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Author Topic: hi all  (Read 2114 times)
leafgirl
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« on: October 12, 2009, 12:27:38 AM »

im aisha, a wanti shaman, and healer.. im here to help save the world, and fulfill my purpose in the universe, learn more of the ways of magic and meld with the infinite!!! YEAH!!!!

heres a story to get to know 'me' better, its also a sigil for good fortune, wellness and harmony, blessings to all ye spirits! true nature is revealed! much love

It was dark, and Jan very slowly walked through the dark forest, mostly feeling his way through with each step, she saw the ghosts and will o wisps appear and disappear and imagined the spiders crawling about, even though she knew there were none. Something about the woods at night made her feel really alive, on the edge, to her it was going into an unknown world, and indeed the spirits would sometimes reveal themselves and secrets could be learned here, in the sound of each delicate leave being crushed under her paces. She feigned stealth, but made a lot of noise anyways, but the leaves comforted more than frightened, and the waxing moon above, seemed to smile stoically over her in a distant blessing embrace. Jan didn't know why she was out there, she merely took to wandering sometimes, when there was 'nothing else there', sometimes a scene lives out its meaning and you are almost forced out like when it gets too hot and all the water leaps out of the top of the kettle, it didn't matter where to her, just like the water, it just went up, and Jan just went away. Unfortunately for both, she mused, water always comes back down again, and she always ended up returning, even though she had tried to never return many times, but why think about what makes you sad?
The girl in the yellow jacket that could not clearly be distinguished in the shadows came upon rock, suitable size for sitting and instead she stepped on and stood, cracking a stick in the process. 'Sorry stick'.

The she screamed feintly "
AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" The night was alive, the remnants of the days rain still sat justifiable, in every nook of every tree, in the swollen soil, and the leaves, she was beginning to be able to think clearly again. Away from the grim confusing illusions of home. The crickets all in chorus, even back home, all of it seemed like a grand symphony, a symphony of Goddess. She smiled, thinking of Goddess, as she would sometimes insist on calling the emanent divine, because she studied these things very intently. Goddess has it handled.

And Flo was there, buzzing about quietly through the branches and not making a sound, but all the sounds were curved around her, like a humble star, just smiling and buzzing now, hanging on to Jan's shoulders.

"I Love you Flo" said Jan, and it was true, Flo understood her, remembered her of being a fairy, and always helped her out, even in the worst situations, and Jan did the same for flow, they were almost inseperable, and yet everything about them was so secret, because no one would admit to seeing Flo, and perhaps that was for the better, but who really knows?

It was time to go, having taken in the night, Jan began the short way back to the edge of the woods, Flo stayed in the forest tonight, but Jan headed back home to her family. The old familiar walk through the boxed houses of her unspeaking neighborhood was rather depressing this time, as it could be, but there times when it seemed vibrant.

Upon walking in, Jan felt her stomach tighten as it always did, preparing to encounter some crazy relative come stumbling out of their own televised and pointless commenticized world to egg her on, and torture her some more, though exactly how it was never clear.

"Oh Hello Jan!" that forced energy.

"Where have you been?"

She hated answering this because it felt like her mother was trying to follow her around, or at least seep into her memories and steal the essence of what remnants of a true life she could salvage, perhaps for her own uses, it was true her mother was a witch. This is something you should never tell your children, because it confuses them a lot.

"Just out for a walk."

Jan hated how she or her father was always there, seemingly waiting, for her to say something totally pointless, to get mad at her pleasant musings, to accuse her of being an addict pothead, enough was enough, and yet what could she do? Head north. As Jan walked up the stairs, she smiled, knowing today would be the last day, tomorrow she was going to Vermont to visit an old friend.

Waiting in my room feeling like a prisoner, pouring over the music in the headphones, writing a bit again, praying again for things to be right, why do I do it to myself? Outside the voices build up as if there were folk actually there, with nothing much to add, just a discouraging word, perhaps the ghosts of my parents, angry at me for realizing the truth. I don't come from them, I am from another world, sent here to save the world, something went wrong seemingly. Or was this the punishment of being so presumptous, they would so no one could save the world, batter down her resilence with their tiny ethereal feet stomping upon her head. And then I call out for Flo, and she comes on a wind, or a thought, here she is harder to see, but she still comes and by degrees things can be made better, we layed together, and listened to the music, so loud nothing else could be heard, then Jan would know someone was about to tell her to turn it down, so she did.

