Bath House Tales

The Gathering of Others

2006-08-18T23:06:00.000-07:00

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.

"Mom?"

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.

"Mamma?"

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.

"Mommy?"

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?".

"Mamma!!

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

"Night Momma."

Seeking Comfort

2006-08-17T13:05:00.000-07:00

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.

My Strange Female Human

2006-07-16T19:43:00.000-07:00

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.

Sparrow Girl - Meeting Death

2005-12-01T00:42:00.000-08:00

People 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.

Soaking

2005-11-26T18:18:00.000-08:00

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 find....my 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 rejuvinate...to reset myself...to remind my body, mind, and soul how this feels...and how I want to live.

Required Some Self-indulgence

2005-10-16T21:04:00.000-07:00

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.

aletta

More Precious Water

2005-10-12T18:25:00.000-07:00

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.

faucon

Precious Water

2005-10-12T10:35:00.000-07:00

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,
Cleanse
Heal
Cleanse
Heal.
Precious water,
Precious water.

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

Vi
©October 12, 2005

Pausing In the Hot Spring

2005-10-12T04:17:00.000-07:00

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.

I need...

2005-10-11T08:41:00.000-07:00

I need water.
I need to slip into that liquid splendor.
I need to stare into the wide sky.
I need to listen to the birds.
I need this…

Message to dolphins

2005-09-17T04:02:00.000-07:00

Would the four dolphins who are responsible for pulling the barge please move at once to White Owl Island where the Secretary and others are waiting to go to Duwamish Bay?

If any of those folk who are lounging around in the Bath House care to hook a ride with one of the Dolphin Four just let them know that I sent you. Yours, The Donkeys' Secretary

PS The Boss Donkey wants to know why we are not going back to the Bath House as the hay is better there and he is getting fed up with giving rides to owl babies all of whom claim to be related to the Grand Mufti in the High Tower.

Bath Song

2005-09-14T03:26:00.000-07:00

DEW DREAMS

If I were a Raven of Odin,
could see the world from above;
and hear ev'ry whisper of longing,
I'd report on the Dewy Havuz.

'Tis a flower, you see, in Loycha
where faeries fain choose to bathe --
and it is a gift that lover's crave,
for the magick its petals hold.

The leaves, when rubbed, turn to silky foam
that gently scrub your fears away,
and the stalk is just longish enough
to reach where you've never seen.

Much pollen is left by bumbly bees,
glist'ning bright as tears o' the moon,
to dust the soul with divine perfume
and protect from mold of lonely.

The blossom forms an azure basin
which oft catches tomorrow's rain,
and 'tis always enough to rinse your dreams
'til only those of love remain.

On one trembly leaf there's a dew drop
to be caught on spirit's tongue,
that can quench your doubting forever,
when reflected in your beloved's eyes.

The plant can be found but at twilight
and plucked by two reaching as one;
for the world will stop when you touch it,
and the gods skip a beat in the dance.

faucon

Cleansing Bath Ritual

2005-09-12T05:23:00.000-07:00

Ritual Bath to Cleanse Yourself of Transformed Emotion

Fill up your tub, and add some bath salts and favorite essential oils for cleansing.
Also, fill a small pitcher with a combination of the water salt and oil. Do not get in yet
Say: "I perform this act of cleansing in water where all life began."
Step into the bath. Once seated, take the bowl or pitcher in your hands. Imagine a white, healing light surrounding and infusing the water within.
Say: “As the cleansing waters pour over me I am cleansed in body and spirit. All unwanted feelings of shame, anger, guilt, and fear are now washed away."
Pour the water over your head, imagining that as you pour you see a brown, mucky substance washed away from you. As this muck hits the water see it transformed into clear blue water.
When you feel the time is right, allow the water to go down the drain.
Say: "As the water disappears, never to be seen again, so too have my unwanted feelings. As the dirt was transformed to clear water so have my feelings been transformed. Blessings to the old ones for this work performed. "
Step out of the tub.

Dolphins with boat

2005-09-05T17:57:00.000-07:00

Dolphins with boat
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

Our kindly dolphins offered to pull the boat
with our Gillian safely into the evening light
as we waved goodbye and left the lovely hermitage and the bath house on the journey to Baba's Place.

Insomniac at the Bath House

2005-09-05T10:54:00.000-07:00

What does it mean when you are wide a wake at 2:30 am and it’s been almost 24 hours since may last cup of coffee?

Jet lag

Stripe down to nothing
enter the steam room
find a refreshing pool
gaze into the lake
watch and listen to the birds
my silver ring turn black from the sulfer, oops
have a cup of mint tea
coconut oil and water therapy massage

Ahhhh

And while I am at it
Sign up for a pedicure and a facial

Slide into cool sheets to sleep

Hot Springs Healing

2005-09-05T09:26:00.000-07:00

I was called to the high desert, where the lack of trees and brush allows one to see the naked earth in a mottled pallet of varied hues never recorded on a limiting canvas. I knew when to stop for a leaking radiator hose began to sing -- I needed to stretch anyway. I spied a shimmer of green about a mile away and decided the risk of being fooled by a miraged longing was worth the chance to replenish my emergency water supply. The oasis was a spot obviously known to others. A rutted trail wound up a hidden arroyo, cut by motorcycle and horse, if my primitive detective work had any value. The pool was one I had been taught was called ‘morning glory’, as it often resembled the fluted flower. The Indians had another name, I am sure, since no such flower existed in this arid spot. The warm water from the natural hot spring caused multi-colored streaks to grow on the curved walls that descended to untold depths. There were no waves on the surface scarcely thirty feet across, yet the edges moved in a pulsing rhythm – driven by the heart of a dragon deep beneath the basalt lip. A tiny stream meandered down the ravine to be slurped up by the hungry sand. Life and death within just a few strides. A few scraggly bushes, scarcely green, managed to extract some measure of life from the mineral water. There were no telling animal tracks here -– no thirst to slake at this enticing spot. Sigh. So beautiful, so austere -– so profaned. For in the depths of the clear fountain could be seen a number of beer cans and other trash. These spoke out as dramatically as any profanity, worse still because the strange water did not reflect the occasional passing cloud. So clear -– painfully clear -– why I was called. My corpulent form is not a thing of naked beauty, yet possibly … A passing bird, were there any, might have wondered at the strange fish striving down 15 feet or more to gather up the violating ‘gifts’. I now like to imagine that the pool will remain clear forever- – foolish. Anyway, a homeless baglady was happy for the cans.

faucon

dolphin games

2005-09-04T10:28:00.000-07:00

I thought this was a wonderful image

Orcas on the move, Fran

2005-09-04T05:46:00.000-07:00

* Mme. Eclectica says: Karen was kind enough to share this story:

When I was kayaking in the San Juans two summers ago, we were lucky enough to have an entire pod of orcas swim not thirty feet from our kayaks. It was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life!

