VOTE! 2010 BELTANE/SAMHUINN PROSE ENTRIES

[Earthwoman]

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[Frog]

My short story - "Rose".
Previously published on my blog - http://frog101.wordpress.com

Rose sat on the straight-backed wooden dining chair; her long, pale fingers trembling as she held the letter in her hands.

"Dear Rose, " it began "I'm really sorry to do this by letter, but I .... "

Rose knew how the rest of the letter read; she'd read so many in a similar vein. Tears fell from her eyes, dripping onto the thick paper, soaking in and distorting the ink and words making the sentences more complex and difficult to read. Once again, someone who she had shared her life with had decided to move on, discarding her life like an empty chip bag. She sat for some time, gently sobbing to herself, rocking slightly. Eventually she could not cry any more and she looked up and out of the window at her cottage garden. Even though her heart was ripped apart, the flowers in her garden were a mass of colour and no matter what happened to her, she knew that her energies would be calmed by taking a walk through her garden, stopping to smell each of the many roses that bloomed and stood proud from the frames, bushes and hedges that surrounded the garden.

She sniffed gently, dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and brushing her dress she stood up and walked through the stable back door and into the garden. The letter was left lying on the dining table, the letters congealing together as the tears dried.


Rose loved her garden. It wasn't actually hers, but was started many, many years ago by her mother when she was much younger - before she married, before she had borne Rose. Her mother had discovered the beauty that lay within the English Rose, its many petals holding so much inside and yet bursting with opportunity. Her mother had met someone with a shared interest and between them they had gathered so many varieties, and ensured that each was given the correct amount of space, light to ensure that each would show itself in its best form. Over time as her garden grew, so did the closeness between her mother and her friend, and soon they shared more than just a love of the garden. After time, they had a child, a beautiful girl... and only one name seemed suitable.

Rose had grown up in this garden, the secrets and the beauty of roses where revealed to her as she grew up. The garden had become a sanctuary of learning - there was nothing that Rose did not know about gardening and horticulture as she grew up. Unfortunately, her pursuit of learning had been at the cost of not really building up any hobbies and interests of anything that lain outside her garden. As she had grown up, she grew into a beautiful young woman - certainly a flower of beauty that attracted many young men. Over the years she was invited to many school proms, balls and parties and had dated many, many times - but these had not lasted very long as her lovers had quickly tired of the limited conversation. Every time though, Rose had not seen the signs or signals - so every time it had come as a shock to her.


Rose pruned the hedges carefully and methodically, the letter now confined to a memory point. No matter what, her flowers needed to be looked after.

"Those flowers are looking absolutely beautiful"

The words gently floated across the garden to Rose's ears. She turned to see where they had come from. "Thank you" she replied.

"I do love your roses... is that an Angel Face? That's one of my favourites... oh, are you alright?"

Rose realised that her face was still red and blotchy from crying. "Yes, I'm fine, I've just had some unexpected news from... from.. "

She so wanted to tell this stranger, but it didn't feel right, but she didn't know what to say.

"Don't worry, I don't need to know. But I'd be careful with that rose, I'd prune the other stem and I think you'd be impressed with the result."

"Oh, okay - do you have an interest in roses?" Rose was curious - she had debated in her mind which stem to trim.

"I have an interest in many beautiful things, but mostly flowers. You must come and see my garden at some point"

"That's very kind... and very forward. Your garden is...?"

"Oh sorry, yes, I suppose it is. My garden is the "Rose Sanctuary" - up on the hill in Melbury; have you heard of it?"

"That's your garden? I've been there so many times - it really is absolutely beautiful. I would love to have a tour of it."

"Well that's settled then - when you're ready, please come. Here's my card" And with that, the stranger handed over a green card, said goodbye and walked on.


Rose looked at the card. Herne Albion. Must be a spelling mistake though Rose, remembering the time she had got cards printed and had been named "Rose English" instead of "Rose Street", her actual name - she had tried to help the printer get her name right and it had all gone horribly wrong. She smiled and carried on working on the garden.


About a week later, Rose called Herne and arranged a time to visit the garden. He'd seemed polite enough, and she was quite looking forward to the tour. When she got to the garden Herne was there and they walked round the many paths, discussing the many roses and species that were in the garden. it seemed that within the blink of an eye many hours had passed. Herne and Rose had not stopped talking about the garden, about the flowers... and suddenly it was dark. Herne politely offered to give Rose a lift home, but Rose had driven there, so politely declined... but did agree to meet Herne again.

As she drove home, she thought about the enigmatic Herne and how he was so enthusiastic about all the flowers in his garden. He obviously loved and cared for every flower in that garden; none were hidden behind another or allowed to withdraw into the bush. She was also surprised at how many unusual names the Roses had. She knew that there was a common practice for roses to be given many names - but it was really surprising how many there were - and how many Herne had acquired.


Over the years, Rose made many visits to Herne's Sanctuary; Herne had also made many visits to Rose's house and helped look after the garden. They always talked about the flowers to the exclusivity of everything else; they shared tea, they had dinner - but always the topic of conversation was about the flowers. One day though, Herne surprised Rose by asking

"Do you have a partner?"

Rose's heart leaped. This was something she had not thought about, considered could be a reality. Herne was someone that she now trusted completely, but she knew that this was intuition as they had never talked about anything else.

"Nnn... no" she stuttered. Herne's laugh was genuine and honest.

"Sorry Rose, I didn't mean to pry. We've spent so much time together, I started to worry that I could be causing a problem.."

"No, you don't need to worry. I love your company, it's so refreshing to be able to be so calm, so relaxed..."

"I'm pleased" said Herne "but I do need to tell you something. Our friendship will not become anything more at this time. There will be a time when you will need to speak to me again. Know this - the Sanctuary is always open for you to be exactly that. When you need Sanctuary, please call for me."

"What do you mean?" said Rose, confused... then fell into complete dumbfoundedness as Herne vanished before her. Not walked away, not ducked - but vanished.


Rose was thoroughly confused by this - what had just happened? Herne was real, she knew it, yet, he had just disappeared. It took a little while before she really came to terms with what just happened - although for a little while she did worry that she'd just suffered a nervous breakdown.

The next day she visited the Rose Sanctuary... but no-one there knew of Herne. They all had seen many young men and women come to the Sanctuary asking for Herne, but all they had been told was to point the person to the Rose Trellis frame and request sanctuary there. All the gardeners pointed to a single metal rose trellis frame, its gothic architecture and curly points supporting many hundreds of roses.


Rose carried on with her life - and her garden. Life resumed as normal as with all people - she worked, she dated, she worked on her garden. But life works in cycles and once more she found herself sitting at the dining table with another lover's rejection letter. This time, she felt older, much older - and that life had finally beaten her. But this time too, she felt calmer, more resolved and went to the Rose Sanctuary. She walked into the Trellis and called "Herne where are you? I need Sanctuary"

Herne stepped from frame. It was as if he had been part of the roses growing there.

Herne's face was straight - almost serious. "Rose - why do you need sanctuary? You have such a beautiful garden and whilst it is true you are no longer young as when we first met, sanctuary will be such a permanent thing."

"Oh Herne" replied Rose "please don't think me defeatist. I know that the garden is beautiful - I've worked so hard to keep it as my mother had created it - but that's it you see, it's not mine. Everything I think I have, my garden, partners, friends... you... aren't mine and I'm fed up of living my life on my own. That is why I am asking for Sanctuary"

"Rose, it will be my honour to allow you to join us all in Sanctuary. What will you do with your beautiful rose garden?"

"Herne, many years ago you invited me here and I loved the flowers and the way they were looked after. So I decided back then that I would leave my house and all its contents to your Sanctuary, that you may use it however you see fit in this world."

"In that case, " said Herne "Hold my hand"


Rose's trembling hand reached up and touched Herne's; she relaxed as Herne's jacket seem to grow vines and creepers and bind her to him. She looked to his face and saw the vines, branches and flowers come from his mouth - and she realised this was Herne, this was the Green Man - this was going to be Sanctuary. Her eyes looked beyond the trellis frame and she realised that all the rose bushes and trees were coming alive - forming into men and women, all smiling and walking to meet her. They all entered the Rose trellis frame, reached and smiling took her hand from Herne and led her out into the garden, into the Rose Garden.

Rose smiled as she was made to feel welcome with new friends. Herne spoke

"Rose, welcome to our Sanctuary. I hope that you, like all our friends here, will be happy forever in each others company"

The next morning, the Rose Sanctuary was as before - a beautiful collection of Roses... except there was another rose in the garden. A man in a green jacket knelt before the rose bush and planted a small black sign. "Rose Street" it read.

[Nightvine]

Why I Worship the Gods

Previously posted on my blog on 2/26/10 at: http://bluedruid.wordpress.com

“So tell me, as a pagan, who do you worship?”

“Worship?”

“That’s right, I imagine you have a pretty wide open field. To whom do you set up a house hold altar? To whom do you bow down? To whom do you pray at dawn and dusk?”

“The Female Principle. It’s an empowerment thing” (…) “She doesn’t need a name”.