A communist daughter, a vegetable wind, falling forth further into the arms of such a subtle inquisition, for knowing the power of the fairy world, she was ravaged daily, by everyone of this world, though she only wanted to drink in the dew and renew all of their tired minds, of course it could never happen, it always ended up in those pointless conversations, the ones admittedly about nothing, and how something is nothing and something's nothing blah.. bleh..

Meanwhile the room unravelled her, and her soul, left any world, unbound by words, or being, just one thing, just some vague feeling of agitation, the samskara left upon her soul, in the incarnation of the buddha, the imperfect buddha, how his dharma, cut deep to her heart, and yet there was no heart. No one saw, at this point, she was about to die. In truth a seventy two year old woman, tortured by children, and yet what could be done. Even in her own mind were the thoughts of nothing, of nothing mattering, because she had tried before, and nothing had come of it. Some glimpses  of the truth, some wizards by her window, some dreams of freedom, but still here only as Jeff Mangum sang, and God explained himself as all things once more, who could argue with what is, and draw it away, erase and build anew?
But Flo came and washed Jan in fairy healing, and nudged her back into Wanti, where their Yonato edged on the trees, and inside there was a small fire, which could have been every good thing, and every treasure. You don't have to go outside, you've just got to die.

Oh all this talk of death again, who had even brought it up? I smoked a few bowls in the astral, and Flo and I talked about the old days, where Shylock and Oliander would come about, reeling in the ecstasies of an innocent verse, falling over my windowsill, which now I would come back too, looking out, I give my tye-die shirt to the birds who carry somewhere I'll find it sometime later, and slip out, onto the streets once more, almost dawn, the moss sings to me, echoing in my heart. My family, maybe one day  they will see the truth, maybe indeed the world will.

There was a party going on somewhere.

On the bus.

It was epic, heading north, the passengers tried to get into her head, and lead her into all kind of frenzy, it would not work. What enchants also protects. The art of the fresh morning, writing itself deep in the sphere of kind hearted understanding, again, the spirits were like towering giraffes, sweeping up the dusts of each primordial galaxies and dropping them newly every second, I quaked with it, maybe soon I'd be destroyed, at the train station!

No, said Flo, I will never let you die, your soul is too strong.

And I'd found my place, though it never revealed itself all at once, it was God, it was Goddess, it was the blossoms in the Wanti ponds they say when you smoked pot you can see all of God, and yet that isn't all of it, time stretching on, we continue to make up new things.

That new thing, the stretching of your love, growing under all the trees and in the deep holes where my stray thoughts come to rest, it was sunny today, they're conversations, perhaps only a feint remembrance of a shadow of a sign of a doubt once cast by some old witch  who had confused all my senses and inflamed passions and all of that. Could it have been Flo? And forgive me if I'm wrong, but how deep this goes would not rule out, this ultimate love, that hurts as much as fills with joy, as we float through these pools and everyone still thinks I'm a boy, for some reason. All of this makes me laugh and cry, we pass through towns I've never heard of, next to me he's probably drunk, he doesn't want to hear it. I write a poem about the cat in the street, knowing my own futility.

Yet most inspiring was that old sun.

Then I got there, and it was awkward. The demons came demanding to my life, casting judgements like rainclouds. And is that all it is? The rain and preceding sun? I'm laying in the mulch at the art festival, do they think its some kind of performance? I'm sorry I don't want to die, Tim Kinsella was my doctor, as the poison took over my mind, and now I roam, only thinking I am alive, again no one will tell me, as in life, never was the path clear, but this love is like that sometimes, Flo, you know what I mean.

We do it in front of other people, like they would admit to seeing, as  I cannot profess to hearing the basest thoughts, and maybe christianity was just an attempt at making it all right, but so much lunacy in the world put a stop to that. I want to meet a spider and a duck with webbed toes, I want to go to the place where the hemp plants grow, wild like garlic mustard, because would such a place not surely be heaven? Not to smoke all the time, but when the moment was ripe, to be in the presence of such a spirit. It rocks me, and yet there is nothing again and again, but nothing is not so simple, the lights play around all things, in this dance, we tossed rocks into the river and never skipped a dull moment, because in sending out this love did we lose eachother and come back, again every moment of my life, not even attached but returning, and yet cozy, yet apathetic, like a flying couch, like a tree where on a crow has impaled his fullest heart. Some things don't make sense, but a lot more does as the bark tells its story.

Why talk about what makes us sad? The moon was full then, and I made my way to the roof, it was New York, the big city, I hit many bowls, that I had been saving for the past two weeks for just this occasion.