Orca play at sunset

2005-09-03T00:27:00.000-07:00

Orca play at sunset
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

The orcas
sing to each other
and to me
as they dance, their dance
together against the sun

Healing Waterfall Ritual

2005-09-02T17:17:00.000-07:00

HEALING WATERFALL SHOWER SPELL
While in the shower, visualize yourself standing under a waterfall.
Ask the spirits of water to cleanse, consecrate and empower your body,
mind and spirit in the name of healing.
As the water runs down your body, visualize the negativity swirling off you and down the drain.
When you towel dry, ask the spirits of the air to cleanse, consecrate, and empower
your body, mind and spirit in the name of healing as well.

Dolphins and Water

2005-09-02T16:13:00.000-07:00

As I slide naked into the soothing waters of the bath house, I sigh with relief. It’s ironic that I am so comforted by the water—so many of my southern kinswomen and men are suffering because of the presence of it. I have always felt that water was my home, and indeed, as it makes up the largest part of my physical body, that I was merely one small vessel in a world made of water. My veins are rivers and tributaries of the stuff, and I would be in the same grave danger as New Orleans if my defenses were breached, my precious lifeblood allowed to flow to whatever low point it could find outside the stable boundary of my skin.

From the Water Consciousness website:
All energy requires a conductor. Water is the main conductor of life force (radiant energy) and consciousness at universal level, both in the physical and in the 'Etheric' realms.
For there is an Etheric realm, as there is a physical realm; there are different types of etheric energy, as there are different types of physical energy; and there is etheric water as there is physical water. Let us define these:

· Etheric water is God's thought-form. It is an etheric wave-form of God's radiant energy in the multi-dimensional level of existence.

We call it "The Ocean of Love" in which the multi-universe, universes, galaxies, stars and planets are not actually "floating" but rather, are a part of the whole.

· Physical water holds the Energy Matrix of Consciousness in the Physical Body. This is true for the Planet Earth and all sentient beings on it. The Life force of the Body (Water) is maintained through Breath. Every breath carries a new pulse of Light in the flow of energy through the body. Therefore, Water, Light and Breath maintain life in the Physical realm.

I ponder these deep thoughts about water. I am a constant seeker, uncertain of the truth of the universe, but if God does exist, and if she is anywhere, surely she is in the elemental forms of water, air, fire, earth.

When I see a person who is quite ill in my medical practice, I often hydrate them, and in a few short hours I behold the healing powers of water. Those three molecules--hydrogen, hydrogen, and oxygen, flow into the rivers of the body, plumping the tissues, expanding cell walls like a cellulose sponge in a basin of dishwater. It is remarkable how much better people feel and look when their basic “hydrochemistry” is brought back into balance. But I must be careful not to overburden them—dilute their electrolytes and congest their hearts. The balance must be maintained, with skill and deliberation.

Now we see the world’s hydrochemistry out of balance. We see the destructive power of water, the power that dilutes hope and congests human spirit, and it seems there is no caring presence nearby monitoring the balance, adjusting the flow just so to maintain the health of the organism. What is the plan, where is the god of the elements?

The website I referenced speaks of “the consciousness of water,” and the response of water molecules to speech, thought, emotion, and prayer. I want to believe that this water in its rush to freedom meant no harm. In seeking the beloved, it forgot its power. Each molecule vibrates with hope as it travels toward merger with the open sea, back to elemental wildness. We cannot help but be injured as our captive rushes toward freedom, away from its position as ornament, workhorse, power source.

A dolphin nudges me, gently, then rubs softly against my side and makes a deep clicking noise. I rest my face against her smooth rubbery skin and sigh. My salty tears fall into the collective.

Into the sunset

2005-09-01T04:15:00.000-07:00

Into the sunset
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

My dolphins take me into sunset

Dolphin farewell

2005-09-01T03:36:00.000-07:00

Tonight in weariness
I sail with the dolphins
through calm waters
to the sunset shore
carry me swiftly
smoothly
with tenderness
friends of the ocean waves
let me ride with you once more

Through the crystal caves of the deep ocean

2005-08-30T18:38:00.000-07:00

Through the crystal caves of the deep ocean
Demeter comes to greet me.
Her voice whistles like a flute
As she calls across the water.

``Swim with me, dive in,
Trust your spirit
To the sea.”

But I hesitate – the water is so deep,
The rock pool falls away into a shaft
Of midnight blue. I cling to the edge,
My feet stick to the rocks.

``Hold on to me, dive in,
Trust your spirit
To the sea.”

I loosen my hold on the rocks, splash about,
And then she is under me, her laughter
Breaking like spun glass
On the cave’s crystal walls.

``Swim with me, float free,
Trust your spirit
To the sea.”

We ride the waves, through a tunnel
From the cave, where the jade green sea
Ripples like a silk road
In the morning sun.

``Swim with me, have courage,
Trust your spirit
To the sea.”

I sense below me the endless deeps,
Yet for the first time I know no fear.
We crest the breaking waves
And leap into the salt fresh air.

``Swim with me, be a child again,
Trust your spirit
To the Sea.”

I am flying – I am flying over the sea,
The endless deeps hold no fear for me,
I am flying on dolphin wings,
A song pours from my heart.

``Swim with me, dive in,
Trust your Spirit
To the sea.”

Memories of Light

2005-08-29T20:19:00.000-07:00

The draw of the deep,

forgotten memories of a place

once known,

now not.

The watery chalice

brings new life,

a power of itself.

Wonderful it is to swim

down, to the secret place

beneath the sea -

among the dolphins.

To know it again,

among the pearls

and coral blue.

www.spiral.org.uk/acatalog/ Spiral_Virtual_Sho... - Atlantis audio tape link

(mosaic Knossos - courtesy Arthur Evans site)

four dolphins feed

2005-08-29T18:44:00.000-07:00

four dolphins feed
Originally uploaded by FranSb.

On a lovely day we bathed among the dolphins: I talked all afternoon to four beautiful swimmers
who told me they were sisters: Mollie, Andora,
Leonora, and Polly. Polly was the youngest and wanted to leave quickly because the big man with his pail of fish was coming. Andora preferred to talk a while and Leonora sang a song of the deep.

