Of Owl and Water, Tower and Tree

I am in the tower of the School of Life. I want to skip class to go and help my friend who is being bullied. I ask to go to the bathroom. The School Marm tells me to use the bathroom upstairs, so I cannot slip away. I go to use the bathroom upstairs.

I come back to class and announce before everyone that it is flooded, and request to use the bathroom downstairs. Succinct and terse, the Matron of the School allows me to go downstairs. I slip from the tower, and run into the surrounding forest.

There, I rescue my friend from her bullies. Upon returning to the School of Life, I discover a colossal tidal wave about to crash into the top of the tower. I enter and run up the stairs and run down the corridors. It is dark. Students are in the halls and passageways panicking. I can hear their footfalls and confusion and screams.

I enter my now empty classroom the moment the wave hits the tower, slamming into it with the force of non-existence. It rips off the classroom door, and thrashes around the teacher’s desk, behind which I am now hiding. It tears alongside washing away the furniture of the classroom.
It does not touch me. From the top of the tidal wave a round gargantuan feathered head rises. It is Spirit. It is totemic. It is Owl. Her body, large and round, is covered with feathers of dark, iridescent blue, highlighted with hematite, flecked with pearl.

Her chest, home of the chakra of the heart, is covered with downy feathers of pure white light. Her talons, beak and eyes are a luminous, shimmering gold. She emerges entirely from the wave and gives chase. I turn to run, leaping from the tiny tower window to the meadow far below and into the forest.

I hide amongst the resting flower faeries. I hide amongst the sleeping mole babies, snuggling up against their mother as if I too were her baby. Owl seeks me. She sees me. She finds me. Owl is the Seeker of Truth … The Seer of Truth … The Revealer of Truth. She reveals me. I cannot run from Truth. I cannot run from myself.

In every dream, the dreamer is every power. I am the power of Truth. I am the power of Owl. I am the power of my bullied friend. I am the power of the School Marm, the Matron of the School of Life. I am the power of the forest. I am the power of the Tower.

I am the power of the tidal wave. I am the power of the power of the flower faerie. I am the power of the Mole Mother, and of her baby, and of myself. I am the power of dreaming, and thus The Dreaming ends.

Brightly-spun wonders,
Rev. Faemore Lorei <3.~

Starsong

In the quiet of the night the stars sing. The music they make speaks of ancient times, present wonders and worlds still yet to come. They twinkle with throbbing pulse, sparkle with swelling voice, and shine with all the glory of their song. With a single refrain they conjure forth reveries. With the simplest melody they call into being our desires. And as their bright, silvery notes lift us farther and further into mythic realms of recurring whens and distant otherwheres, we can see their smiles, and hear their laughter and touch that joyous society if only when in harmony with our own human heart. Through the composition of their starry chants they connect with us, gifting us with the loveliness of their light, the beauty of their bond and the secret of their solitude. Through the creation of those glittering tones, we are inspired to explore this world and to seek our place within it. For stars are the duirwaighs to dreams and wishes come true, and as the music they sing cascades over us every night, we know that we are free to be joyous and to believe and that they are gazing back at us in return.

Brightly-spun, wonder-woven,
Lady Faemore Lorei

Dragon

I open eyes that see the flame of life, the warmth of blood, the fire of spirit. My body, long and lean and lithe, ripples with energy therein restrained, ripples with excitement of pending flight. I lift, I leap, I soar … I am airborne … I am thrusting, straining, reaching towards the stars and their song and the night sky. Here in the airs and the winds of night, it is cool and it is calm, it is flight and it is freedom. Here in the dark and the quiet of night, it is release and it is rapture, it is ecstasy and it is enlightenment. Here upon the skies of night I feel joy as zephyrs and winds rip over my scales and whisper in my heart. Here upon the skies of night I scent chances waiting to be captured. I taste hopes waiting to be claimed. Here upon the skies of night I hear the call of the stars and in the feeling of the clouds tearing across my face, I see nearing … a distant home.

