Since early childhood, I have been a spinner of lore, working, oft-times, in tandem with my opposite, my all-but-twin, Sun to my Moon, Weaver of that which I spun from moonshine and memory, tale and tradition.
But it is a lonely existence in many respects. The spinning calls upon tides and times unseen by the melting-pot of mankind. My rhythms, slightly askew, jerk and judder when social meets and frenzied fraternising is called for. Hermit by nature, I do not venture out of the Cave of Seers with ease. I stand, in sun too bright, blinking and bleary from the soothing uterine darkness of the Mother Cavern, wordless and shy amongst the silver- tongued ones.
Oh! At necessary moments, and clad in convincing costume, the rules of society rote-learned and word-perfect, I emerge and walk amongst the Land-Dwellers, selling my stories for a monetary pittance or exchanging them for the…
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…With this year’s April Workshop, we returned to source.
Five years ago, The Song of the Troubadour birthed our school and opened the gateway to three levels of Enneagram study.
This year we opened another gateway, which led into deeper levels of understanding, with a Song of the Stones.
Last year we moved through Mediaeval Courts, and Castles, and Fairy Forests, in search of the soul.
This year we danced with grace through the heart of that soul, and learned how to overcome fear.
The settings were simple, the costuming uncomplicated, with only the Weavers of Time and Story providing the strands and splurges of rainbow-like colour we might usually associate with this time of year.
A veil split the temple space.
It was a veil which had morphed through fire, sun and beyond fear into spirit before we were done.
And we did not even have any pantomime…
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Intrigue ⦿ Magic ⦿ Religion ⦿ Science
Four faces of a Elizabethan jewel that will become Britain… and one deadly enemy – hidden deep in the inner workings of an age.
1586, and our story begins… The reign of Elizabeth I, the ‘Virgin Queen’ of the house of Tudor.
A time when England stood virtually alone amongst its neighbours, surrounded by hostile political and religious forces set in motion by the reign of Elizabeth’s father Henry VIII, a plot has just been discovered to assassinate the now-established Queen of England and Ireland. The man who uncovered it is Francis Walsingham, her celebrated and loyal spymaster, intent on establishing a network of agents outside and inside England to protect her.
By the 1580s, this small island, with its ‘virgin’ Queen, had become a hotbed of intellectual and magical insight, with leading thinkers, such as the Queen’s astrologer, John Dee, driving forward the knowledge of the…
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Ali’s powerful retelling…
The drum called, its stick an instant friend in my hand, unexpected tingle of familiarity up my right arm. I knew the figure crouched at my left, bright streams of Sun colour a solar-fall down the cloak of pure gold. I recognised the tall shadow of the Shaman, dark feathers shining unearthly green and blue, pelts still giving off the slight whiff of the animals which gifted them, sharp beak a stern reminder of mortality.
Stones – tall and weathered, humming and sparking with energy – surrounded us; the steep slope, shawled with grazing kine behind, a powerful shoulder for the people to gather strength from, or weep upon. The Circle fizzed and fuzzed with expectant silence. Sun, a radiant smile overhead, blessed the sacred site with its vernal benison, though the catch in the throat and the infinitesimal darkening and deepening of Sky’s evening palette suggested imminent transition. Darkness…
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We have a pretty good idea what reality is, don’t we?
It’s something that relates to what we already know. It follows the same behaviour, roughly, each time it happens. It has a familiar ring to it. If I were to get into my neighbour’s new car, and it slide out of the drive on an anti-gravity cushion, I would probably feel slightly sick and worry that I was ill. ‘This cannot be“‘would echo in my head and I would begin to doubt my sanity.
Yet, this coming weekend, in the depths of lovely Derbyshire, a group will gather whose purpose is to travel back before recorded time, uniting around a strange, nine-pointed symbol that purports to be a pretty good map of the human consciousness; and a route-planner to the way of getting beneath that everyday consciousness and to the ‘spiritual realms’ beneath. The event is called
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The biggest ever bang
So silent in it’s power
Now passing overhead.
©Copyright Stephen Tanham 2017.
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A beautiful and very moving piece from Jan.
Sun in Gemini 
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