistress.....Lifted her baton to the crowd
and asked if the noise level could be lowered
Maryanne is tall,statuesque and very professional in her conducting ,
as well as being beautiful......
She knows well these mountains as she has sung in an Italian Gospel Choir some 12 months ago.
Maryanne plays cello (Not on this Trip) and Jazz piano (Not on this trip) but sings divinly.....ON WITH THE SHOW
*************************************************
We (did I tell you) sing in harmony 2.3.4. part and some solo performences also...no musical instruments at all....just beautiful music straight from the soul,singing for the joy of singing.
We chose EVENING RISE AS OUR 1ST SONG
Evening rise,spirit come,sun goes down when the day is done
Mother earth awakens me with the heartbeat of the sea
Ooh Ooh Ooh Ooh and so on....

THEN an
African Lullaby...
*******
THEN Ancient Mother...
Ancient Mother I hear your calling
Ancient mother I hear your song
Ancient Mother I hear your laughter
Ancient Mother I taste your tears
This a chant from Peru celebrating
The Univesal Mother as the Life Giver, creator of all things.
*****
THEN....MOLLY MALONE.
*****
THEN ...YOU are MY SUNSHINE
****Followed by...What will we do with the Drunken Sailor with actions and banging of feet on the floor.
......THEN.......
Down to the River to Pray.
which
goes like this.

As I went down to the river to pray studyin about the good ol way
and who shall wear the starry crown,Good Lord show me the way
Then followed by 5 more verses of the above
with Mothers,Daughters,Fathers,Sons etc ...Good fun song.

THE CHOIR then does some solo items
and we sing another 12 or so songs and ask the audience assembled to join in and be a part of the songs they know.

THIS is a huge success because no one is saying.."YOU can't sing if you can't read the music" NOT TRUE says Maryanne ......We sing together because of a love of creating music and being as one ........

Now as I told le Enchanteur,Baba Yaga,The Enchantress and all those thousands who semed to have arrived when they heard the music of the HEARTSONG choir ..."THERE IS NO CHARGE"....
This brought clapping,yelling,whistling and cries of More more more......

AND TO END THIS PERFORMANCE.....WE ALL AGREED THAT
' A GOOD DAY WAS HAD BY ALL'....

A partly true story by Lois (Muse of the Sea) and a member of
the Heartsong Choir 7th Nov 2005.

Life Drawing - Baba Yaga

2005-11-06T17:14:00.000-08:00

A lovely way to spend a Sunday. In partial sun life drawing one of the more interesting subjects I have had of late. She stood with gentle timeless curves deep in thought. Perhaps it was those thoughts that transformed her in my eyes from one drawing to the next. The image was not of one woman but all the women she had been during various parts of her life. Not just the more elderly woman who stands before me here.

I saw in her also the young woman full of promise, not yet worn out by life's obstacles. She was soft and gentle and danced in moonbeams and in front of delighted audiences, the young gypsy dancer. In her own right she was a draw at any box office in the Northern towns where she toured. Not perhaps the first string of dancers, but assuredly the second. She worked hard and was given respect and an income. Who could want more.

She had kept on dancing no doubt, past where she was really up to years of one night stands, at times mounting a production all by herself, making her opportunities where they did not just simply present themselves to Baba Yaga. To get a few extra gigs here and there she danced under various names and each of her performing persona took on solo performances. It is a wonder she could even keep her bookings straight. Then I could see slowly life wearing her down. It was no longer about dancing but in surviving what very often were some very unpleasant realities. Still she could muster a straight, strong back to face the next day, and the next.

At other times of desperation made her so tired she could not even stand up. Life is hard for someone living by heir wits. Talent does not always happily meet up with opportunities to put them to use. That is the very sad thing that by now those days are gone, and the great talent has been betrayed by a body that just simply can no longer keep up with the demands of just talent. Never having reached the stature of "star" performer no allowances would be made to help her earn a living through dance anymore. so she was back, just a gypsy doing gypsy trades, as her mother and grandmother had also done before her.

Life is etched on our faces by the time we are fifty, our bodies are no different. Aside from the lines of time and trouble many women, and Baba among them, have a poetic elegance that though changed by time still is a thing of beauty. I could not help adding this portrait as she sat deep in thought. Not just the sum of her years, but the sum of every emotion, experience and inherited trait. Each of us are precisely so unique not just because of out DNA but the life we live.

Wintra And Summra On The Silk Road

2005-11-06T16:50:00.000-08:00

Two of my friends insisted on leaving their home in Duwamish Bay because they're desperately searching for a cure to help a sick friend...this is the first of their adventures over the Silk Road. .

The two women wore a bright yellow dress and stood under a sign, hand painted by the finest painters from the Sideshow back home that read:

" We Buy, Sell and Trade in The Unique and Curious...please inquire within "

Jesse The Cyclops had designed it and his friend Caliban had painted it and the Twins were very proud of it for that reason alone.

" I wish the Benandanti was working here with us...She'd know how to liven things up " Wintra said to her conjoined twin Summra.

" Well, we’re not here to pull any theatrics, we're here to drum up some business for the Curiosity Shop back home. Things haven't been the same since Akela went looking for Livia...Akela’ s poor Mother just doesn't have the heart to run the place proper anymore. So it's up to us to find some inventory until things are back to normal. "

Summra looked up and down the Market Place stalls and she shook her head. " I don't think we're in the right place...Plus I'm not sure this is how you're suppose to stock the shop..."

Just then a woman with an armful of brightly colored fabrics folded neatly and smelling faintly of oranges raced by and then stopped dead in her tracks. The pile of cloth fell to the ground and she pointed a long bony finger at the shrunken head hanging from tents entranceway.

" Is that what I think it is? "

" I don't know, what do you think it is? " Summra asked.

Actually the Twins knew exactly what the woman was thinking, but unless you crossed their palms with silver they'd keep it to themselves.

The woman leaned over grabbed the fabrics and raced away, her face as dark and murderous looking as any vampire or ghoul that the twins had ever seen in their entire lives.

The Twins looked at each other and winced. " We didn't handle that well..." Summra whispered.

They turned to their table of wares and Wintra tapped on the Fiji Mermaids Jar but her eyes remained shut and the Twins knew the little Mermaid didn't like being so far away from home. They didn't either, but the Mermaid would always react to danger and the Twins had never been away from Duwamish Bay in their lives.

She was all they had to watch out for them here.

It surprised Wintra and Summra that no one stopped to ask about the little Mermaid in the jar. She had a wonderful story to tell...Couldn't all these people see that? And look, her little monkey face was sweet and kind. Didn't they see that either?

This Lumurian Archipelago was a strange place. That's what they'd heard...That's why they'd come here.

A little while later an older man walked back and forth in front of their stall before he finally walked in. " Is that a severed head in that jar? "

Summra told him, " No, its a peeled off face. We're willing to trade him for..."

But the man was gone.

" This isn't going well at all Wintra. What on earth are we going to do? If the Curiosity Shop doesn't get stock soon...Its going to die. Isn't it? "

Wintra reached for her Sister's hand and squeezed and they stood there...They stood there all day.

Alone.

Tellin' on the stump -- Parson Story

2005-11-06T16:45:00.000-08:00

CHESTER

Good thing 'bout the Parson (Aunti Bess stopped churnin')
is he don't keep no regular schedule,
soin we don't waste workin' time
getting' ready for a preachin'. (Bess thought 'work' but didn't say it)

Bad thing …

Now Chester just hauled in like
as it was his turn at jumbles,
"Used to like it with Preacher Bob, (stuck his knife inna log)
'cause he would ferget half through
and mixed two sermons together,
ya be rememb'rin?"

nobody talk atall cause Chester
don't take to startin' over, ( I just nod my haid)
seein' how he hardly speaks,
but when he do ya might
plan to sit a spell.

"that way I could pick out the parts
I can follow easy, and ignore the other stuff,
though I guess a regular churcher
Christian wouldn't do it that-a-way."

Now I knew right off that somebody (don't look at me)
was meant to ask the Parson about it,
so I paid special attention to what
ol' Chester meant to say and di'n't. (guess I'm caught)

"Now each preacher has his style, I recon,
of decidin' what to say
fer ta hold our feet to the fire, like.

Now there was that skinny one
used to come the night before
and get his-self invited to a couple of dinners.
Then he listened good all night
and shaped his preachin' and finger shakin'
round some local gossip
out of the barn wrong
with the tellin'." (lot's a head noddin')

At that point we all got up
and stretched afore shiftin'
to a new 'scyth-in-draw' position.
Could be a singlelist man might
sharpen a scythe in 'bout an hour; (ain't never happened)
but seein' howst four of us used it,
we all shared in the task equal like.
One had ta sit on the clampin' boards
fer to keep the blade set true.
Second fella hadta hold the handle
fer fear o'the twistin' danger kick.
Then one man pushed the file down and out
while the guide boy pulled it straight --
seein' that steel was couple foot long
and nicked a bit from droppin'.
Yup -- could take four sweatin'
men best part of a shade afternoon
to do it right --
dependin' on how much cider cold there be.

Ol' Chester din't take a turn, ya know,
since he owned the scythe
and file too. And he was talkin' still,

"other preachers have a message
stuck in their craw,
and try to fit it in right clever,
thinkin' maybe mountain folk
don't know a pump handle
from a soup ladle."

