In the Beginning

Æons ago, when Gaia was very young, her birth song sung,
Wild beauty with mild peace wrapped her like a cloak,
Her heart the yolk of new life with few battles to fight;
Night was gentle, light warm and penetrating oceans deep
To embryonic keep, where there reigned genial cooperation
In symbiotic evolution, not quixotic or chaotic, rather
Guided by an unseen, gentle hand as if it were planned
But with no demand on the fetal growth in Gaia’s womb…
In the beginning.



Words can steal, and nearly kill, but words can heal;
Words can turn an ugly flight into cowardly flight.
Words skilled, filled with love can rebuild the broken;
Words chilled with hate leave the forlorn unfulfilled.
Words can make the dour more sour by the hour;
Words are power that tower over life rife with pain.
Words can be strong enough to turn the wrong into song;
Words can turn the world upside-down or right-side up.
Words abate, relate, satiate, debate and even create;
Words to speak or write, meek and mild or with ill-will.

Words are yours; you are your words.


Sélená the Untamed Wild


Hear my promise to you to show you my love, my dove,
As sacred rhythms float gently thru the air carefree,
And I wrap myself around you like an alluring coat;
Dear boy, shed not one tear and be not drear, but hear
What I whisper promise in your ear; no need for fear
Child, meek and mild… I am Sélená the untamed wild,
My passion unchained, gateway opened wide for you
To enter in and abide inside of me, and to be clothed
In my warm flesh, fresh and nourishing, tightly bound
And rightly held as we meld together as one underneath
Bright shining Sun; this affair has only begun, my love!


Awake . . . It’s Night Again

As the world enters night again,
Greetings to the darkness, my old friend;
Will you hear the babies crying?
Will you hear the mothers sighing?
Will you count the money buying another round
For profound old men sitting at the bars
Looking at the stars as lonely cars drive by?
Will you cover the silent weeping?
Will you stand by the night watch keeping?
Care ascend like smoke; change is in the air;
Tiananmen Square
Lights up like the firefly
As we say goodbye
To the world we know, and hello to the new show.
Earth turns,
Heaven churns,
Hell burns;
And I bend to the darkness, my old friend,
Who ushers forward toward the new day —
Turning the page, dawning of another age —
Like the old, history will still unfold,
But the punctuated silence is the brilliance,
And here we are like some shooting star,
Seen and quickly assured we’ve gone unheard
As our world enters night again,
But it is in the quiet we begin . . .

And On the Eighth Day

We ride the tidal wave of hope toward the coastline of inspired vision;
It is our destiny in proportion to our dreams spun in the halls of heaven.
Our eyes are wide open to the myriad possibilities of grand, living life,
As we grab hold of the mystical hand to walk now on the water of miracles.
No evil wraith taunts our minds, nothing wicked haunts our open hearts,
For we have taken the higher way — rough and rugged and narrow but true.
Blue skies become our ocean with slowly floating, wispy white islands,
Burning Sol our guide by day, serenely sweet Luna shepherdess by night…

Tell me, pilgrim, do you know to where we journey on this the eighth day?

Sweet Selene Passing By. . .

maxresdefaultSo silently, surreptitiously, and smoothly do you slide in with ocean tide to abide in abode of my soul, making hearth of my heart your home, again and once again, yet never to stay, to be held at bay, whatever I might say; so sing your song sung blue and true, old and ever-new. Have only some few become your lovers, who hover around your every word, hoping for your tender, titillating touch, not much but just enough.

Oh sweet Selene of Yaşam Ruh’u, what do you do in your smoothly silken, silver brush through the air, so fair and wild, what we cannot bear yet in which we share but for fleeting moments, enough to lift our care. Ought we beware of you, so true but wrapped in mystery, your history largely unknown because that you have not shown. We have but some small share in the treasure you bring, as you sing in the breeze with eloquent ease.

So do we seize the passing by and ne’er try to grasp your essence to keep in the fluorescence of our  minds, which only dim in your presence. Yet we are more, not less, since your visitation; our incense rises to meet and greet your coming-movement in and through the veins of our very being to make new what was the aged pages of our lives. Ah! But do say when you will not stray but stay, we pray.

Oh, when will you stay, we pray?

Inspiration: Exaltation in Degradation

Something turning and burning to come out,
Something churning inside my own very soul,
Something now living and dying to be heard;
Surely tis both the writers boon and burden.

recapitulation of the soul

From where does it come,
And to where does it go?
Nobody really knows,
Blow after blow,
As unsightly minstrel sings.