Dolphin Dreams

2005-08-29T12:39:00.000-07:00

When I arrived at The Bath House I was shown by an attendant into a cubicle where I was cleansed beneath a shower of aromatic spray. After drying off, my skin felt silky soft. When I stepped from the cubicle, I exchanged my large, soft towel for the robe that was waiting for me, a robe of the finest of Eastern fabric. It was then and only then that I was shown into the inner sanctum, the bath house proper.

The pool was large, so large in fact that I couldn't see the other side. I heard voices so I knew I wasn't alone, but they were muffled in the steamy atmosphere. I sat on the edge of the pool and dangled my feet in the water. Swimming in my skin proved to be too inviting so I slipped out of my silken robe and slid effortlessly into the water. After just a stroke or two, I realized I wasn't alone. My companion in the water was a bottle nose dolphin. He pushed against me, commanding in his language that I climb up on his back. Strangely enough, I understood, and with his help I climbed aboard so-to-speak. We took off, skimming through the water at a good clip. I knew there was a limit to the size of the pool but it seemed to have no boundaries. It was then that I remembered a poem I had been struggling with, and the pieces that had escaped me before fell easily into place.

Dolphin Dreams

Slicing through the water like a sharpened knife.
My legs clasped around your smooth and graceful belly,
arms forward of your dorsal fin.
Lovers in these restless waters,
moving together in perfect unison.
We feel the power of the ocean,
I feel the power of you.

I am naked as are you, as nature intended us to be.
You are suited to spend your life
forever swimming these salty seas.
We break the surface in a shower of sunlit jewels
and soar into an arc of perfect symmetry,
Then, like an arrow,
we slice the surface with barely a ripple to mark our passage.
You dive and I'm with you.
You crest and I am there.
We are lovers rising,
aiming for the sun,
but returning as you must to inner space.

We skim the surface,
playful now
as we speed toward the shore,
where you gently lay me down
on a warm and sandy beach.
"Don't go," I cry
as you swiftly swim away.
"I want to stay with you forever,
be your mate, share your aquatic realm.
But, you are gone and I'm left
tethered to the land,
but hoping,
always hoping,
that someday you will return
to take me with you,
to live forever
in your changing,
restless palace of the deep."

Vi
©August 29, 2005

Special Engagement

2005-08-28T16:34:00.000-07:00

By Special Engagement

Travelers, we invite you to join us!

Madame Eclectica is overjoyed to invite travelers to a special engagement. My good friends the dolphins have arranged a visit--don't ask--the logistics were a nightmare!

We here at the bath house have prepared a special brine bath for our dolphin guests and tired travelers. Relax in the buoyant blue waters and commune with your dolphin companion.

If your mind is open, your dolphin campanion may invite you to interact...many bathers have received special messages, insights, or wisdom from their dolphin guides.

Madame herself continues to ponder the wisdom imparted to her

by Badrayah, a lovely bottlenose.

I invite you all to partake of this experience and share your impressions with the other guests at the bath house.

Overheard in the Bath House

2005-08-28T06:42:00.000-07:00

"She says he's back
Who?
The Yo-Yo boy"

Pain gone

2005-08-26T16:52:00.000-07:00

Soak in warm water
twisted fingers
freed at last

Washing Away Koshchey

2005-08-26T13:10:00.000-07:00

I arrive for my appointment feeling and looking like a complete slob, my hair matted, my body sweaty and smeared with muck and mud. Don't ask about the smell. Please, don't.

In an ordinary bathroom tiled in blue and white, I remove my filthy clothes and try to shower away every remainder of my encounter with Koshchey. I let the water run and run, but I don't think I'll ever be rid of him. I turn off the tap when I realize I'm scrubbing the skin on my arms raw.

I had expected more from this place, but I suppose a bath house so near the Abbey isn't going to offer a great deal of luxury. It's only when I reach for the terry robe hanging on the wall that I see a doorway hidden behind it, a door that leads to a small enclosed garden. Completely private, open only to the blue sky, I find a sunken pool of green and white marble with cool water splashing into it from two dolphin spouts. The tang of mint and lemon verbena mixes with the sweet scent of the white roses in bloom against all four walls.

As my body finally begins to relax in the cool, refreshing water, I notice the roses aren't white at all, but delicately shaded in pastel colors of pink, peach, and yellow that I hadn't been able to perceive in my agitated state. Lining the rim of the pool are several exquisite geodes. I lift one and gaze into its heart. Smokey crystal and bits of fluffy moss form a world in the palm of my hand. Breathing deeply, I know that here my mind will begin to mend as my body heals.