I still haven't figured out
what Chester be wantin' from the Parson,
but it's a while before beans-be-done
when he most likely wander by,
and it be Saturday.

"so that Parson ain't rightly a preacher,
I recon. All he do is tell stories
and ask a couple of questions
that hurt my head a thinkin'."

Then he picked up his whitlin' knife
and I guessed he was through,
so I picked up my thought from afore.

Bad thing 'bout the Parson (Aunti Bess stopped Churnin')
is he don't keep no regular schedule…

Studies in red

2005-11-06T03:42:00.000-08:00

These are three spreads I did in Rachel's book entitled "Miss Scarlet goes on her travels"

This is a picture of the doll Miss Scarlet against a background of red oak leaves. The haiku reads:
Red autumn leaves
softly floating down to earth
Drift of memory

This one is called "reaching for red"

this one is called "Lady in red" - the background is made up of the words to Chris de Burgh's song of the same name but the red ink doesn't show up very well in the picture

Shady Oaks - Sunny Market Day

2005-11-06T00:36:00.000-08:00

Warm, golden weather at the marketplace,

the Oaks moved in to provide some shade.

Figures mill around Baba's classes, sketching this and that.

The sun sends dappled light over the figures in still life beneath oak leaves....

Seen and heard during the life class break...

2005-11-05T18:32:00.000-08:00

It’s never too late
To put on a red dress
And dance

It’s never too late
To put butterflies in your hair
And dance

It’s never too late
To kick off your shoes
And dance

When I’m 100
I’ll put on `Money for Nothing’
And Dance.

Understanding Baba

2005-11-05T17:20:00.000-08:00

NETHER ME

There are those who call me a witch outright,
and those who only point and whisper bann.
I am crone to some, and old Mother too,
but to most am simply ‘nether woman’.

There are those who would run me from the road,
and those who turn and pretend not to see.
but maidens come in the dark hush of night,
and lads seek me out ‘neath the forest tree.

For the pulse of young blood sings to me
and I can fine tune the heart strings of love;
for midst hairy warts and snaggled teeth,
is the secret of passion nether trove.

Inside these rags is a comely young girl
the blinded world will lost never care.
My true love died within my splendid arms
though enthralled we had not a kiss to share

My heart-leaped dreams are ever still born,
and my ecstasy beyond ever glee,
but my song can bring tears to troubled youth,
for my words are ‘nether me – grant to thee’.

In love of love itself, I am trapped.
Know what mistreated love cannot behold.
That even so old and ugly I can sing
of nether dreams that are forever told.

Eclectica sneaks in...

2005-11-05T14:59:00.000-08:00

Madame Eclectica, always one to steal the spotlight,

muscled her way into the life drawing class.

I hope Baba will cut her some slack.

She does look rather fetching, though.

Bush??

2005-11-05T11:45:00.000-08:00

A bush at Baba's gate ... what does she use for fertalizer?

faucon

Baba's Biographer

2005-11-05T03:00:00.000-08:00

Baba's Biographer is at the market providing some insight into this fascinating woman. She writes that "The story of Baba Yaga is prime among many images of the Black Goddess. The Black Goddess is at the heart of all creative processes and cannot be so easily viewed. Men and women rarely approach her, except in fear. Women are learning of her through the strength and boldness of elder women who are not afraid to unveil her many faces.Sofia as wisdom lies waiting to be discovered within the Black Goddess who is her mirror image. Knowing that, until we make that important recognition, we are going to have to face the hidden and rejected images of ourselves again and again.

Read about Baba Yaga and let her be your guide during the coming weeks.

Baba's Life Drawing Class

2005-11-04T02:57:00.000-08:00

Baba is modelling for life drawing classes. Consider:
"All that is left of her natural beauty.
Her skin is intact,
Her bones are as they are
No need of paint and powder
She is as she is no more, or less.
How marvellous."
Ikkyu (fifteenth century)

Queen's Invocation

2005-11-02T04:58:00.000-08:00

As the Queen arrives she offers an invocation,
in ancient tradition, love and trust.

This is not a translation, but an accumulation
of various invocations from the area of Kazan,
north of the Black Sea, circa 600-1200 AD

faucon
..........................................

nihush -- nihush, ne siman,
seek the whisper 'ner the sign.
be as shadow to empower
focused light and magick reign.

as ye stand before the Light
be as one with soul and mind.
as you shield and focus right
so shall intent be entwined.

know the day will blind the eye
and cast thy heart to shadow.
place your spirit in the shade
and seek new friends tomorrow.

Amazon Queen Arrives at Baba Yaga's

2005-11-02T04:40:00.000-08:00

The Amazon Queen has heard that Baba is organising the Advent Calendar this year and has 'all hands on deck'. So she has made haste to be at Baba's and help with the preperations. The Golden Spinning Wheel will be heard whirling late into the night.

The skies above Baba's are full of traffic as travellers make their way to her house to work on the annual Advent Calendar. Going to the House of Baba Yaga will be like attending an artist's convention and Baba is, frankly, excited. She has her Soul Hands working their fingers to the bone to have the place ready for such distinguished visitors.

The Dreaded Night Ride

2005-10-31T19:40:00.000-08:00

Nothing quite so exhilarating as flight now is there? Maybe I just believe that because I hear it so often. Time to find out, how did I actually feel about flight.

The opportunity arose when I was offered a ride of Pegasus over the bay at night. I was one of the last to take my turn. My lower lip had been sore for a awhile from biting on it. I could handle my flying donkey, but only to fly my belongings around, I was much to afraid to take it further than that. It was more like twilight about five in the morning when it was my turn. I shook slightly but was not about to let anyone in on that.

I'd always felt dread and utter horror when about to try something new. Not in my character to let it show, not a chance. I was proud of my stoicism, it was a large part of who I was. I was horrified every time I mounted a horse. Horses were big and capable of pounding me into a fine mush if they chose and I was entirely unsure of how they felt carting humans about. I am not sure I would like to change places with the horses, flying or otherwise.

Once solidly astride, some of the heart pounding fear dropped off. I was committed to the ride and so would not doubt get through it. I pulled my coat a little tighter around me. I should have worn something more accommodating to sitting on a flying horse. "Nudge her", said the stable boy. I almost bit my lip clear through. Sweat was forming on my forehead. I dug my heels lightly into Pegasus's muscled body, Pegasus flinched a little. Obviously I needed to nudge with more certainty.

Sure enough Pegasus took to the sky in one great and confident swoop. I was far too busy dealing with my fear to remember much of it or take any great enjoyment. That said, once in the air I was very much glad I had not totally chickened out. The view was utterly amazing. The cliff sides were so glorious in the early morning light. I could see clearly the cave entrance where the enchantress could be seen in her early morning meditations.

The enchantress looked so serene in her elegant robes sitting in timelessness. Unlike mortals like me she knew exactly where the future would take her. I was going through most of my life blind sided by events over which I have no control. Well, enough envy. Envy is an unattractive state and not one I cared to linger in.

Not far away from her stood several of the donkeys, looking sleepily upward. Possibly wondering if it might be fun to come along with us. Maybe not, maybe just noticing that for once I had taken a flight, after weeks of utter reluctance.

There were other more "human" views, bathers had started at the mineral baths. I thought the better of waving, privacy is something we are all entitled to, and bathing was always private. Suddenly I noticed I had forgotten to be afraid. Just then for one second, I was not afraid, not one little bit. Just as suddenly it all came back. Pegasus swooped and landed. I took sugar lumps from my pocket and brushed the amazing flying horse before going on my way.

To feel the ground under my feet again, oh, what relief. I suppose I will never feel really comfortable flying. I like the earth beneath my feet. Earth is solid and warm and secure. Flight is for birds and those very rare donkeys and horses that can only be found in magical places such as this. I was so tired and fell happily onto the grass beside my donkey. I slept until nearly noon and awoke feeling wonderfully rested. Before leaving the camp I was presented with a picture of the flight to remember the moment by. It was just sitting there propped up against the tree, I've no idea how it got there. My thanks to all who prompted me to take the flight. I will cherish it, always.

Night Ride

2005-10-31T16:56:00.000-08:00

'Night Ride' by Heather Blakey

TRIPLE WONDER

Listen close to the whispering leaves
of memories fallen from Life's Tree,
and you will know of the chant of three.

"Foresooth come one, bind two, circle three
To seize hold of quest and courage --
By this count your will is forged to be."

For they are the Steeds of the Goddess,
that plunge across dream filled skies,
in thrine with earth and wind a fire.

You but need supply the human tears
for the fine charity you must share,
for Her chariot to clear the path.

Ever grasp the reins and spare the whip,
for Shea guides with gentle hand
that ye may find answers from within.

Their names are Spirit, Soul and Mind
that must pull in harness one the same,
if thee would beguile the Enchantress.

"Foresooth come one, bind two, circle three
To seize hold of quest and courage --
By this count your will is forged to be."

Triple Wonder by faucon of Sakin'el

Soul Cake and Fruit Stall - Free offerings

2005-10-30T06:52:00.000-08:00

The origin of Trick or Treat began in Old England with doorknocking for cakes, in return for which the doorknocker would issue a prayer for a lost soul of their household on All Hallows Eve.

Here is what the doorknockers used to recite or sing, as they wandered the streets, from a fascinating website containing the traditions:

http://www.catholiceducation.org/articles/civilization/cc0070.html

"A soul cake, a soul cake, have mercy on all Christian souls for a soul cake!"

