yldann

I passed by the largest and oldest tree of the Wood, and I asked, "are you the forest heart?" and the tree only whispered the song of leaves and its branches creaked as they reached for the sun.

I passed by a tiny flower, and I asked, "are you the forest heart?" and the flower nodded both yes and no (as flowers often will), and danced and played with the tiny breezes as it turned its face to the sun and the bees.

I passed by a magical pool, where shining lights danced with the deep shadows, and I asked, "are you the forest heart?" but the pool only sparkled a song in an unknown language of laughter.

I passed by a sunlit meadow, where the sunbeams played with the butterflies, and I asked, "Are you the Forest Heart?" but the meadow answered with a birdsong, and the buzzing of bees continued uninterrupted.

Finally I rested upon a large rock and was silent, and ceased to separate or ask, and I heard a harmony of many voices as the winds danced with the waters and the Green, and the song they sang was the beat of the forest heart.

Current Mood: Greenheart
Current Location: The endless wood
Current Music: Hun Joro by Sigur Ros

Feral weeds... They are so restfully non-linear and free... they whisper the cyclic poetry of the pattern languages of nature, neither arranging nor arranged, yet always exactly where they should be. Their hues splash across the meadow more beautifully than the most skilled artist can accomplish, their only constant being their inconsistency, their seeming randomity.

Their thorns bar the way of those who would tread where they may disturb the balance, protecting the little ones, the six-leggeds and the no-leggeds and the feathered two-leggeds from harm. The happy buzzing of bees and the lazy drifting of satisfied butterflies are a perpetual testament to the sacrament of the feral weeds, the ones that are undisturbed by feet or plow or deliberately planted flower...

When my mind is tired, tired of the city, tired of the wires, the straight lines across and the straight lines up, too many lines, lines everywhere, even the sounds are lines... Then I go to the Meadow where the Weeds lie, and I listen to their whisper of the cycles of time, of the language that cannot be learned, it must be breathed in and breathed out again... And the road to happiness lies in becoming a feral weed, in spreading where the breath is still there to breathe, and in becoming one with the pollinators that carry the life to other, distant meadows, Elswhere...

... For then I can breathe, and the air is not poisoned, and the lines are gone, and everything is chaos and crooked and curved and wild and alive, and then I can hear again, and I can see again, and

I can breathe... and wander ever deeper to discover new beauty, in infinite variety, never the same, never uniform, everywhere, so that my thoughts may leave the straight lines, the lines everywhere, and unite with the curves and the life, and the wind and water which have no shape, no container at all... And the water is alive, fresh, and when I drink deeply of this water, it feeds and does not poison, for the weeds and the rocks drank before me.

And deeper I wandered into the wood, where daisies shone and the sun flowered, and there I became myself again, and could dance and sing again, and the clear wind around me passed through me, because I was transparent as glass and shapeless as air and water, and only the meadow remained... I flew with a bird overhead and I crawled on the ground with a small six-legged creature I had no name for, and I

grew with a blade of grass, and opened with a flower, and a honeybee alighted upon me and drank, and the day that I could nourish a bee from my being was the day that I knew I had learned the lesson of a feral weed...

Current Mood: Feral
Current Location: At Home
Current Music: Heima by Sigur Ros

Mt. Taygetos in Sparta, Greece, named after Taygete

Taygete slips soundlessly through the mist
invisible in the wild places above the clouds,
evermore unreachable by the god of loud noises
The creatures know they are safe from harm
and speak to Taygete in their many languages...
But the last to speak is the Bee.
She sings of her mating flight toward the sun
whose joy brings the sweetness of honey to the world
and Taygete protects the Bee in her wild places
and is pleased.

Current Mood: Hiraeth
Current Location: Taygete's Glen
Current Music: Drums beating

The Sun shone bright on ancient sand
with shells adorned by Ocean floor
and tiny crystals, rainbow hued
Gifted by the gentle waves
kiss the shore and then recede
like mermaids laughing in the brine
The sacred cove my heart knows well,
protected by the evergreens
Oh wild wood, hide me from view
to walk the sand and breathe the pines
and swim in waters gentle, warm
Renewed I am by sun and salt
forevermore a memory

Current Mood: water
Current Location: the Ocean
Current Music: Ocean waves

At the heart of the World lies a Forest
untouched by any but the pure of heart
and at the heart of the Forest is the World
touching and touched by all that it is,
and the Forest holds the World in its silver embrace,
exchanging light and earth and sweet water
for the cleansing breath of life...

At the heart of the Forest lies a World
untouched by any but the pure of heart
and at the heart of the World is the Forest
touching and touched by all that it is
and the World holds the Forest in its silver embrace
exchanging the cleansing breath of life
for light and earth and sweet water...