A tale overheard in the bath house

2005-08-26T05:55:00.000-07:00

She stood at the edge of the glade, eyes sparkling in the glow of the homefire. All around her, the young ones danced and leapt; their passion and minds were free in the bright burning moment of now. The man stood at her side and gently squeezed her hand. They exchanged a look rich with their own nights by the fire, the wildness loose in their skin. Now they shared the quiet comfort of many nights side by side. She smiled at her daughters dancing under the starwashed sky, and then, unexpectedly, a feeling of sadness filled her.
The dark of the moon reminded her of the dark emptiness she had felt for some time now. Mother Moon had left her behind. Her body no longer kept the rhythm she had known since maidenhood. She was no longer a part of the whole. She noticed a slow deliberation to her thoughts and her movements. Her mothertime was long past, her two daughters grown. They strengthened the community, one a wise teacher, the other a gifted builder. Her gift was given.
The man knew the woman felt a change; felt her turning inward. He searched her face, worried. She no longer felt at home in her skin, under which all the pieces of the universe itched. As the feeling grew, she sifted through her knowledge, seeking a tincture or potion that would heal her. Finally, she knew—she would embrace that most ancient of cures—solitude. She chose for her journey objects that reminded her of life and of home, and wrapping her warm cloak about her body, set off into the woods. The man stood at the gate, the feel of her hand on his cheek fading as she walked away.
She walked for two days and nights, resting in the shelter of a tree or rock that called her name. She drank from quiet pools and lively brooks. She kept company with red foxes, deer, hawks, squirrels, and one wise owl that flew silently above her in the night. She came to an ancient clearing, remembered from girlhood, a place of sacred plants. The enormous oak at the edge of the clearing bent its limbs almost to the ground. The shelter it created kept out the rain, but allowed the breeze and light to flicker in and fall on the mossy carpet below. She placed her cloak in the warm curve at the base of the tree. On a low branch, she found a fallen sparrow’s nest. She placed it gently in the crook of the great tree and within it laid smooth gray river rocks—two, one for each daughter. In a gnarled hole in the trunk, she tucked her book and her comb. She crumbled herbs into her sleeping place, and hung them about the low branches of the tree. Some, like soothing lavender, were for comfort in the present; others were brought to remind her of times past. Passionwood reminded her of nights next to the homefire, wrapped in the arms of another. Motherwort and crampbark, no longer needed, were bundled with velvet ribbon. Rosemary lay by for clarity of remembrance. The fragrant herbs formed the scent of her rich life and she inhaled deeply.
Each day the woman rose and walked the forest, finding simple food to nourish her body and sights to awaken the wonder of her mind. Tender young morels, glittering dew on a crimson flower, stones worn smooth by time’s caress—each delighted her. At night, she spoke softly to the Great Mother before settling into Her sheltering curves. She waited for the dream.
Months passed, and the patience of the woman—a gift of aging—grew. Still she waited. One night, her inner voice bade her prepare. She drank deeply of water from the spring and anointed her skin with lavender oil. Climbing into the arms of the great oak, she stood on a strong branch. Mother Moon was peeking over the horizon, glowing red-gold in the velvet blue night. She once again felt the overwhelming sadness descend. Her sisterhood with the moon was over.
A rush of wind passed over as three powerful black birds descended. She peered into the darkness and saw three large Ravens, feathers shining blue, snapping black eyes gleaming in the night, perched on the branches of the oak.
“Come with us, Sister,” they crowed, in their rusty voices, catching her dress in their powerful beaks. She stretched out her arms, encircling the neck of the largest. They rose and circled the wood, flying higher. “We will show you all there is to see, Sister.” They traveled through the wood and beyond, to her village. She saw the home fires burning; the maidens dancing around the fire. Her heart was torn asunder with all she had lost. Her warm tears fell on the raven.
“Do not cry, Sister. Mother Moon is full and round, as is the wheel of time. You have known the robust passions of youth. You have known the fullness of lifegiving. You will now know the true fullness. No longer will Mother Moon call you to the cycle. Now you become a keeper of wisdom. You will keep all you have known and learned, and your light will grow with each fullness of Mother Moon. In time, you will be so luminous that you will dance up into the night sky. You will become one with those who light us.” The Raven swept a wing toward the stars.
The ravens flew higher and higher, toward the rising moon. The woman reached toward the moon, still longing for it, and dropped her face to the Raven’s feathers in grief. As she moved to wipe her tears, she saw that her hand shimmered with fine moondust. Without thought, she brought her hand to her face and tasted it. Suddenly, she laughed, her joy soaring in the night sky. As the Ravens circled around and around the moon, she scooped handfuls of moondust, eating until she was quite full. She began to feel lighter. She felt a tingling in her heart center. Holding her hands in front of her, she saw moonbeams shooting from each of her fingers. She opened her mouth to speak and moonlight came pouring out in a silken, silvery stream. Her Sisters, the Ravens, cawed and crowed with delight. “You see, Sister, your life is not over. Now Mother Moon lives in you. You will light the way, glowing with the radiance of life and the fullness of time. Be joyful, Sister!”
The ravens circled down, down; into the woods, and dropped her beneath the tree. She fell, solidly, into her body, which now fit her like a glove. Her skin was alive—each cell part of a joyous chorus. She stood up very straight, and walked through the forest to the village, the moonlight caressing her shoulders. She reached the edge of her village in a short time. She passed by the fires, where the maidens were dancing. Some were drawn away from the bright flames to her pale radiance.
“Hello, Mother. Welcome home. We have missed you!” She greeted them, touching each one on the forehead, leaving a faint trace of silver. Dazzled, they smiled and leapt into their dance, rushing back to the fire and the passion of discovery.
She continued on to her own dwelling. Taking off her shoes, she stood in her garden, her feet cool and solid upon the earth. I made this place, she said to herself. I am of it, and it of me. I belong here. My life is full. I am the gift. Her dog came to her and nuzzled her hand. She smiled in the darkness. She heard a noise, and looked up to see the man standing in the doorway.
“I’ve missed you,” he said. “Did the dream come?”
“This is the dream,” she said. She walked to him, the delicate blossoms of the moonflower unfurling in her wake. “I am me again,” she said, “only better.” She stretched out her hands toward him, and the light in her enveloped them both. They began to dance.

Finally

2005-08-25T04:07:00.000-07:00

Madame Eclectica, after a day spent running around at these fitness games and carrying dumbells, I've had it. So I've run across from the Hermitage to spend the evening soaking under the glow of the night lights, and to be lost in clouds of steamy lavender and rose oils. Spring is coming and with it, some things have to come off! I didn't bring Hadrianio with me because he's on the loose, being Spring and all. It will be fascinating to hear the stories....I am sure there are many to tell....Hermit.

Seven Serpents Soothing Massage

2005-08-24T04:34:00.000-07:00

Foot Bath and Snake Pumice
This is a particularly stimulating foot bath. After soaking use a snake to smoothe away calluses - it will leave your feet feeling soft.
20z lavender
half and oz of thyme
1oz of sage
1tsp sea salt

My Spirit Guide... A Donkey?

2005-08-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

I am still feeling fresh from my private relaxation time in Duwamish... yea... I was enjoying myself in the hot thermal spring while most of you were in the cramped bath-house... hee hee. The water from the spring was just intoxicating... I got drank just by being in there... the vapours were purfume to the soul and the tranquility from the surrounding bamboo were simply captivating. I stayed there for
much longer than I have intended... ...

I almost forgot I was on a journey... and I felt so peaceful... surrounded by a deep silence, free from all worldly desires and demands... that was until a talking donkey arrived and shattered my paradise! Her name was Alexandria she screamed and my she could not stop chattering. She went on and on from the time her mother's mother was born to how she travelled over mountains and across rivers looking for me. She was a spider in her former life she says... my totem at that time, she was called Maya... accompanying me on my journey through the land of the aboriginals, she inspires my true essence and awakens my creative juices, weaving them into web after web of transendental stories. Stories that traps their readers in alternate realities, dreamscapes of infinite possibilities where I manipulated their destiny, weaving their every thoughts, feelings and actions.

