I had left my fleshy over coat of a body lying safely in my bed. This want unusual I did this most nights, orange glow of the salt lamp beside my head. Purring black cat curled beside my feet as the misty egg shaped craft enfolded me rocked gently as it carried my to the safety of the second road astral plane.
The misty egg dispersed revealing the beauty of this place which always made me smile.
I pushed open the squeaky mental gate stepped onto the winding path to my left a field of barley gently swaying in the warm breeze sound of grass hopers and salty smell of the ocean to my right is a beautiful meadow wild flowers scattered like paint on a canvas.
The path leads to my temple just before it stand two guardian yew trees and a tall slim man watching me walk towards him. He is leaning on a garden hoe tending the herbs that grow beside the temple doors.
Its Joe I smile as I reach him his sparkly blue eyes smile by themselves weathered leathery skin from all the hours tending the gardens.
He holds out his hand and hands me a key label tied with old piece of string reads time.
He pushes open the huge oak doors to the temple and I step into the cool hallway candle light flickers as I step into the small room to my left.
I undress and change into the red robe that is hanging there for me.
The stone floor clod on my feet.
I continue down the hallway holding the key.
Almost muffled sound of drumming an ancient beat steady and reassuring.
I reach the end of the hall way there in the archway of the old stained glass window overlooking the beach is an old woman gently humming a tune that seems so familiar?
As she hums she spins a silken almost glass like thread on her old spinning wheel.
As the thread catches the light it seems to throw off prisms of light pictures like old cine film. Of places I’ve been people I know, memories.
She smiles never taking her fingers from the wheel or slowing down and the thread spins on.
The pile of material she is spinning from seems to grow quickly smaller as I watch.
What is this I say crouching down beside it.
It reminds me of blown dandelion seeds, wishes?
It is so beautiful.
It is time my child she says as a single tear runs down her cheek.
I look at the keys label ‘time’
But your almost out of thread I say I have the key shall I get more for you to spin?
Everything has a begging and a end my child she whispers as the last piece of thread runs though her fingers and the wheel runs free.
There is a gush of wind she stands up before me and opens the clock she is wearing.
The lining of the cloak shines before me it is the universe our galaxy there is our blue planet circling our sun.
A pin like explosion sparks from it.
Then another and another. Until just like seeds from a dandelion it is gone.
She steps forward wraps her cloak around me and everything begins to spin.
Raven Wordsmith 🖤
Unwanted uninvited disruptive demon visitor made of twisted rope.
Knotted tightly. It surrounded you with a sack of amniotic
Dulls the hearing blocks concentration replaces joy with black thunderous
It is heavy to carry feels impossible to put down,
Steals breath from free deep breathing to panicked shallow gasps
It engulfs not some of you all of you.
It wraps you tightly within its self until it is you,
You are it.
It will leave but only when it has completed its mission.
To drain you of strength replacing it with terror.
As it slides away slowly and your breath returns
You are reminded that it has not left completely an
invisible string joins you to it.
It can return at anytime no warning.
It crouches in the dark corners of your mind
Watching waiting until stress fear or uncertainty call it back to
Anxiety is the disruptive demons name.
I lie in my bed.
Right arm arcing around my head.
Like a waxing moon.
It’s almost 3am I don’t need the clock to know.
Silicone ear plugs block external sounds.
Soft orange glow of my salt lamp.
Gentle contented purr of sleeping feline .
Words of yet unbaked poems float across centre stage of my mind.
Pad and pen are just out of reach.
I sigh Pendle witch hangs from my celing sways in the breeze of the window sitting on her broom legs dangling metal rimmed glasses perched on her nose .
She knows my nightly dilema.
The canal bank sleeps.
Ducks and geese huddled together settled
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
The bardic door in my mind creaks and swings open wide.
Vast library beckons long wooden table and open fire, walls of ceiling high book cases winged back chair and footstool.
Words flow like the raindrops running my window.
I rise from my bed.
Pick up my glasses and my pen.
The Pendle witch smiles as ink pours onto the page the story unfolds and grows.
Time doesn’t exist here.
This is the land of stories, magic
Of tribe anything is possible here.
Words are powerful.
Write it, chant it, sing it, speak it.
Hold out your hands.
For it shall be
Quietly, stealth like he returns home as the dawn breaks.
I hear the quiet yet familiar ‘click’ of the door.
Heralding his safe return.
I know his routine after a night with the ladies, and chasing things he doesn’t always catch.
He will sit now alone in our kitchen.
As he rushing out eager for the the ensuing shenanigans.Without a backward glance.
He will take his time now eating.
No morning rush.
He calls into the lounge to bid our dog saffie good morning a cuddle before creeping upstairs to bed.
Slides under the covers lies beside me.
Yawning and stretching
A flash of the most beautiful almond shaped blue eyes.
Looks up at me as I rise to get ready for work.
Mysterious Beautiful oriental.
Lucifer my Siamese boy.
Oh to have the life of a pampered feline.
I love feeling like I fit.
I love accepting that sometimes I just don’t .
I love star gazing at 3am
I love Ravens, church yards and solitude
I love the knowledge that although life is truly beautiful.
It is sometimes hard.