Current Mood: Ancient
Current Location: The wild glen
Current Music: The wind

Ancient Ones Of Fairest Earth
yet also of the Stars by birth
shining darkly, darkly bright
how is it that you've called me, "Light"?

Is Earth so shadowed in her face
that we are visible from space?
Obviously shining flares
within this maze of dark affairs?

Ripe for plucking, berries sweet
surely good enough to eat...
Perhaps I'd rather not be seen
by those whose appetites are keen...

But if indeed you mean us well
I'd love to hear what you would tell
A message, ringing in my ear
that Speaks the Deep beyond all fear.

The autumn leaves had not yet changed,
The birds were singing, bright the sun,
The springtime air was fresh, Electric
Not yet bearing summer fruit,
The first buds graced the trees.

On such a day you ventured forth,
and nevermore would you return
Your frail form by time and chance
Would lose a battle with the road
No more to grace our lives with love

Appreciation undeserved
you gave to us without reserve
And though your earthly dance is done
Wherever you have gone, I know
you will be welcome and revered

And all the love you ever gave
will be as music on the wind
that maybe, listening, we'll hear
dancing in the summer trees
and playing on the Ocean waves.

The thoughts that gave me voice have fled
And so my voice grew silent
a weary traveler, I tread
this world among the violent,
who loud and hungry, have consumed
all living things around them
because they foolishly assumed
no mortal promise bound them...

I wished for sparkling azure sea
I wished the forests vast and old
I wished the rivers could run free
and never could be bought or sold
But though I wished, I went unheard
and the few who understand?
I saw them flying with the birds
and grieving for the blighted land...

Oooooh. I love the entwined silver and gold tree icon at the top, and the dryad picture, here: http://www.eldalie.it/laire2007/Notizia.htm

I want to steal it. The entwined trees should be a pendant.

I won't steal it, but I really, really want to...

Also, I love the name of their site - "Eldalie" and the name of their poetry competition, which is Lairë Lórala.

From http://www.mariachiararossetti.it/

I'm converting all the pictures I direct-linked to here into links, because I don't want to hog her bandwidth - just alert people to her existence.

http://www.mariachiararossetti.it/immagini/illustrazione/tolkien/illustrazione_tolkien_Lingalad.htm
http://www.mariachiararossetti.it/immagini/illustrazione/tolkien/illustrazione_tolkien_silmarillion.htm
http://www.mariachiararossetti.it/immagini/illustrazione/tolkien/illustrazione_tolkien_matita.htm

I'm trying to figure out how to get prints...

Slipping through the vastness, darkly spun
I hear the woven song of many lights
Shining under Ocean's waves to rise
Against the fleeting rays of evening sun
Engulfed by ancient sea at shadowfall
By multitudes of shining stars replaced
unhampered by the thoughts and plans of man
So distant yet I hear their silent call...

Skyward-looking, asking why
the darkness never covered
a land awaiting starry sky
where sickly twilight hovered...
Trapped between the night and day
in artificial waking,
to see the stars I'll find a way
before the daylight's breaking.

Clear Azure Coves

One day I dreamed a bone,
lifeless, still and dry...
I sang each of its elements
into a separate fire
and from their dance, now living
I drank both charm and spin
and dreamed of one who lives

Book cover I saw today....

The windsong rushes past my door,
never stopping to reflect
the path it took, now left behind...
Wild, turbulent the dance
of winter branches bare of leaves
and lonely grasses, brown and old;
but then a Moment overtakes
the wind, now breathing warm and soft,
a breeze to greet the rising sun

The moon shone like silver upon the dark waters
that shattered the moonbeams where sky meets the sea
The phoenix arose from the fires of sundown
and forever unfettered, he flew away free.

He passed by the sun and he flew toward the starlight
Through the shadow of death and beyond all things living
He danced with the breath of the heart of existence
and returned once again to the fire unforgiving

Jewels of ice upon the frozen ground
Give sweetest life to hidden seeds below
The sun arcs ever lower in the sky
And forests slumber as the sap runs low

A sacred time for harmony and love
And gathering the many into one
A sacred time of memory and song
As we await the rising of the sun

The great turning -- that's a term I'd never heard before...

Ysidren, Ysidren, speak now to me
the words that you long to hear
And sing of the wood and its trees so green
with a heart that knows no fear

Ysidren, Ysidren, break free from the walls
Let not their prison hold you
Set free your joy to meet the sun
and let its Song enfold you

Ysidren, Ysidren, the trees still wait
for your light so late in showing
Take wing, take flight, to thank the clouds,
for the river's water flowing

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28	29	30
31

Forest Heart

Feral Weeds

Crags against the sky

Clear Azure Coves

Ancient Wood

(no subject)

(no subject)

The living

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

Windsong

Phoenix

Ice

(no subject)

(no subject)

Profile

May 2009

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags