I Walk in Starlight
I Dance in Moonbeams
I Sing with the Whispering Owl
I Wander with the Coursing Heavens
I Hold Your Mystery in my Heart
I Listen to the Song of the Wind
I Hope in the Mighty Sunrise
I Give of Myself Everyday
I Reach for the Grasping Hand
I Touch the Lonely Heart
I Cry with the Grieving Stranger
I Mourn the Loss of Life
I Remember Sweet Harmony
I Pray for Its Beauteous Return
Beautiful Image found at: thekashmirweave.wordpress Credit Acknowledged to the Original Artist. Thank You!
Soft hours Whisper and Sigh,
Breathing Quietly through the Night,
Sweet Music to my Rapt attention,
Like Angels winging in ascension
From this place of want and greed
To a realm Beyond expression of need.
Lilting Symphony Subtle and Pure,
Stirring my Longing for more
Listening in the Quietest Hours,
This Unintentional Mesmeric Power;
How Your Softest Breath Beguiles;
How Your Whisper Prompts Smiles;
How my Heart will never Deny,
As the Soft Hours Whisper and Sigh!
Beautiful Photograph found on Google Image. Credit Acknowledged to the Original Photographer. Thank You!
Waken my heart in the Velvet Shifting Hours
That Caress my sleeping mind
With unhurried notions and Breathless Beguilements;
Sleeping soft in these Lavish Waves of Time,
Splendid and Alluring,
While the Garden of Moonlight overhead
Blossoms with Visions Delicate and Thunderous in Beauty,
Transient and Breathless.
Waken the Essence of my very Soul
To beat in Unison with the Harpsichord of Time,
Chimes tolling in Harmonious Majesty
Unheard by slumbering, melancholic minds.
Beautiful Original Artwork by Brigit Byron Coons
Hush the Tide of Silver Whispers
Tracing Memory from Depths Unknown,
Quiet the Echoes of Velvet Thunder
From darkness through which the Stars have shown,
Brilliance Bending from heights unscaled
Into tepid waters, fraught with fear,
Stilling the Silence that spins and sifts
Through these Acres of thoughts so Near,
As Time Spans backwards,
And Light Unravels
Moonlight Like gravel through the Endless glass,
Like waves upon a sea of grass,
The Mirage of Hours as they pass.
Amazing Original Artwork by: o-nobody-o.deviantart.com
Winter’s Icy chill
May stand Temptress to my Longing Heart,
Enshrouding all my Hope
In Bitter Stillness,
Of Your Exquisite Love
Assuring my Loneliness,
Caressing my Solitude,
What only Our Spirits
Beautiful Original Artwork by Igor Zenin
Beguiling Enchantment Singing deep in my Soul
Like a Heartbeat from the Lost Places,
Forgotten by All that I consciously Remember,
Yet Ever Present,
Giving Cause to such Passion that Stirs within,
Romancing my Heart,
Tempting my Flesh,
Desire and Daydreams
Spun Upon the gossamer Threads of Time.
Reach Then Beyond this broken portal,
Beckon to me from Afar,
While I stand Entranced by the Mercurial Sound,
Until that Fair and Bright Shimmering Moment
When Time folds back upon itself
To Touch with the most Tender Caress
That which has Already Been,
That which Shall Be Again.
Thou Art My Beloved,
Beautiful Original Photography Found on johnshephard.com. Thank You!
Symbiosis is defined as the living together of two dissimilar organisms in more or less intimate association or close union OR the intimate dwelling together of two dissimilar organisms in a mutually beneficial relationship.
Following this logic (and I freely confess, logic is not my characteristic realm, but humour me if you will…)
The Writer is the expression of all that thought can encompass, filled with mercurial logic, enigmatic philosophies and depths of emotion, but who is limited to communicate these notions through words alone, either provocative or faint; painting them upon a blank and impassive canvas and, in consequence of this action, turning the vastness of that barren expanse into the hallowed ground upon which strides the Actor.
