My Secret Self


How long it took to make him

My secret self and I

To stabilise and raise him

That he might touch his sky

Then watching as he made the world

In image of his days gone by

The jewelled world was wonderful

For secret self and me

So far removed from vulnerable

Was where we went to be

But jewel is as dual does

And splits the him from truly free

This freedom loathes the static

In secret self and me

It’s life is found erratic

Where beating heart learns just to be

Among the streams, beneath the boughs

Of life’s eternal tree

No longer is there room

For secret self – the we

The summer sun is bright

And overhead we see

Its song is keyed to one alone

And so my secret self has flown

Urging not-so-secret I to seek and find the key

©Stephen Tanham

 

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Black…

Stuart France

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…As the lot had fallen to Black to go on the second watch, he set a flame to his brand and went off into the night upon Brown’s return, with Fin’s dog, Bran, padding softly behind him.

Black wandered on, going further and further from Tara.

Eventually he saw a bright light and moved towards it.

At the place where the light was shining he saw a large house.

He entered the house and inside saw a great company of strange looking men who were drinking out of a single chalice.

The chieftain of the house who was ensconced in a high chair proclaimed, “this is the Cup of Plenty taken from Fin Mac Coll many years ago, and as much as any man wishes to drink he always gets from it, and no matter the number of men, or what they wish for, they always drink their fill.”

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Gradient of life beyond life

Small white flowers

Rich with life but short in prime

Draw the eye beyond their garlic breath

To where the river flows

Pastel greens, translucent, which

Display their hold on nothing

Yet are a cup for beauty

Shimmer on imagined, naked skin

As we, entranced by life beyond life

Forget our fear, to tread dry mud

And leaving garments, cast

Our fate into the flowing waters. 

©Stephen Tanham

May Day in Glastonbury

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

Sunday morning, Beltane, the first morning of May…and we were in Glastonbury. After a leisurely breakfast, Alienora prepared for her role as Priestess in the morning’s proceedings. We would meet the others in the town for the start of the day’s festivities. By the time we arrived in the town, the place was already buzzing.

The morning began at the Market Cross, where the Mayor, Jon Cousins, Glastonbury’s Town Crier, David Greenaway and our friend, Morgana West would open the day. One of the first tasks would be to light the Unity Candle. The light is a representation of inclusive acceptance and its flame is lit by groups of all faiths, beliefs, paths and denominations as a symbol of unity in a divided world. It is a spark that echoes a greater Light that shines within all of us and, because of that, when you are asked to light…

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Innocents

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

No false ideal can be a true defence
When evil, as a spoiled and angry child
Can break and shatter childhood innocence,
To be, by any feeling heart, reviled.
No hope can find its birth in violence
As death’s own purpose is itself defiled.
The earth is scarred by Man’s insanity
And empty arms hold only memory.

Some feign belief and then defy the laws
On which their path depends to reach its goal,
Examine others’ paths to note the flaws
Whilst seeing theirs the only truth and whole.
They set themselves apart and preach a cause
Abhorrent to their brothers’ heart and soul.
The breakers are the broken and the lost
And their rejection bears a human cost.

No child has lived enough to need to die,
A mother’s tears are better shed in joy;
No heart should break to know the reason why
A life became a statistician’s…

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Auld acquaintance…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

We had stopped for cider at the Apple Tree on the way,  which is not quite a tradition yet, but we are working on that. It is Somerset, after all, and the Orchard Pig is brewed locally. There was chocolate cake too… just  by way of a late lunch. We were on our way to Glastonbury to stay with our friend, Alienora, for the Beltane festivities and to meet up with a few of our other friends too.

The Silent Eye has a history with Glastonbury and, for a year, we had been there regularly. On the drive down we had been working but how long it had been since our last visit… time has flown by and apart from a very brief housewarming visit to Alienora’s new home, it had been years since we has spent time there. It is an odd place by any definition, a mixture…

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Flight of the Seer IX…

The Silent Eye

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Shortly after the ‘Leaf and Flame’ event in 2016, the outline for, The Feathered Seer, workshop took shape for us on the edge of an ancient necropolis overlooking Big Moor.

The seeing that day, be it courtesy of the seasonal sun light, or more esoteric manifestations, allowed us to work out one possible function of the Barbrook 1 stone circle.

And this ‘rudimentary ritual’ was replayed in original situ later that year for the group of Companions who attended our Living Land workshop, ‘Circles Beyond Time’, in September.

Naturally, it also formed the basis of R3 of The Feathered Seer and its working proved to be one of the most intense undertakings we have ever experienced.

What the ancients knew was that only the querent holds the answer to the question, but that the clues to those questions are everywhere played out in living experience.

*

Exploring the Inner…

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The Feathered Seer – Part 3 (No. Really. The Feathered Seer!)

Shamanic Paths

Nine Ladies Stone Circle, Stanton Moor
Copyright: Graham Dunn

During the exploration session on Spirit Animals, presented during The Silent Eye (a modern mystery school) “Leaf and Flame: the Foliate Man” weekend in 2016, one of the companions enquired about “Shape-shifting”. Since this was outside the scope of the discussion, the concept was briefly addressed without going into any real detail. It was, therefore, with some surprise, that I found myself agreeing to present an exploration session on the topic during “The Feathered Seer” weekend in 2017.

As April approached, the usual buzz of anticipation built towards the day that the work-book was released, and roles revealed. Most surprised, therefore, when an email arrived indicating the “costume” arrangements for the weekend. Other than the, at this stage, mysterious “Weaver” and “Spinner”, only I would be required to be costumed: in the role of Shaman…

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Three Spirit Animals in a week

Chronicles of an Orange-Haired Woman!

The Fox, I have already shared. Yesterday, as I walked Jumble down the track, instinct drew me to the gate at the end (two down from the Fox Gate). I stopped. A deer stood before me, delicate and beautiful in long green grass, powered by sunlight. The Hart. So apt. Another, and indeed the first, of Sir Gawain’s hunting trials as set by the mysterious Sir Bertilak, the fox being the final one. In the context of the poem, the archetypal fairy tale game of three, chivalry and, from another source, love.

As I walked on, I began to free-associate: Thoughts of the rut, of stags fighting, of the Young Stag battling the King Stag for the good of the Land; of the White Hart, the Wasteland and Grail question; the fact that even prey animals can inflict damage; the whole essence of flight (both needful and needless) and the…

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