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Poetry
November 2009 
THE TREMENDOUS, TITANIC TALE THUNDERS ON . . .
Posted on Jul 26th, 2008
by 
Dryad
Dryad
* I have just walked back into Gaia for the first time in almost a month. My mail box is full of unanswered letters. I have two pieces that need to go up on the Blog and I must finish that first. This is the first so as to end up second . . . you know. It will be up for sometime while I finish the other. If you come here in between, it will seem odd. The rest is coming.
I am actually doing quite well, while dealing with some new health issues such as another major fall. I am still diligently working on the positive side, exercising, drinking lots of water (thank you baby Elisa) meditating, trying to sleep . . . SOON the negative will go away and there will be a lot of plus behind the scenes.
I love you all and I am so very, very glad to be HOME.
Blessings ~ Dryad
Edwina
THE TREMENDOUS, TITANIC TALE THUNDERS ON . . .
The next part of my extravaganza. These range from birthday presents to ‘Just Thinking Of You’ notes . . . several months late. “I was ‘just thinking about you, back on March 15th . . . (There was this Soothsayer mumbling around about Ides . . . )
I would start on one of these projects, work quire diligently, but not get ‘quite’ done and then something else would happen and I would run off and start something else . . . which I also didn’t finish. Most of these were, literally, half done, there were some that were ‘almost’ done. There is something extremely unsatisfying about work that is incessantly, invariably unfinished. I found that I was doing it with everything - never getting anything to completion - and that it left me feeling slightly frantic and fragmented all the time. I couldn’t stand to let them all go, but I couldn’t see the end of ever finishing them either. I didn’t want to abandon them and I didn’t want the work to become drudgery. I cannot create that way, everything would have been flat and wrong. I couldn’t see the point in that.
I was lucky to have some time with my computer and without internet. It was very interesting, the difference in my work. I am not unplugging the internet, but I am aware of the difference now. Once I got started I worked happily during the hours that I was vertical. Rested. Walked. It was good.
And so, I have turned over a new leaf. Along with learning and practicing the fine art of NOT writing “War and Peace” in every e-mail, I hope to begin more consistently bringing my work to finality. Finish what you start. Put away the toys you were playing with before you get out new toys. You know what you have when you turn over a new leaf ? The other side of a leaf. The Aspen is my tree, however, and the Aspen turns over it’s leaves constantly, a ceaseless dance of turning over all it’s leaves, again and again. Originality. Freshness. To really experience the new, you need to finish and close the old. A wonderful metaphor. I feel happy to be on the road to translating it into reality.
Some of these are months over-due and the reason for making them is gone - I’m including them anyway, since I did do each one specifically for someone and it is an important step toward uncovering the other side of that leaf. Some of these were meant to go into Vastly-Bloated-Thank-You-Card (VBTYC) They would have been in the section titled “Support.” It turned out that there were so many, that it would further bloat the already bloated, possibly bringing it into a state of ‘Beyond-Bloat’, which would create a Beastly- Big-Bleary-Beyond-Bloat-Blog and that would be just . . . bad.
There. If any of you were harboring any fears that I am not totally myself, that should lay them to rest. I you were harboring fears that I AM still totally myself . . . sorry about that! :-P
This is by no means everyone I need to thank, acknowledge or celebrate - these just happened to be what I had half finished and was able to complete. I really do feel a marvelous sense of closure and completion and I am so glad to be able to give each of these to their various owners.
** Also note that there are a few of these “presents” inside the VBTYC. There are two paintings for Jaguar Goddess: “Bliss Cat” and “Courage.” There are two otters which I didn't paint. I keep finding them, however, two by two. So they are for my fellow otter, Otter! Me & You! There is a very special painting that I have been working on for a long time for Katherine Estelle Eveningstar titled “The Goddess Rocking” and two paintings that I have done in the past for my dear friend Megan, who is Raven here at Gaia. If you have not met Raven, drop over and say hello. She is a remarkable woman and my dear friend through all kinds of thicks and thin. Raven is here: http://ravens.gaia.com/
Here are your own Raven's darling Megan. I am so glad that you are here. Now that I am getting better we must get serious about Playing!
Circle in the Sun - For Raven
FOR JENA
Jena . . . she is the girl who began it all. The first time I looked at “Playing Beside Dryad’s Bed” last December I was utterly astounded at how much was there . . . how many people had come to send love and well wishes. My first thought was that Jena had pulled them all in just by the sheer force of her will. Like all other magnificent forces of nature, Jena’s will is nothing to take lightly. Some days I think she is running the entire world from her den in the 4th Dimension. The only reason that I know this isn’t true is because if Jena were running the world, the world would be in a lot better shape. It is Jena I need to thank most and it is Jena who needs no thanks but my being whole. So, I am working. Each day when I walk on my Nordic Track, when I drink my eight glasses of water and choke down all my vitamins, I am saying “Thank You” to Jena. Each meditation session that I come away from centered, each time I stop a self directed negative thought, I am Thanking Jena. I have come to think of a lot of the things I do every day as: “Thanking Jena.” Her strength and energy shelter me when I am weak, pull me on as I get stronger, give me a goal to aim for.
FOR JENA
Sometimes I turn the Grace Shower Pink!
When I had the rather, um, ambitious idea that I would make something for everyone who had written to me, I started with Jena. And that was about as far as I got! This is one piece that is still not finalized. It will be a series of paintings on the Cycle of the Phoenix. The circles and cycles of the earth are a great love of mine. The Phoenix, Jena’s bird, is a rapid and somewhat violent example of all these cycles. Creation in fast motion. Here is a one of the paintings from the series, it is titled ‘Phoenix Rising.’
Phoenix Rising - For Jena
Jena’s business is hands. I seem to think of Jena whenever I see hands (that is quite often!) The next piece is quite different than my usual style. I like to do something completely different occasionally. It keeps me from getting my toes in a rut. I had a lot of fun doing this.
Jenazhandz
FOR PERIDOT
Peridot is a beautiful green gem who lives at Play-Pod, Gaia, Earth, Milky Way, Universe. Sometimes. When Peri chose a name for herself she certainly did it right, for she is the Gem of Gaia. “A person who is as brilliant and precious as a piece of jewelry.” The definition is perfect, except that I can’t imagine a piece of jewelry as brilliant and precious as our Peridot. Why cross the wide seas searching for treasure when the greatest treasure of all is right in our own back yard?
Well, one reason might be because crossing the wide seas is fun. Another reason might be that we were playing Hide&Seek and we were IT! Then we might go searching for treasure because Peri would be hiding somewhere! Otherwise, we would take our treasure with us and then everything will be twice as happy, sixteen times more joyful and a thousand-million-trillion-bazillion times more FUN. Peri, you see, knows how to PLAY, which means she can be anywhere at anytime. She can even be in several places at the same time! The ability to PLAY is a get out of jail free card, a passport that will take you to enchanted foreign lands, exotic worlds, backwards in time, forward in time, deep into time and in circles around it. I suspect that if we could see Peri’s face we would see a blissful, dreaming look come across it often. I know that look, it is one of my favorite outfits. When they took away the swings and sandbox, when they took away the time and the permission, I learned to take the Playground inside my head. In the years that followed, I only found one person who still knew how to play. The ugly part of the world took my playmate away and I was alone again. I did finally get some more playmates, but I had to make them myself! Well, OK, I had some help, but most of it I did all myself. They were swell and they still know how to play, but they have all run off and are playing with other people! They ditched me!