Brightly-spun, wonder-woven,
Lady Faemore Lorei

Solitude

In solitude I know the breath of healing. In solitude I understand the awareness of self … and selflessness. In solitude I learn my truest needs, for I recognise the silence, not as suffering, but as a cocoon, and as a womb encircling me, enveloping me, quieting the tempest of my emotion, stilling the chaos of my thoughts, healing the upheaval of my spirit, until all is closed, controlled and calm. I see the stillness, not as torture, but as the bridge connecting my consciousness with my being, as the guide leading me into audience with my awareness and with who I am. I know solitude, not as torment, but as the way to know my self apart from other, even within myself. I know solitude as the battleground on which the drama of my light and shadow unfolds, unfurls, is enacted. I know solitude as the path of completion, absolution, wholeness, independence and as the realm in which fears must be overcome lest they consume, and as the world in which demons are vanquished lest they win, and as the place in which I shall triumph over all darkness. So mote it be.

Brightly-spun, wonder-woven,
Lady Faemore Lorei

Creatures

Tonight the grasshoppers’ symphony rises. They create a fantasy realm with whistles and strings and stardust. In the dark they are the light, they image the faces and the expressions of the moon and her shadows, guiding me gently home. They are a part of the orchestra of the night time sun, harmonising with my own light and shadows, 'tween trees and dreams and shadowland realms. Tonight the bats share their secrets and explore this world of night with me. Their voices lead me into internal caves, smaller than the eye, for it is within the mind. Their silhouettes form a nest of trees as they settle ‘round me, warm, breathing, alive. They take me for a flight, and as I soar and circle, I come home, returning to earth in the sky, to feed on the night collective, as its winds lift me higher. Tonight the frogs chirp and the owls they hoot, and fill me with much wisdom. Knowledge of the underground, and all the paths circling round and round are in the maps of their eyes, and the stories of their voice. I ride on their backs beneath the skies of the earth, and they all say welcome home.

Brightly-spun, wonder-woven,
Lady Faemore Lorei

Moon

I am the maiden. I am the girl, eternally young. I am the beginning of life, I am the birth of the circle, of the spiral, the first movement, the first tender touch, the first awareness of divinity. I am that which is becoming everlasting. I am the being growing into being. I am the dawn of the day in the night. I am the new. I am the child. I image the moment life starts to evolve, I image the moment of life first living. I am the beginning.

I am the mother. I am the woman, forever nurturing, forever begetting, forever growing. I am the growing, the becoming, the progress past the beginning into the future, into the end. I am the birther, the circle itself, the life. I am the continuity of life, of fresh starts, first movements, the moment in which life spirals onward, to produce more life. I am being. I am the being. I am the evening and the autumn of wisdom and of death and rebirth. I am life. I am the giver of being. I am the mother. I am growth, evolution, being, becoming, the production of life and the living. I am full. I was becoming. Now I lessen. I wane.

I am the crone. I am the old woman. I am eternity. I am the end. I am the demise, the death. I am that which is waning, dying. I am the last, only to be first. I am the end of the cycle of rebirth and life and living. I am everlasting, I am what has become. I am the last of being; the dusk and the night, the hearth of the dead. I am old. I am the wise. I image decay and nothingness, devolution. I am the taker of life; welcoming the deceased, delivering the spirit through the night of death, across death’s flood. I am the darkness, the regression into the Mother’s womb; the bearer of the Maiden’s light; the light of rebirth. The final moments. The culmination of motion and movement. The cessation of being. The last spiral of the cycle. The end of the beginning. I am the end. I am the wisdom gathered and the life spent. The ending of the day, the night from which the dawn shall be birthed, yet I am death, taking the dawn away, dragging the being under. I am the reaper, the underbelly of life and the living. The final aspect of life’s symbolism, death’s bearer.

Brightly-spun blessings,
Wonder woven joys,
Lady Faemore Lorei

Silent Night

The silence of night is awakening. It awakens the pagan in me, it rushes me like the wind on a star-filled, moonlit night and I am flying. The realm of darkness and dreams and whimsy speaks to me here. The world of the dreaming and its inhabitants call me, they beckon me inward to the state where we are spirits dancing within visions. Here it is lucid, and lovely. The dreamscape is my room in the house of my night. Auntie Moon is there and my cousins the stars. In the underground of consciousness, I dwell, I am. I am the blanket of stars, I am the light of the moon, I am the pervading, dancing shadow on the outskirts of perception, I am the inner light keeping fear at bay within this carnival of dream and sleep. The waters are silent but stirring as we sleep, as we dream and I am its darkness, the darkness of slumber and dream visions and night images. I am that which is unseen in the dead of the night, but you know is there, silent, and seeing you.

Brightly-spun blessings,
Wonder-woven love,
Lady Faemore