Then it became more produce oriented:

"Soul, soul, an apple or two,

If you haven't an apple,

a pear will do,

One for Peter,

two for Paul,

Three for the Man Who made us all."

Quirk of Nature - All Souls Ancestors

2005-10-30T04:19:00.000-08:00

Purple-Green Oak - Brought Back from the Ancestors.

All Soul's Night Greetings

2005-10-30T03:23:00.000-08:00

To mark All Soul's Night I took a ride with Baba, in her black swan, to the Isle of the Dead and met the Queen of the Serpents who guards the entrance to the underworld. I took a small vile of pure Castalian Water, collected at Delphi and we drank to creativity. The Serpent has blessed all travellers on the Soul Food Silk Way.

While Travellers celebrate Halloween and All Soul's Night le Enchanteur wanders deeper into the Serpent Queen's Cave, on the Isle of the Dead, to see her world. She is dazzled by the beauty of the Queen and her Treasury. The Queen has secrets to share.

The Serpent Queen gives le Enchanteur the greatest gift of all. She reunites her with her Spirit Servant who will willingly do her bidding.

Lemurian Artefact - Dream Seeds

2005-10-30T01:54:00.000-08:00

This is the cover photo for my just released book
"Limora Gate", with sketches by Heather.

A Halloween Tale...

2005-10-29T21:57:00.000-07:00

Or, how little children should mind their elders.

The laughter of children echoed through the pastoral valley. Life here in a community too small to have it's own name ran at a pace all it's own. If it was not for the inhabitants growing old and the occasional birth of a baby one would swear life stood absolutely still. You could think that, but you would be wrong.

Days were spent tilling the soil, looking after animals and keeping house. There was but one road going both in and out of the valley. No crimes had ever been committed here, and though a few of its inhabitants had moved out, they were few in number. It was by all accounts a life of pleasant routine.

Not too many people had ever lived here, judging from the graveyard there were more than 300 souls gone to the afterlife from here. Roughly that’s one citizen for every year of the valley’s 300 year life. No-one remembered who founded the settlement or in what year but the first death was recorded in 1706 a Bryce Sand, no indication if it was a male or female Bryce Sand nor what this person did for a living. A life with as little to make it remarkable as each passing day here.

So it came as a great shock that grey October day that three little boys, two brothers and their friend, went missing. October days were slow and lazy, the harvest was already put away and shared with neighbours. The children were all home schooled together at Miss Miller’s house, all twelve of them, just as they had been since Miss Miller was about twenty and she'd be nearly eighty now. The great love of her life had died in one of the great wars and she was unable to commit herself to any other man. Instead she vowed to educate every child born in this valley to be upright and peaceful so there would be no more wars. She was bent over, heavy with the knowledge of all the wars that had come since making the great promise to herself. Still she should be proud of herself, for in the valley itself life had gone without any fights, without any incident whatever.

The citizen’s in the valley had counted themselves out of every census in living memory, no wars were funded by this valley and they had no need for federal services, they could look perfectly well after themselves. There was no police, no jail, no court.

They should have been in school that day, that John and Jack and their friend Luke. Somewhere between Miss Miller’s and home the boys had gone missing. Miss Miller had assumed the boys had taken ill with the cold or flue and since the valley had no telephone it was no immediately checked on. No one could have thought it would be anything else.

It was something else. That morning the three had met up as usual. Luke had shared some of his cake with the other two. They had chatted about the new foal at the Miller’s. White horses were born only very rarely in the valley. God seemed to favour brown for horses.

They were nearly halfway to the old schoolhouse when all three heard something. None of them knew what it was exactly, only that no one they knew had a voice anything like it. Still, whatever of whoever it was, was asking for help and the all three knew what needed to be done. They needed to go and see if they could help and if they could not they should fetch someone who could.

There was a small patch of forest where the voice emanated from. A little forests on the east side of the valley before the river. A small brook ran through it and the boys knew there were caves in this forest up against the hillside which were dangerous. The caves were from a long, long time ago, before the families had moved here, when other strange people had lived here. Inside the caves there were paintings of large cat life animals and lizards such as no one had seen ever in real life. Those were stories of course, in modern times no-one had dared go into the caves because they knew it was dangerous and everyone was quite happy without having any danger in their lives.

The boys ran into the forest, convinced that there was hero business to be done. They had long talked of being like super heroes, able to fly, to save the innocent from harm. Maybe this was their day to become heroes. That was a far as they had thought it out. They ran from one direction to the other as the voice seemed to change a great deal. At last they were exhausted and could not run any longer.

John had blisters on his feet and was complaining a lot. Luke was hungry and had started his lunch sitting on a large rock by what might have been an opening to a cave.. Jack had not quite run out of energy and paced up and down the path kicking stones. He kicked one rather hard and it went flying. They heard a small scream, it cam from right over Luke's head. It was a very good thing that the three had used the bathroom before leaving home or all three would have been standing there in wet pants.

There sitting perched on an old stump, over the cave opening, was the strangest creature. It wasn't very big but it was very odd looking. It had very large lizard-like eyes, and it's skin was a little scaly like a fish. It's hands or where one would have expected to see hands were talons like covered to the nails with small feathers. Feathers, I kid you not. They would have gasped or screamed for sure, but they had no breath at all, not for that moment. They scarcely caught one breath before the next fright.

Just behind the three, standing on another stump, stood another just like it. This one was a bit larger with a very round belly. They struggled to scream. They were starting to turn a little bluish from not breathing. Finally breath came and they let out a blood curdling scream which was met by another as the two strange looking creatures screamed too.

The earth shook a little and they were silent. "oh no." said the sitting creature. "Oh no," echoed the second creature. "What, what, WHAT?" screamed the three boys, no longer sure what they should fear more and their feet still frozen to the forest floor. They shot glances between the two creatures and each other. The booming continued, the earth shook and there was a thunderous sound coming form everywhere at once. The little grey creatures with the big eyes were no less frightened than the boys, actually they seemed more afraid and were turning strangely pale.

The sun seemed to appear and disappear and a twirling whooshing sound was overhead they dared look, they might as well, they were no able to run and screaming had not made anything go away. What they saw was beyond belief. Meaning that if they told this story to anyone they would be laughed at for making up ridiculous lies. Still there it was, a large flying reptile with wings and eyes a fiery orange colour, it had a split long tongue which flitted before them, and talons with long brown nails.

One of the little grey creatures looked up clasping it's hands, well whatever passed for hands, and pleaded, "let us go, we meant no harm". A booming voice came from the great lizard, or it might have been a dragon if you don't consider fire breathing important. "Get away from the humans, or you will have to deal with me. The two ran away into the cave. The dragon, to call it something for the sake of argument a dragon will do, perched above the cave opening, he shook his head and mumbled, "halloweenies."

Now he gazed straight at the boys who had just found their feet and were bouncing around a bit trying to figure out where to run to. "Get out of my forest, the lot of you." The boys ran and clamoured all the way up the hill to where the graveyard stood but the dragon followed them out. No matter where they ran the beast was not far behind. "Climb into this tree", yelled Jack. Which is where they were headed to, the biggest tree in the valley. Unfortunately, just as they were nearly there they were caught except for Jack as the dragon swooped down and caught them with his brow talon nails.

The dragon had miscalculated and a wing clipped into the old oak and all four of them tumbled down back to front and front to back and out they fell right in front of Miss Miller's one room school house. Well the boys thought they were safe. Miss Miller was not scared of anything they knew that and surely she would come out of the house running with her cane and thump the dragon on his scaly behind too.

Miss Miller did not. She stayed in and did not even open the door for them. The dragon righted himself and lumbered over them. His talon reached out and the boys cringed. Well they thought they were dragon kibble right about then. They were too tired to scream or cry.

"Never," said the dragon poking Luke with his talon, "never go into the forest without an adult, those halloweenies play tricks on you, and since you'd eaten all your goodies already you'd have had nothing to pay your way out with. I am getting too old to keep saving lost children from halloweenies, sprained ankles and sick stomachs from eating the wrong mushrooms." He stood up and looked his most fearsome. "If I see you in the forest again I will let the halloweenies have you." and with that he rose up, flapped his wings and flew off back to his forest.

"Did you see that miss Miller, did you see the dragon?"
"No, didn't have my glasses on. No one else saw it because school is out and they are all gone home. Besides," said Miss Miller, "there is no such thing as dragons and no-one will believe you. Next you'll ask me to believe there are creatures called halloweenies in the forest who tricked you? No boys, you were loafing off in the forest where it is dangerous, now go home and stay on the path."

They did stay on the path and never did they see the dragon or the halloweenies again. That was on October the 31st, coincidence?

The Secretary goes shopping

2005-10-29T19:46:00.000-07:00

The Secretary goes shopping
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

On the advice of the Gypsy Queen, the Secretary went shopping to PANDORA'S BOX, A naughty paparozzi took this snapshot of the change. Some of the Donkeys' Union didn't recognize her while the Boss Donkey told her she looked "positively silly." (She didn't hear a word for the sound of the pipes.)

The secret river road that leads

2005-10-29T18:34:00.000-07:00

IMG_1743
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

The Secretary's note pad helped her now as she recalled the leaf boats. She plucked the leaf and held it firm then launched it, firmly sitting in the prow. She sailed through the wood beneath the overhanging boughs until they came to the bustling campground where the "girls" were cooking, the donkeys were singing, the Gypsy Queen was dancing, and the Handsome Young Chief was holding up his hand in greeting. Welcome, Old One, welcome, but you promised to wear a kilt."

The entrance to the stone bridge

2005-10-29T18:25:00.000-07:00

The entrance to the stone bridge
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

The Secretary knew that if she entered there would be no returning. She still tried to contact her donkeys without success. Suddenly a raven appeared in the shadow," They are waiting for you, waiting, waiting, but first you must pay your ticket." Ticket? The poor Secretary was puzzled. "Luk, luk, luk, you silly woman, luk.

Fran among the guardians of the secret garden

2005-10-29T18:16:00.000-07:00

IMG_1732_1
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

The Secretary asks the way to the Gypsy Camp but no one here seems to know anything about anything except white butterflies. How can I find my donkeys she asks everyone. Then, in the treetop a raven appears," Go through the arch and over the bridge, throw two stones in the river and, if you are lucky, you will be told.

At the top of the mountain by the wood

2005-10-29T18:07:00.000-07:00

IMG_1733
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

We travelled far
and came upon a magic garden, marigolds, and verbena, poppies and silver beet, tiny onions, garlic
and rosemary, all guarded by the red coated witch and her henchmen. The magpie called to us and deep in the shadows we knew there were all manner of strange creatures waiting for us to go beyond the stone wall and over the bridge. I called and called but not one of our donkeys answered for they were all at the Gypsy Camp ready to sing. How will I reach them before it is too late?

Lemurian Artefact - Lazy Time

2005-10-29T16:46:00.000-07:00

Donkey Tale - Name Games

2005-10-29T16:01:00.000-07:00

My donkey, impishly grinned and said, "you don't know my name, do you?" "no," I answered. "Well," he mused, knowing I was embarrassed at neither knowing nor having tried to know, after all I could have asked. Trying to set it right I bit my lower lip and said in a barely audible voice, "what is your name?"

"Well," he teased, "it is not sweetie, or babe, or little donkey, and it most certainly is not you stubborn old thing." I tried to mutter an apology, again, he stood there, grinning.

"You can be insufferable." I was nearly crying.
"You've nearly made her cry" came a small voice just to the side of me. I was quite shocked as I was not aware that the geese in the gypsy camp were also able to speak.

"You can speak too?" "If you are willing to really listen, we can be heard to speak," the goose explained. "I'm sorry I did not mean to be insensitive, but since I did not know you could speak it seemed silly to ask you your names. Still I am truly sorry if any of the things I've called you made you feel hurt. Would you tell me now please, what are your names?"

"Mine is Ginny," said the goose, "and my grinning friend the donkey is Doncaster Grey, he likes to tease, don't feel too badly" with that ginny crawled into my lap like a cat, she was a lovely and affectionate goose. The donkey was still grinning and making faces.

"Alright, Doncaster Grey, what is it?" "Well," started the donkey while shuffling his donkey feet in the dirt, "I've been thinking I should like to have a Halloween costume too, just as the humans do. I thought I'd like to be and angel, after all I already have wings." It seemed like a fair enough request and after a bit of consideration I took Ginny off my lap and made a few changes to have Doncaster go from just plain old flying and talking donkey to an angel donkey.

Some glitter in the wings and sparkly eyelashes glued on and a halo fashioned from tin foil and wire. "Would you mind very much, marm, sketching me in costume, to remember the moment by?" so this is what I sketched. Donkeys can be very silly.

The Party At The Chamber of Horrors Has Begun!

2005-10-29T08:04:00.000-07:00

Halloween is upon us and to start off the fun you could toddle over to these sites for a little bit of fun:

http://blackdog.net/holiday/halloween/index.html

http://www.benjerry.com/halloween/

Then grab your lantern and say a prayer and head ( off...cackle cackle ) on over to the Chamber of Horrors and see what the Writers, Artists and Poets of the Soul Food Cafe have cooked up for you.

Welcome to the Party.....

Bugle Call for Market, Halloween and All Soul's Day

2005-10-29T05:50:00.000-07:00

The bugle has sounded, calling everyone to make their way to the bloggers to post for the Sunday Market, Halloween and All Soul's Day. There are lots of activitities to choose from. You can go to the Divination Tent, use the Golden Bone Chair, sail across the lake with Baba to the Isle of Ancestors or do your own thing.

Baba Yaga lives deep in the forest, in a hut that stands on chicken legs and is surrounded by a fence of bones. It is said that she guards the gate to the Other World. Are you willing to go for a ferry ride in her black swan boat to the Isle of Ancestors?

Lemurian Artefact - Golden Bone Chair

2005-10-29T03:05:00.000-07:00

Baba Yaga brings out this designer, hand crafted, chair especially for Halloween and All Soul's Night. The idea is that travellers can take turns to sit on the chair and have five minutes in the spotlight as they perform for the crowd. Come October 30th - through to November 2 Baba is hoping that one by one travellers will take the golden seat and make a special presentation. Costumes and wigs are available in Pandora's Costume Box. Excuse drunken Silenus who can never miss a party. Hopefully the donkey is taking him away.

The Golden Bone Chair will be included in a collection of Lemurian Artefacts that will be shown in this year's Advent Calendar in December. Each presenter will be entitled to show three artefacts. Many of these highly collectible items will be seen here in the market place first.

Dream seeds and weeds

2005-10-27T09:20:00.000-07:00

This story is mostly true,
and never shown before.

It is a little long perhaps,
but worth the read and dream

faucon
....................................................

The Greensall Shoes

"It's almost like terrorism!"

"What?” I stammered confusedly, my mind still on the mounting intrigue of the novel in my lap.

"Daddy, isn't it crazy about people putting viruses in other peoples' computers. Who would do such a thing? I mean, doing something crummy ‑- you know ‑‑ even criminal if you can make some sort of sense when you can see the result. Why would anybody do something to hurt somebody and not know if it happened or not and what the effect was? Do you know anybody like that?"

I didn't know how to handle this interruption. Do I try for a meaningful answer to one of the questions or ignore the subject and parentally discuss the use of runaway pronouns? The memory popped into my head and mouth.

"It was probably the guy who stole the Greensall shoes."

"What?"

"Never mind. Just a flashback to grammar school days."

My mind wandered. "Greensall. Chester Greensall. The year he decided to be my friend. Funny, the transition from third to fourth grade is usually not a memorable one; not the subject of a novel certainly." I picked up my book and tried to ignore my daughter. Minutes later she was still standing there.

"Daddy."

"Yes, there is a story there," I sighed resignedly. "It's not about transition, though. However, that event did have a profound effect on my early life."

"What?"

Confusion. "What had I said? What had I only thought?" I put down the book and tried to bring it together. "My story will not unfold gracefully, or even sensibly," I mused, caught up by the way in which the memories tumbled down; one blurred glimpse leading to another. "I suppose some analogy about dominoes or RNA acting like skeleton keys would be apropos but "opening Fibber Magee's closet" would be closer to the truth. That analogy would be work; the time would be correct ‑‑ spring of 1954." I found myself surrounded with numerous packages of untold stories and forgotten fantasies. As I started to make sense out of my comment about the Greensall shoes I knew that I had many stories to tell, to an audience nearly grown. With conscious effort I spoke out loud.

"I'll try to stay on the subject. Start over, please."

"You didn't have computers then."

"Sigh!"

"Oh. You knew somebody crummy in grammar school."

"Well, I knew he was there."

"Who?"

"Let me read my book."

"Tell me. You were always in trouble, and having fun."

"That's not true at all. In those ..."

"Tell me anyway!"

"The important fact about second and third grade in Carson City relevant to the Greensall brothers was the fact that classes were held in Quonset huts set on an old playground three blocks from the main grammar school. The hot lunch program offered for 22 pennies not only a reasonable meal for a famished 9-year-old, but also a race for freedom. The lunch was served in the basement of the huge old prison‑stone building down the street. Those who got there first could eat and be on the playground with up to 40 minutes of football, marbles, or mischief remaining. Those who tarried stood in line for life! I was a skinny kid. My mother was certain it came from wolfing down my food ‑‑ or a tapeworm. No! My slender form was the result of running the 440 in under 2 minutes every school day for two years. Next year fourth grade was in the main building.

Only three people could outrun me regularly; my brother, Larry Greensall, and Chester Greensall. They all got a lot of practice running away from things. Eddy was already in fourth grade, as was Larry. Chester had to go home for lunch. The Greensalls lived two blocks from the Quonset huts and mother Greensall believed she could make a lunch for less than the subsidized hot lunch. Chester hated the arrangement because he always got in trouble at home. (He got in trouble at school too, but nobody whipped him there.)

Everyone else liked the arrangement because they all hated Chester ‑‑ except me. I didn't hate anybody. I liked the arrangement because I didn't have to beat Chester in the race for noonday freedom. Yes, I realize that coming in second, or even tenth would suffice to save me from a purgatory of staring at the back of a dirty neck. That was not the issue. Chester cheated, played dirty, threw rocks, threatened, kicked, and won. To come close to beating Chester might mean not finishing the race at all! I was taught to count my blessings. Chester's mother was one, a blessing I mean, though I never met her. Some of this plenary indulgence rubbed off on Chester.

