Cold winds are blowing
away
my dreams of autumn sun
sitting with books, Birds
and Bramble-berries.
.
Sleep well, my Turtle home!
Dream of trips to trails along beaches
sleep with Mice in your belly
and fresh snow on your brow…
.
Spring will come
a cold aeon from now.
The Turtle, our new motor home
I don’t know, I don’t know…
….shall I leave it , shall I go
I am toooo old,
I have no time
to put genetics
into my mind
Often in trance I see an array
of waving lines, that move and sway
asking my guides, what could they be
“It’s double Snakes, that you do see”
A double helix waves along,
but on its side, is something wrong,
That bluish blob does not belong.
What does it mean, that I there see
and what
for it
the cure could be?
will I learn that,
if I go
What healer am I,
that does not know…..
.
….……………….Mi-Shell J February 21
11.45pm
= when I’m awake…….
and it is night….
when I am talking
to my guide……
when I am asking
for advice
receive an answer –
– not always nice…
A kind friend and fellow Tarot enthusiast just send this poem and I can not resist sharing it with you all 🙂 Enjoy!
A VISIT FROM THE YULE SPIRITS
By Richard DeAngelis
‘Twas the night before Yule, when all ‘cross the heath,
Not a creature was stirring, Pagan, faerie or beast.
Wassail was left out and the altar adorned,
To rejoice that the Sun King would soon be reborn.
The children lay sleeping by the warmth of the hearth,
Their dreams filled with visions of belov’d Mother Earth.
M’Lady and I beneath blankets piled deep,
Had just settled down to our own Solstice sleep.
When a noise in the night that would give us no peace,
Awakened us both with the honking of geese.
Eager to see such a boisterous flock,
We raced to the window and our mouths dropped in shock!
On the west wind flew a gaggle of geese white and gray,
With Frau Hilda behind them in her gift-laden sleigh.
The figure on her broomstick in the north sky made clear,
La Befana was approaching to bestow Yuletide cheer.
From the south came a cornet more bright than the moon,
And we knew that Lucia would be with us soon.
As these spirits salted earthward o’er hilltops and trees,
Frau Hilda serenaded her feathery steeds:
“Fly Isolde! Fly Tristan! Fly Odin and Freya!
Fly Morgaine! Fly Merlin! Fly Uranus and Gaia!
May the God and Goddess inside of you soar
From the clouds in the heavens to yon cottage door!”
As soft and silent as snowflakes they fell,
Their arrival announced by a faint chiming bell.
They landed like angels, their bodies aglow.
Their feet left no markings in the new fallen snow.
Before we could ponder what next lay in store,
There came a slow creaking from our threshold door.
We crept from our bedroom and were spellbound to see –
There in our parlor stood the Yule Trinity!
Lucia, the maiden, with her head wreathed in flame
Shown with the radiance for which she is named.
The Lightbringer’s eyes held the joy of a child,
And she spoke with a voice that was gentle yet wild:
“May the warmth of this household never fade away.”
Then she lit our Yule log – which still burns to this day.
Frau Hilda in her down cloak stood regal and tall,
The Matron of Solstice, the Mother of all.
Under her we felt both safe and secure.
Her voice was commanding, yet almost demure:
“May the love of this family enrich young and old.”
And from the folds of her cloak showered coins of pure gold.
La Befana wore a kerchief on her silvery hair,
The veil of the Crone who has secrets to share.
In her eyes gleamed the wisdom only gained by spent youth.
Her voice was a whisper but her words rung with truth:
“May health, glad tidings and peace fill this room.”
Then she banished misfortune with a sweep of her broom.
They then left a gift by each sleeping child’s head,
Took a drink of wassail and away they all sped.
While we watched them fly off through the night sky, we sight
At the wondrous magic we had found on this night.
And as they departed, the spirits decreed:
“Merry Yule to you all and may all Blessed Be!”
.
Go ask the Shrew
about what’s bothering you
She’ll dive into a hole
to go, ask the Mole
that’s blind but can see
the world’s mystery
.
He’ll speak to the Shrew
who’ll write it to you
with tracks in the snow
so you see and know
.
Have a gift for the Shrew
for working with you
Short Tailed Shrew
WHAT are YOU guys doing HERE???
Yesterday early evening I was on my way into town for our weekly drum circle.
