Friday, August 18, 2006

The Gathering of Others

This is dedicated with love to all who yearn for a babe, and are blessed not:

We are gathered in our Place, that sad and grey-steeped place in our Hearts. Here, where longing is shrivelled, and has become husklike, hollow as a spider's prey. Voices with no body echo here, the call from dreams that fade the colour of our realities.


In this place, we are drawn in shades of charcoal, spare and wanting fullness. Our voices hushed, as is the cry of our spirits. Eyes are lowered, in respect of the shared hungry light we would see in one another.


This is where we seek comfort, and mourn our lost hopes. This is the place that we can cry to the Heavens, "Why??". Together with the Others, whom we call 'Our sisters', we do not need to dissemble or perform.


This is the Place All-Mother gifted us with, a place no MOther is allowed, but for those who have lost their child. Here we are comforted, by hearts that understand, and grieve with us.

"Kiss an' better?"

We are the Aunts, the Step-Mothers, the Crone who never sought a mate. We have gone from Maiden to Crone, with no sojurn as Mother. All of us feel the 'lack', the feeling of not being good enough, always wondering, "Why not me?".


Here we join hands with our Sisters, and can let down the burden of awareness for a time, and rest.

"Night Momma."

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Seeking Comfort

I was so relieved to find an unoccupied hot spring, the remains of candles, the scent of wine and incense still clinging to the air. The water was almost too hot, but that is what I needed right then.

I was in such a space that I was doing a good job of chewing my lower lip raw,my head was throbbing and muscles from there to past my waist had become a macrame sampler of knots. My stomach churned and grumbled, and I was beginning to shake with the strength of my feelings.

I piled my clothes onto a clean, flat rock close to the spring. I slid into the steaming natural tub, the only problem with my plan was this...

The more relaxed I became, the more tears ran all down my face and dripped into the water. I didn't want to cry!!! I hate crying, even worse I doubly loathe crying in public. The worst would have to be crying in front of strangers, anywhooo...

It didn't matter how I tried to calm down, I would struggle for an easy breath and sniffle mightily. I didn't need to start with the nosebleed again, there is something about having sinus/allergies so bad that the inside of your nose starts to swell, crack, and bleed. Too late!!! My kleenex was once again stained odd shades of red, orange, and brown.

"Well... rats, mice, and other assorted rodents!!" I blew my nose over and over, waiting for it to clear up and stop bleeding. The wait was getting longer and longer, while I hurt worse and worse. It is a good thing I plan to call my doctor tomorrow.

I stopped fighting it and rested my hands on a rock, then pillowed my head with them. I am not a noisy cryer, I learned far too early that to cry aloud was to show weakness, which is always exploited.

I heard footsteps approaching, I ducked my head under the water, so no one could see that I had been crying. I feigned dozing, and tried to ignore my growing awareness of whomever had joined me.

"If you want me to believe you're sleeping, perhaps you should have thrown away your tissues. Besides, I could hear you sniffling as I came into the clearing."

I looked up at the speaker and...

She was The All-Mother, Creatrix of the world, and man. Seeking what??

"I heard your weeping and knew I was needed here." She slid into the spring with me and, waited. Just waited. For me to speak, to turn to her.

I crawled, heartsick and grieving, into the lap of All-Mother. She was always there, and She is there now, to comfort me and soothe my squalling, aching heart.

“Letting go is so hard!!” I wailed from Her embrace.

“It was the best thing to do beloved daughter.” She spoke gently, already knowing my next cry.

“That doesn’t make me hurt any less Mother, I truly love him as I can love no other.” My voice shattered on the wall of truth and broke into choking sobs.

“I forswear romantic love. No more shall I seek a Soul Mate, nor even a boy-toy.” While my voice shook, my resolve was unwavering. “I cannot bear to be rejected again, by anyone."

All-Mother didn’t argue, or try to reason with me. She knew, more than any other, the truth of my cry. In the darkness I mourned far more than the loss of dreams. I wept tears of acid grief, for the death of trust. My wails were for things that will never be. My hands were in fists, ready to defend my lost and empty state.

All-Mother simply rocked me as I wailed, for me, and him, and her; for everything that will never be for lack of trust.

