Mother Earth and Father Sky – spirituality in action

For me, like most of us, happiness (and health) comes from keeping a balance between body, mind and spirit! I tend to be obsessive!


There is a not-for-profit Native American organisation called White Bison that provides resources for Natives and non-Natives alike.
They work to promote recovery from alcohol and drug addiction and are facilitators of the Wellbriety Movement! Each day they send out a simple Native American meditation .
Each one ends with a prayer.  Today’s ask us to thank Mother Earth and Father Sky for our lives – simple honest and very powerful spirituality!
Given how tested American Indians have been by their history, that simple thank you is an example to us all of spirituality in action.  And it is certainly good enough for  me!
Wendy Mason lives in London and works as a a consultant and business coach as well as being a poet and blogger. You can find her on Twitter as @WWisewolf and you can email her at wendymason14@gmail.com

Starbucks, Mermaids and Melusine

I became interested in Melusine when an old boss of mine started to calling me by the name.  I never did find out why.

But I did decide to find out more and I’ve always been fascinated by mermaids!

Melusine is a water fairy in European folklore –  a feminine spirit of fresh waters in sacred springs and rivers.  She is usually depicted as a serpent or fish from the waist down – a kind of mermaid.

The “Lady of the Lake” in the legends of Kind Arthur who spirited away the infant Lancelot and raised the child,was just such a water nymph.

Water fairies and mermaids are considered seductive and dangerous to humans, especially men!

There are many Melusine legends. The chronicler Giraud le Cambrien reported that Richard I of England was fond of claiming he was a descendant of a countess of Anjou who was supposed to  be the fairy Melusine. Richard used to tell the tale and finish with a flourish, concluding that his whole family “came from the devil” and would return to the devil.

Richard the First - the Lionheart!

There are many mermaid stories around the world. The first known such stories appeared in Assyria  around 1000 BC.

The goddess Atargatis, mother of Assyrian queen Semiramis, loved a mortal shepherd and unintentionally killed him. Ashamed, she jumped into a lake to take the form of a fish, but the waters would not conceal her divine beauty. Thereafter, she took the form of a mermaid—human above the waist, fish below!

A popular Greek legend turns Alexander the Great’s sister, Thessalonike, into a mermaid after she died. She lived, it was said, in the Aegean and when she encountered a ship, she asked its sailors only one question: “Is King Alexander alive?” to which the correct answer was: “He lives and reigns and conquers the world”. This answer pleased her so she would calm the waters and wish the ship farewell. Any other answer would spur her into a rage. She would raise a terrible storm, with certain doom for the ship and every sailor on board.

In British folklore mermaids are considered unlucky!    One tale tells of the Laird of Lorntie who  went to aid a woman he thought drowning in a lake near his house.  A servant pulled him back, warning that it was a mermaid.  The mermaid screamed that she would have killed him if it were not for his servant.

So take care!

Although a mermaid has been very lucky for Disney and it is interesting that the female figure in the Starbucks logo has been likened to Melusine.

Beautiful Places – The Swallow Falls

Betws-y-Coed (“Prayer house in the wood”) in Conwy, North Wales, lies in  a valley near the point where the River Conwy is joined by the River Llugwy and the River Lledr.  It was founded around a monastery in the late sixth century and nearby is the famous Swallow Falls – Rhaedr Ewynnol, in Welsh menaing literally Foaming Waterfall!  This waterfall on the Afon Llugwy has become a familiar natural celebrity over the past 100 years and has featured on film, postcard and canvas.

Rising among the towering peaks of Carnedd Llewellyn the River Llugwy runs eastward towards Capel Curig and Betws-y-Coed, before reaching Swallow falls which is the highest continuous waterfall in Wales. The river hurls itself into a spectacular chasm at the Falls.

Best viewed after heavy rain the river rushes down from the mountains through tree-hung, rocky chasms. Jagged rocks and crags divide the stream into a number of foaming cascades which tumble headlong over boulders between richly wooded banks.