Something is here, hidden in the dark,
Something more than reality so stark,
Something to mark all of wasted time,
Something betraying poor heart’s crime.

And it shows,
And crows,
And blows in with the wind,
And sends me to my knees.

Ah! But what is this that so burns and churns?
What is this that churns inside my very soul?
What is this that lives to die in being heard?
What, this back-burden with lack of heart boon?

Caillína: Süleyman of the Fáelána Clan

Celtic1Caillína sat erect and strong upon judgement seat to right the wrong of two women amid throng of peoples waiting to be heard, to receive word of adjudication from their príomh-aoire, their chief-shepherdess, to relieve their distress. Thankfully not all fell upon Caillína, as Fáelána and Suíbhnæ, both just and still quite robust, were very astute and muted many disputes before they could pollute the Clan of Fáelána (so called in her honor as the mháthair-fireanna — mother-father — of the people.)

“The weaned child rightly belongs to me, for see: Here is my husband,” she pointed to a clean man standing tall to be seen by all. “He is father of this babe; why prolong, then, what is wrong? I beg of you, Aoire Caillína, restore this daughter to father, and to this woman who would be her mother!”

“No!” shrieked the other woman, bleek and weak, shaking at having to speak before Caillína and throng of kindred clansmen. “She has been at my breast since birth and is little more than an adorable little wren even now… No, my most honorable aoire; I am the hen, so then, do not send away my precious chick!” Her speech was thick with passion, while the other woman only kicked at a pebble, huffed and rolled her eyes … which Caillína most certainly spied.

The real mother, with such moving appeal, was meek and her situation obviously bleak. She was homely, yet lovely as well, and now she could only seek justice and mercy from Caillína. “Mother of such tame child, what is your name?” Trembling and struggling, she answered, “Gácuidiú, my Aoire Caillína.”

“And what is your claim to fame?” Caillína insultingly asked through bared teeth as she glared at the other woman. “What is your name?”

“Olcana, most just Caillína,” she slightly bowed, making pretense of reverence. “And beware, Gácuidiú cannot properly care for such mild child, but is only the devil’s snare for its very life. Why did the father bother with her as long as he did? I do not know; perhaps for show of mercy. Ah! Gácuidiú does not deserve to be preserved any longer! She has no verve; her face shows her disgrace, and she has no place to call her own. Gácuidiú wastes the space of distant kin with kind hearts, but for their part she is an extra expense and an offense to their good name!”

Anger stirred in Caillína and burned in her soul like red-hot bowl of fiery coal. “No charge has been brought against this mother! Justice is not being sought for crime committed!” Olcana looked stunned. “And do you dare to stare at me as I speak? Lower your eyes or I’ll pry them from their sockets!” Olcana did as she was told, barely able to hold herself up now, and certainly no longer bold! “Gácuidiú may have been cut off by her husband — wretched man — and he may be accustomed to receiving what he wants, even believing he deserves so to be served; however, Gácuidiú has not been severed from the Chlann-mór, and we do not desert our own, no matter how sore the situation! From all I’ve heard, castration seems an appropriate punishment for all the frustration you’ve caused this poor woman in your senseless litigation! Ah! I’d force you to make way for the rest of your days with this unmanned man, and what measure of pleasure would you then enjoy?”

Blooming_FlowerCaillína look round the room at fear-bound clansmen; not even soft sound could be heard. “I think you are so full of venom and hate that you’d rather me use the lever of justice to sever the babe in half, thus taking something with you, though dead, and all to leave nothing to Gácuidiú…”

“No!” Gácuidiú screamed and seemed about to faint, and Caillína looked at her without restraint of love and compassion in graceful fashion, and was suddenly filled with both admiration and titillation quickly rising to heat of exhilaration. Gácuidiú was not so weak and mild where her child was concerned, as Caillína could see she would fight with all her might, though oh-so slight, for the little life she held in her arms to protect from all harm. And Gácuidiú was, indeed, fair and lovely, even comely despite ashen, tear-streaked face that might otherwise be quite a bright delight.

“Have no fear, my dear,” Caillína gently intoned, intently looking into her eyes. “Your husband chose to live his life with another wife, and now I believe his life will be rife with pain, not gain.” Most assuredly the man looked worriedly around the room for some bloom of kind pity to lift his gloom. Olcana merely fumed at her doom, knowing no life would ever issue from her own womb. “But you, angelic girl and mother so true, will again have a home of your own, and we’ll not postpone. You and your dear child will come to live with us here, and so near to our hearts you will be part of Aontas den Anam — unity of our souls in one family — and Fáelána and Suíbhnæ will love you and your child as their own offspring, and weave and sing you both into another, completely other, better life you have never known.” Caillína smiled full-blown. “Only wait; you’ll be shown, and so far as Dyēus gives us strength and Sélená her blessings, you’ll never groan again.”