The Actor is the expression of all that words relate; a versatile coalescence of emotion, intensity, purpose, passion, and the terrifying calm of a silent stare; the voice of otherwise silent pawns awaiting articulation; the instrument through which the pen itself speaks to the listener’s ear.
Are these twain one symbiotic spirit conjoined in truth? Creativity locked in an inexorable union; one fully reliant upon the other; neither able to fulfill their true function exclusive of the other; neither capable of savouring the purest form of bliss in the absence of the other?
Are they to be likened to the Telepath and the Empath, forever joined, yet never joining? If there were no written words to speak, what soliloquy might the Actor enact? If there was no Actor to infuse each word with life, to engender the sentiments found in the heart and soul of the Writer, how then might these words be perceived?
The Writer is the Telepath, hearing the words that long to be spoken; words that The Actor longs to portray. Hearing these unspoken longings longing to be spoken, The Writer shapes complications of guise and purgatories of ruse; conjures dichotomy of place and time, weaves tapestries out of characters and charisma into which The Actor may immerse himself.
The Actor, then, is the Empath, sensing the longings longing to be expressed; filling each aloof word set upon the cold page with emotion; communicating through sight and sound all The Writer endeavors to express; bridging the gap between the black and white, and the heart-wrenching, spirit-tugging, fury-filled, gentle guise and sweet seduction of those penned pawns; transforming them into the condition that instills tears and sighs, laughter, anger and perfect dread!
Therefore, are the two Truly One? The Actor and Writer, The Empath and The Telepath, One Interdependent Creative Desire born out of the inescapable longing of the Heart, of the Spirit, to Express and to be Understood?
Does The Actor long to Enact what The Writer writes in order to portray what the Empath might otherwise never say? Does the Writer long to write what it is The Actor can portray so that The Telepath might see and hear and feel what it is that The Writer cannot enact alone?
Original Free Public Domain Image modified by ~Morgan~
How Long the night Suspends my Waiting;
How dark the jet of midnight falls,
Shadows Begetting Shadows,
As my Heart Waits to Hear Your Call.
Morning Dries the tears of Crying;
Barren Kiss of Desert Wind may blow,
But Oh How Long the Night Suspends
This Yearning, Unspoken, that Blooming shows.
Darkness Kiss this Fainting Brow;
Moonlight Whisper, Sweet River of Sighs;
While I Wait, Untouched, Untended,
As Time confuses and mercilessly flies.
How Long the Night Lingers in Solitary Hours;
How Sorrowful I Wait with Bated Breath;
How Bleak is this Emptiness, Alone;
How All Consuming
Beautiful Original Photography by: ebrusidarportrait at deviantart
Today we find ourselves in the second week of Advent, this time of waiting and anticipation of Christ’s return. A time to reflect on our own lives and prepare our hearts to celebrate the birth of our Savior.
The scripture from the beginning of Mark’s gospel is titled, “The Proclamation of John the Baptist.” Mark’s gospel is the shortest of the four gospels, it is direct, it is to the point and each verse is filled with meaning and purpose.
Mark is direct enough that he skips the nativity and baby Jesus account and immediately begins with the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Mark begins his gospel and account of Christ by going back in time.
Mark goes back about 600-700 years to the time of Isaiah. From the Old Testament account of Isaiah he quotes, “A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”
Make straight your paths, for the promised one is coming. In Isaiah’s day he spoke to a Jewish audience that had been exiled. In Mark’s account he talking about Christ and the messenger preparing the way for him.
Mark writes, “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord.’
In this painfully hectic time between holidays, how much time are we spending preparing our hearts, souls and minds to meet and be present with our God? This time of year we don’t celebrate credit card debt or empty bank accounts. We don’t celebrate added inches to our waistline.
No, we celebrate the birth of our God. The mystery of the incarnation and the insane lengths our God went to, to reconcile us to him. To bring us closer to him.
In preparing for this sermon I read about and questioned why our God would need someone to prepare the way for him. Why would an all-present and all-powerful God need a man dressed in strange clothes – camel’s hair, and who ate weird things (locusts and honey) to prepare the way for him?
