Cave of Enchantress

Gaia Welcomes Leonie

2006-05-01T05:50:00.000-07:00

Her daughter returns home.
with love
Heather Blakey

Bringing Leonie Bryant Home

2006-05-01T05:49:00.000-07:00

le Enchanteur and Leonie Bryant's spirit bird taking Leonie home to sleep in the Bower of Bliss

Wisdom Speaks

2005-11-30T19:06:00.000-08:00

I welcome returning to my chambers within this cave. I have been travelling so long, I am ready for a much-needed rest. The dwelling opens its arms to me and enfolds me in its moist air.

My most cherished companion resides a short walk through narrow passages away from the cavern I call home. She introduced herself to me a few months back and has been with me, guiding me along my journey. Sometimes during my travels, I took action without consulting her. But, nonetheless, she prodded me until I learned the lesson I was meant to receive.

I have learned that Wisdom is ever present. She lies in wait for me to approach her. When I don't, she stirs up the situation to produce the teaching I need. Most often, her teachings are gentle. Only when she can't get my attention does she turn to whirlwinds akin to tornados.

Since my travels have returned me to this welcome cave, the home of Wisdom, I cannot put off visiting her. I enter the archway that leads to the narrow path to Wisdom's lounge. A few rocks have accumulated along the pathway since my last visit. I take the time to move them out of the way so I don't stumble on them on my way back. In no time at all, I can see the warm glow I will forever associate with Wisdom. I reverently cross the threshold into her chamber and make my way to the seating area.

Closing my eyes, I breath deeply the thick air and clear my mind. When I open them again, Wisdom sits before me.

"Hello, Dear One," Wisdom welcomes me in a gentle voice as soft as a whisper.

"Hello, Wisdom," my voice giving away my weariness despite my effor to hide it.

"Don't feel the need to hide anything from me, Dear One. You know I've seen all that you have been through along your journeys. I know of your grief and pain as well as your joys and triumphs."

"Why I thought I could hide anything from you, Wisdom, I haven't a clue. I'm just tired of grieving. I'm tired of the pain and loss in my life. It's a heavy weight to bear and I'm ready to get rid of it. Instead of moving on naturally, I'm trying to mask the pain."

"As you well know, you can't push the river. But, there is something you can do to help ease the pain."

"What can I do, Wisdom?"

"Take action."

"What kind of action?"

"Do something for someone else....anything."

"Oh, I've heard of that old adage," I sigh. "By doing something for someone else I'll see that there are people in the world who have it worse than I. In giving I will receive. Well, I know that there are people in worse situations. My brother, for one, who has lost a brother and a wife in a very short time. I'd love to do something for him, but I don't know that there is anything that will console his loss right now. And...well, I give all the time. I do feel joy when I give or do something unexpected for another..."

"So...why not do that now?"

"I have...I am... I purchased some food for a poor family. I am doing my Christmas planning to surprise people with special gifts."

"How's that going?"

"Not very well. It feels very mechanical. My heart isn't in it."

"Why not? Where is your heart?"

Sigh... "My heart is in recovery."

"Ah! But you know that you can't protect your heart from pain, no matter how many layers of gauze you wrap it in. You are human. You will feel pain, agony, remorse, regret, grief, depression....and all sorts of uncomfortable things. It's part of life, just as joy is a part of life. If life brings you dark or light, your heart will feel it. "Protecting" your heart is a mask. It only hides the real you from others and keeps you from expressing the sadness you feel. The mask doesn't protect your heart."

"I don't want to feel those things any more. I don't want to express those feelings. I want them to evaporate."

"In your heart of hearts, you know this won't happen. You know you'll have to experience the feelings, one way or another," Wisdom responded with much gentleness in her voice. I looked down to the floor, not wanting to meet her eyes for I knew what she said was true.

"Dear one, you can move on once you set your emotions free. The longer you put it off, the longer you'll be in this holding pattern, the longer you will experience pain. Let it go, don't hold on to it. Once it is released you will not be able to stop yourself from taking action. It just comes naturally."

Still looking down I could feel a tear roll down the side of my nose. The release had begun.

Here I am...

2005-10-10T10:20:00.000-07:00

I approach the Enchantress' Cave, weary and dusty from my long trek. It's a good weariness though, one that satisfies the physical as well as the mental needs of the body. I chose to walk rather than ride because I wanted to feel Mother Earth breathing beneath my feet. I felt as one with her as I walked through the woods and strolled across meadows sprinkled liberally with wild flowers of all varieties. Such a difference from a brief trip I made recently when I drove many miles to the State of Minnesota. Locked away inside a steel enclosure with the scenery flashing by at breakneck speed doesn't do it for me, though it is sometimes a necessity when time is calling the shots.

The dust fell away and the weariness vanished when I saw the Enchantress waiting to welcome me and any other travelers who might happen along. I know there are many like me who, having taken different trails, will end up here for a well earned rest before proceeding to BabaYaga's hut.

The enchantress is a welcoming sight as she stands there at the cave entrance ready to check me in. Her ivory gown shimmers in the morning sunlight … her eyes are bright, and the breeze ruffles her reddish hair. She embraces me and invites me to enter and join the others who are waiting. I am ready now for good company and conversation. We all have stories to share about our varied experiences on the trail. It's at times like this that I appreciate all the good that life has to offer.

Vi

Courier message gone astray

2005-10-09T07:09:00.000-07:00

My RaVEN messenger found Donkeys Inc. and tried to post this message in comments but it would not take it so I will try to reach you here. I am heading down the road in Ithaka Bound, on foot, leading Destiny. Hope you receive this message. I guess I should contact the Enhantress for a few more invitations.

MESSAGE FROM THE RAVEN COURIER: I know you are extremely busy right now but I was wondering if I could drop off my horse Destiny for the time I am on the silk road. At the moment I am just leaving the cave of the Enhantress at my first dawn on the Road to Ithaka and would like to walk a while. As your mules are magical I guess I had better mind the Enhantress once more and try out one after I have walked a while, so also please find one that would fit my spirit. I look forward to seeing you. Will you be at the Gypsy camp? (That is if I ever find it) Love, Jane

Morgaine's Arrival

2005-10-07T22:19:00.000-07:00

Gallahad returned with good news. He knew the way to the Enchantresses Cave. 'Gather you're belongings Morgaine, we must make haste'!

Morgaine quickly gathered her bags, she climbed upon Gallahad's back, 'lead on Gallahad, let us depart'.

Awhile later Morgaine was at the cave's entrance with her bags. Gallahad munched on some grass a little way off.
'Quite a crowd had already come through', the Enchantress told Morgaine, 'it has quietened down now, so you're Morgaine, the Camelot Scribe, welcome to my cave and the beginning of a wonderful journey! What did you bring?
I hope you packed light'.

Morgaine assured the enchantress that her bag was light and its contents are a necessity. ' I have my journal, recorder for my interviews with fellow travellers, some clothing, my warm cloak, some food, my hairbrush, some herbs and oils, and some precious stones'.

'This is good Morgaine, so you plan to interview fellow travellers? That sounds interestinng, you will find many interesting stories, I'm sure. So you come from Camelot? '

'Yes and I am considered the Camelot Scribe, the Camelot Correspondent for the Camelot Chronicle. I am on a Crusade, the Camelot Crusade. I wish to learn about other places, people and communities and also to introduce and invite people to Camelot, this is one of the reasons I decided to undertake this journey, I look forward to meeting people, learning about different places and communities and hope to befriend many. I believe that if we all help one another we can all continue to exist in people's hearts'.

'Very interesting Morgaine, I'm sure others will share your belief's and you will find your journey very inspiring, once again, welcome aboard! Now, I must give you this bag, in it you will find some things to help you on your journey, a compass amongst other things and most importantly, a doll'.

'A doll? Why is a doll the most important thing'? Asked Morgaine.

'This is no ordinary doll, this doll talks and can help and guide you along the way, you have met and named your talking donkey Gallahad, now this doll is yours to keep and name too. You will find her very wise, with much insight to share'.

Morgaine was taken aback, a telepathic, talking donkey and now a wise, insightful doll! They say Camelot's ways are weird, she thought to herself. What is this magic? I must learn them so I can teach them back home to those who
believe. The more wonder, enchantment, magic, old and new ways introduced to humans, the more they will seek their own truth and belief and the world will be a better place.

The Enchantress interrupted her thoughts saying, 'it is time to go now Morgaine. Your first destination is to the Gypsy camp, where they are having a wake for Meagan's mother. Meagan is a fellow traveller on the Silk Road and it is a time to share, god speed Morgaine'.

With that the Enchantress dissappeared and Morgaine was left alone with the bag. She reached in and pulled out the doll, it was a very pretty doll. She decided to call the doll, Angel. In that instant Morgaine found herself outside the cave with Gallahad. 'Well Gallahad, it's time to move on in search of the gypsies'.

They departed in silence.

2005-10-07T05:16:00.000-07:00

DAWN IN THE GROTTO

Jane : HERE!

2005-10-07T04:58:00.000-07:00

Oh my goodness, it is dawn and I seem to be in the Grotto. I don't even remember presenting my picture of the doorway. From the moment I climbed onto Destiny’s back to the moment I woke up in this lovely room everything is a foggy . I just know that right now I am snuggling deeper into this feather bed trying to escape the loud speaker requesting everyone to show up for roll call at the cave entrance.

GROAN****************Now where are my shoes?****************

I do look forward to walking down the Silk road though. Hopefully there will be some shops on the way to the Gypsy camp so I can buy some silks for a gypsy skirt . I love the way they dress. When I get old ( : ) ) I am going to wear all the beautiful colors in the rainbow at one time. I must ask the enchantress if there is a blog for the Silk road when she calls my name as I look forward to the journey to Itaka, not the destination, and plan to take my time.

I think I will send Destiny ahead to Frans donkey shop and see if she will care for him tell I get to the gypsy camp. I don’t want to fly by things too fast and I defiately do not want to get on a donkey. I know a little more aboout donkeys then I need to as my husband was in a mule pack when he was in the army during the Korean war and it was hell. They are not pleasant animals, co-operative animals. Sorry Fran, but walking gives you a chance to use all your senses and that, to me, is the only way to absorb the world. Did you ever notice how you never really absorb a scene until you stand silent..and that no one speaks? I think it was Michaelangelo who said, : You can not appreciate a sunrise with another person.

" Where is that raven when you need him?

Unsure

2005-10-06T05:04:00.000-07:00

I am not sure whether to post information about the Brown House here, or on the Ithaka place or the Donkey yard. I don't plan to take the girls to the wake. Until I understand better how this works I will hope the Tour Guide will repost or direct us to the right place.

Here is some information about us.

I have a better backpack for this adventure, but also an old gunnie sack with three pockets. This will work because I am going to carry three special people with me on this trip. We play an old board game called "Uncle Wiggly" and they think it is going to be like that. They like playing "make believe", but don't understand that you are all adults. Sometimes I have to tell them what your names mean, or help them look it up in the dictionary. This is a game too.

These three girls are my friends. I work at a small house set up for Developmentally Disabled Adults. Since they are over 16 they are not available for child service support, but can go to a Work Center everyday except Sunday. They could live in a group home, but their fathers all wanted something more "homey" (sp). They are all in Iraq right now and one of them had this large home and let the other girls move in. I am both a social worker and a substitute teacher, so I get paid a little bit over room and board. Another woman shares the long hours and all day Sunday, but doesn't like computers. I call them girls even though they are 17, 22, and 28 years old. Emotionally they are much younger, but capable enough to use the bus system and help cook and clean their rooms.

Together they decided to use "game pieces" for this trip. They will be gem stones and played a game to decide what to be. They are Coral, Jade and 'quoise. That way I can carry them on this trip without you knowing they have snuck along. However, Fran has now offered us a cart with donkeys to help on the journey, so them hiding out. They are not afraid of people, but sometimes give more affection than others are willing to deal with.

Nessie

More later.

Trap Door

2005-10-05T05:10:00.000-07:00

I think I have fallen thru a trap door. I have never blogged before, if that is how you say it. I belong to many Yahoo Groups and may chat to much here. Let me know. My name is Norene Kness, but everyone calles me Nessie. The girls here at Brown House especially like that. They think that I keep appearing where I am not expected. They will be my traveling companions on this journey (adventure?), but it is supposed to be a secret. All three have developmental disabilties and I will edit and read your posting to them. Only one of them can use the keyboard well, so I will type comments for them occationally.

Your kindness is appreciated. I will explain more later as we travel along.

Right now they are playing a game to decide what they should bring. They are acting like it is their own Reality TV show (which they don't watch).

Nessie

Letter To the Secretary of Donkeys Incorporated

2005-10-04T19:26:00.000-07:00

A Letter To the Secretary of Donkeys Incorporated

Dear Secretary,
Hello from the open road. My name is Treasa O'Leary, a traveler along the Soulfood Silk Road...but then...you might already know that. I wouldn't be a wee bit surprised if you did, the way this fantastic adventure is constantly keeping me in a state of surrealness. I never know what expect next!

*shakes head in amazement* Certainly not a talking donkey! Jack has made the trip quite...interesting and humorous thus far--we've only been on the road two days. He's been helpful at times as well. And that's why I'm writing you, to tell you what an amazing trip this is going to be with him as a mount and to thank you.

I don't know how you choose which mount for which traveler, but, in my case, you hit gold. You see, I've never ridden a donkey before in my life; only horses a handful of times and not since my childhood at that. The longest I've ever ridden one has been two or three hours and afterwards I was saddle-sore for two days!

*as if the mere mention of it is their cue, all my various aches and throbbing pains intensify and I shift stiffly, trying to find a more comfortable position on my sleeping bag, unable to hold back a low moan*

*silent wry laugh as I resume writing in the combined light of flickering fire and flashlight* I'm in much the same position as I was then. Saddle-sore. But Jack is being an awfully good sport about it, thank goodnees. Right from the start it was painfully obvious to both of us and to my silent guide (whose name I've since learned is Ophelia) that I'm no natural horsewoman--or donkey rider. Jack's gentle swaying gait is as smooth and fluid as any donkey's could be. But until today, for the life of me, I couldn't establish a reasonably good rhythm that allowed me to move as one with him. My butt kept bouncing, up and down, up and down, hard on the saddle until my poor abused tailbone made its first throbbing protests. I felt like a Mexican jumping bean. *rolls eyes and shakes head in embarrassment*

Ah well. At least no one has laughed at this bobbing Irish lass yet--well, not very much and not because of my poor riding skills. For that, I have to give thanks. Jack has been really sweet and has been trying to give me pointers.

"Consider this a crash course in riding," he said after Ophelia helped pull me from the ground at his hooves that first day. We hadn't gone 20 feet down the road from the Enchantress' cave before I was bested by a low-hanging branch that caught me in the chest and knocked me from his saddle. "Rule Number 1: Relax! Your fear and uncertainty transmits to your fine noble steed, letting me--I mean, him--know he's the boss. Rule Number 2: Match your body's rhythm to your donkey's gait. The ride will be smoother and easier this way--for both of us. And Rule Number 3: You've got to be smarter than the average tree. Be aware of your surroundings too."

In my defense, I have to say I was in a state of shock when those leaves smacked me in the face and that branch connected with my breastbone! Jack had started talking--without warning--about the journey and introducing himself and Ophelia and her horse Nightshade. Who wouldn't be floored by a talking donkey when, where I come from, they don't speak?! Well, except for the ones in the Bible and Arabian Tales, but the one was from a parable I believe, the other from a fairy tale.

I gaped at his big gray-brown donkey face, blinking stupidly into his velvety brown eyes once I was back on my feet, repeating over and over, "He talks! He talks! My donkey talks!!"

Ophelia nodded, an amused look on her face. She went to Nightshade, who stood five feet up ahead, with his ebony neck craned right in our direction and dug through his saddlebags. On her way to the stallion she gave Jack an admonishing look. Pulling out medical supplies from one of the bags, she walked back toward me and doctored the few cuts and scrapes I'd sustained from the encounter with the olive tree. (I thought olive branches were supposed to be peaceful?) Once she was satisfied I was ok and taken care of, Ophelia nodded to herself decisively, gathered the box of bandages and ointment and rejoined Nightshade. Putting the things away she mounted the black stallion and motioned with her arm I should do the same.

"Yes, I talk," Jack said, gazing at me with what passes, I suppose, for patience in a donkey. "And you're quite the observer. We have a lot of miles to cover before we reach the Valley of the Temples, where we will be camping over the next few days before reaching the Gypsy Camp. Are you brave enough to try again?"

Dumbly I nodded, reaching behind me to check and make sure everything in my backpack was ok after having landed on the bag in my fall. I mounted and we were off again--albeit at a slower pace--the guide and her black stallion, Jack the donkey and me, the Irish Mexican jumping bean.

As I said, Jack has been sweet and pretty understanding, only making fun of me once in awhile, laughing his braying laugh as he watches me move stiffly about the campsite or if I do some clumsy thing like trip over an exposed tree root. "It was right in front of you, in plain view! You shouldn't read that book of Roman myths as you walk." He admonished just today as we took our lunch break.

I have to thank you. Despite moments like those, I'm sure you're well aware he can be quite amusing. I also have no doubt you already know he can hold entire coversations with himself, for Jack can talk and talk. And talk. I can't help but laugh when he gets going. By no means would this journey be dull or ordinary without him; he just adds to the the wonder and joy of it. So, with all my gratitude, thank you. He is a wonderful companion and mount, and I will take good care of him for as long as he is with me.

Sincerely,
Treasa O'Leary, Awed, Amazed and Humble Explorer

*folds the letter written on the lavender stationery from the cave room and seals it in the matching envelope; writes the address on the front and hands it to a waiting raven who accepts it with its beak and a nod; spreading its dark wings it takes off and I shut the flashlight off, sliding and settling into my sleeping bag by the fire*

2005-10-04T16:16:00.000-07:00

As always, I'm not ready! I'm never ready. I don't know what to bring with me. I look out my window and I search the sky for birds to see what they carry...feathers on their backs, a seed in their beaks and maybe a tiny stray piece of a tattered white chiffon dress in their delicate claw feet. So, that's what I'll bring -- my favorite feather, seeds I recently harvested from my beautiful moonflower vines, a white gossamer chiffon shawl and, of course, my journal and pencil. That's all I need.

The birds remind me that I can fit at least half the sky in my back pocket and... well, off I go.

Ithaka Bound - The Doorway to the Silk Road

2005-10-03T16:19:00.000-07:00

People are standing around with bags, rucksacks, suitcases, backpacks, carry alls and saddle bags at the door to the Cave. And to think Sibyl said to travel light! Lucky we have a big store room to keep things so that people can pick them up on their way back home. That room is filling because there hasn't been too many leave the realm.

The first instructions from our guide are at Soul Food Silk Road. Keep checking this and Ithaka Bound if you get lost. We are bound for Ithaka. Ithaka lies within the realm of the Silk Road somewhere, tucked away from view. It is a very enchanted place, a bit like the dreamlike lake of Nemi - Diana's Mirror, as it was called by the ancients. No one who has seen the calm waters of the lake where the Amazon Queen's summer palace nestles, can forget it. Sip from the waters and you forget about the earthly realm and feel the creativity pulsing through your veins.

Ithaka Bound will be open to the public for comment. If you don't get an invitation to join and want to post on this blogger please let me know. I will post out a swathe of invitations but it is very easy to overlook someone so for goodness sake don't let this happen and get lost.

If you are on the Soul Food Cafe mailing list do make sure to ask for an invite to join because I will not keep sending instructions to the whole group.

Chocolate Box-My Imaginary Friend

2005-08-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

" Here " Kincross says from behind my right shoulder, " let me take a look at what you're writing. Is it about me? "

Kincross is quiet for a second, which surprises me because my Werewolf has never been the quiet type. This can't be a good sign, especially when the second turns into a minute and I hear her growl " an imaginary friend? Write a dialog with an imaginary friend? "

" That's what it says Kincross " I tell her.

" I'm not imaginary and I'm not part of your subconscious either " she says quickly.

" If only." I snap " You're TOO pushy and noisy to be imaginary. Go on, go howl at the moon or something, I have work to do "

" I want my story told. " she says darkly.

" I want to be six inches taller and fifty pounds lighter but it ain't gonna happen in the next half hour.So get lost, go kill a Vampire or something I have to get this exercise done right now. "

" Okay. I'm sorry Anita. " she says with feeling.

" That's alright. "

I can hear her talking to my cat, and then I can hear the chair at my husband's work desk, the one on wheels, coasting from one end of the room to the other. I can hear Darwin my cat chasing something around and I'm guessing Kincross and Darwin are racing each other.

" Anita? " she stage whispers. I use the word whispers very lightly. You could probably hear her over the end of the world right now but she IS whispering. And she won't stop she sounds like some weird primitive cave woman chanting my name AnitaAnitaAnitaAnitaAniiiiittttAnittta "

" WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT NOW? DO YOU WANT TO BE TALLER IN THE NEXT STORY? YOUNGER? OR IS IT BLOND AND SKINNY? WHAT DO YOU WANT? "

" The phone is ringing. "

" OUT! Get out NOW! " I yell.

" You shouldn't talk out loud like that, people are going to start thinking your mental or something. " Kincross says, her voice dripping with concern and honey. Neither of which is in her nature.

" Is so in my nature...hey, what the heck are you saying about me there? "

" Are you watching? " I ask.

I look back and her eyes are narrowing, " Yes. "

" Once upon a time a self absorbed Werewolf got hit by a bus loaded with silver bullets and she died and never bothered her Author again. The end. "

" Oh very funny. "

I turn back to my keyboard and start to write and two seconds go by. Then a minute. No Kincross. I look out my door, under my desk. It's quiet it's actually...

" Go on, you missed me " my Werewolf says as she jumps down from the top of my bookshelf. She looks very pleased with herself and she sounds pleased as well.

" I really want to finish this. " I tell her.

" Oh, alright, but I'm not going anywhere...you know that right? "

I sure do.

Kincross is whistling, something I wish I could do and she looks over my shoulder again.

" I'd end there if I were you. "

" I look back and she actually pulls away. " FINE I'll just go sit until her Majesty is ready. "

And as I type away we both start snickering, " imaginary friend " we both say at the same time.

" Hey that's fun " Kincross says " let's do another one of these exercise things. "

"GET OUT KINCROSS"

And she actually does...for about two minutes.

What a record.

THE NEXT DAY:

Kincross is standing next to my computer tapping her foot and whistling " Ode To Joy"
when I walked into my work room this morning. I ignored her so she went into a loud shrill rousing rendition of " We are the Champions. "

I wish she had air in her lungs, then she'd have passed out by now and I wouldn't have to listen to her love herself anymore.

" Nasty nasty thing to wish on your friend " she says as I start to write. " nasty thing to say about your friend who was a big hit up at the Abbey. "

" Oh, it's about to get nastier because I have to post a note about our rehearsal and all I have to report is... " while I worked very hard on our project and actually cared about it my imaginary friend goofed off, chased my cat around the room and bugged me the entire time and actively tried to scuttle our project? "

She looks up in remembrance and nods, " yes, that's exactly what happened only you forgot about the part where your nasty temper got the best of you and you kept screaming at me like a little baby. "

She watches the letters fill up the screen and nods. " Yep, that looks right. "

Wonderful silence...wonderful qui....

" Oh Anitttaaaaaahhhhh ? " Kincross says in a ghostly voice.

" What? "

" Can I ask you a question?"

" What? " I stop everything I'm doing and look at her, I'm hoping if I pay attention to her for few minutes in return I may get a few minutes of peace and quiet.

" That was it, hahahah. "

" God! go AWAY! "

" No really, who are all these strangers in my town...why are they in Duwamish. " she asks primly, back straight with her hands behind her back. She rocking back and forth on her heels and looking up at the ceiling like she's reading something that's written up there.

" They're visiting Kincross. "

" That's nice, when are they leaving? "

" When they feel like it Kincross. "

" Duwamish doesn't work that way you know. "

I look at her and she looks at me and I have to say, " I know. "

" Good place to end this? " I ask.

Kincross nods and for once I agree.

© anita marie moscoso 2005-text

The Chocolate Box - Simone Crowther

2005-08-16T01:46:00.000-07:00

I wake up and there is a jewelled box at the end of my bed. The jewels glisten in sea colours of violet, blue, green and acquamarine; eels and fish entwine in the silver work. I open the box and therein incongruously lay chocolates!

Rich dark chocolates, milk chocolate, chocolate truffles, nut encrusted chocolates and white chocolates. I puck a white chocolate and memories swirl before me, memories that form the core of me. I find myself in a tiny airless attic with a trunk in front of me. I know of this trunk from the enchantress as the trunk of wonderment.

I open it and there at the bottom is a faded photograph of myself as a frail, pale girl, almost albino in my lack of colour with a voluminous mass of white blond hair that made me look like a mop on a stick. Such a miserable girl bowed beneath the hatred of a Poe-faced family. I remember her sadly. She was the sacrifice, I made to survive. I laid her in a chest, a stout wooden box, the size of a child's coffin and hid her (in the cave of an old formidable she-bear who takes in all such orphans) in a netherworld of my own depths because she was sick beyond my healing. She lies there still, swathed in a few precious scraps of sun shot nature, dreams and hidden ambitions, waiting... So wan, pale and sick almost to death but lo' she breathes, so precious!

I have been digging for that soul, to wake it up, revive it, breathe life energy back into it. I lay a honey comb as good will for the bear. A token of my recognition of the sweetness of life, my love and commitment. I take her childish form from the bear.

I call to her, coax her with soft words. It is safe to come out and be loved, joined with my body, joined with the present. It is safe to breathe deeply, to laugh, to dare, to dance wildly. It is safe to weep for old pain and dissolve old wounds.

I place her sleeping form over my shoulder and dig my way back up to the daylight world.

She is a splinter of my soul, a long forgotten part of me that had to lie hidden from the searching claws of my family.

She is a precious, precious thing. A part of me that wasn't safe to express. She is the forbidden, the wild, the magick and also the vulnerable flame of youth, of life lived passionately. She is white like the moon and her fragility is deceptive for she holds tremendous power. She is my Persephone, my playful, puckish spirit that had to lie in the underworld but now returns to be my soul's delight.

She lay like a spiritual seed and now she can grow like an immense silver-hot tree that casts both light and shadow.

I have let the moon out from my box. She is both the daughter and the mother of me.

She rests now, breathing deeply, rapidly gaining strength.

She is hungry and I feed her little scraps of meet. This is no vegetarian soul but a huntress with wolf's tail, canine teeth and claws.

Delving into the Chocolate Box - Alex Chua

2005-08-13T05:49:00.000-07:00

Delving into the Chocolate Box has been a gratifying and sensual
experience for me. The chocolates from Australia taste so much better
than what I get in Singapore :-) Pure and milky, melting seductively
in my mouth as I savor the moment of intense pleasure.

Anyone who really knows me will know that I am a really slow eater...
I savor my food. If there is anything I appreciate more than the air I
breathe, it is the food that I eat. And these chocolates is so filled
with love that I can feel the love over flows and spills all around my
body, a shimmering energetic field that glows brightly, lighting up
not only my little corner of the Grotto, but the whole Cave and Abbey.

The love from the chocolates revitalized and inspired me to go on the
Road Trip to the Lemurian Abbey with zest. Stopping at Duwamish Bay, I
am ready to present my piece to the inhabitants of the Abbey in a
rehearsal.

The Invitation
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Canadian Teacher, Writer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you
can disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

Reclaiming a Ritual - The Skeleton Woman - Megan Warren

2005-08-13T05:17:00.000-07:00

I have partaken of the chocolates that the Enchantress so kindly left for me.
While I was bathing my guide returned in her mysterious nature, she advised she was delivering a parcel that was left for me. I thanked her, telling her that I would attend to it after my bath. And then she was gone.

I quickly got out of the bath, wrapping myself in the luxurious robe that had been left for me. The parcel, a small box lay on the table next to the chocolate box.
It contained the following items: yarn, thread, beads and charms of the sea.

It was then that I noticed the note on the inside of the chocolate wrapper Reclaim a Ritual I held each of the items, a spiral bead, a seahorse, fish and turtle.

The yarn became a knitted amulet bag with a spiral bead closure. As I worked I thought of Clarissa Pinkola Estes (Women Who Run with the Wolves) story of The Skeleton Woman.

The Skeleton Woman

Cast out
banished
into the sea
tossing and
turning
washed in
washed out
bones lay
waste.

Fishing
casting out
hooked
reeling in
fright feat
tangled line
pile of bones.

Untangling
piecing together
her form
tear
quenching thirst
taking heart
beating drum
fleshing her
out
building her
up.

Sleep
wounded souls
entwined together
nourishment from
the sea
feeding off
one another.

© Megan Warren 21/7/2005

Those welcome Chocolates were delicious - Lois Daley

2005-08-13T05:15:00.000-07:00

I awoke after having slept for 12 hours in the cave and even on a hard stone bed the sleep was the most peaceful and sound as I can remember although perhaps one would have to have a special memory to say this.
I touched my left hand as it felt warmer than my right hand,I wondered why ..perhaps it still had the lingering touch of my Grandmother Maria Sophie ...yes that was it I could still feel her tiny hands curled around my short fat fingers.
Beside my bed on the small table was a large leaf all curled up as if it was tied with ribbon but it wasn't ,it had grown that way......I uncurled it and inside were four of the biggest cholcolates I had ever seen......Dark chocolate my favourite ..I said aloud......I was hungry but had never had chocolates for breakfast before.....Damm I thought here goes ....I had left sensibility in the cupboard at home ....One down, a sip of water...lovely.......Two down another sip of water....I was starting to feel a little sickly so I wrapped up my remaining two chocolates in the curled leaf and popped them in my cotton backpack....." For later On as they say"
I sprinkled some of the water on my hankie ,washed my face ,combed my hair ..luckily it has a curl in it and it looked ok.
I walked toward the door after tidying up (In case I was to come back this way, or one of my companions might follow in my tracks and need a restful bed)......I found the doorway I had come through and wandered out into the warm sun ..whatever the time was I did not know ,as I had not brought a watch ,I came back in to write in my diary as to what I had experienced and as I wrote my journey so far. I looked about me wondering what was to be the
next adventure.....and this is where I leave my story for now and will look further as to the orders left for me from the Enchantress .....(She who must be obeyed)

Chocolate Box Memory - Leonie Bryant

2005-08-13T05:09:00.000-07:00

Sitting in my warm cosy room, I opened my delicious box of chocolates. My mind drifted back to life on the farm in the Mallee in Northern Victoria.

My fondest memories are of the derelict old buildings around the farm. My favorite was the stables which were used to house the draft horses who pulled the machinery around the paddocks. The building was made of split posts with a thatched roof of straw. The empty troughs lined the walls and the old harnesses and bridles hung from the posts. I can remember climbing onto the roof and jumping off onto the heaps of earth behind the stables. I can almost smell the aroma of the rotted straw and grease as I sit here.

The other derelict building I remember is the pig sty, as above. The picture here is of a painting done by my sister when she returned there in the 80's. As you can see, the shelter for the pigs is almost intact, although the drifting sands from the drought have covered most of the surrounding fence.

Despite the fact that I had 3 sisters and a brother, I can only remember playing by myself. Strange! The home held many difficulties for all of us. As I reflect now, I can see the resourcefulness of the little girl who nurtured herself helping her rise above those difficulities.

Shamrocks and Chocolates - Barbara Banta

2005-08-13T05:08:00.000-07:00

Chocolate. Of all the things in life that would be troublesome to give up, chocolate is high on my list. Thankfully, not only do I *not* have to give it up, here in the cave, eating it is mandatory! I force myself to take another piece and as the silken delight melts in my mouth I look around my room for perhaps the 100th time.

My suite of rooms is in the shape of a three-leaf clover--a shamrock. I have no idea what types of quarters the others have been given, perhaps they are all alike, but something tells me that each of our rooms has been designed specifically to make that person happy.

My bedroom is one leaf, the kitchen another, and the third is, I think, waiting for me to design or tell it what it should be, for at the moment it is simply an empty shape. The stem of the shamrock, flanged wide at the bottom, narrower where it connects to the body, serves as the bathroom.

In the center, where leaves and stem converge, is the living-room or social area and here I sit, my box of chocolates on my lap, on a luscious fawn colored couch. Most of the furniture is rounded or freeform to fit the curving walls. Everything is either off-white or neutral tones, but there are brilliant flowering plants and ivy everywhere.

The chocolate prompts are lovely and the two words they've given me are words I cherish and claim in my writing: wonderment and conjure. An image in Archie's box of wonderments (a tiny bird's nest) also helped release a small golden memory.

One day, while sitting on my back porch, I saw movement in my garden and went to investigate. I found a baby bird, featherless, eyes sealed shut,
writhing in pain and covered with ants. Its movements had dug a tiny cup in the dusty earth. I lifted it into a trash can lid and poured water on it until the ants had been washed away. Not quite drowned, it lay there, gray and naked and gasping for air.

That night I sat looking at TV with the bird nestled in my hand. Every half hour or so it raised it's scrawny neck and begged for food and I fed it thin farina by eyedropper. After it ate it dropped into a deep sleep.

Suddenly it woke with a start and instead of begging began to squirm and wiggle, almost flinging itself out of my hand. I assumed the poison from the ant stings was causing it to go into a fit and feared the end was near.

Then it pooped.

Not a messy bird poop, but a perfect green and white marble fit for a box of wonderments.