“I cannot seek vengeance, nor feel hatred. That is not allowed in my heart and spirit.” I dragged in a sigh that wobbled fiercely when I exhaled.

“I know child of mine, I know what you will do, and what you are feeling..” She held me close and I soaked Her shoulder with my tears.

Wise All-Mother, knowing that words are no comfort, nor vague promises any relief. Tonight, all that She can do is comfort her daughter, wrapping the sweet mortal She birthed in a dream of possibility in the endless love from Her heart.

When tears blinded me, Her hands wiped my cheeks dry with far more gentleness than any other mother is capable. Her touch held tenderness greater than my own.

I sought to punish myself for being fool enow to dream, to believe, I scraped the tears from my face, not caring if I treated myself kindly or not. I am sure I will be bruised on the morrow, and what does that matter?

I cried so hard and long that my tears and sniffles became coloured with blood from my nose. The endless supply of tissues created a small mountain of crumpled wads, tinged in yellow, orange and brown, and all of them wet.

At last my tears began to slow, and I could see my lonely little room and life; what else did I expect?? I know better than any other that I am not desirable; men do not look at me and want me beyond all reason.

If they take the time to get to know me, I am not even considered in a romantic way. I am ever the friend, the one who is there to help them pick up the pieces after the pretty ones break their hearts and spirits. I am there still to celebrate the next pretty one to blind their judgement.

And you fellow mortals wonder why I forswear romance??

A long time ago I said, “Love is a fallacy created by dreamers and poets to keep the rest of mankind enslaved to an impossible ideal.” Pardon my bitterness, and bwitchiness, I have learned the hard way, that what man calls love is but a form of emotional blackmail on one another.

Beg me not to go on hoping, to believe in what we all know is not my fate. I have e’er been the High Priestess, one who does not have mate or children. The liason between Goddess and Man, I do not truly live in this world, simply exist because it is asked of me.

I long for the day when I can go Home, and choose a life less sorrowful and lonely for next time. I know I’ve many years yet to look upon through grey and dreary washes of dust and ash piling up in my spirit.

In All-Mother’s arms I dozed fitfully, always, always hoping, dreaming of the touch, face and voice I will never know. She simply held me, and let me cry myself to sleep, like a child sent too soon to summer camp.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

My Strange Female Human

I am sure that my younger female human has told you about me, I am Pyewackett. Yes, I am a talking cat, thank you!! I have three humans, Tom and Queen littermates, and their Queen Mother. My littersister, Skye, who also speaks, shares my humans with me.

We have intelligent humans here, and they are very good humans. We always have food, and they share their food with us gladly. They go hunting as a pride and bring excellent kills to the nest, and small things for us to play with,

When we play with the gifts they bring to us, they choke a lot and I soon discovered that that is how they communicate pleasure to each other. Skye and I can smell their huntingscent fade as they choke.

It does worry me that they don't like their own scent, Everyone knows to cover their scent up with oher scents to confuse the prey. When they are not hunting, humahs still cover their own lovely scent up. how can they tell how one another is feeling if they can't smell the tales?

They all manage passable catspeak, yet struggle with the true language of our kind. The Littersister human is better than the other, and she knows more how to grow close to the cats she belongs to.

When we were barely weaned, we were gifted with this nest, territory and humans. From the first day the humans showered us with love, attention, and good food. Littersister went so far as to cuddle us as our Queen Mother had done, and sent calm and loving waves through us.

The first darktime we were away from our mother she was there, purring, and cuddling us close to her heart. She would hold us up to her chest with her forepaws and let us watch her small seeingthingsbox. Tiny bugs were hiding behind a clear stoprightthere place, she would choke and snuggle us closer if we tried to catch the bugs.

Here I am, bragging on and on about my humans!! That is not what I came to tell you about. This is what I came to tell you about:

Last dark-time, after my humans had fed us and had eaten their food; the littersister of the Tom human began making those strange sounds from where her tail should be. At first they were not too bad, but then they grew louder and more frightening.

When the other humans were sleeping in our beds that Queen was still awake, clicking her claws on the 'cmmmmmmmmmmmmphewttttttrrrrrrrrrr" and choking at the little seeingthingsbox. I was in higher cat-sleep and I felt her go in to the humans' litterbox.I thought nothing of it, who knows when they'll need the litterbox?

