Magic Ink

Once upon a time (it's going to be one of those sorts of stories) there was a pen which wrote with an ink which was made so that it would never fade. How could that have been possible you ask? Magic. It must be magic (it is, one of those stories, after all). But no, you was not magic, are mistaken. It or at least not in the way that you think. Though there is still so much that is magical in the world. How does a bird feather stay vividly red, when the

feather's owner might have been nesting in the time of Dickens? Perhaps some time ago (and not very much time ago, either) you might have said it was magic. But today, you can very easily ask the little machine you carry around in your pocket or your purse, like a handy talisman (it is) and will quickly be told that a bird's feathers are

Ruminations

Fairy tales like religion......religion like fairy tales.

Theologians and faery.... such as Robert Kirk.

The greatest portal of transportation is the library.

A Reserrection

Well, I finally planted everything yesterday. Everything was looking pretty sad and droopy, and I had convinced myself that it was all over before I'd even started.

But! We have ourselves a St. Patrick's Day miracle! The chives, which were lying nearly flat last night, are now upright and bright green, and my beloved apple mint, who was yellow and shriveling a day ago, is now healthy and standing tall. Very happy about that.

In other news, Ha'Penny had a show last night, but it was one of our stranger performances. Mark's parents are involved with the Catholic Church in Paradise, and so we served as the entertainment to their St. Patrick's Day celebration last night. Being Paradise, the average age was about 70, and we were nothing more than background music, which I wasn't used to.

It was fun nonetheless, and I started to learn the ropes of setting up and taking down equipment, and also tinkering with the PA system.

And I got some so-so corned beef and cabbage as well.

Thom's wife gave me a beautiful cream Renaissance-style shirt also, and I thought it'd be too big, but it's perfect, and I love it.

Now it's St. Paddy's Day morning, and I woke up with my usual Irish Breakfast tea (which feels just a little more festive on a day like today) and put on the corned beef (my first attempt at cooking it myself) while listening to some Celtic tunes. Between the smell of the corned beef cooking, the green of my dress, and the surprise come-back of my little garden, I'm feeling pretty happy this morning.

We'll go down to Duffy's to hear the Pub Scouts a little later this afternoon, and then I might go visit my enchanted place for a while. Then dinner, and the annual viewing of The Secret of Roan Inish, which I discovered in VHS form when I was about 6, and fell in love. It's become tradition to watch it on St. Patrick's Day now. Today shall be no different (:


edit:

Aw today was satisfying. I cooked the corned beef all morning, then Jonny and I walked down to Duffy's. It was pleasantly crowded and comfortingly noisy, in that pub sort of way :P The Scouts were all mic'd up today, so were actually quite loud, and easy to hear over the bustle of people. Vita saw me first, and then Jewel, and I was happy to see them both too! They must be so tired, three shows in three days.. 'tis the season I suppose.

There was a group of girls with jig shoes on, who danced in a line, and then each danced individually in the middle of the crowd, and aw, it was actually so much fun. Jonny and I had a Guinness and danced together, and clapped along to the music, and the tapping of the girl's shoes.

We went to the new Mexican restaurant then, and shared an enchilada dinner, as it was on special price. Not too bad. Was kind of funny eating enchiladas on St. Paddy's Day.

And then we continued the tradition we started last year, by going to the Antiques shop and looking around. Jon is looking for a shelf for some of his collectibles, and I was just.. looking. Two highlights: the Winnie the Pooh and Tigger soap holder 3 annd the blue gingham summer robe.

Then it was a walk back home, where I put on some BBQ chicken for Jonny (who does not have the same love affair with corned beef and cabbage that I do) and then went over the the enchanted spot for a while.

The other day, I took Jon to see it, and despite spending every day this last week undisturbed, my tree was covered with a legion of ants when I took Jon. Was rather upset.. I thought about stringing some bay leaves together and wrapping them around the trunk like a protective garland...

Though, today, I came on my own, and there wasn't an ant in sight. I think maybe the tree wasn't pleased I'd brought an outsider.. it's just something between me and my tree, and no one else is allowed :P

I spent some time sitting and reading on the boulder by the creek as well, and walked to the giant hollow tree.

We ate dinner around 6, and mmm, I managed to cook it to the same level of goodness that my mom has for my whole childhood. I was quite pleased.

While I washed the dishes, Jonny hung up the painting he got me for my birthday. It's wonderful. I've loved it forever, for some reason, and it's quite surreal to walk into that part of the house and see it hanging there :P

Now I'm out here on the porch enjoying one more Guinness and watching twilight creep in.

Once Upon A Time and a late night showing of the Secret of Roan Inish up next, and then some sweet slumber.

A happy St. Paddy's Day to ya!

On Hunting The Elusive

"...rouses the something deeper than the understanding -- the power that underlies thoughts." - George Macdonald

It's thinking that gags those fleeting inspirations.. those slippery instances of understanding, of holistic insight. Even putting it into words is troublesome.. words seem finite, concrete, rigid. Those moments of pure "a-ha!" can't possibly be packaged prettily into sentences. It's so difficult. And yet some are gifted to string just the right words together in just the right way, that whether it's when the writer sets those words to motion on paper, or when the words become alive by speech, the moment of inspiration can be revisited again and again.