“So do you have mighty Bacchnals in her honor? Do you drink blood wine under the full moon while scarlet candles burn in silver candle sticks? Do you step naked into the seafoam, chanting ecstatically to your nameless Goddess while the waves lick at your legs, lapping your thighs like the tongues of a thousand leopards? “

“Your making fun of me. We don’t do any of that stuff you were saying” (…)

“There” said Wednesday, “is one who does not have the faith, and will not have the fun”.

–Neil Gaiman; American Gods (paraphrased)

Some of us do do that stuff. I’m one of them. As a matter of fact I do burn scarlet candles in silver candle holders on the full moon while drinking wine (sans the blood though).

A few weeks ago my wife asked me if I actually worshiped the Gods, and if I believe they are worthy of worship. A seemingly simple question, yet I admit to being somewhat perplexed on how to answer it and have been chewing on it in my mind ever since. I believe at the time I muttered something about Kharis and reciprocity and my random musings on the nature of divinity. It sounded rational and intellectual, but it’s not really true. It was a bunch of BS really. If that were the only reason I worshiped the Gods I wouldn’t bother, or I would of chosen one of the more socially acceptable and easily accessible religions, and I would put far less effort into it.

The truth is, I worship the Gods because it feels good. I enjoy it. It enriches my life in a myriad of ways. My life is better with the Gods than without them. I believe I am a better person with them in my life. I sincerely hope that they enjoy my worship as well. I’d hate to be the only one getting anything out of the relationship (yet I still suspect that I get more out of the deal).

The second reason that I worship them is because they call out to my soul and always have. To not respond to that call would leave me empty and dissatisfied. Believe me, I know because I have been down that road. It was a road I needed to travel at the time, and I’m not regretful for doing it because I learned a lot about myself, but I am much happier now with the Gods in my life than I was for the time I abandoned them.

I’ve seen a lot of People (Pagans and non-Pagans alike) have a bad reaction to the word ‘worship’, as if it is inherently negative. I myself had this same reaction when I was asked about it. I admit that there was a tinge of shame in my answer to her as if to admit to Worship of anything was inherently a mark a lack of self respect. After all, no self respecting confident modern individual would actually worship something? It’s as if the very word is some how demeaning. Thus my need to rationalize it away with scholarly geek speak.

I think this is because “worship” has become synonymous in many peoples minds with self abasement and groveling. However, I don’t believe that such concepts have any place in modern Paganism. At least not the way that I do it! They have never asked for my self abasement. If they did I would look elsewhere. I do respect the Gods however, and I think our worship of them should show that respect. After all, they are Gods, and no matter how approachable, are still higher than us. I don’t see being respectful as the same thing as self abasement.

I invite you to stand before Dionysos fully invoked and present, the blood rushing in your ears, the taste of wine on your lips, fresh from the feeling of being totally consumed by devotion for him, still chanting his hymns ecstatically and unwilling to stop.

Or standing before Hekate on her dark moon, contemplating the full imagery of her as perceived by the thousands of individuals who have felt her call in the centuries before you, and felt compelled to write down what they saw.

“With Pois’nous Rows of Serpents down the Back,
Bound down Your Backs with Horrifying Chains
Night-Crier, Bull-faced, loving Solitude,
Bull-headed, You have Eyes of Bulls, the Voice
Of Dogs; You hide Your Forms in Shanks of Lions”

It gives me shivers even thinking about it. There is no self abasement in my worship, no groveling. There is only awe, respect, and love. Standing before these Gods, with ones soul laid bare to them, how could I do anything but worship them?

(This incidentally is probably one of the reasons I am attracted to the worship of Gods of ecstasy. I thrive on this kind of thing).

I also worship the Gods because I sincerely believe in them. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t. While I feel there are many valid ways to approach spirituality, I have always been called to Polytheism. One of the reasons I am a polytheist and not a monotheist is because of the one-to-one relationship that polytheism offers that I just could never feel from an all-encompassing monotheistic God. My God’s have proven themselves to me time and time again, and I am not ashamed to say that I sincerely believe in them and love them.

(Note: I am not bashing monotheism here. I personally think it is great that there are many different paths to the divine, and I personally believe that everyone has different needs in this area. Polytheism meets my need. I don’t believe in one size fits all where spirituality is concerned).

For instance not long ago, something was happening in my life which was consuming me with unhappiness. It had been building for a long time and I was becoming miserable. I just kept putting on a smiling face and ignoring it (unfortunately I’m good at that. Very good). One night, I found myself before Dionysos’s shrine, surprised to find myself spewing forth things to him that I would not even admit to myself. Even though such situation had been going on for a long time the very next day it was resolved. I know it was He that had a hand in that.

