You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2006.
Re editing an animation I did last year (when I was not as adept at making them) I put this together, and as the full twelve days are not just over and orthodox Christmas is still not here yet I thought I’d post this one here. Consider it a small gift dedicated to all the creative brains at work in Lemuria.
Kiyan’s presence in the village was known by all, but noticed or not according to the needs of the persons mingled there – such being the way of a Gusari. Those that had need to see him did, and those focused on their own tasks and intend did not. Thusly, he had a chance to observe three children out of step with contentment – a problem in the making of the sort that called out to him. The three lads were destined by lineage, ability and training to be leaders of the community, such being the way of the village. Yet these three were bent on discord; pairing off in exclusion of the third on any task, or acting alone when a team effort might allow of ease and facility. They must be offered an opportunity to choose a different path – to find a better balance ‘tween will and folly – such being the challenge of all men.
Each afternoon when shadows were half-tall, while women were attending small children and men preparing for nightfall, the Gusari would embrace the gaggle of youths drawn to play and craft. This day Kiyan had each bring a number of small stones to a gathering by a Linden tree. There he showed how to mix the sap of a special bush with soot to form a permanent ink. A shaved raven quill then served to paint on each stone a symbol selected by the child of giving such that each was unique. He added dots for decoration, but also that he might know the identity of the child in secret code. Some were totems, some were objects in nature and others were of imagination, yet all touched on the spirit of the child – such being the way of divination.
The Casting Stones were hidden in a pouch formed of a gathered cloak. The youngest girl reached in and selected three Casters for those who might be ‘volunteers’ for a Sounding. By chance, it seems, these three were quickly identified as belonging to the three lads, who came forth to the cheers of the others, for they were popular if naught else. It was but a game of course, as those not yet matured by ‘right of passage’ could not participate in serious ‘soothing’ – they had not the experience of knowing and value upon which a Sounding could be based. Everyone knew that the only way to influence one’s future was to change perceptions of the past. Yet, all can learn from games as well as the hunt and chore and example and crone lesson – such is the way of children. So it began.
Each by each in turn, the Gusari performed a Sounding for the three, mixed with some juggling and simple slight-of-hand effects with the stones – always with mirth and pretended clumsiness. The lad of the moment selected nine Casters from the pouch – these to shake together and toss upon a grass mat. There they grouped in patterns and relationships of purport known only to Kiyan, though all could see the symbols on face-up stones, and giggle when the hidden ones were turned over – anticipation and guessing having their role to play. Of these the Gusari wove a story for the ‘seeker’, making no presentaments nor identifying the child linked with each Caster. And I need not bore you with particulars, but only the weaving of perceptions that fell like rain upon the lads of choosing.
Each came to know how important it was to rise above the differences that separated them from the others, and to understand the value of working together for the needs of the community. The Soundings were resplendent with phrases like, “when you are lonely you should seek the nest of an eagle,” that being the totem of one of the other boys; or “when you feel upset with another’s actions, cleans yourself in bright waters,” a waterfall being a symbol created by the other youth. Other children were involved also, none realizing that the Gusari knew the ownership of each stone and could draw upon observed attributes and reactions to enhance the ‘magic’ of the Soundings. Each child could draw from the stories that which made sense to them alone while wondering at why their friends seemed to laugh in strange places. Three Soundings, three stories – three blendings of earth and heart and mind and spirit from which the three boys might choose a different path – a chance to grow, never a command. Such is the way of the teacher.
Kiyan knew he would not pass this way again for many years, and might never know of the choices made as these three became men and leaders. For but a moment did his shadow cross theirs. That the game would have an impact on their thoughts he had no doubt. That his future was also bound by the choice to engage the three boys in the process of ‘attention and retention’ was also embraced – such being the way of knowing …
such being the way of faith.
faucon (sent by Trigor)
aletta
While walking around the Quay in North Vancouver yestrday I found myself in front o0f some very nostalgic windows. One rarely sees them anymore, the ones with dolls that move.
So I thought I would share them with you, and wish you all the warmest wishes for the coldest and shortest days, unless of course you are in the other hemisphere, in which case I am envious of your long warm days, but send you the same fervent wishes for a happy season all the same.
aletta mes
The couch was the color of an autumn mustard plant, firm yet comfortable to relax upon. The orange, red trim hit the back of my knees and felt slightly stinging like that of a summer’s last mosquito bite. Running my hand across the nap of the couch, turned the intense colors of fall from dark to light, even in the well worn places …
Souls of heaven by birth
Given time carried on wings
Of angels, sparrows, ravens
Live and prove our worth
Whatever time brings
On wings of angels, sparrows, ravens
Fruit of labours, watered by tears
Of those left behind.