From the chocolate box - a song for my imaginary friends - Gail Kavanagh

2005-08-13T04:51:00.000-07:00

"You'll have to stop this talking to yourself," my mother said.
"People are saying there's something wrong with you."
My immediate reaction was embarrassment and shame. It never occurred
to me to say that I wasn't talking to myself. If I'd said I was
talking to imaginary friends my parents would have been convinced I
was crazy - or doo lally tap, as they used to say.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who talk to people who aren't there are
Doo Lally Tap

So I told my friends they'd have to lay low for a while, at least
until my mother's friends stopped spying on me. I was the classic
candidate for imaginary friends, although I didn't realise it at
that age - I was an only child, my parents had few friends with
children of their own, I had never made any close friends my own age.
But in my imagination, I was never alone.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who let their imagination run away with them are
Doo Lally Tap

My imaginary friends didn't have to be human. For a long time I had
an imaginary dog, until my parents relented and bought me a real
one. I was never without an imaginary horse, which looked a lot like
the one Tamzin rode in Monica Edward's books. When I discovered the
Moomin books of Tove Jannsen, I happily followed Moomintroll and the
Snork Maiden into their enchanted world.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who have their noses stuck in a book are
Doo Lally Tap

If my parents had visions of me ending up in a padded cell having in
depth conversations with people and creatures no one else could see,
they needn't have worried. The world is well adapted to making sure
no one grows up hanging on to the innocence of their childhood. My
imaginary friends politely took to staying out of sight when their
presence might prove embarrassing, eventually settling into
my subconscious as all well behaved imaginary friends do. But they
refused to disappear completely.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who stare dreamily off into the distance are
Doo Lally Tap

Through my teens and young womanhood I was repeatedly accused of
`day dreaming'. The only way I could be alone with my imaginary
friends was to run or bike for miles, giving them a free rein in my head.
I learned that slipping into a daydream any other time earned
me the title of `Typical Moony Eyed Teenager." I mooned around
painting, writing stories and doing other pointless things that
would clearly never help me earn a living in the real world.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who can't get with the program are
Doo Lally Tap

Eventually I married, which seemed to be the only honorable thing to
do when my parents realised I would never make a proper career, and
started having children. Suddenly my lonely life was full of the
most enchanting little friends. And they had imaginary friends and
they weren't lonely onlies, so that knocked that theory on the head.
And they kept my imagination alive, making up Dungeons and Dragons
games for them and playing in our family orchestra.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People with no imaginary friends will soon go
Doo Lally Tap

Oh but so many years went by, and life got more and more serious and
my imagination retreated in horror at the reality pouring into my
mind day after day. I became everything my elders had entreated me
to be when I was young and moony eyed and now I feared for my own
sanity.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
Dancing in the moonlight is a sure sign you are
Doo Lally Tap

I thought they'd all gone, my imaginary friends, my imaginary
worlds, my beautiful horse that carried me deep into the realms of
dreams. Then one day he nudged me in the middle of the back, and I
heard giggles, and I smelt the Moomins' pine forest. I know I can find
my way back there, if I can just let go of the baggage I've
been carrying.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
I will dance to the rhythm of
Doo Lally Tap.

From the Chocolate Box - Heather Blakey

2005-08-13T04:50:00.000-07:00

I put my suitcase on a ledge, leaving it open, ready to store the stories, images, artefacts and look for a place to rest. I am suddenly beyond weary. I yearn to sleep. The Enchantress is gone, riding, galloping towards the Lemurian Abbey. A night rider, dressed in black she is sure to return, eventually. I have faith that she will return.

It is a deep sleep filled with recurring images of the womb. The image of that Wintered Womb that I have lain in rises to the front, demanding I lay a ghost to rest.

From The Wintered Womb

Underneath the thrice ploughed, fertile, fallow field
Impregnated within a wintered, woven, womb
Of richly composted humus
I lay seeking sustenance, nourishment from
The oxygen filled wintered mist that
Drizzles, seeping, replenishing the amniotic fluids
That trickles through the membranous umbilical cord
Fertilizing, greening,
Ensuring a bountiful spring harvest.

Voices on the wind, drift through the chosen womb, throught the richly composted humus... a mother crying... she has three children already... how will she manage. Dr Salvaris reassures her. They will do a tubal ligation at the same time as this child is delivered, to ensure that her womb will lie fallow from this time on. What does this mean for me I wonder? 'Prove your worth that's what you will do....' more words come filtering into the womb filling me with apprehension. Will I ever be good enough?

A delicious box of chocolates - Karen

2005-08-13T04:44:00.000-07:00

When I awakened from my sleep, I found on the bed next to me a lovely box. It was in the shape of a sort of reliquery, tall and tapered like a cathedral. Purple satin and gold beading and tassels bedecked this lovely creation. I opened the little doors on the front and saw rows of delectable chocolates, nestled within layers of spun sugar. I selected my favorite, a succulent dark and popped it into my mouth. I was instantly transported to another time and place. I am quite small, I thought. I hear a voice, somewhat muffled, saying, "And what do YOU want to be when you growup?"

Countdown to a Grown-Up

At seven a teacher, a nurse, an actress
wild dog, space alien,a magician
At thirteen an artist, a writer, a poet
beautiful, sexy, someone who belonged
At twenty-one a nurse, a mother, a wife
artist, writer, traveler
At thirty divorced, wealthy, somewhere else
intense, passionate, sexual
At forty Frida Kahlo, Georgia O'Keefe, Ellen Gilchrist, Barbara
Kingsolver, Margaret Mead, Winnie Mandela, Guinevere, an organic
farmer, Sojourner Truth, Lillian Wald, Margaret Sanger, the Dalai
Lama, Laxshmi, a bellydancer, a healer
someone who sees, listens, transforms, creates
I grow toward myself.
I am large, I contain multitudes.*

(Walt Whitman)

Complimentary Chocolates

2005-08-13T04:41:00.000-07:00

Fellow Cave Dwellers

At last you are alone in your quarters, able like the young bride in the Bloody Chamber to rummage and explore your new surroundings. You will find a box of chocolates. On the box it says that:

Childhood is a state or phase of imaginative existence, the phase in which the world of imagination is still a brave new world and yet reassuring and intelligible.

The strictly non-fat chocolate from the Soul Food Chocolate Box is full of projects and material to help us return to that wondrous kingdom where imagination and creativity rule. The special fillings focus on celebrating childhood joy, spontaneity and imagination.
Choose one and respond.

have a good day in the Cave
love The Enchantress

~My Room~ - Patricia

2005-08-13T04:40:00.004-07:00

~A Room of One's Own~
... My finger tips push the door open. Astonished, I try and take the whole room in at once. An impossible task. The flow of calmness and serenity speaks volumes to my soul. It is the colors of sky and water. It's as soothing as the sound of the waves past midnight, this ocean blue room. It is instantly an escape from any world. The room shares my passion for vintage embellishment ...
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My Cave Dwelling - AshleyShea

2005-08-13T04:40:00.003-07:00

I was surprised by the amount of time it took for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cave after the door shut behind me. After the glare of the afternoon sunshine, the darkness of the cave set the hairs on the back of my neck on end. It felt like an unnatural darkness. Not even being able to see myself, I felt what I can only assume it feels like to be spirit -- completely without form -- except for the cold, clammy feeling.

A gasp stuck in my throat when I felt a chilling breeze. Did someone walk past me? I wouldn't have known it by sight. Was it an animal? A bat? Or some other creature I hadn't learned about in science class? I stood frozen, wishing for my sight to return, when I realized I wasn't breathing. Ok, first lesson in dealing with stress, b-r-e-a-t-h. I forced myself to take a deep breath and felt as if I was swallowing the cave. The cool air reached to my toes and then shot back up to my head. I had to stay focused. "Keep breathing. Slowly." I reminded myself.

Finally, the oxygen must have reached my eyes and they began to see shapes and shadows. I saw a narrow passage way and a hope of light far off in the distance. Using my trusty walking stick, I felt for confirmation of the path in front of me. Sometimes I discovered I was facing a solid rock wall when I thought I had a few more steps to take before the next turn.

Making it through the maze of rock walls was worth it when I reached my room with a view. My whole body breathed a sigh of relief. The lapping sounds of the water brought down my heart rate and reminded me to breath at my natural rate again. I was home. The ocean always feels like an old friend, and here it was to comfort me. As soon as I regained my senses, I took my digital camera from it's pack and took this photo.

In this room I discovered an elevated area where I'll stay dry even in high tides. I have a wonderfully soft mattress that hugs me. I can't believe the mattress is sitting on a cave floor. A plate of luscious fruits, native cheeses, and a fresh-from-the-oven loaf of bread sat on a tray beside the bed. I'm glad I found this luxury before it was sampled by the other creatures who call this cave home. Honestly, I don't know why it hadn't been devoured.

After eating a portion of the food left for me, my strength, along with my curiosity, was renewed. I noticed a second passageway off my room and thought I'd wander its length to see where it would take me. Without fear, I let my eyes adjust as the light left and soon I discovered a new light to approach. It didn't take me long before my eyes were rewarded with this sight. I knew my camera would never be able to capture the beauty, so I sketched this image when I returned to my room.
What an amazing place! It is completely lit by glowing icicles, stalagtites and stalagmites. It glows with the energy of the earth. I felt a strong, wise, loving presence in the room, though I was the only being I could see. I wasn't ready to sit in one of the chairs and commune with whatever may be there. My senses were already on overload. I decided to return to my room with a view to rest and relax, record these scribblings in my journal, and take a short nap. I'll return to what I've dubbed the Conference Room when I feel more settled.

NOTE FROM CONSCIENCE: The images I have posted in this blog I found on the net. They are not mine. I do not own copyright for them. Since I assume only my few traveling companions will see this blog, I felt it was ok to use these images as this is for personal use only. Please do not share these images with anyone. In future posts, unless I take credit for an image, assume it is not mine.

Michelle's room - Michelle V

2005-08-13T04:40:00.002-07:00

I've reflected long on this room I am to call my own and realize I don't want to be closed in by four walls and a ceiling no matter how attractively furnished with its stone hearth, iron wall sconces, and authentic primitive artwork. Heart racing, breath ragged, I feel buried alive in this cave. I am more claustrophobic then I realized. I will sleep outdoors.

Tonight, when the yellow moon rises and reaches the zenith hour, I will dance in the warm breeze under an inky sky filled with stars--semi attired in an ankle length, sun colored, belted skirt of scarfs, hair flowing loose against otherwise bare skin, face tilted, eyes closed. My steps sure, filled with knowledge so ancient it has been forgotten until now.

A song..... - Lisa J

2005-08-13T04:40:00.001-07:00

Well, as I have already described and explored my lovely quarters inside the caves of the enchantress, I have been sitting here in front of the fire and I feel like singing. I hope you can all hear me from your quarters. I want to sing a song by a group called the Waifs. It is called Papa, and I sing it in a blues scale, acapella. It may seem sad to some, but it fills me with joy. I am a daddy's girl - at 27 years old, I still walk down the street holding his hand, and my hand still feels tiny in his. I still stand on his feet and dance and hug him whenever I can. I loved both of my grandfathers very much also, incredible men who helped influence and shape who i am. I will always be these men's Little Girl, so rather than finding this song sad, it makes me feel happy, it makes me proud - it may not be the story of my grandfathers, but to me it honours the men in my life who do and have meant so much to me, so I sing it loud and clear.

We-eell, my Papa was a fisherman
and he fished the deep blue sea
he did home-make some fine blackberry nip
and he always passed a nip along to me.
Well he smelled like black tar fishing nets
of tiger-belly growl
He was my good Papa, yeah
but he just be bones now.

Well Grand-daddy was a sailor man
and he sailed from far across the sea
he did talk some kind of funny, yeah
but it never did bother me.
When he talked about his home-land
Twas with a sad and furrowed brow.
No more tears Grand-daddy
you just be bones now.

Well I look now at my Papa
and his black hairs all turned grey
and the strong arms that did carry me
they're now withering away
Lay down your burden Papa
Won't you come sit with me at home?
We've got to spend some time together
before we just be bones.

Lisa

My Quarters in The Cave of Enchantress - Heather Blakey

2005-08-13T04:40:00.000-07:00

Inside the Cave of the Enchantress

I stand looking tentatively at the sealed cellar door that leads deep within, to a place I have been reluctant to enter alone. Others have bravely opened their tailor made doors, but this one has been haunting me for many years. I have seen it in there, amid the parched arid terrain, tightly, heavily closed and I have felt an overpowering apprehension. The fate of Pandora and her box has been well and truly etched into my psyche and I have dreaded the thought of opening it, only to release winged terrors.

Right at this moment something is very different. As I stand looking I can hear sounds that I have never heard before, soft voices calling me to explore the expansive chamber below. Intuitively I know that this will not be the last seal to break but I have been released from a stressful work-place and feel a little stronger, more able to cope and those voices are haunting me.

It has been a long day and I am weary. I am standing in harsh, flat, scrubby plains that have little appeal. I am confused! The Sibyl's Grotto is supposed to be in Umbria, Italy and this landscape most certainly is not Umbrian. The enchantress is not going to be impressed when she cannot find me at the appointed spot.

The voices become louder, urging me to lift open this door, at the bottom of stone steps. The steps remind me of an abandoned factory where I played, alone, as a child. At the end of those stairs there was a sealed door and I spent hours imagining what lay beyond. Curious!

With a strident, unfamiliar self confidence I grab the steel handle and pull it towards me. The hinges had appeared to be rusted but the door opens without so much as a creak. Relief washes over me as I pass through the doorway into refreshingly cool darkness. I lightly touch the chilled, stone ledge and make my way down into what feels like a vast chamber. It is the sounds, the smell that reveal the dimension of this place that I have entered. I sense that this is an enchanted, mystical , spiritual place that I have stumbled upon and stand quite still, adjusting my eyes to the light.

A warm hand grabs mine and as my guides flashlight hits the walls I gasp. All around us is exquisite, sacred art, art that is calling up my past. The rocky overhangs have been transformed into magnificent galleries, adorned with hand stencilled images, painted with striking red ochres and yellow clay paint. A thousand eyes turn to look at me, eyes that had been motionless until I made my entrance. Figures turned in recognition, figures longing for life to be infused into them.

What artist painted these halls; carved these figures, shaped the towering rocky overhangs?

My guide turns, looks at me and smiles. I know her immediately to be the Enchantress that had said we were going to Umbria. "This has been a place of celebration and ceremony for thousands of years. These are to be your quarters for the coming months!" she tells me and before I can respond she has vanished.

Still holding my empty suitcase I look around. No longer dark or gloomy the cavern is filtered with a radiant luminosity. This hauntingly sacred place, so full of atmospheric secrecy, has no sign of permanent occupation. It is pristine, the ultimate refuge. Nearby are deep, dark, still pools, filled with reflections and memories by Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory.

I put my suitcase on a ledge, leaving it open, ready to store the stories, images, artefacts and look for a place to rest. I am suddenly beyond weary. I yearn to sleep. The Enchantress is gone, riding, galloping towards the Lemurian Hermitage. A night rider, dressed in black she is sure to return, eventually. I have faith that she will return.

Vista on the other side of the door - Carol Abel

2005-08-13T04:39:00.000-07:00

rainbow photo taken in Lynmouth in 2004
I will trip the light fandango to reach the crock of gold that lies at the end of this rainbow.

Vista Beyond the Door - Audrey Larkin

2005-08-13T04:38:00.000-07:00

Standing outside I admire the doorway I've claimed, and peek inside. Due to the brightness outside of the door, it is quite dark in comparison. Reaching into my bag I grab my trusty flashlight and ready it for the journey I'm about to begin. Turning around for one last look at the greenery and flowers I've recently trudged through, I start to feel a bit anxious and feel butterflies fluttering around in my midsection. I hate that feeling and decide to get to it and enter the cave.

Shining my light around in front of me, I am able to see that there is something or is it someone in front of me just a few feet away? The butterflies which started to quiet down just a bit, now increase their activity, which I don't appreciate as I'd much prefer calmness right about now. Feeling a soft hand on my shoulder, I nearly jump out of my skin. Looking up I see a hooded figure, completely covered from head to toe in a shiny flowing jet black hooded cape. A feeling of calmness washes over me, ridding me of those annoying butterflies and I begin to relax (at least temporarily.) Smiling I say "hello" to which she nodded "hello," back to me. "You do have a face under that hood now, don't you," I ask? I received no response but did get the impression that a smile surfaced under the hood. Turning away from where I first entered the cave, the figure starts walking deeper into the cave and I follow.

After what seemed like a winding, twisting maze that lasted all of five minutes we arrive at a room. It looks similar to the ones we past on the way. She, yes I've figured out by then "it" is a she, points and says "enjoy your visit" gives me a slight bow and leaves. Looking around I see the room is of a fairly decent size with a bed that looks comfy enough, a dresser next to the bed with a lamp on it, a few interesting pictures, who's artist aren't one's that I'm familiar with and a comfortable cushy chair that appears to me like it is antique. The most interesting thing I've found is that there is a window. It is a fairly small one that is closed with a curtain on it. The curtain,which is sheer yellow, is closed and I'm not feeling brave enough to open it. I mean, we are in a cave and as far as I know, there are no windows in a cave. At least none that I've ever heard of. The window is above the desk which is on the wall opposite the dresser near the foot of the bed. "That," I think to myself, will have to wait for another time to be checked out. Right now I just want to take a quick shower in the bathroom that is located on the left of the dresser and opposite the bed. That all this fits into a room of this size is amazing. It actually is a very nice, comfortable and rustic alcove that, for the time being, is mine to enjoy.