Is it because we all stand on the shoulders and accomplishments of those that have gone before us? We all stand on the ground that was prepared for us by others. All the hard work of our ancestors and their desire to see their children succeed have benefitted each of us.
Unfortunately, these bodies and minds of flesh that have short memories and are inclined to take credit for what has been accomplished.
Even our God, who emptied himself of all his divinity, needed someone to prepare the way for him. An all-present and all-powerful God would rely on a mere mortal to be the voice crying out in the wilderness.
Why would God need someone to prepare the way for him? And why would he pick a strange looking and acting guy to be that person?
….It would take someone with far more knowledge than I to fully answer that question. I think it has to do with the humility of our God. We celebrate, honor and worship a God that gave up the splendor and glory of heaven, all that beauty to come to this world riddled with sickness, disease, war, famine, acts of evil and death.
I think that I would rather look at that from a distance and bask in the beauty of heaven. But not our God. He saw the terrible consequence that sin caused and he decided that something had to be done about it.
He traded his mansion for a mud hut, he traded power for humility and splendor for suffering. He sent his messenger, John the Baptist, before him. John appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.
In spite of his strange appearance people flocked to listen to him and to be baptized by him in the Jordan River. “Make straight your paths, prepare the way of the Lord.”
People came from the Judean countryside and from Jerusalem to see, hear and be baptized by John the Baptist. He had his own disciples and was popular enough or posed enough of a threat that even the Pharisees came to see what all the commotion was about.
Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near, make straight your path, prepare the way for the Lord…….Repent……confess……..understand your own brokenness before your God……..ask for forgiveness for the kingdom of heaven has come near…….
What if each of us in our own way is John the Baptist? We may not go out into the timber or near the closest river and cry out or wear strange clothes, but what if each of us as we commit and recommit to our faith every day is living like John the Baptist?
Every time we commit to be read our bibles, to pray, to be a part of a small group, to do something for someone else, every time we chose to be intentional about our faith that we straighten our own path and influence those close to us.
Lives of faith can scream and proclaim the gospel without speaking a single word. Proclaim the gospel always said St. Francis, use words only when necessary.
People went to John the Baptist to repent of their sins and to be baptized. In his humility, John proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
John the Baptist knew his mission was to prepare the way for the one that is coming, one far more powerful than he.
We have also been made aware that one that Christ, is going to return. Are we preparing the way for his arrival……
Are we proclaiming the good news of God’s action and arrival in this world, the coming of God’s kingdom, his ministry, death and resurrection?
As we celebrate and honor the second Sunday of Advent, let us remember all of those that have gone before us. Let us remember the spiritual giants in our own lives and Mark’s gospel does recalling the words of Isaiah.
Let us live bold, courageous lives of faith that speak to this world and those in it who we are and what we are about. In this painfully busy time of year, let us slow down and take time to reflect on what is truly important and why we celebrate with gifts, good food and precious time spend with family and friends.
Let us go with the knowledge and the truth that our God is coming back to this earth. It may not be in our lifetime, but he is coming back. If we don’t see him in the time each of us has left, that is no reason or excuse to be convenient or flippant about your faith.
Let us be about the work of the one that created all that is good and holy. Let us be about the work of a God that became the word incarnate. A penniless, nomadic preacher that come to save the souls of many.
Pastor Shawn LaRue, Seymour UMC
Author of Incomplete
She pours her Light with Generous Hand
Like water flowing from a living Stream,
Guiding Life while she Gracefully Stands
Upon the Horizon of Mortal Dreams,
Dancing in the Shimmering Glow,
Her Bounteous Grace full Springing
As All Creation, in flux and flow,
Heralds the Blessing her Smile is Bringing.
Her Subtle Shimmer in Gentle Hue
Caresses the Tranquil Cheek of Night,
Whispering Softness, Her Smile Subdues
The clamour bustling in Jubilant Light
Pouring from her Sister’s Smile;
Her own Song Peacefully Swelling,
As Starlight winks in Blissful Guile,
Their Secrets and Stories Serenely Telling.