Then it happened!! It was utterly terrifying!! What may very well have been the worst of those sounds ever ratcheted me into dangermode awakeness!! Before the echoes had gane away I found shelter under the humans Queen Mother's bed.

She called for the male human, since he was sleeping on our bed, Littersister answered in their odd snapping cries. Then she began to choke as badly as she can (Skye told me later) while still in the human's litterbox.

When Littersister was able to, she went to her Queen Mother's space, The places where their scent is strongest can't be seperate territories, for they go into all the spaces freely and never really fight over them.

Littersister snapped and choked at her Queen Mother, who began to snap and choke back. They choked for a long time, perhaps a full paw's worth. I was shocked that they could choke that hard, and not bring up a hairball!

Needless to say, I was offended that they would show so little regard for my feline dignity. I sulked until Littersister awoke this lighttime, snuggled me clos, then sent apologies to me through her soul. Yes, humans do so have souls!!

I realise that it is a common belief amongst we felines that humans have no souls, I cannnot agree with that, I have seen my humans' souls shine through as brightly as a cats would!! yes, I know you think I am exaggerating, but that is Bast's own Truth!!

Fortunately, the humans didn't have the food that makes those sounds in them this lighttime. So, this darktime we will all sleep better, knowing that noise won't happen until they eat thse noisymushynasty things again.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Sparrow Girl - Meeting Death

Image Hosted by ImageShack.usPeople die. People we know and love eventually leave our lives forever. As a child my naivete was often abruptly brought to an end and death was no exception. Old people were going to die, life came to an end in the aquarium, then my cat died, but people, well that was much harder to accept.

The first death of a person in my life came when I was near four years of age. Maya was a beautiful woman, tall, elegant with long black hair and exotic green eyes. She was my mother's friend. Once before I was born my mother had been a nanny to her young sons. The youngest son, Robert was about six when I was three and whenever Maya came to visit she would bring Robert. He would politely play with me, because that is what his mother expected of him, but he did it with great sweetness and I adored him.

Maya was in my young eyes the ideal of what I one day hoped to be. She sat on those occasions, perfectly dressed in the latest of haute couture suits, silk stockings and Italian pumps. To watch her cross her legs, sit back and tilt her head to one side while her clack hair cascaded over the edge of the chair was an all out performance, you could hear the music that should accompany such a perfectly choreographed movement. No surprise, Maya was after all, a very well known and highly paid fashion model. She would come to visit after the shows and Paris and Milan on her way back to her flat in London. Her sons attended school in England where their pianist father lived. She was not married. I am not sure why my mother impressed that detail on me when I was so young, I don't think it had anything to do with the morality. It had more to do with a level of envy my mother felt, I think my mother would have been happier had she been single, but she lacked inner strength to say no to my father's proposal.

A letter with a black rim came to the door by courier, and my mother without opening the letter sunk to the floor in our vestibule. I sat by her, feeling oh so terribly clumsy, not knowing if I should hug her. All I could do was sit, when mams was upset hugging could be exactly the wrong thing to do. I'd been shoved away a few times and barked at. I loved my mother as we all do, so I sat by her gingerly, just barely touching her dress, her dark blue dress. She bit her lower lip and cradled her face with her free hand, her short curled hair stuck to the tears rolling down her face.

We sat for some time on the floor. Mams became quiet the moment suspended until the tearing open of the envelope. She hesitated to pull out the card. Mams had lost so many people in her life, more of her friends and family had died during the last year of the war and still more afterward to disease neglected medically during wartime. In my brief lifetime I had lost no-one I knew. Until now.

She moaned it, and screamed it, sobbed it, gasped it. Mams is dead, over and over. Later mams took me and had tea with a neighbour, and there I heard the story of Mams, her brief twenty eight year old life. The eldest son was fathered by a pianist in England, the other son the product of an anonymous affair, with a shady character according to mams. She was a fashion model from the age of eighteen and lived a glamorous lifestyle afforded her by being one of the most desirable ramp models for various haute couture houses. She lived hard, loved many times and was heartbroken every time a relationship ended. I remembered the many crying times during her visits to our house.