Then I found Peri, or she found me, or Barry, the Gaia Phenomenon, hooked us up and once again, I was not alone because, Peri, not only knows HOW to play, she LIKES to play and she gets EXCITED! and she doesn’t roll her eyes saying “This is stupid. I’m so bored” with her eyebrows or “You are crazy” with her crossed arms. Wait a minute! I don’t know what Peri is doing with her arms or her eyebrows! I can’t see her. But, you know what? I still KNOW that she doesn’t roll her eyes saying “I’m so bored” with her eyebrows or “You are crazy” with her crossed arms. This is all a gift of such awe and wonder, that I won’t ever be able to even tell what it means, no less say thank you adequately.
All of the Mod Squad have done a tremendous job keeping PLAY-POD a-float while I was busy cracking-up, mending-up, healing, learning. But I think we all know that it is Peri who does the work, who watches things carefully and takes care of what needs to be taken care of. Peri was with me during the conception and construction of PLAY-POD, right from the beginning. Peridot is the Gem of Gaia, the Treasure of PLAY-POD; she is my friend, my sister, my companion, my co-creator, most of all she is my Playmate. And I am SO glad.
For Peridot
WE WRITE ON WALLS!
FOR MARY AND PERI
This one is for Peri and Mary. Mary, where are you? Where are those poor little girls stranded on top of somewhere without their horses? Where are the horses? Are THESE the lost horses? Do you think? Where on earth are they?! And WHAT did they do . . . run through a rainbow?
Kaleidoscope Horses Dance the Burning Sea
Truthfully, it’s all a dodge. I made it all as colorful and splashy as I could in an attempt to lure Mary back to us. Isn’t that what they do when catching fish? Make the lures bright and colorful? The whole world gets decked out in color during the spring, hoping to lure summer to come and stay forever. Of course it never stays, but it does show up with astonishing regularity. I have even included a kaleidoscope of horses. I’ll make one for every color of the Cloudbow and you can spin it and watch the crystal horses tumble and dance. “I’ll Tumble 4 U” (By Boy George &/Or the Horses) You know that you don’t ever have to write any story, just come and play. When there isn’t time for stories, lets write poems. When there isn’t time for poems, lets write short poems. When there isn’t time for short poems lets write four letter words on the wall.
1. W M P P P P
2. A A E O O O
3. L R R O E N
4. L Y I H M Y
O-Wh-air-O-wh-AIR- R U? Are you busy doing dreadfully earnest, groan-up things that are substantial and significant? These things can reversed. People have been saved. There are rehabilitation programs. If this is the case ~ do not despair. We will stay beside you through everything. Remember: Love means never having to say you’re sorry. Tomorrow is another day. A spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down. May the Force be with you. Lets get out of these wet clothes and into a dry martini. Follow the, Follow the, Follow the, Follow the, Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Here's Looking at YOU kid!
THE INCREDIBLE, EARTH SHAKING NEWS
This is incredible, earth shaking news. You will not find it on Yahoo News, nor ABC, NBC the BBC or Oh Say Can You C. You will only find it here. Only people with a great deal of stick2ativeness will make it this far. THUS = Only a few people will know. Mary. Peri. The Pioneer Playsters ~ Founding Playmates of PLAY-PODism. (Here, she is overcome with emotion for a moment. Someone hands her a tissue. She thinks what a truly fine/odd word tissue is. She says it several times in her head, contemplates saying it out loud, decides no, dabs the sides of her eyes then wads the tissue in her hand. She muses on the truly delicious onomatopoeia involved in the opposite sounds of ‘tissue’ and ‘wad’. Seriously considers mentioning this. Decides no. ) A hem:
I have invented/discovered the PLAY-POD SONNET.
Yes, folks it is a brand new form of a sonnet to stand bravely beside the Shakespearian Sonnet and the English Sonnet, which are the same thing, and confidently beside the Italian Sonnet and the Petrarchan Sonnet, which are the same thing. It will rival the Spenserian Sonnet because no one ever writes the Spenserian Sonnet, no one ever DID write the Spenserian Sonnet because Spenserian Sonners are convoluted. Spencer probably didn’t like writing the Spenserian Sonnet. Spenser was not particularly convoluted, just long winded, but his sonnet is convoluted. I am long winded, but my sonnet is NOT convoluted. The New and Marvelous PLAY-POD Sonnet will vastly surpass the Miltonic Sonnet, since Milton was Milton and had a sonnet in his bonnet, among other flaws. I will NOT be unveiling the HISTORY MAKING PLAY-POD SONNET until I have you both beside me (cyberish) with sharpened quills in your hands, your parchment before you, wearing yellow knickers.
FOR LIBUSKA
It is not a secret that I cry fairly easily. Strangely, I very rarely cry because I am sad or because of pain. I cry a lot, but they are almost always happy tears, “touched” tears, tears of wonder, tears of awe. Tears for beauty. Tears for love. Babies make me cry. Redwoods make me cry. I cried when I first heard about the Inklings. You know, that C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were friends and sat around the Bird & Baby in Oxford drinking pints, smoking their pipes and discussing their work. The fact that these men I loved had known and loved each other was just so wonderful that had to cry.
It was much the same kind of crying when I opened up my Grace Shower Board and found a message from Libuska, who is my own little sister. The fact that Gaia and Libuska are together just made me so incredibly happy. Those of you who are participating in the Grace Shower may have felt her presence. She has a strong, sweet, clear presence that makes everything better just by being there. The fact that we didn’t manage to have the same parents during this turning was an accident or something, as was getting born on two different sides of a deep wide sea, but it doesn’t matter. Libuska is the little sister of my heart ~ Alpha to Omega ~ around and within all the circles of time.
Libuska’s icon is a painting that I did of her dancing - when I really couldn’t paint very well. I cried when I saw that too. Not because the painting was so bad, but because it brought back happy memories. There was a story that went with that painting about a man looking for treasure when he didn’t understand at all what treasure is. Then a beautiful woman with red hair who was dancing in a white dress among purple flowers came . . . perhaps she taught him something worth knowing. I don’t know . . . the story ended there. I have hope for the man. He is somewhere in time eternal where a goddess is teaching him to waltz, something she knows very much about.
I went looking for a quote about sisters or sisterhood to put with the new painting I made for Libuska. I found some that were nice, but none that were right. So, I had to write one. Actually, I had to write two. (Don't tell) One is serious and one is silly. And then a friend you love who loves you too. Welcome to Gaia, my dearest!
Sisterhood is one of the Great Mysteries. Made of friendship, but more than friendship, it is a love different than any other. It is everything from a two-year-old puzzling at an ultra-sound picture to the Sisterhood of Gaia ~ all the women of planet earth, each a sister to the other. It is anything and everything between. Sisters are bound by secrets, telephone wires, memories, kite strings, whispers in the night. A sister is a haven and harbor ~ always open; a sanctuary and shelter from a world that is not always easy, not always kind. Whatever life may throw in hurt or havoc at your face, someone has eternally got your back. Sisterhood is laughter, listening, understanding, joy; a heart that continually celebrates you and glories in your every success; a shoulder that swallows tears; an ear that listens, an ear that hears; arms that hold you, soft and secure ~ even when those arms are not physically present. The miles between you do not matter, nor the time spent apart. Sisterhood is a bond that time cannot sever, nor miles erase. It is not complicated or complex, it is strong, solid and sure - a knowing that is simply unending. “You are not alone. You are never alone. I am here.”