It all changed in the fourth grade. Oh yes! The Greensall brothers didn't wear shoes. Neither did their cousin Finigan. I don't know if I could outrun Finigan; probably not. He never dropped a ball, or struck out, or got a passing grade. He didn't run to lunch. He just got in line wherever he wanted. He wasn't a bully ‑ he was just Finigan.

It all changed in the fourth grade. We moved joyously to the 'big' school. Unfortunately, the school lunch program moved to the old first grade building ‑‑ over by the Quonset huts. We all got to race; me, Larry, Chester, and the LINE. I considered taking a sack lunch. Actually, it didn't turn out as badly as I had feared. During the summer I had beaten Chester fair and square (sort of) in a race at the VFW picnic. More importantly, I had inadvertently provided Finigan with an alibi and kept him out of trouble for the one thing he hadn't been guilty of. He and a friend ....

"Daddy! What about the shoes, and the computer fiend."

"But you have to understand about the characters."

"OK, but stick to facts. What was different about the Greensalls and Finigan? What was his last name?"

"I was going to get to that. His name was F. N. Hengon III and any questions about the initials were settled in the dirt. He was defending his mother or something, but that is another story. He was not Irish as his name suggested, but the Greensalls were. Shanty Irish to be exact, although I don't even today know exactly what that means. What was different about the Greensalls was everything. I don't mean different as strange, or wrong, or even weird. Everything about them seemed in contrast to what was normally accepted. A lot of what they did made sense to a boy of 9 but obviously drove the adult world bananas. At least they were easy to gossip about. I'll try to recall some examples."

"What do you mean ‑ 'sort of?'"

"Huh! What are you talking about?"

"You said you beat Chester fair and square 'sort of.'"

"I thought you wanted to hear about the shoes."

"You said that Chester became your friend. Was that because you beat him, or because you cheated in doing it."

"I didn't cheat! There were hundreds of people watching."

"You didn't answer. You didn't tell me what F. N. stand for either and I bet you know. I don't want half a story."

"You'll get what you get. It took me many years to live it and you don't get it all in ten minutes. Be quiet!"

"They were called Poor White Trash too, but I never have met any Rich White Trash. There weren't any black people in town then either. Our Irish heroes were shabby with no shoes and patched clothes but they bathed every night. Their mommy washed them in a big tub on their back porch. She yelled ‑‑ they yelled - the current man of the house yelled. They were the cleanest kids in town but people always used words like 'dirty' when they talked about them, especially Mrs. G. I don't know if Finigan ever bathed. At least he didn't yell about it and people only said 'that woman' when they talked about her, his mother I mean. People always said those kids were ignorant and stupid but that wasn't true. I only knew Chester close up, but know the others were sharp too. See, most of us liked school all right but didn't have strong feelings about 'learn'n'. The Greensalls had the desire for 'learn'n' beat into them at home but didn't fit into school. They were unruly ruffians in the schoolyard but NEVER misbehaved in class. They learned everything the teacher presented but never did homework. Lazy? No, they weren't allowed to take books home! The dog always ate them or something. Chester always got good grades in subjects learned in the class but failed everything else. In second and third grade he got better grades when the weather was good. In forth and fifth grades he got better grades when the weather was bad."

"I read an article about that Daddy ..."

"No, you didn't smarty! Here's what happened. In the Quonset huts the heater was in the back of the room and all the ventilation in the front. The teachers always moved the better students to the front of the class. In good weather it got hot under that steel roof and it was a pleasure to sit in front and get benefit of any breeze. Chester was right up there volunteering answers and racing to the blackboard. In bad weather the front was drafty and cold. Dumb old Chester, sans shoes, sans sweater, couldn't do anything correctly and had to sit in the back by the fire.

Now, when we moved to the 'big' school some of the teacher's attitudes changed. Bare feet WERE NOT ALLOWED! Kids without shoes were forced to sit in the hall or library by these 'progressive' teachers. So, in good weather the Greensalls spent a lot of time out of the classroom and didn't learn anything. In very bad weather the brothers wore galoshes. They didn't fit at all ‑‑ huge. They were tied on with ropes to their belts and came up to their knees. They qualified as shoes, though, even in old 'Ogrin the ogre's' class. So, their grades went up! Finigan never seemed to learn anything, anytime. He proudly displayed straight F's on his report card. Foolish! He knew everything, always. They say he only passed each grade because his mother had the goods on the Principle.

Now we come to the shoe crises. Mrs. Ogrin made the mistake of sending Chester home because he had no shoes. Everybody got an education that day. All that bathtub screaming practice came in handy. Chester was screaming because he was whacked with a stick every step. Momma G. was screaming because she was MAD. For three blocks we could hear them coming. No one in the school made a sound. My vocabulary doubled in one afternoon. Strangely, the volume didn't change as it approached the school and stormed into the Principle's office. It was the same impossible loud for about an hour and a half. The result of it was that Momma G. would take care of switching anyone who broke the rules, including teachers who refused to teach and Principles without any. (I think she meant rules). Her kids wouldn't accept charity, but if shoes were essential to learning the kids would accept jobs to pay for them. Of course no one wanted these kids in their businesses. Momma went home and the kids went to class. They had won a battle of sorts but definitely lost the war. The teachers totally ignored them.

As I said, the Greensalls never acted up in class. Chester sat rigidly still except to raise his hand to answer a question. He was never called on, even when his was the only hand up. He didn't scream in the bathtub anymore. He didn't even try to run to lunch.

Larry got shoes! Mr. Wilton owned a shoe store on Main street that we all visited once a week at least. The closest thing to television was the fluoroscope that let us look at each other's feet, five or six at a time, all crammed under the sill. I'm certain I will die of either foot or eyeball cancer someday. Now, the Greensall kids weren't allowed in the store and had never seen their feet even though they were bare. Mr. Wilton hadn't seen them either, so Larry's shoes didn't fit. It didn't matter. Everybody decided to wear the shoes.

Oh, what a plan to trick the ugly Ogrin at her own game. The shoes were secreted in a gunnysack under the NW steps to the school. All the kids knew, and Bill the custodian (one of us), but no one else. Larry, Chester, and Finigan would run out between classes and put on the shoes before going to Ogrin's class, then out to the gunnysack for the next needy person. It worked out well. Ogrin thought she had won and relaxed her mental boycott. The brothers knew they had won but continued their earnest classroom ways. Larry won the school spelling bee. Chester stayed after school and did his homework even though he got a beating when he got home. There were a lot less black eyes around school. Then somebody stole the shoes!

It had to be between 9 and 10 on Thursday. The gunnysack was still there. Not a trace of shoes. Chester skipped Ogrin's 10:00 o'clock class. The next day he came to class with bare feet, but his homework was done. Ogrin ignored him. We were all dumbfounded. No one said a word of sorrow or encouragement, but I learned what empathy meant. For the rest of the week no one raised a hand in Ogrin's class, except Chester. As he was not called on no questions were answered at all. Larry's and Finigan's classes did the same. We never knew who stole the shoes."

"What happened to all of them, Daddy?"

"The brothers moved away during Easter vacation but it had nothing to do with the school problem. Larry's dad had shown up after many years and they all went to Texas where he had a big oil job."

"So, I don't know, and neither does the crud who stole the shoes. That is the senseless part."

"What about Finigan?"

"That we could see. He sort of got even for his cousins. They found out he needed glasses during one of these traveling exams they did back then. Finigan learned to read instead of memorize. He got the highest SAT score in the State when he graduated from high school. He won a good scholarship but turned it down. He inherited a fair amount of money from some uncle back east."

"Rich White Trash?"

"Could be. Just a crazy mother, probably."

"Now I want to know about how you tricked Chester and what F. N. stood for."

"Which one first?"

"Finigan!"

"I told you I don't know, but I heard how you can find out."

"Yes?"

"It's on the Viet Nam Memorial."

Dream Seeds Available in Divination Tent

2005-10-25T05:44:00.000-07:00

The 'Fertility Goddess' or 'Mother Goddess' is a more complex image than most people think. She is not only the Mother Goddess who commands fertility, or the Lady of the Beasts who governs animals and all wild nature, or the frightening Mother Terrible but a composite image with traits accumulated from both the pre-agricultural and agricultural eras - Maria Gimbutus

In the Northern Hemisphere there were traditionally fertility ceremonies during the latter part of October. To mark this period le Enchanteur is offering dream seeds for travellers to plant, nurture and use to identify their creative dreams.

Tree of Lost Letters - Hermitage

2005-10-25T05:16:00.000-07:00

This is a tree of lost letters. Seeing Halloween is coming up, the Hermitage is welcoming lost letters, so if you have a letter that was lost, this tree has caught them all. Feel free to write that letter and make it breathe new life. Even if you just think the letter, it might come to pass. The tree is for lost wishes that are captured by nature, and may come true one day.....

Shared Bodily Warmth

2005-10-24T20:27:00.000-07:00

Quite a day at the gypsy camp yesterday, after a few hours I was done for the day. My donkey's welcome bodily warmth soon had me drop into a slumber on his broad little back. A good thing these donkeys know as well as we where to take us. He took me to my favourite clearing where I fell into a deeply satisfying sleep, dreaming of markets and fine wares and new friends.

Traveller's dictionary ATCs

2005-10-23T11:44:00.000-07:00

ATCs illustrating a dictionary definition

The first one is "scrapboook". This one shows the miniature scrapbook closed

this one shows the miniature scrapbook open

This one is "fox"

This one is "Diana, huntress"

Cloak for sale

2005-10-23T09:24:00.000-07:00

One old battered cloak for sale. Dracula not included.