This life she was Alexandria, sent into my life as a spiritual donkey to drive my thoughts and ideas into actions. This life I am too passive she says... lacking in commitment and follow through with all
my marvelous ideas. She was enjoying her life as my spiritual guide on the other dimension... untill I prayed to my higher self to show me the way in a more tangible way, she complains (no wonder they say to be careful what you wish for ;-).

Anyway, she insisted that I ride upon her and she just went on and on about everything dead and alive on earth and beyond while she lead you through the mountains of Myrr. There was a bag on her back. It was from the Enchantress she wispered... I opened it with care and found a pair of ancient spectacles, a used candlestick, a tiny anchor, a magnetic medallion with the imprint of a flying Unicorn, a set of
angelic wings and a map to what Alexandria said was the House of the Serpent. And at the base of the bag was the best thing that I could wish for on this journey. A tibetian singing bowl to counter the noise from Alexandria! Three cheers for peace!

I started playing the bowl and the music of heaven surrounded me. Om... Om... Om... Within moments I was transported into the land of the aboriginals, weaving dreamscapes of infinite possibilities just as
Alexandria described. I saw her as Maya, tattooed on my throat(vishuddha chakra). No wonder I now have hair growing from my throat!

The hooves of Alexandria seem to be beating a tune as I travel on the well worn path across a heavily wooded forest. Gnarled branches spread their long arms across the path, whispering as you pass.

The words of the Enchantress ring in my ears and I touch my bag to make sure it is still with me. Alexandria never stopped her chattering all this time, so its amazing how I can still hear anything else.

Passing through the forest, I arrived at the House of the Serpent, near the Blind Springs at the foot of the mountain. Night has fallen and there was no one around. I was tired from all the noise from
Alexandria and her snores now sound like music to my ears... I could not resist the hypnotic drone and before I know it, I was back in the comforting heat of the thermal spring in Duwamish... I was a baby
again, in my mother womb.

Bath House Tales

2005-08-23T04:00:00.000-07:00

Rosemary – Bath of Remembrance

2005-08-21T03:07:00.000-07:00

I could smell the pungent aroma of rosemary as I entered the private chamber that Madame Eclectica had prepared for me. I loosened my robe and let it fall to the floor. I stepped into the steaming bath and let the aromatic waters envelop me. My tired and tense muscles began to relax and my mind began to wander.

I have not always loved the water. Washing my hair was a nightmare, as a child. I hated the water running down my face. My mother would hold my head back and pour water over my head, shielding my eyes. She even bought a special shower guard. She put it on my head, it flared out (kind of like a frilled neck lizard) but it stopped me getting soap and water in my eyes.

I hated putting my face in the water. This was not helpful in swimming lessons. Swimming lessons were not pleasant; they became screaming matches with my mother. I didn’t learn to swim until I was eleven years and only because my parents paid for private lessons and I wore a mask. The kind of mask that you wear snorkeling; it allowed me to put my face in the water and enabled me to swim.

After I learnt to swim I entered a race in the school swimming carnival. I didn’t win, in fact I came last, but I didn’t give up. I finished the race cheered on by spectators.

A respite

2005-08-20T12:09:00.000-07:00

Now that I have come from my disturbing encounter with Baba Yaga, and spent some time pondering milagros, I am ready for respite. I sink into the rosemary scented bath that Madame Eclectica has prepared for me and allow my thoughts to drift.

I recall spending time as a girl making a secret camp in the windbreak behind our farm. My sister and I cleared away the brush, sweeping and raking to form a trail through the fragrant cedar trees. We harvested rocks from a nearby field to make fire rings, and brought out dishes from the house to be filled with greens and berries that we prepared as "salads." We spent quite a lot of time out there. My sister and I didn't often get along, and it was a rare treat to partner with her in any endeavor. It was a secret, shaded world, one that we were sole owners of, until the day we decided that the trail needed an exit, out behind the old pink Chevy that had died and been hauled out to the back acreage. It was now a home to mice, snakes, and wasps,and we gave it a wide berth as we used a handsaw to cut branches from one of the trees. After about an hour or two, we had a large enough opening to ride our bikes through, and could then make a round trip, starting at the driveway, coursing through the paths we had made, out the crude opening, down the lane leading to the tractor shed, and back in. All was right with our world, until Dad came home. He was doing chores when he happened to notice our circuit. He walked back to the treeline and was waiting for us as we made our next pass.
"Pretty neat, huh, Dad?" we said as we rode through the hole in the tree.
Dad looked ready to explode. We hopped off our bikes.
"Why the hell do you think it's called a WINDBREAK?" he yelled.
We looked at the tree, and noticed its distinct lack of windbreaking capacity, thanks to our busy-beaver sawing job. The hole was about six feet by 8 feet, not bad work for a couple of girls under 12. Frankly, a merit badge was in order.

I don't remember if we were punished--though it's likely, but what could he do? The damage was done. It took about ten years for that hole to grow shut, and now the treeline at the north end of my parents' property is as full and fluffy as it ever was. Whenever my sister and I walk back there, we always look at one another and burst out laughing. Dad can finally laugh about it too.

Lagging Behind

2005-08-19T19:26:00.000-07:00

Have I ever told you how much I love water? I could live in water. Bring my meals to the side of the pool...or bath...or spring...or ocean. Once I get in, it often takes lightning to get me out.

I've been lounging here in this wonderful bath for days. The bath-house host has been so wonderful. She HAS brought food to me so I've only gotten out for short breaks.

I am in my own little world when I'm in water. Cares soak away as I become one with the gentle waves. I feel caressed and held in the arms of water.

Before I even realized, several days had past and my traveling companions had moved on without me. I guess I best get myself out of these waters, dry myself off, and get packed and ready to go. More adventure awaits.

Time for a Soak

2005-08-19T18:47:00.000-07:00

Mme Eclectica,
What a wonderful bath house you have here. There have been so many things going on in my life that I wanted to have some time for myself. So here I am!

I wandered around and found a wonderful warm tub with special salts to soothe my aching bones. Slipping into this warm bath, I couldn't help thinking of a tale someone told about the huge cumbersome jovial lady who popped into the bath with her. Apologies to whoever wrote it for not remembering your name, but it has kept me smiling many a time. Remembering this I lay back with not a care in the world letting my body relax completely.

As I lay there, I recalled a time when life was not so complicated, a time when my husband and I took our 6 children for a long weekend in our big bus (or van) down to the Tara Valley. We left on a Friday night after work and travelled down the Princess Highway. All went well until we turned off the highway.