"I am here."
©Edwina Peterson Cross
NERUDA MOON ~ FOR JEANNIE ~ "I am here."
©Edwina Peterson Cross
Sisterhood
This is for Jeannie ~ Rapunzel. I owe Jeannie a great debt of gratitude for information that has made my recovery so much easier, more comfortable, quicker. This painting, however, was/is a birthday present. It is several months late. I started it over several times. It had to be . . . deep enough? Resonant? Empty? Full? I can’t even say what I mean with words, but it had to be something for me to even think of associating it with Pablo Neruda, who I consider one of the greatest masters of the art I love. The painting, somehow, had to hold rain. I left it several times thinking I was being somewhere west of arrogant to even think I could pair a painting with a Neruda poem. I do have one poem titled “After Neruda.” I guess I feel a good deal more confident in that medium. In the end, it was not really what I had envisioned, but I felt that I had at least touched the‘feel’ I was looking for. So, from one who loves ‘The Poet of Love” to another: Happy Birthday Jeannie. May you have many more, and may they all be spent in love.
Sonnet VIII
If your eyes were not the color of the moon,
of a day full [here, interrupted by the baby waking -- continued about 26
hours later ]
of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,
if even held-in you did not move in agile grace like the air,
if you were not an amber week,
not the yellow moment
when autumn climbs up through the vines;
if you were not that bread the fragrant moon
kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky,
oh, my dearest, I could not love you so!
But when I hold you I hold everything that is --
sand, time, the tree of the rain,
everything is alive so that I can be alive:
without moving I can see it all:
in your life I see everything that lives.
~ Pablo Neruda ~
Neruda Moon
FROSTING ON THE CAKE OF LIFE ~ FOR SPRITE ~
* Dancing Shoes of Bubbles Scented With Gold
* Mandolins on Malachite, Music Pearled and Feathered
* Sprite’s Forever Budding, Bursting into Bloom
This poem & these paintings for Sprite have been lurking “almost done” for a long time. They are her prize for solving a “Silent Treasure Hunt.” These are ‘planted’ here and there around Gaia, if you find one, you get a prize - hopefully before you are 99. This is such a great illustration of the leaf I am trying to turn over. After I finished the poem, I liked the images so much that I decided I had to do a painting for each one. That is just a little nuts, but at least I recognized it! What is funny is that out of all the bubbling, glistening, spriteful images I go and paint feathered mandolins on malachite? I’m often fascinated by the truly odd things I do. I did feel very good about the poem. I felt like it captured, in a way, the glittering, sparkling, scintillation of love and wonder that is Buddingspritelet. I loved making this for her.
Frosting on the Cake of Life
Love, hugs and peach champagne
Marshmallow ribbons and silver rain
Silver and satin, sugared with cold
Dancing shoes of bubbles scented with gold
Unicorns of lace, with licorice tethered
Mandolins on malachite, music pearled and feathered
Syncopated sunshine, rolled with a rock
Knights bearing lemon drops, that tickle and talk
Mornings of twilight, evenings of dawn
London in your pocket, when all the lint is gone
Poems made of kisses, snuggles made of snow
Shimmers at your fingertips, and tigers that grow
Grow bigger than the Parthenon with teeth of wax
Silent soup for supper, spiced with glue and flax
Sprite’s forever budding, bursting into bloom
Fill the world with sweetshine and lusterpeach perfume
Glaze and glint, gloss and gleam, giggle, glitter, glow
Glimmer, glisten, goodness, glancing, greenly grow
Shimmer in a sleekly sheen, scintillation, shine
Friends are life’s frosting and I’m glad your mine!
Edwina Peterson Cross
~ Dryad ~
THE DOOR IN THE FOREST ~ FOR LEAF ~
The Gaia Phenomenon. I suppose there are several Gaia Phenomenon. This particular phenomenon is the way like minded people find each other, often without either of them having done much of anything. Given that something happens between two people with neither of them doing anything, one might even begin to assume that their was a third force at work. (or a 4th, 5th, 6th ) I don’t know what it is. I named it ‘The Gaia Phenomenon’ just because that sounded more serious and stately than naming it, for instance, Barry.
Leaf and I had only to metaphorically ‘look’ at each other and we knew that we are soul sisters and probably have been for a very long time. We write infrequently and often not for a terrific length, but there is depth ~ a depth as rich and deep as the loam that covers the most secret and sacred parts of the forest; a depth of wind and wood, in that dark carpet made from the cycled-tears of trees and time; made by the fire of the sun as it slants through the lace of pine fingers, carrying a thin patina of last years dry leaves, hanging so silent in the sunspun air.
The Wood is always open, but perhaps your streets and sidewalks are safer. You won’t get run over by a truck or get your pocket picked here, but it is dangerous none the less. You could be run over by a sudden massive moon, an army of radiant beams pouring like a charge of the Fianna over the ebony hills. You might just get your heart picked by silent tears of starlight, shimmering like silver through the shivering trees. Yes. It is dangerous here. For it is here that things are real. The reality of horn and bone, of wide unblinking eyes gleaning and gathering gold in the twilight. The Mystery is here. Know that. Then come in. If you dare. Here is where you will find Leaf and Dryad, companions held eternal by the delicate dance of a swirling steam. Here you will find us . . . What else will you find? There is nothing for you to do but come and see ~ what you will see.
Love, hugs and peach champagne
Marshmallow ribbons and silver rain
Silver and satin, sugared with cold
Dancing shoes of bubbles scented with gold
Unicorns of lace, with licorice tethered
Mandolins on malachite, music pearled and feathered
Syncopated sunshine, rolled with a rock
Knights bearing lemon drops, that tickle and talk
Mornings of twilight, evenings of dawn
London in your pocket, when all the lint is gone
Poems made of kisses, snuggles made of snow
Shimmers at your fingertips, and tigers that grow
Grow bigger than the Parthenon with teeth of wax
Silent soup for supper, spiced with glue and flax
Sprite’s forever budding, bursting into bloom
Fill the world with sweetshine and lusterpeach perfume
Glaze and glint, gloss and gleam, giggle, glitter, glow
Glimmer, glisten, goodness, glancing, greenly grow
Shimmer in a sleekly sheen, scintillation, shine
Friends are life’s frosting and I’m glad your mine!
Edwina Peterson Cross
~ Dryad ~
Dancing shoes of bubbles scented with gold
Mandolins on malachite, music pearled and feathered
For Samme
THE DOOR IN THE FOREST ~ FOR LEAF ~
The Gaia Phenomenon. I suppose there are several Gaia Phenomenon. This particular phenomenon is the way like minded people find each other, often without either of them having done much of anything. Given that something happens between two people with neither of them doing anything, one might even begin to assume that their was a third force at work. (or a 4th, 5th, 6th ) I don’t know what it is. I named it ‘The Gaia Phenomenon’ just because that sounded more serious and stately than naming it, for instance, Barry.