Victoria 1880

2005-10-23T08:53:00.000-07:00

This is the last card for Victoria. The set could be sold as a group with one or more of each card.

Victoria's White Gown

2005-10-23T08:52:00.000-07:00

Here is Victoria in her white gown for the card series. By Sylvia

My Visit to the Market

2005-10-23T02:49:00.000-07:00

I have wandered quickly through this market once before, so today I thought I would take my time and look closely at the stalls. There certainly are some beautiful wares on display.

On my table I am displaying one of my cards. I like to make cards sometimes for the local gallery.

Spring nature pics

2005-10-22T23:55:00.000-07:00

Some Australian Natives & Lavender from my garden.

My Goodness, Is that?

2005-10-22T23:13:00.000-07:00

I come huffing and puffing the last little bit into the gypsy camp. The camp which until now I'd only watched from the hilltop. Somehow I've just been to tired to face too many people all at once. Today I am determined to take myself all the way to the bottom of the hill and look into the Sunday market.

There in the middle of a open area of grass just behind one of the few permanent houses sat an old woman. Not old really, more like weathered, as if there were several lifetimes carved into her knowing face. Her eyes looked through and beyond everything, or so it would seem. Maybe she was daydreaming off in some distant world. Her life might seem to her as mine now does to me, like nesting dolls, one life inside another. I don't know about the gysy but I cannot know if I am in the inner life, the outer one or one in between?

She seems oblivious to the goings on, ladies dancing, pied pipers piping, giggling girls putting up laundry and a lively kitten swiping away at butterfilies. My donkey is trotting off to meet with other donkeys at the other side of the camp, they too are making quite the commotion.

I think I'll just sit here and rest a while. I'll think if I really should tie the old gypsy scarf around my head and read cards as my aunt Anna taught me. Perhaps I might see what teas the guides suggest I prescribe for the betterment of the customer's health, all in the spirit of the market to profit the overall karma and barter back and forth for what we earnestly need.

My fingers nervously knot the scarf around my head. I shuffle my Marseille Tarot deck. I don't need the cards, they are a prop, a lovely prop once given to me by a dear friend, for seeing babies in her future, when her twins were born, she gave me this deck. These cards have been with me for thirty years. Twenty years since I last used them..

I slipped the deck in my volumenous skirt pocket, and slowly descended the hillside, stepping gingerly sideways hoping to not be noticed just yet. Baba looked up and smiled. "Good, you're here".

Hermitage Publications - Journeyworks

2005-10-22T20:43:00.000-07:00

Words and Art from the Journey....

New Works on Show...take time to visit over

coffee and florentines....

or discuss an idea if you have one brewing...

Imogen Crest, Hermitage Publications.

Nature Pics for Trade

2005-10-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

Trading nature pics for journal pages, inspiration or meditation.

Imogen Crest, Hermitage & Hermitage Publications.

portrait drawing

2005-10-22T20:12:00.000-07:00

portrait drawing
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

A drawing by the Secretary if you like her available for exchange. She has been hiding away for a very long time but came back this morning for me to share with you

2005-10-22T20:06:00.000-07:00

While Gabi snores, Dacianna hits the Sunday Market Place

A Divination Tent Special for Halloween and All Saint's Night

2005-10-22T06:02:00.000-07:00

Le Enchanteur sits playing a tune, calling travellers to go with her to the Isle of Ancestors for All Soul's Night.

Hooded ferry woman provide free boat rides from the Archipelago Market Port. For personal directions check out the Mysterious Isle of Ancestors
Travellers can sign up to go on this journey here in the Divination Tent.

Gypsy Camp First Day Cover

2005-10-22T04:12:00.000-07:00

This is the First Day Cover of a special Lemurian artistamp stamp for the Gypsy Camp. The commemorative issue consists of a a postal note stamped with the First day Cover date of issue, October 23 2005, and containing a block of four mint artistamps.

The postal note is addressed to the requestor, with a note from the Gypsy Chief also enclosed.
The very first issue of this limited edition stamp has been presented to Le Enchanteur. The rest will be issued as requested, but only to Silk Road travellers and members of the Soul Food community, and only for trade with small items of art such as ATCs.

To arrange a trade with this item please email Gail at gailkav@yahoo.com

Bottles of Do

2005-10-22T03:35:00.000-07:00

My friend Thomas the Hermit,
who some may remember from my
wedding notes, would set up a stall
and sell old bottles --
each with a note inside detailing
something that can be made as a
Christmas gift. Special vinigars,
spiced oils, bath soaps, 'secret' spices, etc.

you choose one at random like a 'fishing booth'
from when you were a kid. The price ???

says he --

for a commitment to start next week -- nothing.

for a willingness to "start soon" -- one lost dream granted

for a plan to "get around to it" -- 10 regrets forgiven

to wait until December -- 100 excuses never uttered

faucon

Soul Hands for Leonie Bryant

2005-10-20T05:55:00.000-07:00

For Jane Tilton from Heather Blakey

2005-10-20T05:31:00.000-07:00

'The wisest person
trusts the process,
Without seeking to control;
Takes everything as it comes,
Lives not to achieve or possess,
but simply to be All he or she can be In harmony with Tao.'
Dreyhers’ The Tao of Inner Peace

The wisest artist
trusts that upon death
the final jigsaw puzzle pieces will fall into place
Revealing an exquisite, utterly unique narrative
Heather Blakey

CONVERSATION BETWEEN [WISER SELF] AND EGO

From: 'MS and the Tao'

By: Jane Tilton

Ego: I need to change. I need to change a mental process that is causing me discomfort. I need to change a belief that is causing me great discomfort.

SELF: What is the belief?

Ego: That is not so easy to put into words.

SELF: You must name it to change it.

Ego: Well, I can’t. I’ll just talk for a while and maybe I will go beyond the discomfort with words:
I have a desire,
an unfulfilled desire,
a drive,
an unfulfilled drive,
a drive that I do not devote myself to,
a drive that I do not discipline myself to perform in any pattern that will produce satisfactory results.

SELF: (silence)

Ego:

I also believe that this drive is a direct link with my soul.
I believe it is the route to my purpose in life, and,
I know if I applied myself daily, to whatever it is,
I could succeed.
But, do I? No! I procrastinate.
I follow my inclinations of the moment.
I become easily distracted.
I feel that if it were really my destiny I would do it more relentlessly.

SELF: Could it be that desire and drive to do something, or be something, is wrong?

Ego: If it is so wrong why have I always had these desires? If they are patterns in my soul, how can they be wrong? If it gives me joy when I do it, how can that be wrong?

It is when I am doing other things that I feel discomfort.

SELF: Your mental process is on a revolving wheel; the wheel with no beginning and no end. You need to jump off and take another direction.

Ego:
I need to change.
The discomfort just wont go away.
It is painful, bordering on an obsession.
I need to discover the untrue premise in my thinking.

SELF: What do you need to do to feel good?

Ego:

'To feel good I need to write or paint."
'To feel worthwhile I must create something."
Perhaps I lack self discipline
Perhaps I should make out a rigid work schedule.

SELF: Doesn't self discipline seem more an action of the ego rather than the soul?

(Silence)

SELF: Doesn't it seem sad that you are only happy when you are writing or painting or creating something?

Ego:

Well, that's not entirely true. I love playing with my grandchildren, I love to cook, and to walk in the woods, and……………

OH

OH..I THINK I AM BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND

I AM beginning to understand.
What you are trying to get me to see is:

I need to believe that everything I do
is as worthwhile
as writing or painting or creating.
That is my problem!!
'I need to know that whatever I do is worth while, fulfills me, and is necessary to my life."

I have spent a lifetime regretting all the great work I could have done, all the great pieces I could have written, all the great art work I could have produced, all the in depth studies I could have done and all the interesting people I could have known. What I failed to realize, and what has just now entered my mind, is that my nature, the one I was born with, would not have allow me to accomplish any of the above.

I was not born to prove I could do something great,
I was born to know I am something great,
Even when I am doing nothing.

'The wisest person
trusts the process,
Without seeking to control;
Takes everything as it comes,
Lives not to achieve or possess,
but simply to be All he or she can be In harmony with Tao.
(Tao 2)
Dreyhers’ The Tao of Inner Peace, page 66

For Lois

2005-10-18T05:18:00.000-07:00

There is a jongleur at the market
who composes rhyme while he dances
and tosses things about ...

Here is a sonnet composed along
the lines of your thoughts ...

the price is that you must pick
a special blossom and give it
to a stranger.

faucon
........................................

SPRING

Here in my heart spring there are daffodils
That peek through the tarnished leaves of fall,
And remind that love can from dormant call
And surge above distracting life's travails.

But I find your passion still enthralled
With snowy drifts of soft forgetfulness
That protect - yet hide this year's promise
To hope find ourselves in spirit fulfilled.

Our single needs may not now be the same,
Nor our dreams entwine to a common goal,
But 'tis Heaven's blessing that may enthrall
That our love o' life outlives this winter game.

A bulb once planted holds promise of life
To burst through the frost of earthly strife.

A return visit to the Sunday Market

2005-10-18T01:02:00.000-07:00

Now travellers new and old I have been before to the last market held here some months ago and bought so many beautiful craft treasures that I had to buy a large wooden trunk to put them in ready for shipping to THAT other world.