To set the scene for those who don't know the area, there is a ridge of mountains between the highway and the valley. The problem was that in the dark of night we took a wrong turn. The road became quite bumpy and there were rocks, quite large rocks in places and the road twisted and turned, around and around. We became rather concerned as there was no way we could turn around because the road was so narrow. So on we went.

Of course the children were quite excited by this. To make it more interesting, there were small kangaroos hopping across the road and the odd wombat as well. The children were hanging out the windows, no seat belts in those days, and loving it. Of course, Mother and Father were a little less excited as they were worried about where they were going to end up. By about ten o'clock that night we finally came to a main road - the Grand Ridge Road- so we could then begin to work out where we were.

We finally arrived at the park where we were staying and had the most wonderful weekend in very beautiful country. We discovered that the track we had taken was actually a logging track so in hindsight we were very lucky to get through.

It was a weekend of togetherness, adventure and fun.

a mosaic for the bath house

2005-08-19T07:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Madame Eclectica,
I would like to donate this picture of a fish mosaic I made some years ago for display on a wall in the bath house.

I lay soaking in the rosemary bath in the recently opened bath house, run by the expansive Madame Eclectica.
It was just what I needed after a somewhat stressful day, spent running hither and thither and seemingly not achieving very much in relation to the effort expended. Here in the baths all you had to do was lie back and allow the water to wash away all the physical and mental dirt accumulated over the last few hours. It was bliss. The smell of the rosemary oil from the crushed leaves was intoxicating. I had been looking at one of the mosaics on the wall and drifted off into a dream. The mosaic was a modern copy of a very ancient original, depicting two fish. Pisces. My zodiac sign.

Pisces, oh pisces
where are you going
drifting along on the crest of a wave?
I´m going to see what my true love will bring me
when I greet him at dawn on the sands of the brave.
What will you wear my fine fishy friend
when you slip out on to the strand?
why, a tail of sorts,
no need for shorts,
and a starfish to put in my braid.
What will he give you, my sweet mermaid,
as he touches the shells on your breast?
why a necklace for sure, from the isle of the blest.
A necklace of coral, beyond compare
that he stole from King Neptune´s lair.
And what will you do in return?
I will give him the moon and the sun,
a garland most rich and most rare,
to wear for a year and day
for we may not meet
each to each for to greet
without the enchantress shall say.
Are you sad
are you glad
are you mad
are you bad
tempered?
I will temper myself as hot steel
and cool my heels
in the shallows
until Lethe allows
our return.

The Bude Stone

2005-08-18T23:52:00.000-07:00

Aaaaah - that rosemary scented bath was just what the doctor ordered after a busy day. As I lay back and wiggled my toes among the rosemary leaves, I remembered a beautiful day many, many years ago, that my mother and I still talk about...

The rocky coast of Cornwall is one of the most beautiful places in the world.
Little towns and bays nestle amongst the cliffs, each with its own distinct character.
In 1957, I spent a wonderful late summer touring these towns with my parents. Mum and Dad were part of a carnival that visited places such as Clovelly, Barnstaple, Bideford and Bude. Part of the touring company on this trip was a dance duo, old friends of my parents, whom I called Uncle Richard and Aunty Annette.
We loved every minute of the tour, but at Bude we had a special treat. No one came to the fair. The other attractions in that beautiful little town proved too strong for the tourists, so the fair closed early and we got the day off.
Show people and travellers rarely get to play tourist – other peoples’ holidays are our working days. It was delicious fun to get away, like playing hookey from school.
First we looked around the town – especially the churchyard, for we all enjoyed studying old headstones. We had tea at a charming inn with white washed walls, sitting outside under a magnificent bank of wisteria, sipping shandies and enjoying scones with jam and fresh clotted cream.
Finally we went down to the beach, but it was too crowded so we braved the climb down to Strangles beach, where many ships have foundered over the centuries. My father took a picture of us all sitting on one of the jagged rocks, then he went for a stroll. He was an inveterate beachcomber, and among the treasures he found that day was a small, perfect white pebble.
Later, he polished the stone and painted the word Bude on it in bright red and yellow letters as a memento of the day. My father is long gone now, but my mother still has the pebble in her china cabinet, and when grandchildren and great grandchildren come to visit, they love to hear the story of the Bude Stone.

2005-08-16T05:09:00.000-07:00

Pirene
of Corinth
daughter of Asopus
weep for your son
Cenchrius
dead at Artemis hand
tears well up
and spring forth

Pirene fountain
sacred to the muses
healing waters
spring from the tears
of a grieving mother

Luxuriating in the Bath House - Lois Daley

2005-08-16T01:39:00.000-07:00

Well I am back from my trip to the Island of my Ancestors and a meeting with a well loved Ferrywoman.

She(the ferrywoman) in her day was a wild woman who loved many men,she was a great dancer and loved fun..She came from a very strict background and was often given a caning for being out too late ..She was expelled from St Josephs Catholic school here in Port Melbourne on more than one occassion....asked too many questions

I do remember when in the 1940's we had American service-men billeted here in Port Melb and they loved to come to our homes for a home cooked meal....

Maureen was tall and slender and wore her long fair hair in a dark fishnet type hairnet.The seamans mission hall had dances every Sat night for the servicemen, and she and her girlfriends all around 18 or 20 went with the rules to follow...No going outside with any sailor. No dancing with just one person,no dancing too close etc etc etc.

I don't doubt all these rules were broken...But I do remember the servicemen giving us kids coca cola,lollies, Mum got stockings cigarettes for the men (and Women) ..

My Ferrywoman married an American serviceman and after the war she went with him to visit his family on the farm in Alabama .. She only stayed for 6 months and was home without Jimmy ,he was to follow later.
I will not bore you with her description of the farm in Alabama as some might have relatives living there......but I don,t think it was Maureens' vision of a farm. I wonder if I will see her at the bath house?

My story is now of my trip to the Bath House in Duwanish.

Now I do have problem with my figure and how I view my body( and others view it too)So I will wrap my big white hot towel around me,walk to the edge and just slide gracefully in...Ah I will love it I know having been in my Brothers Spa many times (He is rich)

Sliding into the water it has a salty perfumed taste or is it me wishing I was home by Port Phillip Bay... The round rocks below the surface I think were heated in some way or perhaps the bath house was built on a fissue in the ground where it is constantly fed by hot springs... No matter it was glorious on my body... I was looking foward to a massage but missed out,never mind there is always tomorrow ...