Sisters Bound by Love and Life,
They Balance and Uphold,
Perpetually Spiraling in Joy and Strife,
As we walk in their Brilliance, Brave and Bold.
Sister Smiling Upon us All,
Watching and Eternally Knowing,
Through our Rise and Inevitable Fall,
Harmony within us is Patiently Growing.
Beautiful Original Artwork by: Nadia Strelkina
One of the most complex characters of the Dark Fey Trilogy is unquestionably Mardan, the Celebrant-spell-caster-turned-Warrior-Fey-Guard. With piercing, cerulean eyes, platinum blond curls and a powerful physique with imposing white wings, he is undeniably striking in his masculine appeal. Although he does not possess a gift of telepathy, empathy or discernment as most Fey do, he does have a gift of magic, which is far less common; although he guards this secret jealously. He is gentle of nature, yet he can be fierce and implacable; he is spirituality-minded, but irrefutably obstinate and to top it all off, he has a sense of loyalty that no one would dare propose he contradict. Although I introduced him through the romantic affiliation he has with lead character Ayla, it did not take long for me to realize that he was far more complicated than I originally suspected and as his interactions with additional characters evolved, I found him more and more beguiling.
Mardan is a young malefey round about the age of 21. As is the custom of Feyfolk, his parents dedicated him to life as a Celebrant; a leader of spiritual and religious ceremonies (rather like a priest, though with a far less austere in lifestyle.) Loyal to their wishes, he entered into the study of the rites and rituals of Fey mysticism at the Temple complex and, in the onset of Dark Fey The Reviled has only recently begun practicing. He meets Ayla at Summerfest and begins a relationship with her; yet her own self-doubt, as well as the introduction of lead character Gairynzvl, the Dark Fey who seeks Ayla’s help to escape his captivity among the Reviled, alters the course of his plans…and his life.
Mardan may have the gentle devotion of a Celebrant, but he also has the heart of a warrior. Even in the face of potential disaster when facing the imposing ferocity of a full legion of Reviled and its Centurion; Mardan’s selfless courage, as well as his belligerent rebelliousness, shine brightly. Giving his utmost to protect not only the shefey he has grown to love, but even the Dark One that has thrown their lives into chaos; Mardan’s true nature begins to assert itself and, although he stubbornly tries to adhere to the dedication set in place for him by his parents, to whom he is resolutely loyal, it becomes increasingly difficult for him to deny the Fey Guard in his heart.
His struggle to understand and, ultimately, be true to himself is one many share and like many of us, he finds that his true purpose does not find clarity until he accepts the truth about himself and who he is. This does not happen until the middle of book two Standing In Shadows , yet when it does we see an entirely different perspective of him. No longer the tender lover, nor the Celebrant constrained by custom and traditional expectations; once Mardan comes to terms with the truth about himself, that he is a fearsome warrior and a Fey of turbulent passions, his life (and character) finally come into focus. Then, his boldness, often caustic wit and impatience to act combine into a personality that is not only compelling, but beguilingly complex and, possibly, (Hopefully!) irresistible.
(Though this is a close representation- Mardan has much more platinum blond hair)
In case you find yourself intrigued, I’ve included a few Snippets from The Reviled to better illustrate his shifting personality:
From The Reviled:
“Ay, I do not want to upset you and I do not want to argue with you again, but I know something has been troubling you these past weeks. Can we not talk about whatever it is? If I am doing something to offend or displease you, I cannot alter it unless I know what it might be?” He spoke softly and to his surprise, she burst into tears and flung her arms about his shoulders, burying her sadness in his comforting embrace. Tenderly, and without regard to the inappropriateness of the hour, he led her inside her cottage and closed the door behind them….
She tried to contain her emotion so she could speak plainly, but her tears would not relent and then, to her dismay, she realized she could sense his presence.
“Oh, not now!” She breathed in exasperation, utterly confounding Mardan. He turned his head to one side and stared at her with a furrowed expression, bewildered.
“What have I done,” he asked uncertainly, but Ayla shook her head.