I think I knew my guide - Lois Daley

2005-08-13T04:34:00.000-07:00

As I walked just a little way into the grotto with my branch before me brushing away pebbles on the ground I felt it was getting lighter and the darkness seemed left behind......It was as if she appeared from nowhere ..A tiny figure in a long brown dress with a high collar lightly beaded ,done up with tiny pearl buttons ,long sleeves also beaded at the wrist...her hair was rolled in curls around her tiny face ,big brown eyes ,small nose ,high cheekbones ......
I knew her face but where from....she smiled and said "Lois I have been wanting to meet you for such a long time " She extended her tiny hand to me and as I clasped it ,it was warm but firm.."Follow me ,this way" I don,t want to lose you again" Again I thought what does she mean.
We walked hand in hand along the low roofed cave,we did not need to lower our heads as we were both quite short under 5 ft.I had never felt so comfortable with anyone as I was with this tiny woman.
The air became sweeter and the darkness was behind us..it was not quite light and as I looked up I could see cracks in the top of the cave that were letting in an extraordinary amount of light...As I looked it became brighter as if by magic.
We entered,still hand in hand into a small room containing a bed from large stone slabs with a blankets made from the skin of perhaps a huge bear or wolf or similar,one on the bottom one on the top.A small flat rock made up to be a table was beside the bed ,grapes,oranges,nuts,and a vegetable I did not recognise and a pail of water.....Now she said "You must rest till the morning as you look very weary"She took my hand and kissed my fingers gently,I rushedto see where she had gone ,but she had disappeared.
I was tired as she had said.....I ate ,lay down on the bed pulled the animal skin over me and went to sleep......
I had a dream that night.....The tiny woman who had guided me safely to my bed and who I felt I knew ,someone I had never met but someone who's photo is on my mantlepiece at my home in Port Melbourne......She was my Grandmother Maria Sophia Craske called Sophie for short....BUT...
I was never to meet her as she died in 1929 and I was born in 1936 to her Daughter Jessie Georgina ....She was the enchantress's guiding light who had come for me when I was in need of an angel to find my way and to rest my body.......I did dream this,I did,but it was so real ,was it really her ,will I ever know for sure. I knew I would not meet her again her mission was done....she had come back just for me .....I slept the sleep of sleeps,happy in the knowledge that I had had a wonderful experience ,one I could or would not share with strangers..only those who travel the path with me,.

Stalactites and Stalagmites - Barbara Banta

2005-08-13T04:29:00.000-07:00

Although Heather said we waited for those who were late, after I described my door and stood before it, it seemed only seconds until it opened into the ancient Cave. A swirl of excited energy surrounded me, colorful auras, bold and bright, and I recognized them as my good friends whom I knew from other Soul Food journeys. More lights flickered on and off in muted colors, shy or uncertain about this commitment they had made. For a brief moment I was filled with compassion for the newcomersand wanted to welcome them and calm their fears, but that, I knew was the task of l'Enchanteur.

How can I describe what I saw? I have the words, but not the breath to speak them. A huge circular cavern spread out around us, so bright it made me blink.

"This isn't at all like the Alluvial Mine!" I thought in astonishment and the aura closest to me broke into a shimmer of laughter at my foolishness.

"Pleasure Dome of Kublai Khan and Xanadu should have given you a hint, Slow Poke!"

Under different circumstances I would have enjoyed observing the auras, clustered together as tightly as preschoolers on a field trip, but my gaze was drawn from them and my joyful companion to the stone walls. Snowy white alabaster, curved like the petals of a rose, they ebbed and flowed around the cavern and contained countless examples of exquisite sculpture and cut work resembling lace. Stalactites twisted down from the domed ceiling, thick and sturdy as columns and delicate as thetendrils of a woman's hair. The air was sweet and fresh as a meadow. Small fountains carved into the walls flowed with sparkling water. A stone table set on a stalagmite pedestal offered a mouth watering display of fruits and berries, but I soon noticed there were no chairs anywhere in the room.

Our group still clung closely together, their auras radiating distinct hues and patterns but here and there I began to discern the faint outlines of form, the curved line from shoulder to hip, a slender hand held up in awe. I wondered if this meant the grotto was accepting us or we were accepting the grotto. As I pondered this strange idea a shape approached and handed me a woven basket made of willow. I say shape because under a silken white cloth, which could hardly be called a robe,there were no tell tale signs of a body, either male or female and although it glided easily across the floor, I could see no feet.

Baskets were approaching my companions, as well. Clearly we'd each been given a guide, and I wondered if they could see theirs any better than I could see mine. I joined everyone at the table and filled my basket with strawberries, peaches, slices of pineapple, and mangoes then followed my guide out of the entrance hall and through winding corridors to my living quarters. I cannot even tell about this now--it is too fresh in my mind and I have been too overwhelmed today to take any more in or give anymore out. Perhaps I'll write about it tomorrow as I nibble the chocolate Heather has provided.

One thing, though, I need to add. I asked to know who my guide was and the answer I received perplexed me.

"I am who you wish me to be. When you know, you will see me quite clearly."

The Storyteller - Anita Marie Moscoso

2005-08-13T04:23:00.000-07:00

She has been in my dreams and nightmares and stories for as long as I can remember.

Sometimes she wears my face and sometimes I wear hers.

We have look through each others eyes and have taken pleasure from the same things: Mozart, Thunderstorms and Dark Airless Catacombs.

We've spent endless midnights together whispering tales, sharing secrets, and together at each sunrise we’ve watched the Sun murder the only place we belong

The shadows.

So this is my friend, the Musician in the House of the Dead, she's come to take me to my quarters and together we will play our music that others call storytelling.

Settled at Last - Anita Marie Moscoso

2005-08-13T04:15:00.000-07:00

The room I found myself in was bare and cool and quiet and there was no furniture in it except for a mural etched deep into the stone that I would have missed all together had I not dropped the lantern on my way in.

When the lantern hit the floor the kerosene spread into a pool at my feet that instantly caught fire. Then the flames reached up and flared so bright it was like looking into the sun.

That’s when I saw in deep and delicately carved lines, a story about a man, a bell ringer who died alone and was mourned by death itself.

The dead man sat in a chair in a simply furnished room with two books by his side and an open window over his over his shoulder. He was a workingman who lived and died simply and I wondered why would Death grieve for this one life when it had taken so many already and would take many more because that was the nature of this creature?

Death itself was ringing the bells for this man who wasn't a King or young and handsome or rich and famous. I could see genuine grief in the way the skeleton’s head was bowed, in it's hunched shoulders, in it's tired frame.

Before I could wonder more, before I could reach up and touch the lines the flames died down and someone from behind invited me into the room across the hall. I had taken a wrong turn and had gone into the wrong room.

A much more comfortable room with a bed and warm blankets and all those other things we especially enjoy after long uncomfortable journeys was just across the hall waiting for me.

I didn't turn around, " this room is perfect, thank you all the same. I could use a lantern and maybe a bed. Yes, that's all I think I need. "

Vista beyond the Door - Megan Warren

2005-08-11T02:42:00.000-07:00

The Guide

Mysterious woman
shrouded in
emerald green
robes
hooded
her features
obscured
she carries a
lantern
a beacon
to light
her path …
and mine.

There is something about my guide that is familiar. I can’t put my finger on it. There is something about her that reminds me of myself. She has kept herself shrouded in her robes, her hood drawn down over her face. When speaking to me she has spoken in mellow tones and she has kept her head bowed to avoid eye contact.

I am thinking that perhaps a previous or future incarnation of me may have been sent to the grotto to guide me in my self-exploration.

I have settled in my quarters. I am intrigued by the identity of the mysterious woman who was my guide. She led me to my quarters, advising that all I required for my stay had been provided for; she would leave me to acquaint myself with my quarters. She said before leaving “We hope that you enjoy your stay at Grotto della Sibilla and that it is beneficial to you in some way. I will return to accompany you on a tour of the grotto. Keep the key that has been provided for you. It is yours to keep.” With that she turned and left.

The lodgings are certainly well appointed; it is more like a modern apartment, with a bedroom, bathroom and living room. The living room is equipped with a desk and all the art supplies that I will possibly need. My laptop is on the desk and my books are on the shelves. There is even a couch for lounging on.

No wonder Heather said to pack light, everything I need is here and it is mine!
If only I could live like this. I am going to run myself a bath and relax. Oh, there is a box of chocolates on the table, nothing like a bath and chocolates – I could get used to this.

A Fool's Journey - Gwen Myers

2005-08-11T02:41:00.000-07:00

"The greatest of journeys begins with a single step." Would this quote be the root of my undoing, or would it be the beginning of another glorious adventure for me to learn from? No sense in dithering about that now. I am standing before the door I must pass through to truly begin.
It is a door, like any door; except that it is sturdy and old-fashioned. It reminds me of the doors in the house I lived in back in Oregon, solid hardwood with gracefully arched trim on the thin part of the panels. It isn't painted, it is gleaming with varnish, the brass handle shiny from use. I know this door, and don't fear what lies beyond. It was through this door I fled when a life gone painfully awry became completely unbearable.
There is a difference now. I am not thoughtlessy, heedlessly trying to escape, now I am conciously choosing to walk through the door and see what lies beyond calmly and in depth.
I know that beyond lies the ocean of dreams, where I have floated serenely. I have eaten from the tree af fantasies, the times life felt loveless and unbearable. My path was guided by constellations of ideas on a sky of shifting colours, like those of the Aurora Borealis and Aurora Australis.
What will I see now, when I am expected to look deeply, and report on what I see here? Will I have the words to say what lies across this threshold?
Pye and Skye snuffle impatiently at the crack at the bottom. I reach my hand out to the handle, there is the tiniest arc as skin contacts brass. The cat's tails fluff and their eyes widen.
The door opens smoothly on gleaming, well-oiled brass hinges, the hinge-pins looking like the towers of minarets or Greek Orthodox Churches. As it swings open Pye and Skye stare at the vista for a breath, whiskers trembling as they sniff excitedly.
The air wafting towards us is rich with the perfume of the earth, dew on new-mown grass, the beach slumbering beneath a midsummer sun, the scent of growing things and the Circle of Life.
Through the door we three go, stepping in unison to soft grass and just the right amount of sunshine. The cats look up at me, their gazes saying, "I KNEW this was within you, you are too catlike for it not to be!"
I laugh and scritch one pair of shoulderblades, then the other. "I know kitties I know. Where do you think I learned to look at the world with 'new' eyes? Now, we are to seek the Cave of the Enchanteur? Our spirits shall lead us there? Non?"
Pye takes our lead, the crook in his tail pointing the way.

tis too dark to see by Stephanie Hansen

2005-08-11T02:40:00.001-07:00

I love to travel; I loathe to leave home. I am the bewildered one. I would embrace the world if I could find the key of willingness to open my arms. The size of the roof over my head belies the reality of the mansion that is my heart. It is a mansion with a hundred doors I cannot open, behind which is all the wisdom to be had if I would brave all the fear that is before. Even when I would leave forever, never to return, I stand tiptoe on the threshold anxiously seeking my way back. How is this so? Why is it so? It is as though I am two completely different women, but it is more likely I am one complete woman torn asunder.

Stepping away from the threshold of indecision, I nip and swat and swipe tensely at the fears blocking the many ways to wisdom. With that I fill my days as a store clerk tending the illusion of importance, of authority, of busyness by diligently wiping the fingerprints off the glass cases and straightening the displays. Yes, the work needs to be done, but the greater purpose lies in the doorways beyond, not beyond the doors.

Yes, I mean "in the doorways". In the absence of willingess no doors are needed to block my way to these dark places, and the transformation I undergo simply by walking through them with nothing to comfort me but the vague promise of wonder is often part of - if not wholly - the reason such ways are so dark: to impress upon me that with every act of faith I become the light by which I travel, and by which others may follow my path.

I cannot draw this dark passageway any more than the most talented artist in the world could draw the face of God: blind in my personal night, attempting to define the shape of the way by feel, I reach out and touch neither wood nor stone, but

words

in the form of a question:

"What will I become?"

steph

Vista Beyond the Door - Alex Chua

2005-08-11T02:40:00.000-07:00

As I stand in the open doorway I saw only darkness. An emptiness fillsthe air as I walked towards the cave with only my own heartbeat toreassure me. My inner light was there to guide me and I can feel the energy of all who had passed throught this path before me.

I followed the tingling sensations and was guided by my heart towardsa part of the cave where there was a purplish glow. I felt safe there and I sat myself down and meditated... it wasn't long before I fell asleep.

Through the Rainbow Curtain by Shiloh Cannon Blackburn

2005-08-11T02:39:00.000-07:00

What's at the end of the rainbow?

It isn't a pot of gold. Nay, no wee spry leprechaun lies in wait for a bumbling human to come along for a bit of sport in the game of "Catch the Leprechaun...If Ye Can."

It isn't a pool of rainbow water, where the fairies in charge of Nature come to replenish their store of dyes.

It isn't a gateway back to Kansas from Oz. Nay, only the Ruby Slippers and a powerful wish can send someone back home.

It isn't a fountain of rainbow colored Skittles, where one is told to "taste the rainbow."

And, sorry it is I am to say, it isn't a roadway to Rainbowland or Rainbow Brite.

Ooooook, then what have you found at the end of the rainbow?

The joy of dreams.

Renewal...fresh hope.

Magic...beauty.

A place which only innocent eyes and those with open minds can view. It's here, in the few precious moments when the rainbow touches earth, the gate to this unseen world is opened to mortals.

It's here, if such a one is lucky enough to pass through the bands of color into this new, unknown world, they will see and experience things beyond their wildest imagination.

It's here, where time has no meaning or seems to stand still, one can remain ageless.

It's here that dreams come true.

It's here that one is granted a boon, but only one, by the great Queen Mab.

It's here that one can dance with the Fae folk in one of their enchanted circles while Queen Mab presides over her court in a secret glade.

It's here that one's innocence is sustained and renewed.

Aaahhh, so what happens when there is a double rainbow? Are there two gates?

*smiles* I think ye are just the explorer needed for that answer, my child. Next time ye see a double rainbow, ye can tell me your answer.

Aye, Grandma.

*Inspired by a P-O-Y archived post.

*******Lil did I know it at the time, that entry in my journal was to be the beginning of my journey along the Soulfood Silk Road. The child in it, now grown up and having seen a double rainbow just now on one of her many excursions just outside her village, is off to find the answers to her questions of what lies at the end of this twin beauty.

Last night the wind blew hard enough outside my windows to be heard, and I knew the heavens would soon be opening up to release the cleansing tears we mortals call rain. For when the wind comes, moisture is sure to follow. It was a playful wind I heard, scuttling the first of the fallen leaves of the changing season along the path following the west wall of my cottage. It swirled through the village square, and sometimes, lying abed, if the wind brought it near I'd hear the slow wooden cccrrreeeakk of a business sign hung outside Paddy's Pub and a few other shops down the road aways. It rustled and pushed through the leaves of the trees, and in my mind's eye, snug warmly under my covers, I could see their limbs dancing and swaying to the wind's whistling tune.

If there's rain on the morrow, I thought before drifting off to sleep, as sure as Ireland is green, a rainbow is sure to grace our sky. And I determined then to watch for it.

Ever since I was a wee one, I've loved the tales told me by my grandma. Tales of Old Ireland, tales of the Fae Folk and Queen Mab, tales of the heroes of yore. They fed my fertile, young imagination and oft times I would go exploring, to see if I could stumble upon Queen Mab's court and espy what it was the Fae Folk were up to. Or perhaps to try and catch myself a leprechaun and have three wishes granted.

One day when I was seven, and it was nearing the end of the summer vacation my family and I had taken to visit her here in Ireland, it had rained most of the day. I was quite put out because I couldn't leave the cottage. I wanted to explore! I wanted to see if I could find and capture a wee man or woman and have them grant me my wishes. I knew exactly what I'd wish for too. I wanted to stay in Ireland with Grandma, not having to go back to the States come next week. I wanted to meet Queen Mab and dance with her people. I wanted to be great, like the hero Cuchulainn.

"Now child, don't mope so," Grandma told me as she sat knitting in her rocking chair. "Ye can go explorin' tomorrow. 'Tis sure to be a better day."

The rain had stopped by then, but twilight would soon be falling upon the tiny village and my parents and sister and brother would soon be returning from the next town over. The adults didn't like it if it was nearing dark and I wasn't within calling distance.

I was at the window, despondently watching the leftover raindrops slide in slow, meandering rivelets down the pane of glass. I was about to turn and answer her when an arc of color caught my eye. A rainbow! A beautiful, brilliant rainbow perfectly arching across the gray sky!

"Grandma! Look, a rainbow!" I said excitedly and launched toward the door, throwing it open and hastening out into the front yard. I pointed to Earth's natural prism hanging above the trees and drank in the deep red that lightened by degrees then bled into what soon became orange and all the other colors. I had never seen a rainbow this vibrant before and I wanted to take in every last detail so I could tell Da and the others about it later. Da loved rainbows.