When I was a working woman I gave myself the luxury of a full body massage once a week for an hour and after it was over I just seemed in another body and driving home and my car was like being on a cloud taking me to oblivion,I was feeling like this and never wanted to get out of the bath.... But hunger and scented tea with dry crackers and lovely cheese, beckoned. .

I sat with other travellers and enjoyed the company and the banter,we laughed and laughed ,letting it all out as women do when they get together.

I had not felt this relaxed since I had packed my bags on leaving Australia .. I was now not pining for home and the thought of returning in several weeks was daunting..... but I put it all behind me ,as I knew there was much more of the journey in the Umbrian mountains in Italy yet to come WOW I thought Wow..... More laughter with many jokes shared between us.

Lotus woman

2005-08-15T17:10:00.000-07:00

I float in this pool
heart opening like lotus
accepting what is

The door is ajar
my stories slip through, cautious
I welcome them home

My soul is the sky
reflected in still water
before a stone drops

2005-08-15T17:06:00.000-07:00

After a wonderful massage by a large and silent creature of undeterminate gender, who had ten digits on each hand and enormous strength, my muscles were liquid. I walked slowly to the bath house in a cozy robe and slippers, and entered the hall of waters. The smell of lavender and other essential oils hung in the air, mingling with billowy clouds of steam rising from the blue depths of the pools. I saw familiar faces, leaning contentedly against the side of the pools, fellow travelers all. I slipped off the robe and slid quickly into the deep end of the first pool, one surrounded by rocks, plants and flora in a naturalistic setting that brought to mind a waterfall and pool in the rain forest. I sighed with relief and release as the hot water contacted my skin. I felt small creatures flicking around my calves and knees, and looked within the water to find tiny fish, a vivid blue, nipping at my skin. The sensation tickled but was not unpleasant. I leaned my head back and relaxed.

After some time, I felt others slip into the water, and opened my eyes. I felt a bit nervous about being with quasi-strangers, naked. Instinctively, I folded my arms across my chest. Some of the others were a bit inhibited, as well, but a few lay back in the water, arms open to the heat and bliss, uncaring that they were exposed. There was a bit of idle talk, some comments and praise all around regarding the performances the other night, but mostly quiet. The steam mingled with our breath, and rose from the pool like gossamer. I began to feel the need for a breath of fresh air, but felt uncomfortable getting out of the pool. The other travelers would see my body—the scars around my breasts, my slightly sagging belly, the bulges in my thighs. I waited, hoping for courage to descend. Instead, as we were quietly talking, a large woman entered the room, completely naked, no towel or robe or anything. She was at least 375 pounds, massively tall, and glistened with oil. Her great breasts lay atop her generous belly, her thighs rubbed together when she walked, and her buttocks quivered with each step. She had hairy legs, stretch marks, and a slight mustache, if I were to be truthful. She strutted in and announced to the entire room,

“That was the greatest single massage I have ever experienced. I feel as if I may melt.” She walked over to our pool, and actually leapt in, performing sort of a modified cannonball. Waves broke over all of us in the pool, wetting our faces and leaving us gasping and red.She settled herself in the corner of the pool, chuckling.

“Sorry, gals, can’t be helped. The best way to enter any situation is to jump right in, with both feet. She lifted first one giant breast, then the other, allowing the water to wash beneath them as they gently bobbed near the surface. “Ah, the old girls feel good, swimming free,” she said. She raised both her arms and stretched luxuriously. I looked away, politely.

Suddenly, she moved to my side. Her arm slid around my neck. She clasped me to her bosom.

“Sister!” she said, “It is so good to see you.”

I was shocked and somewhat panicky, skin to skin with this expansive woman, this woman I didn’t even know.

“Um, excuse me, but I don’t think we’ve met,” I said, attempting to free myself from her wet oily clutches.

“Oh, I’m sure we have,” she said. “Somewhere.” She loosed me then and went swimming about the pool, as graceful as a dolphin, splashing about and kicking her legs in the air. “La-de-da, la-de-da,” she sang.

“Really, madam,” I said sternly. “You are splashing all of us while we are trying to relax. Control yourself.”

She looked at me, winked, and threw a handful of water in my face. I sputtered and hiccupped. I wrenched myself up onto the edge of the pool, and reached for my robe, preparing to leave. But I was too slow. The impossible fat woman had grabbed it and plunged it into the water. It was soaking wet. I ducked back under the water.

“Oh, tut-tut, darling. You won’t want to get out of the pool now. I mean really, do you want everyone to see that tiny little stomach of yours? Why it’s hardly large enough to give birth to the world. And those thighs, darling…they are more like sticks than sturdy tree trunks. And your breasts don’t flop around at all; they aren’t really very festive, are they, darling?”

I was incredulous. This woman, this enormous creature, felt herself beautiful, gorgeous, voluptuous, and to her, I was nothing but a six foot, two hundred pound....stick woman. I sat hunched in the pool, feeling bitter and embarrassed.

“Oh, now, mustn’t pout, sweetie. We all can’t be…well, spectacular. You are lovely in your own way…”

“And what way is that?” I asked coldly.

“Well, darling, in the way that is somewhat…well, confined, I guess. Correct me if I am wrong, but you have worked very hard to stay as small as you are, and you still feel you are too large. Am I right?” I nodded, slightly. “And I watched you walk in from the massage hut, darling, furtively, as if wolves were after you. Meanwhile, I was doing a dance for all of the massage creatures and other guests. I figure that once I am relaxed and oiled up, everyone should view the magnificence that is me. I can tell you, I got quite a round of applause, and even a few coppers, though I lack a pocket at the present to keep them in.” She lurched onto the side of the pool and stood, water streaming off of her great curves. “This is who I am, darling, and I am luscious. Now, who are you?”

“I am…just…a woman.” I said, rather at a loss.

“Exactly, my dear. A woman. A woman is all lovely curves, generous spaces, hidden clefts, nourishing hills, succulent valleys, hidden meadows, and flowing rivers.” As she recited this litany, she moved. Her hips wound round in circles, her arms moved about in the air, her hands stroked her great curves, her dark hair slapped wetly against her back and breasts. “We must flow, like lava, like water, like air. We cannot be confined. In order to be the real women, the true women, that we are, WE MUST FLOW!” She reached down and took my hands, pulling me out of the pool. I struggled against her, but she brought me onto the surface. “Now, darling, look at me.” I glanced at my fellow travelers, but they were all watching the large woman. I looked at her. “Now, dance.”