“It is not you, Mardan. You have done nothing wrong. I simply…” she struggled to find the words, but they eluded her. Distracted by the sensation that he was unusually close, and desperate to be alone in order to discover his intent at long last, she attempted to bounce to her feet, but Mardan caught her wrist and refused to permit her escape.
“Then why do you treat me this way?”….
For one brief, horrifying second Ayla heard a whisper that made her jump to her feet; wrench her arm from Mardan’s steady grasp and spin round in desperation seeking the source of the sound she had just heard. Mardan watched her transfixed, astonished beyond words by her irrational behavior, but she could not bring herself to stop. The whisper had been so soft, but she had heard it; he had clearly spoken her name.
“Did you hear that?” She turned and asked Mardan abruptly. He got to his feet slowly, perplexed as well as curious.
“What did you hear?” Ayla turned back to gaze out the parlor window, stretching her senses forward like a fisherman casting a net into dark waters. He was there, just beyond the margins of the forest. Yet he had whispered her name and she had heard it.
“Did you not hear it?”
“Hear what, Ay?”
“My name. It was a whisper, but it was my name, I am sure of it!” She exclaimed hurriedly, unaware of how peculiar such a statement sounded. Mardan stood quietly a moment, endeavoring to fathom her suggestion. If she had heard a whisper, then the speaker should have been within the house, within that very room, but she was staring out the window toward the forest. Mardan stepped closer.
“Someone whispered your name from outside?” He asked, clearly bewildered, however when she spun around on her heel to rebuke his disbelief, he reiterated swiftly.
“Ay, I did not hear anything, but if you heard a whisper, surely it did not come from outside.” His attempt to illustrate her actions in some logical context made her pause; of course he was correct. She realized how ridiculous she appeared, but she only wanted to seek answers to her many questions about him before he disappeared again.
“I must have sensed it.” She muttered, half to herself. Mardan raised an eyebrow at this and shook his head, but said nothing more; her conduct simply too baffling to abide.
“You heard nothing?” She asked again, ceasing her restless pacing to gaze up at him realizing at last how he stared at her with a completely confounded expression. Raising her hands to mollify his obvious irritation, she retraced her steps to him, shook her head and drew a deep breath before delving into a long withheld explanation.
“I realize how crazy I must sound.”
He did not deny it. …….
And from later in the book when he confronts Gairynzvl:
A thunderous crash broke the silence filling the room and light flooded inward. Ayla screamed, even before waking fully, and curled into a protective ball upon the settee as the sound of voices echoed about her, harsh words clashing like swords. At the first sound, Gairynzvl spun about to face the unexpected danger. Pushing back his broad wings, he sheltered her from view as much as he was able, fearing his legion had located him and forced their way through the brightening morning to deliver retribution, but as he turned, a powerful blow crossed his face and he stumbled backward.
Tumbling to the floor, Ayla scrambled away from the fray, seeking safety in spite of not clearly understanding what was happening; nevertheless, when she reached the far side of the room where she could cower behind a tall wooden book cabinet, she peered past its shielding structure and watched, horrified, as her Celebrant friend and lover flexed his broad, brilliantly white wings, turned deftly, and delivered a brutal kick that caught Gairynzvl across the shoulder, cheek and chin, sending him stumbling, but his crimson, dragon hide wings countered his balance before he could fall. Stretching outward, he slashed with a twelve inch spine like a blade and a bright crimson gash opened across Mardan’s chest.
“Vile, ruthless demon!” He cursed loudly, gasping at the pain searing across his chest while his opponent regained his balance and momentum. “Come again, Cursed Ghoul!”
Re-centering himself, Mardan faced him more squarely, offering his fists as a focus, but when Gairynzvl stepped closer, he spun and dropped, sweeping his rivals feet from under him and watching with a vitriolic sneer as he fell backward onto a small glass table, which smashed into daggers that ripped and gashed at him ruthlessly.
Ayla screeched in horror and stepped out from behind the cabinet, unable to watch the conflict and not attempt to intercede, but, although Gairynzvl turned his head to look at her, concern clearly expressed in his crimson eyes as well as through the unmistakable emotion of protectiveness, which he directed to her in unspoken thought, Mardan neither looked at her, nor paused in his attack. Stepping forward with a purposeful stride, he stared down at the dark fey lying at his feet and spoke a single, intractable word.