As for Rhaeadr; yes, it means waterfall, but some believe it is two words, dwr meaning water and Rhaea – so one meaning could be the water of Rhea. And who was Rhea? Legend has it she dates back to the Roman battles with Carthage. The oracle at Delphi in Greece informed the Roman army commander that if he wished to defeat the army of Carthage he must carry an icon (a carving in black meteorite iron) of Rhea, mother of Zeus and grandmother of Hercules, before the Roman eagle onto the battlefield. This the commander did and the battle was won. Rhea became the patron saint of Roman soldiers! It is an odd connection. But the Falls are next to the the A5 which was also the first Roman built road in England! Perhaps long ago the Falls were sacred to Rhea!

Madness, Pegwell Bay and The Bird of Night

Pegwell Bay, Kent – a Recollection of October 5th 1858 by William Dyce

Painted after a trip Dyce made in the autumn of 1858 to Pegwell Bay near Ramsgate, on the east coast of Kent, this picture is supposed to show various members of his family gathering fossils.  He has carefully recorded the flint-encrusted strata and eroded faces of the chalk cliffs; in the sky is the barely visible trail of Donati’s comet! But the shell pickers have their eyes on the ground, not necessarily understanding or perceiving their transitory place in the universe!  The location is interesting because it is the supposed site of Christianity first coming to Britain and it is a famous location for fossil hunting.  In the book, The Bird of Night,  the painting is a great source of interest for poor, mad Frances who thinks he understands the painter’s intent!  If you study the painting for a while it becomes haunting and, for me, so was this book!

The Bird of Night is the story of the relationship between Egyptologist Harvey Lawson and poet Francis Croft.

Francis is not just a poet but a brilliant poet, writing works that mark him as a genius and the foremost poet of his age. He also suffers bouts of crippling madness.

I loved this book with its metaphors of birds and landscape – owls as good and evil and the wonderful and wicked Venice.  No wonder Francis calls his poem Janus – he of the two faces! I had not read a gothic novel quite like it. The turbulent descriptions of madness were as frightening as thunder storms. The black notebooks delicately picked out the poet’s life – thank goodness for Moleskin!

I loathed the dry, faithful Harvey and I loved mad, dangerous and fragile Francis.  How could he deal with his intoxicating gift and his guilt for wanting to kill his brother for his cruelty and  his guilt, probably,  for his homosexuality? He has lived through the First World War which he seems to have found oddly comforting!

Apparently Susan Hill, herself, had doubts about the book even though it won her the Whitbread Novel Award in 1972.  She remarked in 2006 that “it was a book I have never rated. I don’t think it works, though there are a few good things in it. I don’t believe in the characters or the story.”  I don’t think I believed in the characters, they were not really rounded out, but for me the two characters worked brilliantly as counterpoints.

I found the two characters almost reminiscent of Charles and Sebastian in Brideshead Revisited.  I had a picture of Anthony Andrews (from the TV dramatisation) in mind whenever I thought of Francis – the cover picture for me was of Harvey!  Waugh wrote of Brideshead Revisited that the novel “deals with what is theologically termed ‘the operation of Grace”.  For me, to some extent, The Bird of Night deals with the absence of Grace and it is not surprising that Frances chooses to make his end in a church with a pair of secateurs.

Jack Frost and the Icicles

I grew up in a large Victorian house on a hill that had coal fires and no central heating. Oh my word was it cold in the mornings in winter! But it was beautiful for two reasons – fern frost on the windows and icicles hanging from the roof outside my window.

To adults fern frost was simply the result of ice crystals forming on a window pane.

But for me as a child they formed when Jack Frost touched the window pane and the sprite jack Frost was very real.

In Viking legend – he is known as Jokul Frosti, meaning “icicle frost” – in English folklore he is known as Jack. Sometimes he is also known as Old ManWinter!