Grandma was slower in coming, but come she did and placed her thin arm around my shoulders, a smile wreathing her beloved wrinkled face. I noticed then one end of the rainbow seemed to touch the hills in the distance, and I remembered the tales of a leprechaun's pot of gold being at the end. Having a child's curiosity I asked her. It was that day she shared the true magic of what lies at the end of a rainbow if one is lucky enough to get there before it fades. It was that day my world changed just a lil, my imagination expanded to include new possibilities and my own love for rainbows was born.

I never forgot that day or her words to me when I asked about double rainbows. "I think ye are just the explorer needed for that answer, my child. Next time ye see a double rainbow, ye can tell me your answer."

Now I'm grown and have come back to Ireland, having inherited Grandma's cottage.

Sure enough, the rain came. I awoke early this morning to the tap-tap-tapping of its drops on the windows and thatched roof. I smiled into my pillow and curled my toes into the mattress, my heart dancing at the prospect of seeing a rainbow. Grandma's words filtered up through the lingering mists of sleep and I was suddenly gripped with the whimsical thought of chasing a rainbow to see what was at the end of it. Maybe this time I would be quick enough to slip through the gate into the invisible world of the Fae and finally meet the queen I had so longed to know.

What if there's a double rainbow? You could finally have your answers and no more wondering... This thought followed closely on the heels of the first and my eyes opened. Sleep was firmly banished in the new compelling whimsy of the idea.

Why not? I thought as I stretched, pushed back the covers and rolled from bed. It's crazy, but then Grandma would say, 'It's magic. It does'na haveta make sense.'

True, and it would give me another excuse to take my camera, journals and things and go exploring. And maybe, if today's is a double rainbow I'll be able to find the answers to my long-ago questions for both Grandma and myself.

The chilled wooden floor instantly cooled the soles of my bare feet, sending lil shivers up through my legs, causing me to yelp in surprise. Hastily I reached for my Irish green zip up slippers and put them on. Hugging myself and chafing my arms a bit to ward off the chill that invaded my room early this morning, I walked down the short narrow hallway to the common room where the fireplace and kitchen are. I knelt and started a small fire to warm the place up then moved to the kitchen area to start a pot of tea.

"If the rain lets up later, Grandma, I'll go exploring," I told her. "Perhaps then I'll be able to answer those questions we both wanted to know about and find out what's at the end of a double rainbow."

It may seem crazy, I know, talking to a dead loved one, but it's comforting to me. Since she died four months ago I've been missing her something terrible; talking to her fills the void and brings her spirit close.

*******The rain let up just after one this afternoon. I spent my morning in restless anticipation, cleaning my cottage and then packing any and all things I thought I would need for this exploration in my oversized Texas Flag overnighter. When I noticed the rain was letting up outside my bedroom window I slung the bag over my shoulder and started down the short hall toward the door. My image in the hall mirror caught my eye and I stopped briefly for a quick once over. My reflection grinned wryly back at me. Dark brown hair was pulled into a bun, but flyaway wisps were falling around an oval face on the rounding side with sea green eyes evenly spaced apart. Thin-rimmed tortoise shell glasses were sliding down a short wedge of a nose. I pushed them up then looked down at myself. A red sweatshirt with the old-fashioned Mickey Mouse sewn on the front and on the right shoulder, paired with black floral-printed stretch pants and Ugg hiking shoes. I had to laugh. Eccentric Colleen O'Leary's granddaughter was sure to be thought of as eccentric as she if people ever caught wind she was chasing after a rainbow.

Stepping outside the rain was falling intermittently now, and I knew I had to hurry. Not caring that the occasional drop splattered on me or my glasses, I followed the muddy path in front of my cottage until it forked left or continued straight on into the village. Turning left I walked at an increasing pace until I left the path altogether and began climbing a knoll. The heavens soon dried up and cleared, and though I crested the small hill and kept going and climbing others, I remained alert, searching the lightening sky for the rainbow.

Stopping to catch my breath for a moment, having climbed over a low stone wall and hoisted my bag over it, I twisted to my left to scan the horizon. And there it was! A double rainbow! The inner arc of banded colors was more vibrant and prominent than its outer sister, but I thought the first just as lovely as the second. I knew I was grinning foolishly and my heart jumped into joyous overdrive. A double rainbow!

"What a magnificent sight, Grandma!" I cried as I shouldered my bag hastily again and took off in that direction as fast as my bag, the terrain and stone walls allowed. "Here we go!"

Always keeping the curved bands of color in sight, I prayed they wouldn't fade before I could get there.

Funny how magic works, especially on Time and distance and other things. The rainbows always seemed to hang in the distance, no matter how far I traveled. Then all of the sudden they were before me! Shimmering arcs of brilliant color, one about 25 feet from the other and duller, but no less beautiful. Their ends barely brushed the tips of the grass blades, and they sssooaarred into the sky. I felt insignificant standing there in front of them and shivered.

It's difficult to describe what it's like standing in front of a rainbow, but I shall try. Words, speech failed me as I stood there looking up with my mouth hanging open. The air seemed thin, charged with some invisible force and my nerve endings tingled as if sparkles, all the colors of the rainbow, traveled along them.

I don't how long I stood there in silent awe. A hundred years, or mere seconds, I couldn't tell you. Belatedly, and excitedly, I remembered my digital camera and began recording pictures. Talking to Grandma, I put the camera away back in my bag and, looking at the wonder of colored light and mist I stood up, taking my bag with me.

"Ready Grandma, to find out what's on the opposite side?" Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I stretched forth my right hand and walked through the rainbow's curtain...

Through the Front door - Leonie

2005-08-11T02:38:00.000-07:00

Imagine my surprise when I passed through the door to see a little girl awaiting. At first I noticed her beautiful friendly smile. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and her dress, which was a beautiful red colour, hung in tatters around her knees.

As I walked towards my room she skipped along beside me, chattering all the while. Her spark and enthusiasm rubbed off onto me and I suddenly knew that I was going to enjoy this time away in the Grotto.

I walked into my room and felt a cosy warm feeling. Through the french windows I could see the beautiful gardens, overlooking the lake. The sun was gently sinking to the west and I knew that I was going to sleep well this night.

Vistas - Heather Blakey

2005-08-11T02:35:00.000-07:00

I stand looking tentatively at the sealed cellar door that leads deep within, to a place I have been reluctant to enter alone. Others have bravely opened their tailor made doors, but this one has been haunting me for many years. I have seen it in there, amid the parched arid terrain, tightly, heavily closed and I have felt an overpowering apprehension. The fate of Pandora and her box has been well and truly etched into my psyche and I have dreaded the thought of opening it, only to release winged terrors.

Right at this moment something is very different. As I stand looking I can hear sounds that I have never heard before, soft voices calling me to explore the expansive chamber below. Intuitively I know that this will not be the last seal to break but I have been released from a stressful work-place and feel a little stronger, more able to cope and those voices are haunting me.

It has been a long day and I am weary. I am standing in harsh, flat, scrubby plains that have little appeal. I am confused! The Sibyl's Grotto is supposed to be in Umbria, Italy and this landscape most certainly is not Umbrian. The enchantress is not going to be impressed when she cannot find me at the appointed spot.

The voices become louder, urging me to lift open this door, at the bottom of stone steps. The steps remind me of an abandoned factory where I played, alone, as a child. At the end of those stairs there was a sealed door and I spent hours imagining what lay beyond. Curious!

With a strident, unfamiliar self confidence I grab the steel handle and pull it towards me. The hinges had appeared to be rusted but the door opens without so much as a creak. Relief washes over me as I pass through the doorway into refreshingly cool darkness. I lightly touch the chilled, stone ledge and make my way down into what feels like a vast chamber. It is the sounds, the smell that reveal the dimension of this place that I have entered. I sense that this is an enchanted, mystical , spiritual place that I have stumbled upon and stand quite still, adjusting my eyes to the light.

A warm hand grabs mine and as my guides flashlight hits the walls I gasp. All around us is exquisite, sacred art, art that is calling up my past. The rocky overhangs have been transformed into magnificent galleries, adorned with hand stencilled images, painted with striking red ochres and yellow clay paint. A thousand eyes turn to look at me, eyes that had been motionless until I made my entrance. Figures turned in recognition, figures longing for life to be infused into them.

What artist painted these halls; carved these figures, shaped the towering rocky overhangs?

My guide turns, looks at me and smiles. I know her immediately to be the Enchantress that had said we were going to Umbria. "This has been a place of celebration and ceremony for thousands of years. These are to be your quarters for the coming months!" she tells me and before I can respond she has vanished.

Still holding my empty suitcase I look around. No longer dark or gloomy the cavern is filtered with a radiant luminosity. This hauntingly sacred place, so full of atmospheric secrecy, has no sign of permanent occupation. It is pristine, the ultimate refuge. Nearby are deep, dark, still pools, filled with reflections and memories by Mnemosyne, Goddess of Memory.

I put my suitcase on a ledge, leaving it open, ready to store the stories, images, artefacts and look for a place to rest. I am suddenly beyond weary. I yearn to sleep. The Enchantress is gone, riding, galloping towards the Lemurian Abbey. A night rider, dressed in black she is sure to return, eventually. I have faith that she will return.

On the other side - Gail Kavanagh

2005-08-11T02:33:00.000-07:00

The corridor is oddly shaped; the walls slope in to a roof narrower than the floor. Pools of soft yellow light fall at intervals along the length of the corridor. That comforts me. I thought a cave would be dark and damp, and I don't flourish out of the light. I've taken off my shoes and stuffed them in the huge pocket of my Mad Old Lady Artist jacket. A coat of many colors, I found it at the Chinatown market in Brisbane. How far away that day of cherry blossom and dancing dogs seems now. I'm still hesitating on the threshold when I hear someone approaching.
It's a young girl in a long loose blue robe and sandaled feet. She seems familiar - perhaps she reminds me of one of my daughters. On one arm, a sliver snake winds from wrist to elbow.``Welcome," she says. ``I've been waiting for you."I follow her down the light dappled corridor, catching glimpses of flowers, fountains and flocks of brightly coloured birds.The girl tells me her name is Ilona. I know it means light - I have two daughters named for light, Lucia and Elena, and the feeling that I know this young woman is strengthened. The corridor widens out into a light filled vestibule. There are stairs and corridors leading off in all directions, but Ilona guides me down a corridor to the left, which ends in a beautiful room carved out of the honey coloured rock. At the far end of the room, glass doors open out onto a terrace like the ones I glimpsed before, with massed flowers, a small fountain set into the wall, a flock of birds feeding from a stone bowl. There are other rooms leading off the main one - through one door I glimpse blue marble tiles.There are no shelves in the room, but niches carved into the walls holding books, lamps and bowls of flowers. One niche holds a smiling Kwan Yin and a few sticks of incense. The floor is piled with richly embroidered rugs and cushions and on a low table there is a bowl of fruit, a loaf of bread and some crumbly yellow cheese. Incongruously, there is also a box of chocolates.``These rooms are yours while you remain with us," Ilona said. ``I will not be far away, if you need anything just call me."She glides away on her sandaled feet, and I put down my bag and go out through the glass doors onto the terrace. I breath in the richly scented air.

Thru the Door - Karen

2005-08-11T02:30:00.000-07:00

As I sat idly in my armchair, staring at the dapple of leaves and sun on the floor below, I heard a knock at the door. I went to it at once, and opened it to find a woman standing in the dark. She was quite tall, and quite old, though not a bit bent, and she wore a gown of vivid crimson. In her hand she carried a staff, a sturdy rod of dark wood, topped with a cluster of quartz crystals which gave off a thin silver light.

"Mistress," she said, inclining her head toward me.I peered past her into the darkness. I could see a faint sparkling, sense a subtle movement of air. "Hello, Old Mother," I said. "How kind of you to guideme tonight."

I picked up my bag and said, briskly, "Shall we go?" Imotioned with my hand to Katy, who sprang to my side, tail wagging, dog smile shining toward the crone."Come, child," she said, and turned to walk away. I took one last look at my little cottage, the sunlight shimmering through the windows, throwing prisms on all of my beloved objects. It was the last I would see of it for three months. I stepped over the threshold into the darkness.

Immediately I tripped over something. I stooped to feel for it, and found myself holding a large geode. I tossed it into my bag for later study.

We wound our way through tunnels, small rooms filled with stalactites and stalagmites, caverns with the sound of dripping water, through iron gates and crystal doors, through rooms lit by phosphorescent lichen, and past a singularly magnificent room, penetrated by a single shaft of light falling on a small pool ringed with pink lotus blossoms. After some time, we stopped to rest and dip water from a shallow depression in the rock to our mouths. "Not all are called to the Grotto, Mistress," my guide said. As she faced me I noticed that her skin was firmer, her eyes brighter, her hair less silvery. She looked familiar. "Those whoare called must make use of the gift, or be lost." She pointed herstaff at me. "You could be lost, Mistress. Take care."As I pondered her words, we passed through what was to be the final gate, entering a central atrium of sorts, a cathedral-shaped cavern with a central pool, a small waterfall, and a statue of a dark goddess, a goddess I had not seen before. Instinctively, I knelt before her countenance. The crone laughed with delight, and I looked up to see her shed her gown and frolic naked around the pool. She was young as a girl, firm-skinned and silken-haired, and she danced lightly. I gasped.

"Welcome to the Grotto della Sibilla," she said, and danced down an adjoining tunnel. Her laughter echoed in the chamber. I approached the pool, from which Katy was drinking, and looked into its depths. I saw within it a young girl, the girl I was at age 10 or 11, fearless, creative.wild. I touched my face; it still borethe wrinkles and roughness of my forty years, but within the heart of the pool, I was reborn. A lotus blossom unfurled near my reflection. In its center was a shimmering jade-green snake. It uncoiled itself in a leisurely manner, glanced at me with a knowing look, and slid onto the cave floor. It proceeded along a corridor, and it was clear I was meant to follow. After some length of time, we reached a bright blue door with a raven painted on it. The snake slithered up the door and wrapped itself around the knob, waiting.I opened the door and my guide silently slithered away. I was in a chamber, comfortable and cozy, hung about with vivid tapestries and silks. There was a downy bed laid with pillows and a soft robe, a glowing lantern next to it, and a great expansive length of table set with a simple plate and cup. Fruit, cheese and bread waited. A small alcove in the wall was carved with the words "il desiderio del cuore" (the heart's desire). Iwould explore this later. Tired from my journey, I lay on the bed, and within minutes, my eyes closed. I was at rest.

Beyond the Door : Cave Diving - Lisa Phoenix

2005-08-11T02:28:00.000-07:00

Sheer adrenaline has carried me this far, but now at the threshold i hesitate. Tendrils of loss and longing tug at me, and i tell myself i cannot go forward.

At times like this i've reached for my touchstone: learning to skydive; swinging myself out into the wind, hanging on... letting go. Trusting the sky to support me, learning again that i am not alone. A smile at memories of trying to catch my breath before the rush snatched it right out of my lungs, of the bright darkness of the fall, of relaxing into the vast embrace of the air... flying!

You'd think, if i could voluntarily jump out of an airplane, find the joy in it, i'd never be afraid of anything again, right?

Wrong.

i am always afraid. The blank page is a wilder dive than any i've ever done...

...i try to make out what might be awaiting me within the cave, beyond the green fringes of spanish moss and lichens dressing salt-and-pepper granite warming in the sun, but there is only silent darkness. i wonder again if i'm in the right place.

i feel something brush lightly past and see my dog Wiley skirting ahead. At the edge of darkness she pauses for only the briefest of moments to smile at me over her shoulder, and then disappears into the unknown within.

What can i do but follow?

Inside it is very cool, and black as pitch: i cannot see my hand held before my face. Confused, i turn, looking for the entrance, but somehow the cave has closed it's mouth, without so much as a clash of it's granite teeth, and is now in the process of swallowing me. i call softly to Wiley and am encircled by echoes; my voice returned to me sounds small and unsteady; my dog does not come back.

i stand still, not knowing what to do. i smell earth, and stone, and i feel my heart beating in my chest, thrumming in my ears.

Then i see a tiny light. A firefly, a dancing ember. The light approaches and hovers before me, no bigger up close than a single candle flame, radiating no heat and clearly alive. i try to see the form within the tiny but brilliant nimbus but it's too bright. The light moves slowly away and i follow.

i find i am walking through space: surrounded by shining spiral galaxies and novae, multi-colored clouds lit from within. i see stars being born and dying.

My companion and i turn deeper into the earth and i am no longer conscious of walking, but rather floating. Swimming around me are translucent, luminous jellyfish, majestically revolving as the galaxies before them.

From somewhere deeper still i hear voices and laughter; my guide and i turn in the direction of these sounds and glide onward toward them...

i whisper supplications to myself:

i am not alone.
The depths of earth will shelter me.
The Muse smiles on those who embrace mystery, and blesses those who step into the unknown.

but i'm no longer afraid: i can feel the warmth of the welcome coming to meet me.

Vista Beyond the Door

2005-08-11T02:26:00.000-07:00

So you came through the door! I weighed your responses and deemed them to be honest. A number of voices were deliciously familiar.

What do you see as you stand in the open doorway - that leads to the cave? We need details? Is there anyone with you as you emerge?

Someone has come to greet you and take you to your quarters. Who is it? What are the quarters like? Tell us everything.