Leaf and I had only to metaphorically ‘look’ at each other and we knew that we are soul sisters and probably have been for a very long time. We write infrequently and often not for a terrific length, but there is depth ~ a depth as rich and deep as the loam that covers the most secret and sacred parts of the forest; a depth of wind and wood, in that dark carpet made from the cycled-tears of trees and time; made by the fire of the sun as it slants through the lace of pine fingers, carrying a thin patina of last years dry leaves, hanging so silent in the sunspun air.
The Wood is always open, but perhaps your streets and sidewalks are safer. You won’t get run over by a truck or get your pocket picked here, but it is dangerous none the less. You could be run over by a sudden massive moon, an army of radiant beams pouring like a charge of the Fianna over the ebony hills. You might just get your heart picked by silent tears of starlight, shimmering like silver through the shivering trees. Yes. It is dangerous here. For it is here that things are real. The reality of horn and bone, of wide unblinking eyes gleaning and gathering gold in the twilight. The Mystery is here. Know that. Then come in. If you dare. Here is where you will find Leaf and Dryad, companions held eternal by the delicate dance of a swirling steam. Here you will find us . . . What else will you find? There is nothing for you to do but come and see ~ what you will see.
For Leaf ~ The Forest Door
Cast a ring on hallowed ground
Silent stones set in a round
Listen for an absent sound
Footsteps in the dew
Breath of life, deep green and slow
Here where noble giants grow
Magic and enchantment flow
And weave the hidden clue
Footprints on the forest floor
Spell out words of ancient lore
That tell the tale of a hidden door
That few may ere pass through
Shall we take this perilous chance?
Spin until we’re in a trance?
For we are two who know The Dance
Sister, me and you
We’ll bind wild ivy in our hair
Drink the words that are not there
We’ll dance a whirling, glistening prayer
Trace a door in the soft, green air
And laughing, we’ll fly through
©Edwina Peterson Cross
Cast a ring on hallowed ground
Silent stones set in a round
Listen for an absent sound
Footsteps in the dew
Breath of life, deep green and slow
Here where noble giants grow
Magic and enchantment flow
And weave the hidden clue
Footprints on the forest floor
Spell out words of ancient lore
That tell the tale of a hidden door
That few may ere pass through
Shall we take this perilous chance?
Spin until we’re in a trance?
For we are two who know The Dance
Sister, me and you
We’ll bind wild ivy in our hair
Drink the words that are not there
We’ll dance a whirling, glistening prayer
Trace a door in the soft, green air
And laughing, we’ll fly through
©Edwina Peterson Cross
The Door in the Forest
Elisa is my Gaia adopted daughter. She keeps me on my toes with her tricks, twingings and wonderful turning of words. Elisa has promised never to get any older than five; unlike that other kind of kid who grows up and runs away. This is a Yballul that I wrote for Elisa. It just may be the first Yballul in the world. A Yballul is the opposite of a lullaby. Instead of singing it to send a child to sleep, you sing it in the morning to wake them up. So much nicer than alarm clocks. I have been working on the painting for some time - my inspiration came from a beautiful mirror actually carved in wood and twined with living ivy. I wanted to buy one for Elisa, but they were not interested in swapping a poem for the $1000 mirror. Elisa’s name at Gaia is “Mirror.” Mine is “Dryad” . . . this is a coming together ~ A Dryad Mirror. Mine is more beautiful than the original, because of what you can see inside it.
MY MOMMY LOVES ME ~ YBALLUL FOR ELISA
My Mommy always loves me more and more each day
She doesn’t know just how she does, but she does it anyway
Did you know? My Mommy loves me even more than the sun
Sighing into twilight when the day dance is done
Did you know? My mommy loves me more than the moon
Floating through the sky like a fat, gold balloon
Did you know? My mommy loves me more than the stars
Like the fabrillion golden fireflies we catch in crystal jars
Then we let them all go and we follow their flight
Off into the velvet of a blooming summer night
We dance in secret passageways all across the skies
And swoop above a salt-green sea, the color of my eyes
Then we land, laughing, in my Mommy’s aspen tree
My mommy loves the aspen, but not as much as me
My mommy doesn’t love me just because I’m good
Or because I always do all the things that I should
About being good - sometimes I just don’t make it
Sometimes I even get caught, right out trying to fake it
But Mommy still loves me no matter what weird things I do
And I can do more quirky things than you could er’ construe!
Just who it is my Mommy loves could not be any clearer
She says she loves the Pixie who lives inside my mirror
My Mommy doesn’t love me just because I’m sweet
Or ‘cause I make great pancakes and sometimes wash my feet
It isn’t ‘cause I can skip, or climb the biggest tree
My Mommy says she loves me, just because I’m me
I told my mom I loved her too, and I hated to complain
But EVERYBODY says that, it really takes no brain
I told her she was really smart and clever as a cat
She could come up with an ending way less dorky than that
She thought a bit about it, then said “you know, it’s true
It’s kind of lame to say I love you because you’re you.”
“Great!” I said, “you’ve got it! I knew you understood!
I’m sure that you’ll come up with something wicked good.”
“I’ve got it!” she cried, excited. “This will end the poem just fine
I love you little sweet-feet - just because you’re mine!”
I guess I looked disgusted as I slumped back down the hall
“Sorry mom, you missed it. That’s just not it at all
Everything that you come up with sounds like a cliched pun.
This one’s just as beige and blah! as the other boring one.
Alas,” I sniffed, “I’m loved for reasons mediocre!”
“I love you,” yelled my mother, “cause you let me cheat at poker.
I love you cause you call last week, “those good old bygone days”
And because you never want to do what is ‘the latest faze.’
I love you ‘cause you dyed the cat to match your new plaid dress;
‘cause the Plummer’s the only person you ever try to impress.
I love you ‘cause you like to read with your feet stuck in the ditch;
And ‘cause you asked for you birthday for a philharmonic pitch.
I love you ‘cause you have the taste to love everything that’s pink.
I love you, darling daughter, ‘cause your feet? They REALLY STINK!”
“Thanks Mom!” I yelled, and smiled. I think the old girl’s got potential.
And its so nice to know you’re loved ~ for things so . . . consequential.
Written by The Dryad for Her Daughter Elisa
July, 2008 When Elisa is Five-Years-old
My Mommy always loves me more and more each day
She doesn’t know just how she does, but she does it anyway
Did you know? My Mommy loves me even more than the sun
Sighing into twilight when the day dance is done
Did you know? My mommy loves me more than the moon
Floating through the sky like a fat, gold balloon
Did you know? My mommy loves me more than the stars
Like the fabrillion golden fireflies we catch in crystal jars
Then we let them all go and we follow their flight
Off into the velvet of a blooming summer night
We dance in secret passageways all across the skies
And swoop above a salt-green sea, the color of my eyes
Then we land, laughing, in my Mommy’s aspen tree
My mommy loves the aspen, but not as much as me
My mommy doesn’t love me just because I’m good
Or because I always do all the things that I should
About being good - sometimes I just don’t make it
Sometimes I even get caught, right out trying to fake it
But Mommy still loves me no matter what weird things I do
And I can do more quirky things than you could er’ construe!
Just who it is my Mommy loves could not be any clearer
She says she loves the Pixie who lives inside my mirror
My Mommy doesn’t love me just because I’m sweet
Or ‘cause I make great pancakes and sometimes wash my feet
It isn’t ‘cause I can skip, or climb the biggest tree
My Mommy says she loves me, just because I’m me
I told my mom I loved her too, and I hated to complain
But EVERYBODY says that, it really takes no brain
I told her she was really smart and clever as a cat
She could come up with an ending way less dorky than that
She thought a bit about it, then said “you know, it’s true
It’s kind of lame to say I love you because you’re you.”