That is only one example of many. This is not a “sermon” on the power of prayer. My point is that I trusted him, and he reciprocated my trust. I could give numerous examples of this with all of my personal pantheon. Over time I have come to trust them fully. If they suggest I do something, I usually know it is my best interests. I owe them my gratitude many times over. This is only part of the reason that I love them. This is part of the reason that I worship them. It makes me feel good to know that I can repay their love and generosity with my worship.

I don’t worship the Gods because I have to, or because something bad is going to happen to me if I don’t, or because they demand it and it’s written in some book, or even to get divine favors to make my life easier.

They do not demand my worship, they inspire it. This is the key difference. I worship them because my soul aches to, and that my dear readers is the main reason.

[Mellinda]

Day outing

Its Friday just looked at the calendar, I’m going out today mustn’t be late. Now where did I put my car keys? Iv looked in my handbag and on the hook by the door also checked my coat pockets, still haven’t found them.
I’m starting to panic now the clock is ticking must hurry. I have a long list of things to do. I won’t have time if my keys don’t materialise soon.
I sit down on the sofa I hear a meow and foot steeps well pore steps coming down the stairs. “Hello Tabby where have you been? ” He rubs on my legs. “Lying on my bed I expect.” He just looks at me purrs then jumps on my lap and settles himself down comfy.


As I sit stroking Tabby’s back my thoughts once more return to my keys, I look at the clock it’s nearly 8 30am not much time left.
I know! My husband Jake he will help me find them I’ll call him. “Jake? Jake” no answer he must be busy in the garage he makes toys out of wood for the local charity shop to sell, Id better not disturb him.
So when was the last time I used the car? Was it Wednesday when I took my friend shopping or was that on Tuesday? I can’t remember, now this is getting silly I’ll forget my name next now that would be daft.

Wonder if they have fallen down behind the sofa or maybe I’ve left them in the car. Shooing Tabby off my lap I look behind the sofa, No; not they’re either.
My friend has a bleeper on her key ring, so if she misplaces them she just claps her hands and it start bleeping, I was going to get one too but forgotten until now, must write it down on my list of things to do.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of ringing; it’s the phone. I pick it up “Hello” I ask?
The voice sounds familiar but just can’t put a name to it at this moment I’m sure I will remember soon.
It’s a mans voice he’s asking me if I’m still going today as I haven’t been to well ”yes,” I reply if I can find my car keys.
The voice on the other end replies; ”Ok mom see you in about 5 minutes,” he rings off, as I put the receiver down still no name has popped into my head never mind I will recognise him when I see him I’m sure.
Wonder why he called me mom I don’t have a son.

Tabby brushes past my feet asking to be let out, I walk to the back door as I open it he looks at me for a moment,” see you later, “ I say. Then with a flick of his tail he runs out and jumps up the fence and then disappears from view. Going to see his lady friend I expect! Well he is a tomcat after all.
I hear the front door open “who is that” I ask. “ Just me mom,” it’s the voice I heard on the phone. “Are you ready come here and put your coat on.” I look at him yes the face I recognise but still no name he ask me once more, “everyone is waiting. “ what will I do we will have to walk I feel so silly, and he called me mom again.

He helps me on with my coat “I’m sorry but I can’t find my car keys!” I say he just smiles, “don’t worry I have some and I have the car, we will soon be at the day centre and I have your keys.” Oh that’s where my keys went my son has them, no wonder I couldn’t find them.
I see my friend sitting in the back seat, she waves I remember now we are going to do painting today at the centre I’m really looking forward to that I’m going to paint a bunch of flowers.

I now remember I gave the car to my son not long after Jake my husband died, Jake did most of the driving anyway it’s been four years now I miss him, I don’t go out much these days as I haven’t been to well this year.
I’ve been seeing the Doctor he says I have Alzheimer’s or something? He told me what it was but I can’t remember I’ll ask again next time I see him, Simon my son takes me to my appointment every month.

Oh look at the time I’ll be late for work this nice man is going to take me as Iv lost my car keys.
I wish Jake would come and wave me off, never mind he must be busy in the garage I’ll see him at teatime. Must buy a cake on the way home from work he loves sponge cake, he always has a pot of tea made ready waiting for me after work. We met at Stonehenge at the Summer Solstice, its are anniversary soon and he always buys me flowers for my hair. We go to Stonehenge every anniversary to remake our vows.



By L F Tallis=Mellinda
Copyright © 2010

[Dragonwyst]

This was written as a project for my writer's group. We were given the first two lines.

