From something called The Learners Dictionary I found the drawings above and this ... " metal pin that is used for attaching things and that has a point at one end and a cover at the other into which the pointed end fits."
The wind is strong today, and a storm is forecast for tomorrow. With all the water piling up in the heavens it makes sense we would collectively experience storm. On a daily basis I learn things about being an Earthling and try to pin those lessons together to make a bridge over which I get from one place to another. More often than not my bridges take me back and forth to places I have passed before; reassessing my past relationship is something I do often.
Bridges are great inventions, evolving over time I'm sure the simplest of bridges was made by stretching ones legs across a stream, a gap in the valley. Into the arms of the stretchee perhaps a small child, a treasured tool or another such loved one went from one side to the other using the human bridge. I wonder about the metaphor of bridges as I finished reading a message telling us about the passing of a neighbor. Death is both bridge and form of passing from one side to the other. I am saddened by the news though I never met the man who passed; I chatted to his wife just the other day for the first time. Still death is universal and though this couple was in the middle of a divorce, the grief will probably be as full and real regardless.
Which brings me to the point of this post. With mortality and passings being as real as that message, I had begun to write about pinning, and unpinning stories. There are so many stories: some wait to be found again, others remain hidden because only a spider or lizard can tell it, and then there are stories which are only told by the young, or by the very old. Here at Makua O'o I tell stories that happen on my way to becoming an elder. With no guarantees I will be wise in the telling, I have simply told them from the heart. Earlier this week I have been coaxed from the caves into which I retreat when the world is too painful for me. Terri Windling and the writers, readers and artist who come to pin stories to tales, and tales to pictures and pictures to dragon wings on her blog, give me fuel to keep giving it ago ... my best is all that I can do ... and that is enough.
Mortality, and Saturn in Scorpio are messengers that urge living to the fullest in whatever form is possible from this side of the bridge. It's a deep crevasse over which my bridge and those of others transits. Travail and transformation equally possible in the crossing. Today I decided to take my next best shot at the journey and climbed aboard the dragon and urged her to spread those wings ...
Take me from the Red Hibiscus Hedge, Mo'o
Pin me with memories sepia and worn
No longer new but not nearly so old
To forget what purpose Dragon Wings serve
Is as likely as never having bridges
That need crossing
So to continue pinning stories I have returned to my culture where first I was dressed in the language of story. There are red hibiscus and dragon wings waiting, and if you forget the password to enter ...
JUST REMEMBER ... it's "thelanguageofstory."
|Click to find Red Hibiscus and Dragon Wings|