He is an elf-like figure who personifies winter and its chilling effects! For me Jack had touched the window and the scupture of his fingers were the icicles hanging from our roof!

In praise of older women – no thank you!

Robert Graves (The White Goddess) and the neo-pagans have a lot to answer for with their triple Goddess. We seem to have imbibed that whole “maiden-mother-crone” schema. It brings us all those stereotypes that I believe are best avoided – the girl who must be beautiful, the woman who must be a mother and, after a certain age, all that is left to us is our wisdom! These are gender roles that have existed for thousands of years!

I tell you now, I don’t intend to be a crone – even one honoured for her wisdom! In reality, the most famous of the ancient Celtic triple Goddesses is Brigit, the daughter of the Dagda (Father God), often called “the poetess.” The story goes that there were three of Brigits, all sisters–Brigit the Poetess, Brigit the Smith and Brigit the Doctor–patrons of their respective skills. But they are all the same age. Brigit’s multiplicity implies that she is a master of many arts – all valuable.

Having said that, I am getting very tired of having to live with baby boomer stereotypes of the older woman! I don’t want to live in a world where I am constantly reassured that there is ‘life after fifty’ or ‘life after sixty’ (are we now to live in fear of seventy?). I have lived through fifty and have passed sixty – so I know there is life beyond!   I don’t want be praised for looking good any more than I want to be praised for being able to complete a full day’s work! It makes me feel like a performing seal and I don’t need your fish! Will I be a failure when strength fails and I can’t keep up the ‘standard’ anymore? If I want to dye my hair there is nothing noble about it! Nor is there anything noble or ignoble about going grey. It just happens, it is a personal choice and it is part of life! If you don’t like it that is your problem, not mine!

Favourite Words – Sacred

 

Sacred

I’m not sure why I love this word!   It can have very negative connotations of something  restricted, forbidden or beyond censure.  But it gives me a warm sense of childhood awe and the amber light of candles and simple prayers.

If you look Sacred up in a dictionary, there are usually five definitions.

  • exclusively devoted to a deity or to some religious ceremony or use; holy; consecrated
  • worthy of, or regarded with, reverence, awe, or respect
  • protected by superstition or piety from irreligious actions
  • connected with, or intended for, religious use: sacred music
  • dedicated to; in honour of

The word came into use in the 14th century but it has its roots much earlier and is probably from the Old Latin ‘saceres’ which can be connected with binding in the sense of enclosing or protecting!

But for me the  feeling of the word is much closer to an  Encyclopaedia Britannica reference .  This is to the power, being, or realm understood by religious persons to be at the core of existence and to have a transformative effect on their lives and destinies.  Now that really does take me back to my simple childhood sense of the sacred and the picture above – Holman Hunt’s The Light of the World.  My father won a small copy of it as a Sunday School prize when he was a child.  It hung over my bed from as early as I can remember.  When I knelt to say my prayers, this was the God to whom I prayed, having no doubts at all about what was sacred!

Scribbling on trains

How many poets are there
writing on commuter trains?

Does every carriage contain someone
scribbling in notebook,
netbook or on an IPhone?

Each one of us reflecting
our own reality to a world
too busy to look,  let alone read!

Each  one of us sharing the core experience
and sometimes, just sometimes, peering over
another’s shoulder
and wondering?

Each one of us adopts the rules
specific to writing on trains
like some strange masonic rite.

Don’t rubbish mine and I won’t rubbish yours!

And prays for a publisher!

Peace

The glorious peace

Of the unknowing cloud

Gold as a thousand stars

Shimmering

A waterfall of light

Eternal and silent

But echoing a heartbeat

All about me

Peace

The quiet peace of nothingness

The void

That is all comfort

Perfect peace

My Poetry

In future I will publish my poetry on this site.  If you are interested in my earlier work you find it at these two links!

Dreaming in Yellow and Red

Dreaming in Purple and Grey