The mams I'd known was glamorous and kind, loved her children and was very generous with considered gifts on important occasions. She was a good and supportive friend to my mother and helped her set her singing career on course. Often they were like schoolgirls all gossip and trying on each other's clothes. I think I felt superior to all that nonsense and was slightly embarrassed by it as was her Robert. She hugged me when she came and left. I could not imagine her never again dropping by.

This same woman at twenty eight lacked the support in her life to deal with a profession that was less than accepting of advancing age. She'd already had cosmetic procedures and worked very hard at maintaining the perfect figure. She'd had dangerous silicone injections. She'd become depressed when she felt she was losing her status in the fashion community. she needed the income to raise her sons and could not transition to another profession, all she knew and all that mattered was modeling and being the most desirable arm-piece receiving the most extravagant gifts from the most wealthy men in Europe. It was ending and she had no idea how to deal with it. Maya had tried to land a position and a chance at a new life in Australia, but when it fell apart for reasons I don't know she "stuck her head in the oven" as my mother put it.

Sticking your head in the oven was not something I could picture or understand. For one thing we never had an oven, and I'd no idea what that would look like. We had a wood burning stove in our apartment, it had one spot to put a pot on, but no oven. I knew bakers had ovens.

I did not understand how an over would kill you or why you'd put your head in there. Surely that would hurt, it would burn. Clearly this was not accidental, something had been very wrong here.

Suicide was not understandable to me. What I could understand is that Mams was depressed and desperate with too many responsibilities and not one person willing to help her with the boys and a new career. I did know even at that age, the very importance of people in your life who love you unconditionally. I was so incredibly sad that no-one, not the father of her children, not her employers, and for that matter not my mother, could keep her from being so sad that she died.

It affected my mother. Mams became more focused on her marriage and home and perhaps a little negligent of her singing career. I think she was scared that if she lost my father, she too would end up with her head in the oven. What also happened was that my mother felt, as Maya must have, trapped in her own life, unable to decide on the basis of what she wanted and thus settling for the safest choices. Maya's death was one of the pivotal experiences in my mother's life and she kept it all inside. Sadly, rather than recognizing that Maya's not calling out for help led to her death more than anything, my mother often in great psychic pain shut others out and herself in. These were beautiful and talented women, delightful company and I cannot think that no-one would have stepped in to help, and oh, how different life could have been.

So at age four I had learned you could die, young and beautiful, loved by her children and friends of misery. The oven was not important, that no-one helped when she needed it was important. My mother being sadder than before mattered. The death of a person affect everyone profoundly. It matters that they die, also how they die, how young, how much promise. All lost. All gone. Life even when it seemed to be most perfect, was not. How horrifying that no one could just sense what was going on, because she did have friends and she was loved, and she left a sea of tears behind. I doubt she knew just how much I admired her and wanted to be like her, her independent spirit, her talents. she was not just a runway model, she was a mother, an accomplished pianist in her own right. It is beyond belief that no one noticed the pain she was in.

Saturday, November 26, 2005


I couldn't return to the Hermitage without visiting the Bath House. I remember soaking here for...was it days?...enjoying the deep relaxation, aromatherapy, and food. I lost all track of time and lived only by my senses, weightless.

Today I'm in search of that weightless feeling again and the reawakening of my deadened senses. I need relief from the heavy burdens of grief, loss, confusion, sorrow, . . . and on and on the emotions pile up on my slumped shoulders. So I am diving into the blessed, warm waters to seek their comfort.

At first I feel as if I am in a mud bath. My body moves so slowly with little range of motion, its burdens too heavy to allow much movement. But soon, the warm water oils my stiff joints and the many watery hands bouy me up. One-by-one I sense the removal of the heavy packages from my shoulders. My body and soul are lightened and my spirits rise.

Just as I imagine a new born fish would react, I move around in the bath slowly, reaquainting myself with this weightless feeling that I haven't felt in ages. I take comfort from being held and caressed by watery hands all about me. As I gain trust and flexibility, I begin moving around more quickly, flicking my tail, and immerse myself in the waters as I would in the arms of an old friend. We splash and dance and play in the weightlessness.