Aontas den Anam — Union of Souls

Chlannmór — Large Family (or Clan)

Dyēus — Deus; God

Fáelána and Suíbhnæ  — Mother-Father (Mháthair-Fireanna) and Mother of Caillína

Olcana — Alt. Sp. in Nom. Form Meaning “Wicked”

Príomh-aoire — Lit. Main Shepherd

Sélená — Goddess of Light, Moon; One of the Tri-Mater

Maftet: Lessons Along the Nile, Part VI

“Do you see the hot sands blow?” Maftet quietly asked. “It was not always so.” She basked in the bright sunlight — strong, radiant beauty, as if Sol himself might belong to her — then she turned to me, and my heart churned under gaze that burned a hole in my soul. “There was lush green here, and myriad flowers, not only near the river, beside the water, but far and wide, much further than long day stride for even the most able horse. Nature flourished freely here, not by force, then came the curse worse than the plagues of Mūsa and Hārūn.”

Frederick-Goodall-Londra“When did this curse, so perverse, befall the land of the Nile, turning fair garden into burning desert sand? Was this an awful reprimand of Dyēus?”

“No, this was the blight of Isfet in his fight against Dyēus and the bright heavens, as well as Sélená, Ma’at and all bearers of light and goodness, of what is right and true.” The face of Maftet was sadness, with no gladness, so that it tore my heart asunder. “It was during the reign of Meryet-Nit, beloved of Neith, whose pain was overwhelming as she prayed for the rain imprisoned in the sky by Şeytan, whom Milḉah had driven from her realm of the Chaldeans, lest he overwhelm her people … but much to the distress of her sister-queen to the west.”

egyptian_goddessMaftet let slip her robe to dip in the now clear, cool waters of the Nile, and steered me to do the same in pool of peace and calm, serenely flowing yet queenly, too, as Sol bejeweled her with dancing diamonds across her ambrosial breast. And across the crest, so near, dear Maftet: Gold-tan skin over span of well-toned body; smooth-rippling muscles, sharp-hard nipples, mystic-starred eyes, and silk-raven hair … all laid bare for me to see, but more beautiful yet was her inner-core. Wizened mind and resilient heart so kind, and both that bind truth and justice with love and mercy in soul worthy of such an heavenly god who through this world does trod.

“Milḉah, of course, never meant to send hell-bent dæmon west, lest he should wreak havoc upon this realm of Meryet-Nit and whelm her with grief of no relief,” Maftet continued. “Meryet-Nit knew this, tis true, and never laid blame upon Milḉah, for it was the shame of her father, Djer, whose four-generation rule was wicked and cruel. Djer grieved Dyēus and did, in truth, beckon God to leave… No matter; the pleas of Meryet-Nit were of no necessity to appease Dyēus, who already loved her with an undying love.”

“Ah, then how is it Dyēus did not reply to the cry of Meryet-Nit on behalf of her peaceful and feeble people?”

Neith“You assume, my lovely groom,” Maftet swam the short span to hold her lamb. “Her people were not peaceful nor feeble; spiritually cripple, yes, and deceitful yet lethal in evil and filled with foul fecal. They had, you see, been tutored by Djer and thus neutered of all purity and virtuous maturity. So did Dyēus take great pity and intervened as he could; he saved the holy city. And Gebeb of earth and fields, hearth and homes, aided father Dyēus in saving many crops of grain through strain of Isfet’s reign of terror — much like Jozèf of forthcoming lore — but in no wise could Dyēus even the score… And so now you see so much sands and wandering bands.”

But then did it occur to me, “When are we now? Will you allow me to know, what time is this? Would I be amiss in believing we are here amid such shear desolation just after such adverse curse?”

Maftet did not dismiss my speculation with humiliation. “No, not so terribly amiss; we are here after the fact — the terrible act of the ddiafol — but some time after, in another generation to chime another lesson in your ongoing education.” Maftet supplely coupled me and smiled. “There is always reason for every season in your life; we are not here merely to bathe but to further swathe your intellect and increase your faith.”


Note: Egyptian goddess by Robyn Jane as found on; Painting of Nile River by Frederick Goodall Londra at