But with your permission I would love to journey there again and see what new treasures are to be purchased ...I don't have any wares to trade as I am not a very creative creature but I love to admire and be in awe of others talents.

I remember at school way back in the 40's I did Needlework and was awarded a mark of 97% for a tray cloth made of linen and around the border fancy work cotton of all different stitches.....And this week it is on display at an exhibition in my home town of Port Melbourne which is featuring Women of Port and lo and behold my little 12" x 6" tray cloth is in a glass cabinet with my school report book showing the 97% award mark.....

Unfortunately I have never sewn since...findng my creative outlets in the garden, writing of course and other wonderful pursuits.

So as I set off to the Sunday Market which I think is just the best day to have it I look foward to catching up with you all ,having a cup of herbal tea or whatever takes your fancy and of couse some wonderful home made cakes perhaps even some of Baba Yaga's bread which is sumptuous......

I love the Spring Time it is the most glorious time of the year .. Today I stopped by the sea on my way to the market,the sun was dancing on the water and all was calm quiet and peaceful.

(I looked peaceful up in my dictionary and it says)

Peaceful---- Not in a state of war or disagreement.. calm and tranquil

How apt for a day at the Sunday Market and for the whole world

Lois (Muse of the Sea)

2005-10-16T05:44:00.000-07:00

What a marvelous afternoon. Nothing I enjoy more then strolling through a market place filled with creativity. My problem is that I want a bit of every thing available. As this is my first trip here I am not sure how this works. I see no prices on anything so I guess I shall just hop right in and barter.

Sooner or later I will set up a booth of my cupboard full of creativity efforts but for now I would like to offer a little brochure I put together, which will start the wheels of synchronicity for you, in exchange for something from your booth. Energy and mass are interchangeable so the logical place to set syncronicity into motion is on the top of Energy Mountain. It is this brochure I would like to exchange, in snail-mail, for something from your booth. I am going to walk back through the market place and start a wish list and try to think of other things you might like to trade for.

By the way, I must stop and bid on those hands from the Enhantress. I have a big wish I want fulfilled. CroneJane

Divination -- a gift

2005-10-15T20:08:00.000-07:00

ORACLE STONE

Jason retained nothing of the old country --
nothing to remind him of relatives
lost beneath war savaged sands
where fields had once laughed with grain and edging berries.
He changed his name, his manner of dress -- his hair; and yet
the package found him!

The smallish, brown paper wrapped parcel
scarcely held the stamps and dozens of cancellations,
all fading green and scarlet and azure illegibility.
He knew what it was -- and did not fear it;
never believing it would fall to him,
or closely bound by the whispered traditions.

"You are the last," was how the note staarted.
"Life's mysteries number as drops of rain.
Peer within and find an answer to guide you.
Just believe in the power of the Seer,
And act with the wisdom of Trigore"

It didn't look like much.
The gold and amber pendant was no bigger than a robin's egg,
and the woven chain probably had more value;
but he knew that it should open like a locket,
or had on demand for four thousand years --
if held by the rightful owner.

There was a limitation, of course --
the questions asked could never be for personal gain,
the problem could never be one created by oneself,
and the solution had to be enacted, never spoken.
By legend, the amulet was a conduit of power,
which needed an adept to focus its will --
the gift and curse of the ancient seer Trigore.

Thus, Jason had used the Oracle Stone but three times,
though he had opened it in expectation much more often.
Usually it was empty, signaling that he had more work to do;
that the question asked was not specific enough,
or the goal unworthy, or the intent shadowed by greed.

When the miracle happened -- the magick,
a short message was inscribed inside,
readable only by him, for it was in a language
forgotten before Abraham -- but he understood.

He gazed at its brief command now for a forth time,
smiling at the confirmation of what he already knew,
confident now to do what only he could do --
to be what only he could be.

"So simple," he chuckled, and readily claimed the eyes
of all who turned toward him in wonder and surprise.
"You all know the answer," he whispered.
"It is the question you must find.
The solution is always the same!"

Think on it --
and you will know what the stone has inscribed inside.

..........................................
faucon

Desert Dawn

2005-10-15T19:48:00.000-07:00

Desert Dawn
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

Greetings:
Standing alone against the winds.
A card by Fran available on email.

Victoria 1880

2005-10-15T16:20:00.000-07:00

Here is another dress for Victoria. This is a series of cards. There are two more.

Traveller's ATCs

2005-10-15T08:28:00.000-07:00

Vintage lady

Goddess
Unfortunately the scan doesn't show all the colours very well, especially as I spritzed violet moonglow over the card which darkened it substantially.

jewels & treasures

2005-10-15T06:40:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the table of jewels & treasures

at the market place today?

Divination - An Offer

2005-10-14T21:30:00.000-07:00

The waters of the lake near the Amazon Queen's palace have the power to reveal one's true identity. The Amazonian goes to look in the reflective mirror each day and each day the Raven tells her that they are one. Le Enchanteur will take the receptive to the gazing lake near the Queen's Summer Palace. If you gaze into the reflective waters you will see your true identity take shape and stake its claim upon you.

All participants will be required to post their findings at Le Enchanteur's Divination Tent here in the market place.

One in the crowd

2005-10-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

At every market gathering, there is one who would
jump on a barrel and burst into song, or tell a tale
of unrequited love -- or just bare his soul.
Thrice in as many days I have been asked,
"What is the purpose of it all?"

So, to these three and all ...

LoveChoice

By the poorest of analogy in search of simplicity, I am a moth drawn toward the Light, ever being bright, Source of creation, Mother of rebirth, womb of Life. Ah, to plunge within, return to the bosom of Everwhen, to embrace pulse creation at the Origin of Song and Life. Yet I veer away on a tangential course -- as close as the trembling of my soul -- as far as the call of humanity's need. Out -- out -- but not away; somehow through and caressed with Godsped acclaim of Being. As I spin away in prancing joy, a simple note in Life's Song of Now, I learn of the Choice -- the reason for my entrancement.

Within the Agreement that enthralls my participation in this World manifestation are the vibrations of Covenant that limit my view of GodLight and therebe powers to nurture, heal, and create new life. This World exists so that I can make a Choice -- actually is a process of Choosing -- made 'real' by the combined interactive Love of others who also will make a Choice -- each in close approach to the cycle of rebirth. Within the limit of human Word that is, this is a Choice between 'death of self' and 'birth of being'; yet no more true than claiming a draw toward coming 'humanly divine' opposing 'divinely human'. Both are wrong, of course, for in either case, the vessel of cherished physical form rightful protected will cease to have meaning or relevance when Choice is made, or in losing it, Choice is found.

There is no purpose of 'Life' as engaged in this World, other than Being and Choosing how my spirit 'I' will engender Creation. Simplicity's view would call again to Song -- to position the Choice as between 'being in the orchestra' or 'applauding in the audience'; each as vital as Love itself. The essential distinction here is that within Love's symphony, personal identity of creative note is submerged within the score and guiding conductor's hand. This certainly is Creation profound, and stardust chimes and firmament resound in resonance. To bechoice within the expanse of 'audience' is Creation too, for 'applause' nurtures those emerging from rebirth, and carries forth the Song on Currents of LoveJoy that others may hear -- and feel -- and know -- and Choose. Which to be -- the Song or the Singer?

More divinely calling is -- do I wait for Judgment upon Passing, or by Choosing to be an Angel -- embrace the singing Now? If I wallow in uncertainty then I must surely wait, encouraged that 'Arbitration' will consider how well my spirit suffered to become a child again, to find innocence -- a view only reflected in the eyes of strangers I encountered here. I can only seek balance between my spirit's memory of Creation and the Covenant's command to extend hand and heart to my brothers caught in this 'Choice Journey'. Is this a case of 'try it and see'? Or is it that by contemplation of leap from 'believing' to 'knowing' I have already made the Choice?

What will it be? To 'remember' or to 'forget'? Neither mind nor heart trembles here -- it is my very soul.

Either way, I am part of the music of Love.

faucon

and Gwen said ...

2005-10-11T05:57:00.000-07:00

The Royal Alchemist to The Amazon Queens has arrived

2005-10-11T01:19:00.000-07:00

TO BE FOUND ON THE AMAZON QUEEN'S ALCHEMY
H.R.H. Gwen Guin, the Amazon Queen's Alchemist Arrives

And so, with no fuss or fanfare H. R. H. Gwen Guin enters her minute kingdom. Not known for her Warrior Skills, she found her focus to be Alchemist to the Royal Amazonian House. Her 'specialty' if you will, is herbals, potions, oils, salves, teas,and soaps. It is her alchemy that keeps the Warrior-Women feminine and blessed with their well-known loveliness.

From H. R. H. Gwen Guin

"Greeting dears,
I have chosen to make available through Soul Food Cafe these same herbal wonders that have been used by the Amazon Queens for millenia.Here in this magic realm is the only place that one can find Amazon Queen Alchemy.

As you know, Amazons are regularly long-lived, there are several QAueens of note that lived and ruled well beyond their centanarial. They are also noted for their ehduring beauty, they have often written in their Journes, or Journals as you call them, of the role that The Royal Alchemist played a key role in their youthful visages.