“Great!” I said, “you’ve got it! I knew you understood!
I’m sure that you’ll come up with something wicked good.”
“I’ve got it!” she cried, excited. “This will end the poem just fine
I love you little sweet-feet - just because you’re mine!”
I guess I looked disgusted as I slumped back down the hall
“Sorry mom, you missed it. That’s just not it at all
Everything that you come up with sounds like a cliched pun.
This one’s just as beige and blah! as the other boring one.
Alas,” I sniffed, “I’m loved for reasons mediocre!”
“I love you,” yelled my mother, “cause you let me cheat at poker.
I love you cause you call last week, “those good old bygone days”
And because you never want to do what is ‘the latest faze.’
I love you ‘cause you dyed the cat to match your new plaid dress;
‘cause the Plummer’s the only person you ever try to impress.
I love you ‘cause you like to read with your feet stuck in the ditch;
And ‘cause you asked for you birthday for a philharmonic pitch.
I love you ‘cause you have the taste to love everything that’s pink.
I love you, darling daughter, ‘cause your feet? They REALLY STINK!”
“Thanks Mom!” I yelled, and smiled. I think the old girl’s got potential.
And its so nice to know you’re loved ~ for things so . . . consequential.
Written by The Dryad for Her Daughter Elisa
July, 2008 When Elisa is Five-Years-old
Elisa s Dryad Mirror
FOR MARTHA
The title of this picture for Martha is “Expect a few Changes.” I’m still looking for quarters, Martha, dimes, nickels . . . the other day I found an Euro just sitting there in a parking lot, now, what does that mean? I wondered if an impromptu rendition of “It’s a Small World.” was in order? I also wondered if an impromptu rendition of “Belly up to the Bar Boys” was in order? I am still keeping my eyes open and, frankly, expecting Pieces of Eight or nothing. What do you think?
Expect Some Slight Changes
BUTTERFLIES BEFORE THE BALL ~ FOR MAMAKAT ~
* The Children’s Ball
* Vivianna at the Apex
* Betta at the Apex
* Waltz!
When the New Boards arrive at PLAY-POD, one of them will be all about Co-creation. I am very excited about the entire idea. We begin on a small scale ~ one-with-one ~ but when the concept is extrapolated it can become something huge and healing for the whole world. It is a wonderful way to learn: about each other, about ourselves, about our art. Kat and I knew very soon after we ‘met’ that it wasn’t our first meeting. And Kat is one of the few that I have REALLY met! There are so many things we shared right from the beginning. The ‘Tales from the Vienna Woods’ is one of them. Now we will dream together, creating our own tale . . .our own waltz . . .
MamaKat and I have begun our shared story of Betta and Vivianna, two seventeen years old girls who have reached what they have always believed to be the pinnacle of their lives. Their skirts have been let down and their hair has been put up . . . they are about to go to their first ball. It is 1863 in the Vienna of Johann Sebastian Strauss, known far and wide as “The Waltz King.” They stand at this turning point, this apex, one eagerly looking forward, the other nostalgically looking back. Where will each be by the end of the evening? As the fateful hour approaches, Vivianna begins to have some metaphoric butterflies in her proverbial stomach that start to escape from her lips like the rushing, gush and spate of an early spring butterfly hatch . . .
The Children s Ball
Vivianna at the Apex
Betta at the Apex
WALTZ
~ TALES FROM THE VIENNA WOODS ~
BUTTERFLIES BEFORE THE BALL (Vivianna - Third Person)
7/17/08
“Oh! Betta,” said Vivianna, in a breathless voice, “you look so beautiful!! I mean really. Not the way people say, “how do I look?”and the other person says, “lovely,” without looking. No. You really look so beautiful that you don’t even look like yourself. Oh, no! THAT didn’t come out right! I don’t mean that you are not always beautiful . . . Ugh! I don’t know how I plan to make ‘small talk’ with some gentleman when I can’t even manage to say what I mean to you. My Grandmother says that one shouldn’t necessarily say what one means to a gentleman either. Betta, why do they call it ‘small talk?’ That sounds like you have to use words that have only three letters. I wonder how hard it would be to really talk like that? We should try it! But not tonight. Tonight, soon, off we go like good little lambs to the slaughter. Oh, don’t raise your eyebrows! Yes, ‘lambs to the slaughter’ is excessive and is a terrible cliche, but . . . Oh! I’m scared Betta! And bad cliche’s practically feed on things like fright. I know I’m not supposed to feel that way in the first place or to admit it if I do, but there it is! It’s pathetic! Scared is inching it’s way toward terrified. What if I can’t think of anything at all to say? What if I start talking and I end up prattling? You KNOW I do prattle. How are we supposed to dance and make ‘small talk’ with ‘gentlemen’ like Adam and Anthony? Honestly, doesn’t it make your eyeballs itch to think of Adam and Anthony as ‘gentlemen?’ How are we supposed to make ‘small talk’ when we all know perfectly well that Adam pushed me out of the apple tree and Anthony used to tease you about your freckles until you cried. Betta . . . where did your freckles go? Did all that buttermilk really drink them away? When did they go? I don’t even remember when I saw them last. Did you lose your freckles the way you are always losing your pocket handkerchief? Oh, Betta . . . I . . . I think I’m going to cry. The most important night of my life and I’m going to cry over your lost freckles. But, Betta, I feel like so much is lost. That is wrong, I know. This is what we have waited for our whole lives. This is why we brushed our hair 100 times every night and took dance lessons since we were three and tried a million horrible remedies to get the spots off our chins. Your skin looks like cream, Betta. Not like peaches and cream, but like strawberries and cream. Or maybe cherries. Would anyone eat cherries with cream, I wonder? This is the pinnacle of our lives! The peak, the apex, the apogee, the acme, the zenith! So why do feel like I’m going to cry? It’s because you look so beautiful and THAT is odd beyond the likes of even me. Why do I feel like something precious is ending instead of just beginning? My mother says that we must CHERISH these “Dancing Years,” because they are so short. Soon we will be married and all this will be over. We will still be able to dance, of course, but it will ‘never be the same!’ That is what my mother keeps saying. THAT is rather drastic, don’t you think? To keep telling someone they have to get married before they’ve even been to their first ball? Then she sighs and says, ‘CHERISH these years. They will evaporate like dew in the morning sun.’ That is a disastrous cliche and it is depressing. She also told me to remember to stand up straight. Did you ever hear that before? I swear, I was probably three seconds old when the midwife said, ‘it’s a girl’ and my mother replied, ‘stand up straight Vivianna.’ THIS time she had to add that if I don’t stand up straight the puffs on my dress hang crooked. I just know I’m going to spend the entire night sticking out my chest trying to keep my puffs straight. I wonder who the storyteller is this year, upstairs where the children are wishing they were old enough to be down here? Do you remember Mama Petroli who told us Babba Yaga? Or The Great Zamboni who told stories while running on top of a big ball, balancing with a big stick that had a tiny dog on each end ? Betta, do you remember how we used to sneak in and watch the “big girls” get ready for the ball? They were so lovely in their dresses, all different colors like butterflies, with their hair all done up and their jewels on, all glistening and glinting, glittering, gleaming and glimmering . . . Did I already say glimmering? The excitement in the air was just like the feeling right before lightening strikes, when the air is so full of . . . something. Even though we weren’t going to the ball we still had that hushed, incipient lightening beating in our throats just from being close to it. Betta. I don’t have any lightening in my throat now. I just have a big bull frog squatting there, filling up my whole throat so I can’t swallow. Or possibly a schmee Iguana with a long, fat tail that goes clear down my throat. The big girls would sneak in front of the big beveled mirror and pinch their cheeks and bite their lips to make themselves rosy, and there in our hiding place,we would have to stuff our fingers in our mouths to keep from laughing. They were all so SERIOUS about their clandestine pinching. Frau Schmidt says all that pinching is just a good way to get blisters and bruises. Betta, I think it was the hair and the dresses and the jewels that were so pretty, then. Do you know? Your hair turned out quite flawless, even though you didn’t think it would. And your dress is exquisite. Did you ever in your whole wide life think that you would ever wear a dress with that many yards of material in the skirt? And the pearls! Think all the little rose buds that gave up their lives for my dress, just for one night! But, Betta . . . it is YOU that is beautiful. Do you know that? Maybe I didn’t see the beauty in the older girls real selves because I didn’t know their real selves? Betta, I am so glad that we were born in the same year and have been able to do all our turnings together. But now that I think of it, it isn’t just because I know you. Like the fact that I know when your eyebrows are going to go up or what it means when that little almost dimple appears by the right side of your mouth. It isn’t just that, it is just flat out that you are so beautiful tonight. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful. I mean that really. Literally. Never. Why isn’t there another word that means beautiful? There are other words like pretty, or lovely or gorgeous, but none of them mean just what beautiful does. You won’t have to pinch your cheeks. I can tell that you’ve got the lightening in your throat and it is making your cheeks so lovely and glowing. I rather think that I am going to cry now. Then my eyes will be all red, not to mention my nose. You’ll have rosy cheeks and I’ll have a rosy nose. Betta, I know you are so excited and that you are not scared at all, but I . . . well, I almost wish we were listening to the story teller right now and waiting for secrets. No, it’s not almost, I really do wish we WERE upstairs. Or at least I wish I was. You know that during all those etiquette and decorum lessons Frau Schmidt kept saying that I was totally useless. I WILL laugh at the wrong time, I know it. Or get caught up in that laugh where I start to snort? What if the pins come out of this absurd snod and all my piled up curls fall down? What if I don’t stand up straight and my puffs hang wrong and so I step on the bottom ruffles and trip? The dresses we have practiced dancing in for eons were SHORT and didn’t have flounces and ruffles and lace, pearls and flowers and all these starched slips! I wish we were wearing short skirts and our pantalets! I just know I will stumble, fumble, bungle and blunder. I would trip the gentleman I was dancing with as well and then the couple behind us in the circle would trip over us and the next couple would trip over them and the whole circle would go down like dominoes. Actually, that would be rather stunning if it hadn’t been my fault and I wasn’t at the bottom of the pile of dominoes. Betta, can I talk about novels, or must I pretend that I don’t read them? What on earth ARE we supposed to talk about? Frau Schmidt spent so much time telling us what NOT to do that she never got around to telling us what we should do. Say. Talk about. Do they expect us to know what the King is doing at the Royal Habsburg Court in Vienna? Do they expect us to know who he is doing it with? Snnnuft! You see what I mean? WHAT if I go and say something like that? What if all these flowers start falling off my dress? What if bees follow me all night and sting all the gentlemen who dance with me? What if I loose my grandmother’s pink tourmaline? It was NOT my idea to wear it! Grandmother says it brings luck of the best kind having been given to her by a foreign Duke who smoked green cigars! I do like intrigue, particularly in regard to the mysterious and possibly nefarious activities of one’s Grandmother! Betta, why is it that Grandmother’s seem to have done interesting things and mother’s are inevitably so boring? Do you think? It seems to me Grandmother’s had to have been mother’s once. Were they boring then? I do not intend to be boring, EVER, so I must have at least some adventures during these CHERISH years. You shall have to come with me, of course, you have a way of turning my disasters to adventures. Noone wants even their Grandmother to have had disasters. I hope that tripping over my flounces is not going to be the only adventure of my life. Really, I probably won’t trip. I do know how to dance and I do love dancing! I didn’t mean what I said about wishing we were wearing short skirts and our pantalets, I’ve always wanted to dance in one of these fantastic, floaty dresses that come all the way to the floor! Maybe not floaty . . . does your dress feel floaty? Buoyant maybe? I just wish I could do it by myself! Why can’t one dance around by one’s self? Why must one be hanging on to a gentleman to dance? I would love to dance to Herr Strauss’ beautiful music all by myself, with no one else in the whole ball room . . . except maybe you, if you are good. Betta, this is serious. What if no one wants to dance with me? What if my father has to come and MAKE someone dance with me? He would you know. And I would have to die on the spot. What if I have to dance with one of the foreign gentlemen and I can’t talk to him? My French is terrible and my English worse. There is an AMERICAN gentleman here, did you know that?! What if I have to dance with HIM? Do the American’s speak the same English that the English speak? Do you think he will have a gun on his belt underneath his coat? Oh, Betta! How do you say, “isn’t it a lovely evening?” and ruffle your eyelashes at someone who pushed you out of an apple tree? Oh, Betta . . . I am prattling in the worst way . . . aren’t I?
"GRAND BABY CARD" FOR AYLA
I started this “card” for Ayla when she first found out that her coming grandchild would be a boy. It is undoubtably too “busy”, but after all . . . THAT’s what little boys really are. I don’t know about the snips and snails and puppy dog tails, but they are usually very busy! When I worked as a poetry editor I had one hard and fast rule. I wouldn’t even look at anything that used the words “Boy” and “Joy” as a rhyme. You cannot imagine how many times it happens. Just like every one thinks their babies are the most beautiful, everyone thinks they are the first person who ever thought of saying that their little boy was such a joy. So the words on the card are a bit of a joke on myself. I’ve just been to see Jimmy’s pictures and you know what? Ayla is not a prejudiced Grandmother . . . he really IS incredibly beautiful. So I guess we should take her word about his being sweet and well behaved as well, she seems to be telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Oh! That sweet little chin! Those chubby little hands . . . a bad case of Grandmother envy is striking . . .
It s a Boy!
It s a Boy!
FOR STARSEED
This may be strange, but before I came to Gaia I had never heard the term 'Starseed' the way people use it here. I have a very old poem - from college - in which I talk about the seed of a star. My thought there was planting it in the earth and growing stars. In this painting, I was playing around with the concept. I've linked the seed - coming from the earth - with fire - coming from the heavens and from that union, I’ve "grown" a star. It is an interesting name, word, concept with many different possible configurations.
And for the beautiful woman who wears that name . . . I want to thank you for always being there for me - checking on me, letting me know you are glad when I make it into the chair. You know, you have said a couple of things to me in the last little while that were fairly prophetic. We need to 'talk!'
starseed
Amber is the human who belongs to the most schmee of iguana’s, Boot’s the Magnificent. Amber has been my companion recently in the never ending search for Niap. (Niap, if you do not know, is the state of being that is opposite pain. ) Amber and I have done the back-pain thing together, surgery, recovery and on to healing. We decided, some time ago, that to aid us on our road to health we would do healing Mandalas together. The only problem was that we were both too sick to get them going. So! Here is the beginning of our Co-Creation Healing Mandala project - my part is done and it’s ready to pass on to Amber. If anyone else is interested in doing healing Manadala’s - any kind of Mandala’s or Co-Creation please let me know.