She began to move, and holding my hands in her own, I was forced to move as well. I began to sway my hips, move my shoulders, and shuffle my feet. The air cooled my skin.

“Look at me, darling, look at me!” she said.

As I gazed into her eyes, I saw a vision. She was seated on a throne, dressed only in a belt of gold, and adorned with many jewels. Man and women were bowing down to worship her. Her bounteous flesh overflowed her throne, and her subjects reached out to touch it, afterward kissing their own hands and looking at their fingers with rapture.

“Hmmm? What do you say, Darling?” She smiled merrily at me, still dancing round and round.

Suddenly her vision shifted, and I saw myself, naked in a room full of men and women. I was in the corner, and no one noticed me. But soon, I began to change, shifting and growing. My body became rounder, fuller, and more voluptuous. I could feel the sag of my flesh, the drop of my belly, the weight of my breasts lying on my stomach. I became voluminous. Suddenly, all of the people in the room were watching me, and I became aware of a sound. The people were all chanting, in a strange language, but one that I knew somehow. It was my name they were chanting, only they called me Gaia:

Gaia, who created us
Gaia, who comforts us
Gaia, who protects us
Gaia, who contains us
Gaia, who birthed the universe
Gaia, who nourishes the world
Gaia, bless us.

Suddenly I slipped inside my own skin, the skin that I had worn uncomfortably for forty years, and as I did, the woman embraced me, her tears falling on my skin, mingling with my own as they streamed down my face. We stood, flesh to flesh, skin to skin, woman to woman, and felt our strength, the strength of the mother of the world, the strength of the body, the strength of birth, death, and everything between it. A moment later, we stepped apart, and she cupped my chin in her hand for a moment, and said, “Now we both know who you are. Goodbye, darling.”

I looked at all of my travel companions, seated there in the pool, and I raised my arms overhead and began to dance, a wild dance of joy and abandon, followed by a leap into the pool that splashed everyone, even the ones in the next pool over. My fellow travelers just smiled and wiped the water from their eyes. I looked at the ceiling and whispered, “Thanks be to Gaia.”

In the Baths...Gail Kavanagh

2005-08-15T05:43:00.000-07:00

Luxuriating in the steamy waters of the bath-house, relaxing with my companions from the grotto, I sipped on Oolong tea and started thinking about the Ferry Women. I wondered who they were and where they came from, and what stories they must have to tell. Thoughts have an unsettling habit of manifesting themselves in Duwamis, so I was not surprised to see my own Ferry Woman sitting on the tiles at the edge of the bath, dangling her feet in the water.

She fixed me with a shrewd look. ``You seemed cheerful on the way back. Did you meet someone you know?”
``No,” I said. ``It was an ancestor I never knew, but maybe suspected – a strolling player, a minstrel. I know little of my family more than a couple of generations back. We were travellers, you see, we didn’t keep records.”

She nodded. ``Like us.” She said succinctly.

She was a strong, muscular woman, as I would expect in her profession. She had pale blue eyes in a deeply tanned and wrinkled face and her hands were broad and calloused
``You’re Irish, aren’t you?” She said.
``What gave it away?”
``Oh, the red hair, the green eyes.” She chuckled. ``And maybe a fellow feeling – my name is Maeve.” Her voice was deep and rich, with the lilt of the west in it.
``How did you come to be a Ferry Woman?” I asked, ``and how did you come to Duwamis?”
``I came here because I answered a call,” she said, ``and as for my life on the sea – that was a call I answered too.

I was walking on the shore one day, watching the waves beating ceaselessly on the sand. The frothy white caps billowed up, curved over and leapt onto the shore - `white horses’, we called them when I young.

I felt the sting of salt spray, and as I watched, the graceful form of a leaping white stallion rose from the foam and galloped onto the shore.

It was Manannan Mac Lir, God of the Ocean. Sometimes he takes human form, sometimes he takes the form of a great salmon, but when he is a horse, and leaps ashore in a welter of foam – oh, that is a sight to see!

All morning I had been feeling a storm in the air. The wind was whipping my robes, and the sand shifting beneath my feet but I could not leave. I heard my mother calling for me – she hated the sea, where my father had been lost. But I could not stay away from it – it was as if it called me, ceaselessly, day and night.

The great stallion paused at the crest of the dune and his head turned my way – my heart was almost stilled in me as I looked into his eyes – human eyes on the head of a horse. Great dark eyes that looked deep into my soul.

That night there was a terrible storm – we heard the crack of a hip breaking on the rocks, and we all ran down with torches to see if we could help. My mother wanted me to stay behind, but I refused.
It was a terrible sight. The great ship was sinking and the water was full of souls desperately trying to reach the shore. The fishermen put out their boats and rowed out to pick up all they could, while others formed a chain to walk out and grab those washing up on the shore.

I heard crying on the wind and ran down the beach – I saw a child clinging to a rock, surrounded by buffeting waves. A great head reared up from the water and I saw Macannan Mac Lir swimming toward her. The child slipped onto his back and he came ashore, to where I was standing. I helped the child down, and he bowed his great head over her and blew softly on her face, drying her tears. I understood that this was a sacrifice he did not want, and I understood that though he is great and terrible, the God of the Sea is also just. In that moment I pledged my allegiance to the sea, to the endless white waves.
In the morning, with the wreckage strewn across the shore and bodies tangled in the weeds, I told my mother I was going to sea, and there was nothing she could do to stop me. And in time I got the call to come here, to Duwamis, to be a Ferry Woman, and I joined my sisters who came before me.”
I thought how wonderful it must be to know yourself – who you are, what you believe, to be so strong in your life’s purpose.

Maeve got to her feet. ``I must go – I must take another journey to the island of the Ancestors tonight.”
``Have you ever been there yourself?”
``Yes,” she said simply. ``I saw my mother – she has forgiven me.” And with a slight bow of her head, Maeve walked away.

Welcome to the Bath House

2005-08-15T05:25:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Bath House. I am Eclectica, Madame of the Baths. Leave your cares behind as you sink into the steaming depths of The Hall of Waters. Allow the cares of the day to fall away as you return to the environment of the womb. Float freely, and allow your mind to do the same. We are here to serve you, to anoint you, to massage your weary muscles with sacred oils, herbal decoctions, and aromas for every ailment. Enjoy the splendid murals and mosaics that surround you, the echo of your voice against the tile, the rising clouds of steam that carry away your doubts and fears. Here we care for the body, so that the mind may be free. Immerse yourself in the warm embrace of the baths, and be healed.