Sometimes I think I think too much.

There are whole worlds I live in, that I've created, that I've found, that I experience, but I can't seem to funnel out any of their magic into the world here. I have not found the right materials to build those bridges. My first instinct is to think, to analyze, to plan. Inspiration runs from anything like that.

I'm trying to get better at bringing out what's inside. Keeping this blog up seems like it might be a good way to practice.

I just spent some time with a friend who shared some of her poetry with me. I didn't know what I was expecting, but I was truly moved by it. She is one of those gifted people who seems to have tied one end of a thread to her dreamworld, and managed to extend it all the way back across subconsciousness, fantasy, inspiration, and tie it firmly onto the tip of her pen. Her poetry was wonderful! I was really inspired by it. It had all of these powerful images, elements which make up the stuff of my favorite qualities.. dreams, nature, feeling, legend, etc.

I'm so inspired. When I have time, I want to try to write like that.

For now, I'm just happy and thankful to have heard it.

Birds In the Sky, You Know How I Feel

Today is a day to remember. Today my little balcony garden has begun!

I got a large barrel, called a whiskey barrel :P And it's awfully cute, and practical too.

In the middle I'll plant the butter lettuce, and then around that will go cilantro, parsley, dill, chives and apple mint.

I already plucked some apple mint leaves off and am steeping a very fresh looking herbal tea (: The water is a springy green, and it smells sweet and minty. I love the look of full leaves hovering prettily in the cup.

The neighbor's rooster is outside singing, the windchime is tinkling, and the sun is warming everything up today, and life. is. good.

I Am A Romantic

If to be a 'Romantic' means to be a man acutely aware of being caught in an existence that denies him the fullness for which he craves, to feel that he is defined by his tension towards something else, by his capacity for faith, for hope, for longing, to think of himself as a wanderer seeking a country that is always distant, but made ever-present to him by the quality of love that 'groans' for it, then. . .

I have imperceptibly become a Romantic.






Risking Enchantment - pg.24

The Enchanted Place

I have been out for a long time today, at my new enchanted place, a piece of paradise, a slice of Faery.

Set off down Willow Street, past the snowdrops, then through the graveled alley and the wooden gate, down the winding dirt road, over the grassy embankment, and then climb, carefully, down the mossy rocks and scooch down finally onto the tree, whose trunk stretches out from the bank, and bends in at an L, so that a very nice seat can be made, over the winding creek itself.

It is nice to sit upon, with your toes in the water, and a friendly arm wrapped round the trunk, or, with your back leaning against the trunk, and your feet secure on the wood of the bark by the bank, a good book in your lap.

Today it was a book about Coleridge, and Romanticism, and Faery. (this book)

I was there 3 hours.

A duck swam by, going upstream first, then winding downstream later. I was so happy to see him pass, to dip my toes in the same water in which he swam.

I have found my own entry into Faery.

And, as you do, I discovered some things.

Firstly, learning of Coleridge, and Wordsworth, and Scott, and Tolkien, etc., I feel I have found a path, towards a kind of understanding that I have been hungry for for a long time. I have found companions, fellow travelers, knowledgeable mentors. I read, and say, "Yes! Of course! I agree! I know!"

An 'enchanted' world assumes a participating consciousness for whom modern distinctions between psychic and material, mind and body, symbolic and literal, do not exist. Real knowledge occurs only via the union of subject and object, in a psychic-emotional identification with images rather than a purely intellectual examination of concepts. . . . It is the totality of experience; the 'sensuous intellect.' - pg. 25

The Other World of Faery is a metaphor for the dwelling place of mystery, Faery is a place of the mind, a place of knowledge and perception, a place where Spirit and Love are known and  experienced. Faery is an act of the symbolic imagination. The Land of Faery is a mental space, its geography exists within the imagination and without boundaries. - pg.28

[Fairy tales] are unreal but they are not untrue; they reflect essential developments and conditions of man's experience. - pg.57

It is a journey into the subconscious mind, just as psychoanalysis is.Like psychoanalysis, it can be dangerous, and it will change you. - pg.59

There is another door that can be opened by reading legends and fairy stories, and for some children, at the present time, there may be no other key to it. - pg. 61

In Coleridge's view, the romance is not simply an aid to the transmission of moral truth; it conveys a truth of its own which cannot easily be transmitted in any other way. Romance keeps the mind open to possibilities which a dominant rationalism might otherwise hide. Faery Tale can be the key, the right language for the part of man that is wholly unsatisfied by the study of what we have come to call Science. This is true because Faery tale speaks metaphorically. - pg.61

A fairytale, a sonata, a gethering storm, a limitless night, siezes you and sweeps you away. . . the great forces lie in the region of the uncomprehended. . . the best thing you can do for your fellow is -- not to give him things to think about, but to wake things up that are in him; or say, to make him think things for himself. The best Nature does for us is to work in us such moods in which thoughts of high import arise. . . she rouses the something deeper than the understanding -- the power that underlies thoughts. - pg. 63

I promise now, that with each grain of sand added to the hourglass of my life, Faery shall not fade from view, but grow clearer, closer, and more familiar.