Do not mistake me, this was no vanity, it was an integral part of the reputation the Warrior-Women must maintain. They actively trained daily from age eighteen until they returned Home. The impression of youth gave them an advantage, many of their enemies were unable to muster a powerful defence against young women.
"Surely they couldn't be seasoned warriors!! Look at their soft skin and silken hair!"

This was their undoing, for the sweet young girls are in truth Warrior-Women in their prime. Strength that is already legendary, tempered by experience and confidence. Each Squad is judged by it's scars. The fewer the better, so there is a lively trade in scar clearing regimens."

I am honoured to share this with the people who wander Soul Food's Halls.
May the God and Goddess bless you until we speak again.
Signed,
H. R. H. Gwen Guin,
Royal Alchemist to the Amazon Queens

Here, within these inviting and tempting walls you will eventually see soaps of all sorts, a growing variety of oils, cremes, bath oils, bath salts, hair rinses, scrubs and facials. I will also create custom-ordered gift boxes, already available are psoriasis, antifungal, and arthritis regimins.

In the development stages are more regimens, one of the first I want to have formulated is a burn regimen. If you are interested in prices, or have a regimen you would like to see created, please contact me at GwenGuin005@aol.com .

Soul Hand Servant

2005-10-10T15:27:00.000-07:00

By night this designer, Soul Hand Candle Holder, in Red Boots, will illuminate your manuscripts and art work. By day they will do the bidding of their owner and guide them safely to the Gypsy Camp. They will be a match for any of the indentured hands in Baba's house and will make sure their owner is protected from any unreasonable demands.

These hands will go to the highest bidder. Make the best, non monetary offer, to the Amazon Queen and she will command these hands become your servant.

2005-10-09T08:11:00.000-07:00

Same doll with a different dress. Also printed in card form and available if you are interested.

Victoria 1880

2005-10-09T08:09:00.000-07:00

One of my paper dolls that is in card form.

Traveller's creations

2005-10-09T07:26:00.000-07:00

the members of Rachel Murphree's Cloth Paper Studio Yahoo group were invited to make "happy postcards" to send to Rachel to celebrate the first anniversary of the founding of this group on 14 October. The cards she receives will be auctioned in aid of Katrina victims. This is my happy card.

ATCs on the theme of numerals

ATCs on the theme of red black and gold
ATCs on the theme of red, black and gold

Priceless items for lease

2005-10-08T06:38:00.000-07:00

Odds and Ends

I have collected, perhaps by chance,
perchance by magickal guidance --
a number of items one might call
"Dream Seeds". These I would release
here at the marketplace. The price is enormous!
Each purchaser must compose a story or poem
about the item and the dream it invokes.
Use of the item is for one month only --
I am but there caretaker, after all.

These "Dream Flowers" must be posted here,
with full understanding that they might find
there way into a book, for which the author
will gain nothing but mention of their name.

If these items go quickly, I will ask Kiyan for others
that he may have gathered in his travels.

Item 1: A SILK SCARF

This was found on a trip to Uskadar, Turkey.
It was caught in a thorn bush where it had blown.
It carried a magnificent perfume (now gone)
that told of a most beautiful lady.

There is a slight stain on one edge that might be tears.
It is of the finest quality hand woven silk,
with a rolled edge bound in silver thread.
It is the color of sea foam with a touch of pink.

Item 2: A DAGGAR

This is very old and unique in style.
The blade is about 10" long and stained with use,
but still very sharp as it is of folded steel in the
Toledo way. Its back is straight and made rigid
by a cross piece running from full tang to point.
The cutting edge is slightly curved. My first impression
was that it had been designed to penetrate chain mail.
The handle is of bone with a knob of resin. Some carvings
still show on the blade and handle.

I found this imbedded in a dead tree so deeply
the hemlock had to be cut down to remove it.

Item 3: A STONE FIGURINE

The is a double carving that fits comfortably
in the palm of one's hand and is meant to be rubbed.
It has two chubby figures clutching one another.
Together they form a general heart shape.
It is reddish in color and may be jasper.

I found it in a small cave in the Carpathian Alps
where I hid during a storm. It has served me well
in meditation, but I know it must move on.

Item 4: NINE STONES

These are all of a golden color, and of differing
size and shape, but obviously of a set.
Each has five irregular facets and a rounded side
into which is carved a different symbol that I have not been
able to decipher. When rolled like dice,
the revealed sides reflect light in differing ways,
constructing many patterns of light and shadows.

I believe they must have been used for divination
or some ritual and have asked Kiyan.
He has heard of such things and knows they were only used by women.
They are from an area of Europe once known
as Moravia -- found in the ashes of a campfire.

NOTE: if cash purchase is desired instead,

the bidding should start at $80,000 USA for each item.

faucon

Another Table for the Sunday Marketplace

2005-10-08T04:34:00.000-07:00

Has anyone else seen the new table over there, sort of by itself? Granted, the dragon sleeping around the entourage is more than a tad off-putting. If you watch he whole group closely the whole picture shifts, That chubby woman behind the table, yes, the one that seems so plain, until you see her up close. Then you see how old and innocent her eyes are.

She is the Queen of her tiny Kingdom; A gay, patchwork canopy, with ribbons and bits of sewn on mirror, is her pavillion and beneath it are aromatic, indulgent creations to delight any woman. Her table is full of assorted bottles, jars, bags,and boxed kits of herbal beauty products. She will take the time to make sure you know how to use her products. With any unstoppering of a bottle the two cats sniff appreciatively, before going back to grooming the dragon, who is fully limp in bliss.

I am here with my herbal goodies, soaps, oils, lotions, bath teas, bath oils of all sorts to sniff through.
There is Rose Milk & Honey,
Chamomile and Aloe,
Lavender and Oatmeal,
And Comfrey-Borage Soaps.

I have bay leaf oil for sore, knotted muscles
Chamomile oil to moisturise your face as never before.
Sage oil, part of a three-fold treatment for psoriasis.
Natural Capsaicin oil for arthritic aches.
A sweet-smelling oil to rub on your face to banish headaches.

Over here are the splashes for your face:]
This one is chamomile, for sensitive skin,
There is the rose and honey splash,
And the bottle there has the chamomile astringent.

Here are massage oils, for relaxation and romance,
In the corner are the bath oils; rose, jasmine, lavender, and mint.
The little bags?
Yes! Those are bath teas. You've never had a bath tea before? I would reccomend the jasmine tea then, it really does wonderful things for you. Yes, sweetie, there are other ones, rose, lavender, mint and chamomile teas. Yes, it is 'steeped' in the bathwater!!

Of course, take your time, sniff around There should surely be one to tempt your senses here. Yes, even the teas are handmade by me. Please contact me at Gwenguin005@aol.com for prices and details.

For the Patrons of SoulFood there are special Prices, and the possibilities of trades.

Baba's Archipelago Market Warehouse for Halloween Supplies

2005-10-08T04:13:00.000-07:00

Visit Baba's Archipelago Island to buy your Halloween and All Soul's Day supplies.

2005-10-03T10:39:00.000-07:00

Margot Fonteyn. I gave the original as a helper for the convention in CA, but did keep a scan. I did not like the face very much, but the clothes came out well.

2005-10-03T10:33:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite paper dolls and favorite movies. Sylvia

Sylvia's Paper Doll Set

2005-10-02T14:34:00.000-07:00

For our Sunday Market Day, I will put in pictures of two paper doll sets. I can create cards from my paper dolls-both black and white and color sets.
Sylvia

Free Magic Support

2005-10-02T04:00:00.000-07:00

Performance Magic

I hold to a strict division between the practices of

MAGIC -- as a performing art, and

MAGICK -- as mysterious, supra-natural experiences
normally attendant to wizardry, craft, divination, etc.

I feel it is unethical to misrepresent either in practice,
especially when magic tricks are claimed to be
demonstrations of 'special powers', 'alchemy',
or any 'magickal' ability. Yet, some effects
like the 'pendulum' can fall into either area. What to do?

To this end I am a recognized worldwide expert
in Medieval Magic Performance, assisting those
who wish for effects that are period accurate,
as well as avoiding misrepresentation. Often,
in period tradition, the line between the two areas
is rather 'shadowy'. In the Druid traditions, for example,
Bards regularly performed 'small magic' to warm up the audience;
while Dryads and Priest later shifted to more
'arcane' presentations, but still employed 'tricks'.

For me, how you tell the story makes all the difference.
As a performing magician I can 'pretend' to be a wizard.
If doing any kind of 'ritual', I might use a magic effect,
but would always let it be know that I was only
'demonstrating for emphasis', or 'getting their attention'.

For any of you that wish to do performance magic
in any setting generally considered 'magickal',
I would be willing to assist in effect selection,
patter design and 'routining', as well as discussing
'walking the line'.

No charge, of course, other than sincerity.
If you use your performances for 'gain', however;
a donation to Soul food would seem in order.

faucon

Please address queries to:

Kinjal of Moravia
gusarimagic@comcast.net

Raven Flight to Market

2005-10-01T23:29:00.000-07:00

Tea and sandwiches at the Archipelago Market

was touched by gold...

Raven was left to forage by the water

while I witnessed everything turning

into gold...

New Art and Words For Sale - Hermitage Publications

2005-10-01T20:21:00.000-07:00

Original Art and Words For Sale....

The collection is growing, blooming every day.
Your invitation unlocks the door - fresh brewed coffee and florentines always available. View original works birthed out of amazing journeys of imagination...