Nectar of place ... drinking from the water of myth

Sometimes the real is more than a body can, or wants, to experience alone. No, it is not from weakness we reach for the space between the borders. Yes, it is the nectar of place and timelessness that soothes and sends what cannot be found without myth. Sip and be with those who crisscross place and time with facility and respect un-endingly.

I dip into that cup of nectar of the place again, invoking the spirit and the practices of medicine stories. From the old, a newness builds slowly ...healing.

The Ledge 

"Gypsy Fairydom persists throughout the Cosmos, throughout time, throughout Ever. Unattached to the trappings of broad collections of wealth, the Gypsy Fairies travel light and depend upon the trails of stardust as markers and makers of destiny. Far from invisible the Gypsy Fairy is present in the life of those mortals who appear to have dreams falling down around them. To the Gypsy Fairy, collapsing dreams are simply the signs of Reassembling and an invitation to join in. The braid of mortal life on the Great Planet as this story begins is so far from the wee folk’s value of a destiny fully lived, the strands so tightly woven even the tiniest of fairies can find no foothold.Sprinkled like salt from the Creators salt shaker, the agent of change had begun its work on the lives of humans." -Wood Crafting ... the Tale

The Huntress was gone, no longer burdened with a physical body, the magic of Reassembling fell from her tiny yet powerful shoulders. The cradling was over, soon the two old Beings were going to meet head on. With no Forest Magician to lead the way on the narrow trails or mediate the tug of their opposing Moon Nodes, the man and woman had a few years to make a life different than the one before.

The Frog and his Queen greeted the Panther when she crossed from the skin she had worn. Bernadette wept as she saw the Quiet One steal the small and deadly huntress, "She was outside the Borders, unrecognized and without the benefit of proximity." Tears from her royal ducts flowed. Florescent and as pungent as an aged nectar of place. Those were the waters of grief. She cried for her Human, the old woman called Bird.

"Her's has not been a gentle journey. Has it?" It was T.F. who saw his Queen's tears glow like snakes down her pointed mouth, open as if to gasp more breath; a frog's grieving does take a lot of oxygen.

"She was marked for a heavy burden, and yes, there is more to come." Bernadette listened as the pines became agitated. "More to come," they said in the old language of the Bird's Ancients. "Aia no i ʻo" wahi o ka paina. 

It would take a few moments for the transition to set, from the body of one into that of another. The Frog and his Queen attended this one with particular kindness, though it was never an act they performed with anything but.


Aia no i 'o ... more to come. HERE IT IS (the next)