The Enchantress

Luna's Door

2005-08-11T02:22:00.000-07:00

the door

The journey is quicker than I thought.
I find my way onto a gravel path,
that leads to a giant tree.
I circle around
and find a funny shaped doorknob.
Pounding on this door is not the way.
I wait for something,
but nothing happens.
My journal calls to me.
I write and speak aloud my truth,
and with a tiny click, it opens.
Through a small doorway
down the hollow,
I enter a cave.
And there are thirteen doors waiting,
with one for me.

A golden door beckons to me,
I slip inside.
I find a simple room.
It vibrates with anticipation.
The things I need, I find with a thought
Yet, what I sought was not there a moment ago.

After joining you on the bus - Fran Sbrocchi

2005-08-11T02:21:00.000-07:00

I've walked the pathways
lost an hour dreaming by the waterway
launched my winged canoe
and floated past the great white mountain
flown across the sea
and painted a few dolphins during flight
but
when this morning I reached the silence of Umbria
I knew I could not go
into the cavern, or any place beneath the ground
unless I was allowed to take the sunshine with me

Now I have made my gate
and posted it twice
I can press it's magic bell
and hope that the enchantress will let me in
with my box and hope that she will let me keep the light
as I wander the strange labyrinth
and seek direction from strangers

Reaching My Door - Lisa J

2005-08-11T02:20:00.000-07:00

I apologise that my account of this stage of our journey is so long winded, but I wanted to capture every detail!!

Well my excitement and anticipation has been replaced by a happy exhaustion! We have finally arrived at the Cave of Sybil!! The bus ride was uneventful - you could feel the excitement of beginning a journey tingling in the air, quiet chatter as we scooted past fields and mountains and rivers.

Winnie cruised along in her little car behind us - I hope she wasn't so busy concentrating on driving that she missed the picturesque landscape we were passing through. We stopped in the cutest little town to have a quick lunch - the street was lined with small shops selling just about anything and everything. I wolfed down a sandwich as quickly as I could and went for a quick explore. There was one store that was selling beautful handmade soaps and things - I bought a bar that smells like jasmine and lavender, a bottle of body lotion and a couple of lip balms (I already have about 12 in my pockets and carry bag - but you can never have enough lip balm!) I would have loved to explore some more of the little stores, but before you could say "impulse spending" i would have used all my money, so the bus loading back up saved me!!

I settled back into my seat and pulled out my mp3 player and headphones and spent the next little while watching sun drenched fields and trees roll by, my ears filled with my favourite music from Carla Bruni. The whole album is accoustic, and in french. I don't speak french, so I have absolutely no idea what she is singing about, but I lay there daydreaming and imagining who she is singing to and make my own story for each song. Not too long after, we stop apparently in the middle of nowhere.

We have came down a small dirt road that weaved through the forest and has suddenly come to an end. Sybil Enchantress informs us (almost a little too gleefully!) that it's on foot to the caves from here, but not far. There are a few groans at this news, but I'm actually quite happy about it - a stroll through the forest will be quite nice. Surprisingly though, we aren't going to the caves as a group. we could, but we would have to take the old path, which is steep and rocky and dangerous, not to mention takes several days (if you're lucky) to get to the entrance of the caves. There is a shorter way - a path for each of us. We must look through the forest for our path - I'm a little concerned I'm going to accidentally follow a trail not meant for me and get lost, but Sybil assures me that that is not possible and I will most definately know my path when I come across it. Once we find our path, we must follow it and it will lead us to the entrance of the caves.

Everyone has loaded up their gear (I've offered to help Winnie carry some of hers!) and is heading off in different directions. I choose to stroll towards the gap between two giant trees, that have great boughs reaching out across each other forming a kind of archway. They look like ancient old lovers holding hands. I pause and gently lay a hand on the trunk of one of the old trees. My hand looks tiny on it's huge trunk, and it tingles. I can almost hear what the trees are whispering to each other, but not quite. I continue on and pick my way through the shrubbery. I hit a thick patch of brambles at one point, much too deep to go through, so I decide to try and go around them and turn south and follow them downwards. After walking for about an hour, i spot a small hillock and climb it to see how much further I have got to go. Much to my dismay, the trail of thorny bushes seems to go on forever. I turn back northward and decide to try the other direction, only to find the same thing - they are seemingly endless.

Suddenly I begin to panic - I am out in the middle of a forest, alone, seemingly lost and stuck. It will get dark soon and then what do I do? Breathe, keep calm. You can remember the solution to this problem. I need a better view - surely these things must stop somewhere!! I look around frantically for a tree and spot the perfect one. It's branches hang low and it will be easy to climb. Dropping my rucksack, I scramble up the tree. After much grunting and a few scrapes I am almost up the top of the tree. I straddle the branch I am sitting on and cautiously move out towards the edge of the limb. As the foliage parts before me I gasp in astonishment. I am high above the forest, and an ocean of green spreads out before me in every direction.

Mountains rise up into the distance, their rocky peaks pointing accusing fingers at the sky. I scan the forest, and see very nearby a clearing amongst the trees. There is a large rock in the centre of it, and a small deer grazes nearby. I try to find the path to the clearing and groan with the realisation that it is through the brambles. I have to go through. Well, no-one said it would be easy. I climb down the tree and pause before I go to thank it for it's help. I don't know why I do this, it's just an impulse - I feel it would be rude to leave without showing some gratitude. I move north still, figuring I'll get even with the clearing then go straight across. I come to the place where I plan to push through and decide to have a quick break before I undertake the task I am so dreading. Sitting on a large rock, i sip at my water and ponder the best way to do this.

Then, there is a deer in front of me. I swear it wasn't there a moment before, and blink to check my vision isn't tricking me. Perhaps I scratched myself on some poisonous bush and I'm hallucinating? Again, I am taken by the idea that the deer can understand me, just as the tree could. I put my water away, move to within a few steps and drop to one knee. "Hello" I say, solemnly, inclining my head slightly. "Oh what a stupid thing to say!" I think. I feel I should be more formal somehow. I suddenly jerk my head up and stare at the deer. It looks back at me with it's huge, dark, trusting eyes. It is telling me that hello is fine. It is telling me that it has been waiting for me and will show me the way. I have no idea how it is communicating to me - it is not out loud, not in sentences, somehow I just seem to understand. "thank you" i reply sincerely and stand and gather my things. The deer turns and leads me a little further northward, glancing back over it's shoulder at me every now and then to make sure I haven't fallen behind.

Suddenly it veers left and disappears into the brambles. As I reach the place where it vanished, I discover a tunnell through the thick growth! I laugh out loud and enter. The deer seems to be smiling at me, then suddenly we are running. The bell on my wrist jingles as the edges fo the tunnell flash past me. The deer prances ahead of me and i am chasing it - i never knew I could run so fast!! Then i burst out into the open clearing I had seen from the tree. I laugh again and collapse on the large rock. I feel the deer nuzzling my hand and gently stroke it's head. Its fur is so soft! I gently pet the deer, thanking it, then start just chatting to it. It still isn't dark yet - I can't believe it's only been a few hours!! It feels like a week! - but the sun is just beginning to set.

I rest for a little, then feel the deer nudge me - it wants to play. It wants to dance. I smile as it begins prancing round in circles, calling for me to join it, then start to sing out loud as I do join in. My voice rings clear and loud through the forest as we dance. I spin round and round until I am dizzy and have to sit down before I fall over, and collapse in a heap on the lush grass, laughing again.

When I sit up I notice, with some surprise, a door!! It is just, well, there!! It's not attached to anything, there are no walls either side of it, it's just there! I grab my rucksack and approach it. It is a big door, and made of dark wood. It has intricate carvings, and intruiged, I reach out and trace the beautiful patterns with my fingertips. Like the tree as I left the bus, my hand tingles and I can once again almost hear what the trees are whispering to each other. I wonder whether the trees I felt first, and along the way, were telling me I was going the right direction? There are a myriad of shapes carved into the door, with no apparent pattern, but all fitting together perfectly. There are straight lines, spirals, waves, all sorts of shapes.

As i follow the path of them, the door gently swings ajar. it's then I realise that it doesn't actually have a handle on it. I gape at the door, then stare at the deer, then back at the door. The deer tells me there is no handle on the door so that it cannot be opened by anyone else. It opens to my touch only. I nod and look at it again. I turn to the deer and kneel once more, I thank it for its help. It prances a little circle - it is proud of itself. It has been waiting for me. It's task was to guide me, and it is full of pride that it has done it's task well. It tells me we will meet again, but for now it must go run through the fields. I wish it well until then, and turn back towards my door. I push it all the way open and am surprised that it is almost weightless.

There is a hall beyond it, a hall of stone. There are torches flickering at intervals along the walls. I step inside and the door gently closes behind me. All bemused at the events of the afternoon, I give a shrug and start moving down the hall. I stroll along, often touching the stone. The hall winds this way and that, then suddenly stops at another door. Seemingly the first door has just moved to this spot, because it is exactly the same, no handle and all. I reach out and touch it and again it swings open. As i touch it I have the understanding that this is not the same door - it is a different one, with a slightly different working. Anyone can open this door by touching it - anyone except a person who intends me harm of any sort, be it physical or emotional. That knowledge makes me feel incredibly safe.

I step into the room and look around. There is a massive canopied bed. The fire is already going and there is a hot meal steaming on a small table - my favourite pasta in fact - with a glass already poured from a bottle of my favourite red wine. I sit down and wolf down the food and then relax for a moment, enjoying the wine. The bed is covered in thick blankets and I'm tempted to crawl into it right away! Instead I explore the room a little more - there is a huge bathroom off to one side. It has a double shower with multiple jets, and a massive bath that appears to be carved into the stone floor. It is full of steaming water, yet there are no taps. A hot spring! that's it! Without a second to waste I strip off and dive into the bath, the hot water relaxing my aching muscles and cleansing me. I clean myself with the soap I bought today (which seems a lifetime ago!) and just relax. "aahhhh" I think, sipping my wine, "heaven!!!". I had been expecting a guide to lead me to my room and wondered what had happened to them.

Then it struck me - a guide had lead me to my room. The hall I followed led directly from my door into the caves to my room, there were no intersections of forks the whole way. The earth itself had been my guide. I reluctantly climb out of the bath and wrap myself in the massive fluffy bathrobe and slippers hanging in the bathroom. I refill my glass and settle into the huge armchair in front of the fire and wonder how all the others went, how they managed to get to their rooms and what their doors were like. I certainly hope it was easier than my trip! I will go find them soon and find out, but in the meantime I am hypnotised by the fire, so I sit quietly.

Lisa

Through the Door - Ashleyshea

2005-08-11T02:19:00.001-07:00

It took many years of stillness, then slowly wading my way through a thick pea-soup mixture of an emotionless land, before I arrived at my door. Just the sight of my door thrilled me. I knew to the tips of my toes that it was mine. I could tell by the way it shimmered and echoed my name. It was beautiful, pristine, not a mark of wear or tear on it.

When I tried to open the door, I was surprised to find it locked. How could that be? This is MY door! Why can I not open MY door? The door
wisely responded, "You must know how to open this door, for it truly is yours. Certainly you know what you must do to open it."

"Open Sesame!"

"Alla Ka Zam!"

"Bibbity Bobbity Boo!"

None of my incantations worked. So I tried, in a smaller voice, "please." That didn't prove successful either.

I pounded at the door. I wailed. I tried to pick the lock. You'll see, the door was no longer pristine by the time I had worn myself out. My
physical strength had nothing on this door.

I sulked away hoping someone in the village would have an answer...or know of a key.

I was pointed down many long paths. I know I took the wrong forks in the road many times. I got lost. I stumbled. I started to believe I
would never find the key. I got so disoriented that one day my meanderings lead me right off a cliff.

I fell for what felt like forever. I thought I was falling into the next world because I saw my life pass before my eyes -- all of my failings, all of the wrong turns, all of the times I could have
been/done so much more. I finally landed with a thud so hard I thought all of my bones were broken.

At first I was afraid to move, and certainly afraid to open my eyes. I lay in a crumbled form on sandy ground. Gently I moved a toe, then a finger, and, since I felt no pain in their movement, I took a deep breath. My lungs didn't hurt, but something in my chest did. I
continued my inspection gradually moving other body parts. While everything ached a little, everything felt intact. The only pain I felt was in my chest.

Still afraid to open my eyes, I used my hands to cautiously touch where I felt the pain. Like a girl in school, my hand immediately went to the spot it knew by rote from all of the times I had said the Pledge of Allegiance. There, right over my heart, I felt sharpness -- it almost felt like shards of glass. Fearing I may be bleeding to
death, I finally opened my eyes.

My first surprise was seeing my heart, shattered in a million pieces, all poking through my chest. Even so, I wasn't bleeding. I looked around to find out where I was and, there in front of me, was my doorway. This time, the door was open.

Astonished by the beauty inside the doorway, and not wanting to risk it closing again, I ran inside. There I found the wisdom that had been
hiding in my heart. I found the voice I knew was mine but could never find when I spoke. I found the instructions for reassembling my heart
-- using some of the old pieces and adding some new pieces -- until the finished heart was more beautiful and stronger than the old. Oh,
you could still see the cracks from where it had shattered, but that didn't matter. It only made it more beautiful.

Today, in the hopes of getting through the cave door, I've created an image of my doorway. I hope the master of the cave door finds it to be true. Or, hell, I guess I'll have to go meandering again to see if I can stumble upon another truth.

by Ashleyshea

The Door in Front of Me - Alexandra Roman

2005-08-11T02:19:00.000-07:00

The door in front of me

My bags are in my hand as I stare at the door in front of me.
What would she say?
Will she give me a warm welcome as I make my way through?
Or will she laugh at me? Of that I’m certain she won’t do.
It was a long trip from home to this place.
The road seemed endless but the sites where beautiful.
It definitely was worth it!
For I feel full of magic since I got in the bus.
I stare at the door in front of me,
Wondering if she will open her heart for me.
What wonderful things and experiences lay beyond her?
What is waiting for me behind her wooden skeleton?
I take a deep breath as I see the Enchantress passing by.
“Everything all right my dear?” She asks.
“Yes” I answer.
She smiles and keeps walking with her own bags on her hand.
I stare at the door in front of me once more and lay my bags on the floor.
Full of wonder I walk towards it, trembling a little.
My right hand slowly rises to grab the iron curvy handle of the old wooden door.
Its surface is cold and smooth.
I smile for I have made it this far with out being struck by lighting.
My thumb finds its way to the bolt pressing it down.
I hear the unlocking of the old door and I feel its love flowing through my fingers.
It is exhilarating!
I breathe deeply as I pull the handle towards me and the door gives away.
It is not heavy as I though but light as a feather.
Then suddenly silence.
As I open it all is in silence, not even the birds are singing for they are all waiting in expectation of what will happen between me and the old door.
A smooth country breeze caresses my face.
I take a look to what lies behind the door and smile full of joy contemplating the splendors that are in front of me.

Dusk Comin' Down - Vi Jones

2005-08-11T02:18:00.002-07:00

I'm thinking as I sit here, pleasantly exhausted, after my journey to the cave. I remember another night when magic floated, as it does this evening, in the still air. I believed then that everything was possible. I believe that tonight.

I strolled homeward off the hill
just as dusk was comin' down
and the air was softly still.
Moths fluttered by on double sets of wings,
erratic helicopters unsure of destination.
The only sound … my footsteps on the graveled road
and the rustle of unseen insects in the grass.

Out there, beyond this shore,
the Straits--
calm as a pond in failing light.
Headlands marching one and then another,
slowly vanishing into the night.
There is one more shadow cast,
that of another Nation,
a neighbor and a friend.

I’m tempted to step into a kayak
and paddle toward that distant shore,
but the moths insist they lead me home
before darkness takes both view and sight.

Vi
©August 6, 2005

~Baggage~ Patricia

2005-08-11T02:18:00.001-07:00

A grotto in the mountains of Italy ! My heart is over come with joy. My head swimming with anticipation. I grab my journal bag of canvas cloth, hand dyed orange, tattered lace and ribbon shimmer with a metallic cast that have been sewn with patience on the outsides. It lumps up gently as I lay it upon the bed.My speckled notebook is there half full of painted collage, clippings, envelopes and scratched photos. This is my prize possession. I see well worn brushes and water color pencils, a bottle of glue, and a sprinkling bottle of water. An old notebook with a torn yellow cover I use to record daily thoughts in. I can always fill the other side of the pages. My camera is loaded.

It has been said if one chooses a fictitious name, acts that character, it can build self confidence. On this journey, I am Ms. LoveLace - artist, poet/writer and restorer of antique dolls. A flapper style dress of dark hollyhock pink is part of my traveling attire. Satin ballet slippers, dyed to match are already on my feet. My hat is big, broad,and made of straw. I tilt it on its side almost covering one eye. Fresh flowers adorn one side.

I have soft denim jeans, embroided down the sides of each leg and a simple poor boy shirt. My flight jacket is old, well worn leather and very oversized. Thick socks are stuffed into the hiking boots I place at the bottom of the vintage suitcase.

My night shirt is off white, made of dotted swiss and ties with ribbon n the back. Various unmentionables are stuffed into the pockets.