Inspiration

Marion finished reading. She placed the pages on the table before looking into the younger girl’s face.
“Well,” asked Bronwyn, “what do you think?”
“You certainly have potential.”
The eager eyes widened. “Do you really think so?”
“I don’t think so, I know so,” Marion smiled. Then, more seriously, “but you are still trying too hard and the result, I have to say, is contrived.”
Bronwyn looked crestfallen.
“Bronwyn, you must understand. Writing is not just about perfect grammar and imitating the masters. There is a place you need to discover. It is like the space between heartbeats – a place where time ceases to exist. For each writer it is different. When you write from that place there will be a new depth to your work. Your ideas will take shape in your own words and your true meaning will shine through.”
“But how will I find that place?” Bronwyn looked as if she was on the verge of tears. Marion took the girl’s hand and pressed it between hers.
“As I said, stop trying! It is like looking at a star that can only be seen when not looked at directly. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
Bronwyn brushed away a tear. “You make it seem as if I must stop writing in order to write!”
“That might just be the answer. Why don’t you go for a walk instead of picking up that pen again? It’s a beautiful day – go spend some time at the stream. Who knows? Maybe you’ll discover something new.”
Bronwyn shrugged and managed a half-smile. “Now it sounds as if you’re giving me a project,” she said as she headed for the door.
And maybe I am thought Marion as she put the papers to one side and turned back to the potato-peeling.

Bronwyn’s bare feet pattered along the hard clay path that led to the trees and down to the stream. The warm sun revealed a copper glint in her brown hair as she pushed the loose strands behind her ears. Soon she was in the shadows of the leafy canopy where spring green was beginning to give way to the deeper hues of summer.
Her mind wrestled with the problem at hand as the path dipped between the trees. How does one find a place that can only be found without looking at it directly? How to write without trying? The paradox was both tantalizing and frustrating.
Bronwyn could hear the gurgling of the stream just ahead, as it played over the rocks. Unseen birds whistled above and around her as she turned off the path and scrambled over the boulders to the stream itself. She took a deep breath of the damp, cool scent of water, soil and bark as she settled herself in a favourite spot.
The water slipped through a crevice and over a lip just at the foot of this rock. Bronwyn loved to watch the smooth flow that changed to froth, catching the gleams of sunlight that filtered through the leaves. There was something about the contrast that appealed to her. Same water – one minute smooth, the next whipped up into splattering, cheerful bubbles. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves allowing the sunlight to add a dancing sparkle to the miniature waterfall.
Bronwyn watched, entranced, lost in the sight and sound and scent of the moment. The sparkles of light on the water seemed to shift and coalesce as if trying to form a shape. They danced apart and came together again, this time more distinctly.
She found herself gazing at the image of a unicorn, disturbed only by the ripples of the water. It seemed to be looking right at her! She held on to the moment, not daring to move a muscle and barely breathing. It was so beautiful! She wasn’t sure if the unicorn image was in the water or above it. It didn’t matter.
She remembered a legend about unicorns. If you tried to catch them, they disappeared. You had to wait, quietly and without thinking about them, for them to come to you.
The sparkling unicorn dipped its horn towards her and dissipated into stars of light that dazzled Bronwyn’s eyes. She closed them against the brightness, not wanting to open them again in case the moment was lost. She could see the after-image of the unicorn on her eyelids.
“I won’t lose you,” she whispered. “I will keep you in my heart. If I can’t see you, I’ll feel you.”
As the cool breeze teased her hair and tickled her face, she slowly opened her eyes. Every leaf, twig and blade seemed full of luminosity. She felt as if she had been transported to a place outside time that was an instant after creation. It was as if everything had just come into being in pristine newness. Every myth, legend and story from the dawn of time was etched in the plant and animal life around her. It was all intertwined. Twisting together like the silver spiral of a unicorn’s horn, she thought, smiling to herself. I guess this is what real inspiration is like: arriving when un-looked-for, like the unicorn.
She uncurled from her spot on the rock and made her way back to the path, with one destination in mind – her desk, pen and paper.

It was some time later when, papers in hand, she sought out Marion once more. Marion raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.
“What, again already?” she asked as she took the proffered papers.
“Yes, again already!” affirmed Bronwyn, face aglow. “Thanks for suggesting the walk. I had an amazing time. And, I think I may have found that place you were talking of.”
“Let’s see what we have.”
Marion finished reading. She placed the pages on the table before looking into the younger girl’s face.
“Well,” asked Bronwyn, “what do you think?”
“As I said, “ replied Marion with a wicked grin. “You have potential…”

[Earthwoman]

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