Ah! That's the feeling I came here to kinship with water and the joy it brings. It returns my youth and my innocence taking me away from all space and time allowing me to just be. This is the feeling I need to soak in for a while to reset remind my body, mind, and soul how this feels...and how I want to live.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Required Some Self-indulgence

Image Hosted by

Misery loves calories, and that always means a trip to the store first, a chace to work it off built in by having to go back a second time.

A video version to Stravinsky will be on my video page later this week.


Wednesday, October 12, 2005

More Precious Water

Soul Spring

Spiritual awareness comes like morning rain;
as fine chilling mist or driving deluge,
boring drizzle or giant drops that float down
to parched sand or overflowing puddles.
All of these we can scarcely absorb,
but must silently wait until the drops
filter through ages of memoried dust
to a hidden pool of creative spring.
Only then, when purified and caressed,
can it well up to quench my soul’s thirst.


Precious Water

This, too, is something I wrote some time ago but many of you have not read it, and those of you who have have probably forgotten.

Precious Water

Precious water, cleanse me,
Precious water, heal me,
Precious water,
Precious water,
Precious water.

Precious water
Rising into cloud,
Returning again to earth as rain,
Nourishing all who walk up Her.
Precious water,
Precious water,
We thank you for your gift of life.
Precious water,
Precious water.

©October 12, 2005

Pausing In the Hot Spring

I claimed an unpopulated hot spring and turn to my preparations. Pye and Skye refused to be left in a strange room in a strange place. I can't say as I blame them. They watched all my movements with gleaming sky-blue eyes, apparently satisfied with my simple purification ritual.

In the gleaming Abalone shell I light a leaf of 'White Grandmother' sage and offer the smoke to the four winds and directions. "Welcome Lords of the North and Snow!!" The sage is fanned by the feather fan a friend made especially for me. "I honour your snow, and time of rest, thank you for bringing renewal to man!"

"Welcome Lords of the East and Flowers!!" Again the fan waves slowly, contemplatively. "I honour your greening, and the time of blooming, thank you for bringing hope to man!"

"Welcome Lords of the South and Fire!!" The cats seem mesmerised by the feather fan as it again waves over the smouldering sage. "I honour your ripening and abundance, thank you for the time of plenty!"

"Welcome Lords of the West and Changing Leaves!!" The cats visibly sway with the motion of the fan. "I honour your generosity and the harvest, thank you for the bounty which sustains man."

I took a moment to smudge Skye and Pye, they both look up in approval and roll in the trails of smoke. They are, after all, familiars for my brother and myself. I settle cross-legged on the stone floor worn silken smooth by feet and comfortably warm by the hot spring it serves. I toss a bath tea bag in the water and sniff expectantly waiting for the famiiar bouquet to whisper at my senses.

I make sure the door is wedged open as a sign of welcome and invitation to any who may seek the baths themselves. I almost wished that someone would join me in my respite from adventuring.

I strip to my comfortable nakedness and take the time to rub bay leaf oil into as much of myself as I can before slipping slowly into the steaming water, all the way to my neck and moan in bliss, the muscles quickly begin unknotting and relief is noticeable almost immediately. I hear a small splah and open my eyes to see Skye in the hot spring with me, white fur swaying in the gentle current of the water.

Pye, being all male leaps in with great splashings and preparations. There were many 'Intention Tremors' in his hindquarters before the actual braving of the dreaded water. Once he was in the spring and more relaxed he waxed playful, chasing Skye's tail, and my hair flowing through the water.

All bets were off the second Pye got water in his nose, I soothed Pye before I allowed myself to chuckle. Both he, and Skye abandoned the spring in favour of grooming each other into their breathing Yin and Yang pose.

I allowed myself to float, trusting the Nature of Water to support me. With my eyes closed and humming random clips of songs, my arms stretched to comfortable handholds. I could feel myself relaxing more than simply muscle, ligament, and tendon.

Skye 'chirtled' with a question in her sweet, soft voice. "What did you hear Baby Girl?" I sat up and turned slowly, knowing what must be happening to my blood pressure.

A figure, mostly clad in shadow stood in the doorway. "is there room in your Circle for a Fellow Traveller?" The voice told tales of the Spirit Path they had Travelled in this lifetime.