And lastly, a well worn edition of Wuthering Heights, gardenia body lotion, I so often splurge on, eye wear, my penny doll, a lace hankie and two small silver framed photos of my favorite (male) movie stars whom I shall not reveal are all in a round paper mache box.

I kiss my cat on her head, she stretches and returns to her dreams. I take a last look in the hallway mirror. Ms. LoveLace quietly shuts her front door.

Patricia

Warriors Gate - Fran Sbrocchi

2005-08-11T02:18:00.000-07:00

I needed a gate with a light behind for I cannot go beneath the earth without taking the sun with me.
by Fran Sbrocchi

Cave of Enchantress - Heather Blakey

2005-08-11T02:17:00.000-07:00

"Every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife', he said. 'Promise me this my whey-faced piano player; promise me you'll use all the keys on the ring except that last little one I showed you. Play with anything you find, jewels, silver plate; make toy boats of my share certificates, if it pleases you, and send them sailing off to America after me. All is yours - all is open to you - except the lock that this single key fits. Yet it is the key to a little room at the foot of the west tower, behind the still-room, at the end of a dark little corridor full of horrid cobwebs that would get into your hair and frighten you if you ventured there. Oh and you will find it such a dull little room! But you must promise me, if you love me, to leave it well alone. It is only a private study, a hideaway, a 'den', as the English say, where I can go, sometimes, on those infrequent yet inevitable occasions when the yoke of marriage seems to weigh too heavily on my shoulders"

"I took the forbidden key from the heap and left the others lying there... I felt no fear, no intimidation of dread."
from the Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

Now I do not mean to sound alarmist since some of you have gone straight through the doorways without fear or intimidation of dread. Maybe you have not read Angela Carter's Bloody Chamber. No doubt you have and no doubt, like me you are ready to take the forbidden key, whatever the cost and go past the cobwebs and through the door to that little room.

I was in a bit of a quandary really because I do believe that door represent hope and opportunity, a passageway from one state or world to another. I am closing a door behind me as I leave the Victorian Education Department and opening another as I blithely head off with all of you to Italy and the Cave of the Enchantress. I have often told people that Soul Food is my inner world and so when I think of a door I think of an open doorway. But, we all know there are many doors don't we. 'The entrance to the seven zones of Paradise or the cave of initiation. The three doors of the Cathedral are symbolic.

So I come to another door. This one has been sealed for a very long time. It is set in a space like this.

It is a heavy door with old hinges and is very firmly shut. I mean, really, if I go around opening doors like this I may just end up in a room with book titles like The Keys Of Mysteries, The Initiation or The Secret of Pandora's Box and find myself as an unlikely heroine in some gruesome, sordid tragedy like the seventeen year old bride in The Bloody Chamber.

Between you and me I am just a wee nervous about this Enchantress who is taking us off to a subterranean cave in the Umbrian Mountains. We will see....

As soon as I saw the cave of The Enchantress I knew that I had to make a journal in which to document my stay here. It happened that I had a copy of a National Geographic containing images of some of the most famous caves that have been discovered, particularly in France. So I cut out a number of images and covered an inexpensive, ring binder book. Then I covered the book with contact plastic seal and each day I am putting my notes in it. For once there are no complaints. This is a significant shift from old journal entries where I plotted and planned my future away from the regimentation of a school. This book is filling with ideas. It is becoming a container for my journey of self exploration and the creative treasure I return with.

Life's Doors - Bobbi

2005-08-11T02:16:00.000-07:00

Doors of my life (reality & fantasy). For full sized viewing look here: http://photobucket.com/albums/y7/Nicola_466/?action=view&current=Doors3.jpg

Bobbi

The Garage Door - Edwina Peterson Cross

2005-08-11T02:15:00.000-07:00

Oh yeah . . . the garage door where they told me to park the Porsche. Had to be able to open that as well.
There is a somewhat bigger copy of this very convoluted picture here: http://www.outbackonline.net/cross/CrossLove.htm

My Double Doors - Edwina Peterson Cross

2005-08-11T02:14:00.001-07:00

My Double Doors

The door - Carol Abel

2005-08-11T02:14:00.000-07:00

Collage
My door is in a little street paved with cobbles. Curiously enough the name of the street "rue pavée d'amour" means the street paved with love. Above the door there are two inscriptions “abandon inhibition all ye who enter here” and “in order for us to discover new lands we must be prepared to lose sight of the shore”. There are two panels in the lower part of the door, when these are open you can see, in one, a series of numbers. These represent the lotto that is life - thank goodness you don't have to find the right combination to get through the door! Behind the other panel is a heart, for this indeed will be a journey to and through the heart.

Doorway - Lois Daley

2005-08-11T02:13:00.000-07:00

I have left home ,no easy task for me as I have over the years found it very difficult to leave "The Home that encircles me in Love" I have in the past been in a state of panic when I was too far away to get home quickly..It is getting easier as this 10 years comes up in August and I am much more relaxed about moving away for awhile...this will be my longest journey 3 months sounds such a long time.......
On travelling from the aiport I was directed to the bus depot and was on my way to Umbria ...The terrain was so different to my own country of Australia not a GUM tree in sight, quite different and beautiful just the same..
As per my usual manner of talking to everybody I meet whehter I know them or not the journey was far from lonely.Luckily 1/2 of the other travellers I met spoke a little English,so it was a wonderful trip and 5 hour journey passed quickly.
We arrived at the terminus of the bus depot Aquila which was at the base of the mountaines area I could see in the distance.
I popped into a small roadside cafe for a much needed coffee and was served by a young woman who spoke a scattering of English.I asked of her "Have you ever heard of the Cave of Sibyl of the Grotto" she is said to have .. lived in the Umbrian mountains in the 13th Century.
" Oh you mean the the Grotto della Sibilla" she replied."We have learned the legend from our Mothers and Grandmothers" she said."But I have never ventured up there myself especially on my own I just would not be allowed to go ,but when I turn 21 I will go with my female relatives to drink the water that runs down the mountains into the Grotto as I am told it has magic restorative powers for good health and happiness".
As it was too far to hike to the caves/grotto I hired a very old man to take me up in his horse and cart as far as he could and this is how I came to within 1 mile of my promised dooway.It was at this time I decided the bag was becoming heavy and I abandoned it for my small cotton backpack ,covering my late Mother Jessies' over-night bag under some bracken and covering it with rocks.
The climb was not too steep so I set off breathing in the mountain air,no directions or posts to show the way just a well worn path travelled for nearly a thousand years I would imagine ....The path turned to the right as if to follow the sun drenched side of the mountain ,the name of which I knew not,Where the rain had run down was slippery and I had to tread carefully.
Then I saw to my surprise a group of yellow blossom trees similiar to our Wattle ,they were the only ones I had seen so they must be important
As I walked toward them there was an opening,like an archway and behind a door as old as the hills around it..Made from the trees that covered the mountain ,so strong and knarled ,worn by age ,what type of timber could last this many centuries I thought ,it was then I remembered a timber called Huon Pine found in the forests of Tasmania Australia that is among the oldest timber in the world...perhaps it was a distant relative of Huon Pine,of course it could be I thought.
The latch and hinges... . were of the same timber ,attatched to the large posts on either side that had been sunk into the ground so long ago ,no metal to be seen on this door......It was at least 10 feet high by 5 feet wide (as wide as I am tall) .
I thought I would have difficulty in opening it but it seemed light to my touch as if it had been waiting for me and had made it easy for opening.
This reminded me of my life over the last 10 years when I have felt that those I have met on my journey have all made it so easy for me in accepting me into their families as if by some magic spell I have been able to go through their welcoming doorways so easily and now it was happening again...I considered myself a blessed woman indeed....
I entered the cave/grotto and it was then I realised I had forgotten my torch ,in fact it was still at home in Port Melbourne..I thought hard and grabbed a branch of the yellow like tree blossom and used it to fan in front of me as I was in unfamiliar territory...Strangley I felt no fear perhaps because I knew that women had tramped this cave earth before me so I was walking in their footsteps.,I knew I would be safe....MY journey was about to begin.One dooway shut another just opening on a new part of my wonderful life.

Mesmerized at the Doorway - Audrey Larkin

2005-08-11T02:10:00.000-07:00

Tired but oh, so excited,

I finally arrived at my special doorway; after taxi's, walking, planes & more taxi's. I can't completely claim it as my own, except in my heart and mind. As I came across it in the town of Todi, located in Umbria, Italy. The beauty of this doorway so mesmerized and drew me toward it. Once there, turning back was not and option...

Doors - Alex Chua

2005-08-11T02:09:00.000-07:00

I see the door into my own heart. The door that leads me to turemyself, the essense of my being. The door has since been covered bythe debris of suppressed emotions. With these emotions out of the way,I can now see the door. I can open it and I begin to see deeper intomyself. What laid forgotten is now remembered. The magic beyong theUmbrian Mountains can be learned only by listening to my heart. Thekeys of mysteries can only be found when I follow my heart.

Doorways - Megan Warren

2005-08-11T02:07:00.000-07:00

Apologies for my apparent tardiness – you see I have been here all along – I stopped at the Shambala Retreat http://www.shambalaretreat.com/retreat.html to gather myself after the long flight and prepare for the enchanting journey ahead.

I hiked across from the retreat to the grotto. As I approached I found a doorway obscured by vines. As I was already late, I thought this might be a shortcut. I pulled the vines away to get a better look at the door. It was a weather worn, heavy oak door. I tried to open the door, but it was locked fast.

Carved into the door, I noticed was the Gaelic saying Caed Mile Failte (a hundred thousand welcomes) my people have been here before me. Some welcome – a locked door. I turned to walk away from the door, there must be another entrance to the grotto, I thought. There was a chorus of loud caws as a number of ravens flew overhead – four, I think I counted. One seemed to be carrying something gold in its beak. It dropped the gold object, which landed at my feet. It was an ornate gold key. Perhaps this was the entry after all.

I put the key into the lock and turned it. The door that was moments ago locked fast appeared now to be in good repair and working order and the hinges recently greased. The door unlocked, I pushed it open and stood on the threshold. Before me was my future, behind me the past. I only had to cross the threshold to access my future and the Grotto.

What appeared before me was a labyrinth of stone tunnels inside the mountain. It was dark, lit only by the light of the open door and smelled musky. I have to tell you that I was more than a little apprehensive. I recognised this feeling as fear.

I turned back to contemplate my past, a past that has combined many opposing forces: happiness and sadness, life and death, success and failure, grief and depression. Ahead of me was the future, all I had to do was accept the challenge and face my fear. I turned back as I heard a shuffling sound, coming toward me was a person dressed in hooded robes, carrying a lantern. This mysterious person stopped before me and spoke in mellow tones - “Welcome Megan, I have come to show you to your lodgings.” She turned and walked down the tunnel holding the lantern out to guide our way.

The Door - Leonie

2005-08-11T02:06:00.000-07:00

Hope I'm not too late, I've just arrived at the door. It is a beautiful timber door of a rich red cedar colour. The top half of the door has inserts of glass of a lovely lavender shade. The top windows are arched. The glass inserts are there to let the light shine through to the inside.

Usually the door is open so that others just knock and come in. However,of late it seems that the door is sometimes closed and I'm not too sure why this is.

Tables and Doors - Karen

2005-08-11T01:57:00.000-07:00

This is the door that belonged not to my mother, not to her mother, or even to her mother before her. It belonged to a woman three generations before that, a woman who lived in the deep dark wood of the Jodlowa forest of Poland, quite near the Lysa Gora, enchanted home of the witches' Sabbath. In this holy place, sheused only the wood the trees gave freely, building her shelter from downed branches and logs. The morning after a great storm, (during which she had spent the night invoking the goddess with all of her most powerful protective charms) she found that a great tree had been struck by lightning, and was lying near the river that ran behind her shelter. She and her neighbors blessed this bounty and set to cutting it, soothing the tree and thanking it for its protection, releasing the druid spirit to wander free, preventing it from taking up residence in the chimney or woodshed and keeping them awake all through the night. From this gift, she took much wood, but in particular, a long and wide piece, as thick as her hand that was marked through with the sign of the lightning, a jagged blackening that bespoke of nature's power. From this piece she made a great trestle table. Throughout the remainder of her life, she prepared her herbs, charms and potions on this surface, carving in symbols of magic and protection, smoothing the wood with the oils of her hands and sacred plants.

This table passed, daughter to daughter, crossing the ocean twice. Each daughter was schooled in the old ways by her mother, and each added her spells, charms, and magical symbols, until the surface of the table was covered with beautiful and mysterious patterns. The wood to this day smells of honey, herbs, stones, crystals, and berries-all the things ground into in by hands fashioning a future, a past, a present.

It was my fortune, when I got the table, to have a lovely cottage of my own, but it was small, too small for such a great table. I, too, lived in a wood, beside a river, tucked beneath a mountain. After careful consultation with my mother and my own oracles, and with the blessings of the goddess, I turned the table into a door, placing brass hinges and a knob on it, and mounting a knocker in the shape of a raven clinging to the surface, pecking for a juicy insect. It is the sentry and portal to my existence, my home.

This door needs no lock, as it is so heavily enchanted. It will freely allow all those who love me and mean me no harm to enter at will, keeping out those of cold heart, limited imagination, and cruel spirit. It protects against all manner of dark forces, and I anoint it yearly with protective herbs and oils, taking it from its hinge to clean and bless it, adding what few small symbols and spells I can to an undecorated edge, a tiny corner still bare. The inside of the door, being the underside of the table, is, by and large, a blank canvas, save for some small childish carvings placed there by little girls, daughters, as they frolicked beneath the table while their mothers, powerful sorceresses all, worked atop it. It is mine to create, mine and my daughters, and their daughters after them.

It holds magic within my hearth and home, but also leads to places of enchantment at special times throughout the year. For it is not always my dear forest I see when I pass through it, nor is it my own little cottage that some see when they enter. It is the greatest tool I have received from my foremothers, they who gifted me with the inner vision I bring to you today.

Doors - Heather Blakey

2005-08-11T01:53:00.000-07:00

"Every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife', he said. 'Promise me this my whey-faced piano player; promise me you'll use all the keys on the ring except that last little one I showed you. Play with anything you find, jewels, silver plate; make toy boats of my share certificates, if it pleases you, and send them sailing off to America after me. All is yours - all is open to you - except the lock that this single key fits. Yet it is the key to a little room at the foot of the west tower, behind the still-room, at the end of a dark little corridor full of horrid cobwebs that would get into your hair and frighten you if you ventured there. Oh and you will find it such a dull little room! But you must promise me, if you love me, to leave it well alone. It is only a private study, a hideaway, a 'den', as the English say, where I can go, sometimes, on those infrequent yet inevitable occasions when the yoke of marriage seems to weigh too heavily on my shoulders"

"I took the forbidden key from the heap and left the others lying there... I felt no fear, no intimidation of dread."
from the Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

Now I do not mean to sound alarmist since some of you have gone straight through the doorways without fear or intimidation of dread. Maybe you have not read Angela Carter's Bloody Chamber. No doubt you have and no doubt, like me you are ready to take the forbidden key, whatever the cost and go past the cobwebs and through the door to that little room.

I was in a bit of a quandary really because I do believe that door represent hope and opportunity, a passageway from one state or world to another. I am closing a door behind me as I leave the Victorian Education Department and opening another as I blithely head off with all of you to Italy and the Cave of the Enchantress. I have often told people that Soul Food is my inner world and so when I think of a door I think of an open doorway. But, we all know there are many doors don't we. 'The entrance to the seven zones of Paradise or the cave of initiation. The three doors of the Cathedral are symbolic.

So I come to another door. This one has been sealed for a very long time. It is set in a space like this. It is a heavy door with old hinges and is very firmly shut. I mean, really, if I go around opening doors like this I may just end up in a room with book titles like The Keys Of Mysteries, The Initiation or The Secret of Pandora's Box and find myself as an unlikely heroine in some gruesome, sordid tragedy like the seventeen year old bride in The Bloody Chamber.

Between you and me I am just a wee nervous about this Enchantress who is taking us off to a subterranean cave in the Umbrian Mountains. We will see....

Doorways - Anita Marie Moscoso

2005-08-11T01:44:00.000-07:00

I love airplanes; I love the feeling of breaking free from the earth. As for that feeling of weightlessness? Bliss, it's like music to my ears.

This time the flight didn't feel the same, I didn't feel the same.

I kept reaching into my backpack and touching my books, my pens, my Kat and even my stupid socks (why oh why are those things in there?). I put my hair into a ponytail and even had a drink.

I looked out at the Earth below and blew it a customary raspberry, my little way of saying, " ha, thought you had me in your clutches did you? " but I got no joy from that defiant little act, my little take-off ritual.

Well, after over 35 years of flying I guess the joke was bound to wear off sometime.

Now I was just a 40-year-old woman making faces out of a small window and the Earth didn't give a rip if I were walking on it or flying above it because in the end I was all her’s.

We all are.

When the plane landed I was the last off and the stewardess wished me a pleasant visit. She stepped back a little and tried very hard to smile. " Are you alright? " she asked.