At his speaking, Gairynzvl screamed loudly and cringed into a knot as waves of unrelenting, excruciating agony pierced his body, again and again and again, but his cries of torment did not induce Mardan to break the spell of Inflicted Pain he had cast. Moving to stand over the Reviled One, he looked down unsympathetically and watched him writhe as he considered his options.
And a Final example of yet another side of Mardan’s nature from Standing In Shadows:
“The Legionnaires are coming and I cannot remember the way.” Aware that she had closed her thoughts in order to protect herself, he spoke as softly as he could form the words, but in spite of his vigilance to be as discreet as possible, her honest reaction of startled dismay caught Mardan’s attention who was sitting quietly nearby. Unwilling to arouse fear in the others, he got to his feet and moved towards them nonchalantly, bending close and spreading his wings behind him to shield their conversation while he inquired in a hushed tone.
“What is wrong? Where is Ilys?” Gairynzvl looked up at him without raising his head, gritting his teeth to control his frustration.
“She is behind the childfey. She sent a message to me through them, through their telepathy, that the Legionnaires are coming. I do not know how close or how far, but we must go.” The look of concern that met this report stung like a horde of angry bees, but instead of reacting confrontationally in any other manner, as was his nature, Mardan stayed in his cautious position and merely inquired further.
“Which way are we to go? Do you remember?” Glaring lavender met icy cerulean, but the enmity between them that seemed ready at any moment to erupt into aggression did not propel them into yet another quarrel. Leaning even nearer to speak more confidentially, Mardan said something the former Dark One watching him intensely did not anticipate.
“I cannot blame you if you do not remember; I have found myself confused several times just following you through this murk, but we must keep ahead of the Legionnaires. If you are unsure, you must not appear unsure.” Gairynzvl stared at the Celebrant in silence. The Celebrant stared back, unmoving. Between them, Ayla held her breath nervously, but Gairynzvl looked past the Celebrant’s broad white wings at the others; then got up to reconsider the possible routes to take. Mardan smiled subtly at Ayla, then straightened and drew back his wings……
I hope I’ve tempted you sufficiently 🙂
Original artwork by: Shuangwen on DeviantArt
In the Lush Shadows
As Twilight Falls
Caress the Cerulean Nighttide
When You Draw Near
Like the Kiss of the Moon
As Velvet Midnight
Falling like a swoon
In the Shadows
Beautiful Photograph found on wallpaperswide.com. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the Original Photographer. Thank You~
(Please click to play while reading)
Hush my Darling,
Without a word,
While all the Night Whispers
One Sweet Chord,
In the Stillness with You,
Silence Sings her Intangible Song,
Yet my Heart Knows,
This is where I Belong,
Beside You My Love,
In this Fair hour of Night,
Beneath the Gentle Heaven’s Glistening Light,
As Moonbeams Sing,
And Our Spirit’s Ring,
Soft Serenades Begin
From the twilit shadows
Where Mystery Falls,
Yet I fear nothing,
All in All.
Her Sweet Melodious Rhyme,
Of Indistinct Time,
With You beside me,
As Midnight imbues,
Her shifting, hypnotic, velveteen hues;
Love Sings in this Silence,
A Timeless Sweet Song,
.The Music and Muse category by Morgan shares Poetry and the Music which Inspired it.
Beautiful Original Music Arvo Pärt Spiegel Im Spiegel performed by Daniel Hope and Simon Mulligan
The Bridge exists because we live in a world that desperately needs the love of Jesus.
Dreaming in Music and Writing by Mel Gutiér
The Emotions That Hide From The World
Writings on Life, Love, Music & Whatever Comes To Mind
Interviews with the protagonists of your favourite books
Words at rest, words at play
Infinite words in ink
hutts, world, stories, mysteries, news,
...Us In Our Essence
"Reading is like dreaming with your eyes open."