Return to heaven on wings of angels, sparrows, ravens.
aletta mes
This was one I did for my kids when they were toddlers, that one was in markers and board, this would be the hi-tech version for the grandkids:
aletta
Snowy days,
Warmth kept in scarves,
and bulky clothes
Older ways
Friendly gatherings
under lampposts
Meaning stays
in spite of change
and time
Snowflake plays
on reddened faces,
waiting tongues
Aletta Mes
the full all out video, with soundtrack, versions can be seen at www.gooboobtube.com and soon on my website
Shreds of cloudwith pinkand silver lining.
Birds resting on the roof ridge – a feathered convention
chirping excitedly
as
upper breezes paint the sky
with broad strokes
dipped in passing clouds,
curved like horns of plenty.
Pink glides into
silver, then antique white
set in blue as
the sun,
a brilliant pulsating orb
appears on the stage,
commanding attentionas
as a diva commands
her audience
before lifting her voice
to the heavens.
Life giving energy
pushes the night away,
and the darkness,
before announcing that
another day has dawned
with light to see
each other
for what we really are -
travelers on this ship of hope -
this Blue Planet.
Revel in the music
until the final note
fades in the western sky.
It is from here,
my friends,
that we will spread our wings and fly into the unknown,
beyond our sun -.
We are the People of the Dawn.
Our day is yet to come.
Vi Jones©December 1, 2006
Departure day was hectic due to the late RV pick-up the evening before. Somewhere, in the dark recesses of consciousness the radio account of the unseasonal, 22-inch snowfall in Buffalo, New York registered, but went unpondered. So much to haul in and stow away, I didn’t even glance at the map until seated in the driver’s seat. By then it was after 5:00 P.M., and I was well on the way towards violating my only fixed rule, to drive 500 miles each day.
It was simple arithmetic; Las Vegas, the destination was 2,500 miles from home, allowing me 5 days, plus one grace day to arrive on time for my meeting. Clear skies, a temperature in the balmy 70’s; I am soaring with adrenalin, anxious to make up for lost time. Dear husband A.K.A. DH, was soon napping comfortably in the navigator’s seat. I decided to drive until fatigue overcame.
Six hours later the rocky hills of western Pennsylvania were far behind, and soon the cliffs of West Virginia. Now, the flat eastern Ohio plains loomed an endless expanse. Without warning, the temperature plummeted and gales of 50 miles per hour smacked against the sides of the RV. When passing by a tractor-trailer, the only other inhabitants of the road, the force of the wind would hit with such intensity that time hung suspended before control of the vehicle returned.… we momentarily were floating.
Mental fatigue was not the compelling reason to pull over, rather it was the muscle ache in my shoulders from resisting the wind’s invitation to yield, and all the little screaming muscles in my fingers clasped for hours in death-grip on the wheel.
It was evident that truck drivers are mandated to prescribed hours of rest along their haul. Most pulled into the rest areas interspersed along the interstate every 40 miles or so. I gratefully spied one such facility, but quickly found all spaces occupied. The thought of continuing was untenable. I took the only alternative, drove through, and parked on the side of the access ramp back onto the highway, exposed to the full brute force of the wind and cold.
The outside temperature had fallen to 29 degrees F. a drop of 40+ degrees in a matter of hours, I moved quickly to start the generator that fired the propane heater. We basked in the warmth as hunger mixed with relief.
No one mentioned that the microwave run simultaneously with the furnace would trip the circuit breaker. Suddenly, we lost heat, light and electricity. The cold began to penetrate rapidly throughout the interior. A search for the reset button proved futile and by the time we made it into the bed, DH felt colder than any living body I had ever touched; not just his extremities, but also his trunk, which was raked with chill-spasms. Fortunately, we packed a heavy quilt and I wrapped it tightly around him. Still he trembled and shivered, and his core temperature continued to fall. Panic-stricken, I suddenly remembered an account of adventurers stranded in the arctic, stripping bare and huddling together in a sleeping bag….flesh warming flesh.
Thus, we survived the night, and as the morning sun began to warm the interior, he whispered softly in my ear, “At least I would have died with a smile on my face.”
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