" I'm hoping to be. " I said and then I heard the sound of running water and smelled dust and milkweeds and dandelions.

The plane was gone the airport was gone and I was at my doorways.

They were in a ruinous state. The entranceways were choked with weeds, the paths leading through the grounds were in disrepair. The marble and granite and masonry were crumbling to dust and the iron works were in bad shape too.

I'd been away from this place for too long and the silence here was loud and angry.

Finding the doorway wasn't easy. I had to crawl over some deadfall and wade through a small reflection pond, drained of water now but full of a dark foul liquid to get to the right doorway.

I can't say I was proud of myself when I did find it. My hands were bruised, my thumbnail was gone and my knees were skinned. Wonderful, my place had bit me. Some welcome home this was.

I pushed the door open with my foot and I looked inside.

It was pitch dark and I didn't have a flashlight or even a match.

Well, it wasn't the scariest thing I'd ever seen; I went through and behind me the iron door closed with a click and I heard ancient tumblers drop into place.

Somebody had locked it from the outside.

I was trapped.

nine doors of Inanna in the underworld - Lisa Phoenix

2005-08-11T01:42:00.000-07:00

1. Every exit is an entry to somewhere else.

2. Last of their tribe:
http://www.qmuseum.qld.gov.au/features/
endangered/animals/trapdoor_spider.asp

3. Breathing: "What we call 'I' is just a swinging door that moves when we inhale and when we exhale." - Shunryu Suzuki, Zen roshi

4. Dormice spend three quarters of the year sleeping. Despite their rather disreputable depiction in "Alice's Adventures..." they are known to be formidable Threshold Guardians and familiars of Morpheus, God of Dreams.

5. "Knocking on Heaven's Door" was written by Bob Dylan; credible covers include Guns 'n Roses' and Avril Lavigne's versions (i guess i just really like this song).

6. Dorian Grey: painting as time warp entrance.

7. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then may my ears be the doorway to my heart.

8. Last winter an orb-weaver built her web in the right upper corner of my doorway. i dutifully ducked, coming and going. She slept in the frame all day and waited in the center at night, with infinite patience. i think she was hoping to snag a falling star.

9. In Africa, Elegba was a sun god of the crossroads. Known as Legba in Haiti, Exu in Brazil, and Ellegua in Cuba, he is a trickster who is sometimes a child, sometimes an ancient griot (itinerant teacher and storyteller) who often sits in the corner, behind the door.

"Papa Legba, open the door,
Papa Legba, open the path,
Papa Legba, open the door,
open the door, let the Spirits
come in..."

The Girl Who Loved Doors - Barbara Banta

2005-08-11T01:37:00.000-07:00

What you need to understand is that what I write here today doesn't mean it's always been this way or that it will be this way in the future; the door to my inner world has changed and evolved as often as I have.
I can recall a time when it was narrow and squeaked loudly due to infrequent use. For years it swung open only at night, and then for just a brief time before it had to be slammed shut again so that I could get a decent night's sleep.

But you don't really need past history, do you? The doorway to my inner world today is what you're curious about and what will gain me entrance to the Cave of the Sibyl. Do you know, it's more beautiful than I ever could have imagined it to be when I was young?

Tall and wide, it's made entirely of glass. Not the plate glass of shop or office doors, but a combination of stained glass, frosted glass and, recently, prism glass. when I'm enthusiastic and pleased with life the stained glass colors appear to be lit from within and sparkle in vivid magentas and bright purples. If I'm introspective and content the frosted glass takes over and glows in soft shades of pink, peach and powder blue. Last week, saddened by the loss of a friend, I was depressed by blacks, grays until I noticed the prisms. Light was still shining through, but only after I studied it carefully and changed my perspective by examining it from different angles could I appreciate its beauty.

Now, as I look forward to a mind-journey with old friends and new, far from the heat and humidity of New Jersey, my doorway is positively scintillating with the light of moonbeams, starshine, and a velvety blue Umbrian sky.

Haibun: The Door of my Vision - Gail Kavanagh

2005-08-11T01:31:00.000-07:00

I am walking through a town that has seen much history. It is
abandoned now, the citizens long fled, but the evidence of their
struggle remains.

Windows gape in black
Tenement buildings, doors hang
Limply from their hinges.

Where are the people? The streets are old and cracked, some cobbled,
with slick oily puddles gleaming in the half light. Where is the sun?

Veins of winding streets
Once carried the flow of life
The heart beat is stilled

Before me is the city wall, stone upon stone laid with the careful
artlessness of the stone master, each piece fitting snugly into its
neighbour's curves and hollows. This wall has stood here longer than
the city. It hides what is beyond and the people were never curious
about it. More streets, they thought, another city, just like this one.

Five stone steps lead up
To the door in the wall, worn
smooth with many feet

I push open the door and stand, dazzled, by the vision beyond. Green
swards spread out before me, a misting of blue hills in the
distance, the sweet scents of herbs and flowers wash over me.

Through the door into
Enchantment, running barefoot
Beyond the prison walls.

Doorways

2005-08-11T01:27:00.000-07:00

Our journey to the Cave of the Sibyl will not be as arduous as it was for pilgrims and adventurers who sought it out in the 13th Century. It has been abandoned for a very long time and we are going to enter by a very special doorway. You have heard about new technology where the door opens when it scans your retina? Well, in this case, you have to produce an honest image of the doorway that represents the door to your inner world and you will gain immediate entrance to the cave which is full of the most amazing things.

Check out http://www.dailywriting.net/Doors.htm and either sketch your door or simply write about it. When you enter the cave you will be shown to your quarters and you will have a room of your own http://www.dailywriting.net/WritingRoom.htm

The Enchantress

Packing to leave - Edwina Peterson Cross

2005-08-10T02:15:00.000-07:00

With Wheels

Unpick the cliche
Prepare to stitch it again
I’m packing heavy

To the open road!
With just what is on my back
Plus everything else

Stowed so carefully
In my strong Eagle Creek Bag
Equipped with wheels

Luckily, I find
Just enough room in the bag
To pack Kerouac

Don't forget to pack the Kerouac

Packing To Leave

2005-08-09T15:37:00.000-07:00

Welcome to L'Enchanteur et la Muse

I was delighted with the response to my suggestion and now that the chairs are filled we are ready to start our quest. The nature of this quest will unravel with the passage of time.

But, first we need to pack. We are going to take up residency in the long abandoned Grotto della Sibilla, in the Umbrian Mountains in Italy. The Grotto was first mentioned in medieval, not classical
legends and the Sibyl pronounced her oracles there for hundreds of years.

I don't have a recent map but I am sure we will manage to find the Grotto and will settle in quickly.

Now you have to think about what you will take with you, especially given that you will need this case to bring home the treasures you gather during our stay.

I want each of you to find a small suitcase and quite literally pack for our three month stay. In a comment on the Lemurian Mysteries, Winnie Cross, who has left for Denmark wrote a piece in response to
Fran Sbrocchi's suggesting she take a photo of her in her case.

I couldn't zip
the suitcase
so I
unpacked two shirts
and some
earrings who needs that many
earrings and
the lotion and almost my swimming
suit but I
didn't and I put in
opera glasses and took out
binoculars
and squeezed
my shampoo into tiny
bottles and the incredible new suit
case from eagle creek finally zipped
shut and it was then
that I realized that there
had been plenty of room for Fran all
along and that I had packed her
long
long ago

in my heart

We have to travel light.

Deep breath! Are you sure you still want to come?

love The Enchantress

Megan said...
I have my trusty green suitcase, I was going to take the large one, but I figure space is at a premium, so I have opted for the smaller.In it I have packed my regular journal and pens, as well as a journal specially for this trip. I have the clothes that I am wearing as wellas solid walking boots to explore my surrounds. My Ugg Boots for cold nights, and my favourite knitted scarf and beanie. That remindsme I must take my current project - my knitted bag. I think that will do - that leaves plenty of space for treasures that I collect during the trip.There also has to be room for a few books, one of which has to be Marina Warner's From the Beast to the Blonde. You see whenHeather sent the first email to pack our bags, I did a search for the Grotto della Sibilla and one of the sites was talking about Warner'sbook. So I hunted down my copy and then Heather sends another email recommending it.I am ready to go, let the enchantment begin.

Karen said...
My sturdy "Art Can't Hurt You" totebag is filled with sunlight(andmaybe a few corn shucks from the Farmer's Market!) I embark on thisjourney with new eyes and the pilgrim's soul. My familiar, Katy, isat my side, whispering canine codewords of encouragement. I clear mymind. The enchantment begins.

Lisa Phoenix said...
Okay, ihave my trusty backpack, notebook and extra pens. Tha's the bare minimum, and i still have room for a book or two, warm sox, candle stubs, packets of dried herbs, ribbons in various colors, a mixture of seeds, a profusion of beads,a few buttons, some water-polished pebbles, an assortment of feathers, and a collection of tiny bones (mouse, mole, hedgehog) because well, you never know...

Gail Kavanagh said...
Sorry I'm late...but I never pack much anyway, travelling is a journey of discovery.I've popped some dried fruit and a picture of my grandchildren into myold shoulder bag which has seen better days but is used to beinghauled off places at a moments notice. There's room for a small box ofpaints, my sketchbook journal and a charcoal pencil, but they arealways in the bag anyway. Only need one pair of shoes (the ones I'mwearing, sturdy for walking) because I mostly go barefoot. A pair ofglasses (my eyes aren't as sharp as they used to be), a small copy ofthe Children's Garden of Poetry and off we go.Gail

Believer said...
Good morning Heather and Fellow Travelers,My suitcase is a small red and black tartan in stretchy canvas with buttoned and zipped pockets inside and out. It is waterproof, of course and will float if the occasion warrants. I suspect I shall pack cold chicken as well as, "coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssan dwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater -- -"I have seed and a bag of peanuts for the local birds and squirrels. And chocolate. A notebook and a few pens. I'd best tuck my memory into one of the pockets now before I forget or mislay it.I think I'm ready. I haven't packed my inhibitions, worries, fears or misgivings. I've left my lack of confidence behind in the hall closet. The TV, radio and computer are turned off. There's a smiley note on the fridge saying I've gone and can't be followed. Done. Wait for me guys, I'm comin'!Barbara

Lois said...
As Heather said don,t take too much because we will be sharing.Now corn shucks,dried fruit,cold chicken (WE could always make soup) but not from Lisa's Mole Hedgehog or Mouse bones unless fresh of course...All sound good tucker to me I shall bring a flask of red wine as my contribution,see you all there.Lois (Muse of the Sea)

@lex Chua said...
Oh Yes! I sure am excited about this journey! With such an experienced and wise guide, I will be in for lots of learning... maybe even enlightenment ;-)All I bring is my heart and she will lead me to all that I may need.

Traveller said...
When I was a child we used to play a memory game. A group of us would sit in a circle and the first one would start off “I packed my suitcase and in it I put …. “ . The next child would repeat this sentence and add their item and so the game would proceed around the circle until someone forgot one of the items and we had to start over again.Oh how I hate packing. I’m accustomed to packing as if I was going on an arctic expedition and the prospect of having to travel light fills me with dread. As I’ve reached that stage of my life frequently described as the mental pause I know I’m bound to forget something vital so I have decided to go against my grain and pack light, relying on the enchantress to supply me if I really need something. I must not forget my wits however even if I forget everything else. I have decided to take my hooded cape – made of swansdown and therefore light as the proverbial feather but waterproof – which will serve as my main outer garment. I will need a belt of some sort from which to hang my scallop shell (ancient symbol of all pilgrims) and my little gauze pouch with the seed pearls sown on to it. This, my shamanic bag, contains tree essences and crystals my friend, Jane of the Green Heart, has given me for this journey, and a dreamcatcher. In common with many people born under the sign of Pisces, I have problems with my feet - I would be much happier in water than on land - therefore I will pack my Mercury shoes, with the wings attached to the heels. These will assist me in my flights of imagination. One of the material objects I will take with me will be my digital camera without which I never travel for I surmise I will see many things of wonder and I would wish to preserve them in some more permanent way than my memory can. I will also need to take a journal, a pen filled with everlasting ink and some zip lock bags for storing all those found objects I will pick up.I think I'm ready now.

Karen said...
Traveller: I love the items you packed...I admit I am coveting some of them! Karen

Traveller said...
Karen, you would be welcome to share my swansdown cape should the weather turn inclement. It is the latest model - the fully expandable, fits any size version -indeed I'm sure the whole group could probably shelter within

Simone Crowther said...
I pack my case with solemnity. A pad of paper, a camera to record the countryside so that I can paint at my leisure. I choose an unusual pack of shapeshifter Tarot Cards - to put me in touch with the invisible force that underlie the warp and weft of the world and ourselves as part of its tapestry. Symbols of the elements, candles, a container of water, a wren's feather and a stone - ruby zoisite - said to help you utilize your talents in their greatest potential as well as assist healing and communion with spirits.Clothes. An eccentric costume to express the deep instinctual self I keep inside. My wild self: Ms Hyde. Something incongruant to the identity I have established here but expressing the creature that has lain hidden under conventional camouflage. There is a freedom to being a stranger in another land. A tattered cinderella skirt of black and browns, my witchy clothes that I don't often wear here. I grab my hiking grear for who knows where Heather will take us and something to lounge around in besides pyjamas. I also bring a rug to lie on and define my sacred space.So much for the worldly goods. I don't feel attached to them. They are only props, outer coverings I could abandon if necessary. The essential equipment I carry on this quest is the spirit of adventure.

Leonie Bryant said ...
I now have a lovely old wicker basket to take with me. It is a little dusty on top and beautiful inside. My excuse for the tardiness in packing has been a long search for my imagination, which unfortunately has been deeply buried since I was a child. I so badly wanted to bring it that I persevered with the search. So here I am with excited anticipation, hoping to make friends with my long lost muse.I have left locked in the cupboard my practicality and sensibility. I am so glad to have such inspiring friends to journey with to Umbria!

Heather Blakey said...
As soon as the notice to depart came I rushed to find my great grandmother's old, leather saddle bag, the one she used when she was a midwife. I have it slung over my shoulder, quite empty. I am coming with what I have on, naked without identity.

AshleyShea said...
What an adventure this will be! Twenty-one days to places unknown. First, I will bring my camera. I'll want to capture every sunrise and sunset over distant lands, every flower and animal, every city and building, and, especially, every face -- of those I meet and my fellow traveling companions. These images will feed me the rest of my days.

What I can't capture in images, I'll capture in words. I'll pack a small, leather-bound journal and a few pens of different colors to record mental pictures, thoughts, and discoveries I make along the way.

With these two items packed, I have the most important items I'll need. I'll pack a few clothes -- something warm, something cool -- and a blanket to cover me at night. I'll hope that water will always be nearby so that I can wash clothes at any time.

One more item I will not pack, but will carry with me, and that's my sturdy walking stick. I'll pluck a new one from the forest behind my home. I'll pack a small knife to carve images to represent my adventures and/or tally marks to mark the days.

Lisa J said...
I sit quietly in the corner, slightly unsure of myself, leaning against my rucksack as I wait for more travellers to arrive. I'm not quite certain what to expect of this journey - what revelations it will bring me, how the people I meet will change me, where placing one foot after the other will take me - but I am filled with anticipation!! I have my old blue rucksack packed and ready to go. I have thrown in my journal, and a blank book for when I run out, and a few pens. My bag also contains a small wooden indian flute a close friend gave to me - apparently it brings good fortune, but I also intend to learn it as we stroll through forests and ruins and fields :) I wear a St Christopher medallion around my neck that my grandfather gave me and a rose from my mothers garden in my hair. I will later put it in my diary and dry it to keep for the remainder of our journey. I have the usual camp clothes, but only the bare minimum, I have left lots of room in my bag to carry treasures found and gifts for loved ones when I return. Before I left I bought my cat a new collar, and I wear his old on - bell and all - around my wrist. I know I will miss him dearly, we have been through a lot together, and I like the light musical sound the bell makes every time I move.

I have (quite literally) thrown some other things in my bag, but part of the surprise of the journey will be to see exactly what I've ended up packing!! Dashing around the house, I packed things, decided I didn't need them and unpacked them, packed some of them again, packed a few other things, decided I didn't need them so unpacked some (along with taking out some of the other things that had already been in and out and in.!!) put some of the things I originally took out back in and....you get the picture!! :)

Cave of the Enchantress

2005-08-09T15:18:00.000-07:00

In the chapter entitled 'The Cave of the Enchantress' Marina Warner writes about the Grotto della Sibilla in the Umbrian Mountains which was first mentioned in classical legend. Guerino the Wretch reaches a mountain pass near Norcia in Umbria where he meets with the Devil. The Devil, of course, wants Guerino's soul and tempts him by describing a subterranean kingdom where every delight will be his. Seemingly, in this kingdom, trees flower and fruit at the same time and there is no pain or age or sorrow.

No pain! No sorrow! Lead me to the Umbrian mountains immediately! Of course, what the Devil failed to mention was that the cave is inhabited by an enchantress who turns into a snake every Saturday.

It is the truly brave who commit to coming to the Grotto to work with the current Enchantress.