So Amber! I gave each Mandala a name, thinking that would be easier to keep track of. In this batch:
1. Blank Hand. I did one of these all the way. My is titled "Left." I also started one to share with you, titled Handz. Then there is the blank one for you to do your own. When we are done, we can give them to Jena! Hi Jena!
2. Balance - Ready for your part.
3. Unity - Ready for your part.
If you are going to do them by hand - print each one, when you are through, scan it back in and send it! We are going to have a Healing Mandala Court at PLAY-POD.
More to come soon! If you have/find some send them to me backwards!
Unity
Balance
Left
Handz
Blank Hand
"I'll Take Care of You" ~ For Jami
When I started this painting for Jami I didn’t have a reason. I just thought about the fact that lionesses climb trees and the next moment, on that cool projection screen on the back of my eyelids, I saw this little Dryad in the tree with the Lioness. It wasn’t until I was almost through painting it that I decided the little Dryad’s toes looked cold and tucked them under the Lioness’s warm, furry tail. Jami, did you know that Snow Leopards tails are as long as their bodies? LONGLONG tails! They use them for balance on the snow and the rocks. Maybe I need a tail!
When I got home to PLAY-POD I found a message that tells me Jami is having a hard time. I’m glad I got my painting finished to send right now, because I can see now what it means. Just like the Lioness is keeping the Dryad warm with her own tail, you are always ready to help other people with everything you’ve got. I can’t count the times that I have been feeling very bad, didn’t tell anyone or anything, but when I came to Gaia, I would find a message from you. I think you are probably an empath, and that you can tell when other people are hurting. This is a gift because it makes it so you know when someone is having pain or trouble and you are there to help them, just by letting them know you are thinking of them, just by being you. This gift has a hard side too, however. When you feel every bodies everything and it over-loads you or when the sensitivity that makes you so gentle and caring also makes it so you are hurt by the world more than other people are. This happens to me too. I am lighting my green heart chakra candle for you right now. Heart. Something you have so much of. Be well, my friend. Come into the grace shower with me. We will sit quietly together until we feel stronger. And then we will dance.
I'll Take Care of You
Paul has the most fantastic collection of pictures you will ever see. I have wanted for sometime to do some Co-Creating with Paul. I also want to do something that will let me spend time with all those fantabulous pictures. Voila! A short story is born, two with one blow, double-your-money-double-your-fun, I found a way to do both! I have written the first part, Paul, now I ping-pong pass it to you. Will you do it? THE GAUNTLET! She is down! Will you come and play?
THE LOST ART OF CREATION
She could tell that she was late when she woke up. It was supposed to be technically impossible to be late waking up, but she managed to circumvent the neural-placed automatic wake chip as easily as she had managed to slam her hand down on the alarm clock when she was very young. When she was attendant upon Advanced Learning it had driven one Profanator completely mad. He swore it was impossible to circumvent the auto-wake chip, but when he demanded how she did it, she could only shrug. She didn’t know, and she didn’t particularly care. He, however, was always having to go off and be scanned because his interest levels on the subject rose above what a common System was set to analyze.
She rolled out of bed, stretching slowly and yawning. As she stepped on the floor the reflex-return poured warm water into a china mug. She wasn’t supposed to be using china, but no one had caught her yet. There was something elegant and refined about china. Perhaps it was simply the fact that it could break that made her like it. There was really not anything at all that was provided for usual-use that had the ability to break. She had replaced the metal mug with this clandestine china and would continue to do so until she got caught. The mug was the right size and weight so the reflex-return was nor tripped. It had been gifted to her by her biological mother’s biological mother; the ancients would have called her a “Great-Mother.” She had never mer this ‘Great-Mother’, but knew that she lived Outside-Compound, something she could hardly imagine. When the mug came in Delivery-Systemation, it included a message that was signed with the word ‘Love.’
The word was not forbidden, but was a warrant for intense scrutiny. Against all training and common sense, she had incinerated the message and never key-coded anything about it. It made her feel strange in the region of her pancreas; a feeling she could not identify. How could she code it if she couldn’t identify it? At least this is what she told herself. She knew perfectly well that there was a key sequence for unknown sentiments. She didn’t think about it any more, except to use the mug and enjoy it’s creamy color, smooth surface and possibility the fact that it could break.
She sipped her warm water dutifully, dully, gazing at the picture in the frame that changed every minute. It went from mountains to seaside to meadows of flowing green. None of them produced even a whisper of interest, she might as well be staring at the wall. She would have been if she had happened to turn the other way, and the result would have been the same. She had to finish the cup of water before the reflex-return would give her coffee, tea or bakka. One stayed hydrated better all day if a complete glass of water was consumed before any caffeinated or risomed beverage. When she finished and put the mug back, a soft soothing voice spoke into the air, “it is so much easier not to have to make decisions like whether or not to actually consume the water.” She rolled her eyes. Who even cares? She considered if the rolling eyes indicated annoyance and decided it was not enough to code.
She hit the boost key of her System and the Systemface was filled with information. Her vitals were fine, her sleep pattern had been normal. She squinted at the Systemface. Jade. Her name was Jade today. The System assigned them randomly with divergences that were supposed to be interesting and mood producing. Today she was a stone, or a color. Yesterday she had been named Cinnamon, a smell and a spice. She kind of liked Jade, but it didn’t particularly peek her interest as it was supposed to. When it came right down to it, there just was not much that did. Of course, this was also true of everyone she knew. Despite The System’s many built in interest boosters and curiosity-keys, no one was the least bit interested in anything. The Systemface informed her that for breakfast she had a choice of orange or grapefruit juice, faux-bacon or sausage-style-protein-links; egg substitute scrambled or baked and a fresh fruit. Jade felt the small stirring of interest. She immediately did what she had been taught, she relaxed, not chasing after the small, blooming feeling, but giving it chance to occur, if it would. After a suitable waiting period, she realized that no interest had emerged. Still, it had been a stirring, the first new one she had been able to record outside of work for - well, longer than she could remember. She reached for a keying block and quickly keyed in: Class 7, Stirring Interest, nothing positive produced, possibly due to the absence of pineapple, which turned out not to be a choice. She knew that tomorrow she would be offered pineapple, by then, of course, it wouldn’t interest her at all. She pushed the buttons for orange juice, faux bacon, baked egg substitute and blue berries, then went to get dressed.
There was a fairly large selection of clothes to chose from on the bedroom Systemface. She knew it was calculated to be the exact number gaged to spark interest without becoming overwhelming. She felt nothing as she chose a long, dark blue skirt and a light blue shirt. They would be delivered to the bathing room along with pale blue underwear and blue leather shoes. .
Thirty minutes later she was at work, sitting behind her console, checking numbers, readying for a Psi-launch. One of Jade’s three elective hobbies was ancient film and literature. She found it amazing that in all the ancient film recovered, when travel in the future was considered, it was always time and space travel; moving the personal body through space to another place. Even vast distances were done with this same basic conception. Could it possibly have really been the only thing the ancients knew? Jade hit the macro on her finger recorder to add another count to this same interest. It seemed to be one of several that she delivered again and again, the same thing over and over with nothing new.