We live quite a ways out in “the bush” on a narrow winding country road.
It is Bear and Moose and Wolf country out here.
It was a few years back, that we began to see wild Turkeys by the road again. They were reintroduced by the MNR = Ministry of Natural Resources as a species that used to be indigenous to Southern Ontario. Now however, with us having warmer climates with milder winters they- and many other species of Wildlife moved north and in recent years we have seen a proliferation of Wild Turkeys, but also rather exotic migrants like Opossums – not to speak about all the new arrivals in the Snake and Insect department….
So here I was, tufffffing down the windy road, hopping in and our of potholes when just over the next bump in the road I see a large Bird standing in the middle of the “pavement” and 2 more appeared out of the bush.
“Wild Turkeys” I thought .
Well, strange thing, they have on their head – strange plumage too: Blue white and gray….
One more dip in the road and I would be right upon them.
Turkeys usually run- or fly of and one has to be careful, that they do not fly into the windshield.
Wuump – over the next bump I come and RIGHT before me the road is blocked. 2 Huuuuuuge Birds, caleidoscopic colored tail feathers spread wide, are blocking the road of, side to side. And not only that, they shake these wide rusteling colorful feather wheels at me as if to scare the car away.
Well, the car is not scarred , but me!?????????
I have hit the break and come to a full stop.
Car-wise and mind-wise too.
These are NO Turkeys!!!!!!!!
These are Peakocks!!!!!!!!!
WHAT are they doing here???????
This is Ontario! – Or did I miss a turn somewhere??
They are not budging either and now I recognize the 3 other Birds I first saw from a distance as Peahens, with the little crown of feathers on their heads. They are of to the side in the bushes.
I wish I had a camera. Nobody will believe that.
I honk the horn. The first Bird folds his feathers and struts of, the other one follows.
Where are they going?
What?
Oh yes, what is the Fox thinking about this?
I will probably see him tomorrow, when he comes to see me for a consultation to find out ifff he has hallucinations….. 😉
The Fox and me
need therapy:
There’s something really strange we see:
It’s colorful and big and and loud
and shakes his bum feathers around.
We both wonder, can we cope?
Do we need pills, did we eat dope?
Should we ignore it’s strutting gate ?
– or but it on our dinner plate?
Tribute to my father in law
a proud and strong man –
– once…..
March 11th 2011:
Save journey to the Ancestors, Klaus!
We will miss you!
.
March 11th 2012
….still
sadness…..
Ravens in Love
is a poem about Ravens in German language. 😦
It is for Elisabeth, my mother in law
and for my German friends and students 🙂
Rabenliebe:
Die Raben sind im Eierwahn!
wie Düsenjäger sausen sie heran
ja, wie die schwarzen Phantom – Flieger
oder sind’s des Odin’s wilde Krieger?
Jetzt ist für uns die Winterwelt
ein riesengroßes Zirkuszelt:
Die Raben sind Luftakrobaten
vom Fenster sehen wir ihre Taten.
Hoch über’m Eise, statt zusammenzuprallen
im Liebesrausch , verhaken sie ihre Krallen
und dann kopfüber und kopfunter
geht’s den ganzen Creek hinunter.
Wild wird gegluckst, gekrächzt, geflattert
und einen Partner sich ergattert.
Dann runter geht’s , auf’s blanke Eis
dort hüpft und krächzt man laut im Kreis.
Der Rivale wird ganz ungeniert
mit Flügel-Prügel attackiert.
Statt majestätisch davonzugleiten
sind die Damen auch am Streiten!
Man krächzt sich widerwärtig an
verteidigt seinen Rabenmann,
benutzt den Schnabel wie ‘nen Hammer
zack – noch mehr Geschrei und Rabenjammer.
Siegreich das Paar in der Luft sich tummelt
– jetzt wird keine Zeit mehr verbummelt
denn nur einen Zweck erfüllt die Trickerei
– Im März im Nest ein Rabenei!
Und während es noch pfeift und schneit
sind fünf Baby – Krächzes unter Pappa’s Kleid.
Liebevoll bringt dann die Rabenmutter
unseren Müll – und Aas als Rabenfutter.
Werden dann Ende April die Lüfte linder
sind sie voll wilder Rabenkinder……
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Shamanic Drum 