A voice spoke into the room, a well modulated male voice with which she was very familiar. She didn’t know who the voice belonged to, but she had never wondered. At the same time as they were spoken, the words appeared on the Systemface in front of her. “Our destination today was provided by the Ancient Data Commission, being part of a Realized-Recovery of ancient files found in Area B-9 Blue, Sector 3-12, the desert section of what was once the United American Empire. Please peruse each destination carefully and choose your first three preferences. Should anything you see evoke a state of interest, negative positive or neutral, be sure to note this in your System and engage the Immediate-Notification key. This destination collection is classified as A-129/878/.3905K. The use name is “PAUL” as this is the word that the ArcheoSystem Section found in the ancient machine, evidently identifying these images. finished
When you have keyed your choices, please light the red conclusion-button. After a tabulation of preferences is finalized we will announce our destination and commence our journey almost immediately. Please be sure that your packs and your traveling clothing have been checked by both a Class-A Examination Specialist and a Journey-Specific Official. Begin perusal: Now.” There was a soft chime.
Jade began to bring up the images on her Systemface. They were extremely beautiful and she knew that she would be recording interest marks before she had finished. Her high ability to access interest was the reason that she had this job, one of the most preferred in the complex. It did seem that most of her interest marks were macro’s - repeats of an interest already stated, but that didn’t matter. Macro marks counted just as much as an original, though that had never made much sense to Jade.
As she pulled up picture after picture she was struck once again by the fact that these were not photocatch pictures. These were made by ancient humans. Some of them were done on those very primitive Systems, but some were actually made by hand, with paint. They did not copy a photocatch, another painting or something they were looking at with their eyes. These beautiful images came from out of their own minds. Once again her own mind was touched with an amazement, a deep awe, an awe that felt delicious and creamy inside her head. How was that kind of recording possible? How could they create a place from inside their own heads? Jade recorded her interest on a macro that already held many hits. With three extra key clicks she recorded something beyond elementary interest. How was it possible that the ancients could not journey to these places, and yet they could create them? She looked up to the front of the room where there was a large working of the word in thin, intricate metal. Here at Ancient Liaison to Modern Knowledge this was their ultimate goal. Truthfully, it was the goal of everyone working at this Complex of Advanced Learning. It was possible that it was the ultimate goal of everyone who studied, learned and constantly tried to understand. CREATE. How was it done? Why was it begun? How did it develop? Where did it come from? And most importantly . . .
Where did it go?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
OK Paul! Do you want to pick it up from here, do a bit and send it back?
gauntlet
Shall we go on a journey through your incredible picture collection?
There is THE GAUNTLET almost upon your toe! Will you retrieve it?
Access: Public
Thank you mommie!!! Now get back to work!!! ( i snuck cookies yesterday and sniffed far too much basil)
My heart is so glad that you're back.
Thank you for your lovely paintings
and kind thoughts, anam cara.
The moonlight hasn't looked the same
without you.
Dryad, I believe that your fingers must have a bit of Anti-Niap with the pouring forth of three letter words, not one four letter word, quite a few five letter words, and I believe I was seeing a goodly quantity of six and seven letter words too! Small Talk? What's that?!
Amazing what can happen in four weeks, eh? And that's simply the time spent going down the roller coaster ride of life! I lost track of the time moving, click, click, click to the top of the dark chocolate roller coaster… did you see all the funny little people stationed around the top with their green scrubbies on and the fuzzy pre-heated blanket ready to put over our achy bodies?! They made me get up and walk around with my hiney sticking out the back of my Simply Amber hospital attire so they have a grand sense of humor to go along with their green scrubbies!
I am off to figure out the Mandala concept… It looks like I am getting a giant coloring book by EPC! How cool is that?! Like the freezy drinks at a 7/11 store COOL is what I think! I'm hoping I will get a blue and pink tongue from the ICEE Mandala's! My toes up to my neeZ are Niap, my fingers up to my shoulderZ are Niap, and my nose back to my earz are Naip! How 'bout you?!
Eazy Squeezy Hugz dearest Dryad!
Amber the human of the Schmee Iguana, Princess Boots
(she is giving you a severe head nodding for the length of your blog! You're being nodded back into the Stone Ages by a Schmee Iguana! It doesn't hurt anything but makes her feel like she's doing her part!)
This screen is all messed up so I'm going to keep this short as I'm not sure that it's even going to go through the Gaia cyber space and land where it belongs. Winnie, Darling, You Crazy Wonderful Wacky Wordy Woman! I cannot profess to have read this whole blog but I have read quite a bit and you are a Wonder! Thank you for the baby boy card, it's darling. Happy Days to have you here in our midst again. Much, MUCH LOVE, Ayla
Ohmygosh!!! SO many ohs! Ohmygosh you're back! You DO (oh my!) radiate SO!!! AND the work you have created is beyond!!! beyond!!! OH so beautiful!!! I bow to you, Winnie, Really I do. Oh, you bring tears to my eyes, Shining One! Truly Amazing you ARE! Blessed is your Magic and Happy your Habit! Ah. Ok. This is good. And Ohmygoodness! You painted a picture for me! Oh it's PERFECT! And even though I found a (have you seen it?) (get this!) Jackalope Pirate WITH his own ship and sword, you know, I will set him aside! Definitely aside! To wear the enchanting Pirate Girl (Me–or maybe You, or maybe…), always looking for Change. Remember, Change is Good! :) Oh Dryad, Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Oh! I FEEL loved!! I pray that you do, too!
Oh my friend, I am so very glad you are back! Thank you so very much for the wonderful painting too, I love the idea of you and I in a tree looking out at a brand new day! It fills my heart with wonder and warmth! Much love to you my dear Dryad always…
Yes, Martha,
WhooHoo
SHE'SSSSSSSSSSSS
BAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCKKKKK
Dryad, love you and am smiling and crying at the same time for the lovely, stupendous pictures of magic spritely dancing shoes that I will bring to Portland so we may all dance, and the magnificent mandolins which will play for us as we twirl and sway and dip :-D Thank you dear one! I don't know how you did yet another wonderful masterpiece, just happy you do for all of us to enjoy! spritely love, hugs and peaches
What an honor!!! I am speechless or wordless right now…this is awesome and I LOVE the Starseed painting and your overwhelming generosity to share it with me and the world!
The words that accompany this painting are not only an honor but more validating than I can tell you…please, please let's definitely connect and talk soon!!!
I am soooo PROUD of you and the progress that you have made and the tenacity that you have demonstrated overcoming so many obstacles and being your loving, wonderful self!
To Goddess Edwina, you are LOVED, HONORED AND ADMIRED!!!
Dear dear Edwina,
I am sitting here in tears, feeling very humbled by your enormous presence, energy and spirit.
I have been away from Gaia so long, 5 weeks in Africa and then at home, wiping off drivers to get rid of all the gremlins in my computer, a bit like throwing out the baby with the bath water…in the process somehow I missed this! Me, who normally checks out every blog you write.
Thank you dear soul sister. I will treasure your images and drink in your words and nourish my soul in the process. I am blessed to have you in my life. And also all our mutual friends here at gaia.
Love and thanks
Jena