Everything got fuzzy, fuzzy like back, way back, I flew off, words fail, Flo was there.

They ate a lot and I ate a bit more, the guardians of each home, were happy, in their own ways, and no though a far ways from home, things were different but the same.

I laugh until I cry.

It seems dumb, until it really hits you.

These sylvan love stories

And me and Flo ventured deeper into our hearts and heads where the elves dwelled and composed worlds in their silly songs, over crystalline fields, where mushrooms grew, like abstract eyes upon the earth. the woods, where like a dragon, a kind and joyous rising, through all things, when I felt I was a bird, why do I write this inside? In this tiny tree stump, carved out. Can Jan translate the runes of existence, that will leak from the words, and flow ever changing like the river's hence? Flo is like a volcano and there was a murmur from somewhere. The guys sitting in the park smoking their cigarettes in bright blazers, we just played games with them, when the clouds divulged in ever changing murals, expounding further on something that was so delightful. Wanti, is this, and Wanti is this, ah these guys were the priests of Wanti, well... maybe it does work, that the divine influence should meet this earth, and every body is a temple right? Everything is sacred.

I walked up the staircase on the trees to that leaf house yonder, where the birds and elves danced and made tea. The bird bathing in the tea, looked at me, and I remembered the old days, had I come this far?

And you flew so fallingly, and you hair was tangled, and the grass is like softness! and can you hear the music?

Each thing you said, it seemed like a growing flower. To take all these things back, on the bridge we've been building. Yeah, they supposed we fairies weren't all lazy miscreants after, all.. ah those elitist elves, and their milk thistle and peppermint. It was all in good fun, and yet in my being, just thoughts across the furnace of true nature, which found me in the matchings of all our collective sayings and seance, a wave as if from a long lost lover, then disappearing into the thickly layered green, but it still went back so far. I dived. All of it reassured itself.

And as I slipped outside, through the cracked window, things were not at all as they had seemed only a moment ago. Every thing seemed to hold part of the story, but it was all in one moment, I felt the air on my skin, and the sun shone over the little whitewalled townhouses, the small lawns were green and wormwood grew in little clumbs. Flo was making jokes  I couldn't understand back inside. Ah, all these problems have taken care of themselves. And I took a step past the cars, and the ground was solid, and I took another step, wherever the wind takes me, it all seemed to grow again regardless, endless fertile, and yet sometimes it wanted to be helped, just as we do, the ness of things, Adawapayo, the Tree friend was with me, all of us, the invisible adventurers, bards heralding this land of wanti, again those in the park, a reflection back to this moment in its expressed form. I sat back and cried, where the was before nothing suddenly all had filled with Goddess, it seemed everything connected. Each soul will cross over this path knowing or unknowing, and bless and be blessed.

So thankful, there is nothing, and timing is everything!

everything is very needed.

And life edged on and Jan walked along, guitar in one hand, a cd player in the other, listening to all the classics. There was joy in simple things, beyond all this meandering and naming, it was just the leaves rustling in the wind. When she'd sit down to play things would come together, eventually.

 I was playing guitar with Roampo and Pablo, then was homeward bound once again, having created something, and this guy who was a friend of my family was like you can help me with this and this and all excited like learning to play music and I was like ok sure, then my sister left, and i got a ride but i realized i didnt know who was driving and it was
this viking dude

so i was playing guitar then walking home, this guy comes up to me, and says whats your excuse, talking  about the guitar, i said i play, then he said im retarded and i was going to play something but he kept talking, then i saw this tall guy and i said everything is the song even the guy, then they were really loud and they were like

green mama k

is a spirit

try calling

and they kept  saying it then i saw the helicopters

i was sitting in a car by a metro station at the end of the day, i couldn't drive well so i wasnt sure if i could get home, but i didnt want to call my parents and deal with them or any people, i couldnt take the train because i had no money and i had to take the car, finally the sun went down, it was a beautiful purple sky, i heard music, then i woke up.

And who is Jan? I'm a crazy individual, none of this could be real, the shining lights, my body floating down stream, among shadowy figures, the fairies, in their aquamarine cities of water and reflection that spiral. I had grown up, and these were wild lands, so much of mystery is there. Speaking of life, and its flimsiness, its seeming to have wide root, while floating insubstantially.

Trusting your own heart, the way is revealed, though the streams don't part anymore, we have marked the path clearly, we have filled the sky with our writings, because this goes so far, because you are so simple, like the moss on the log, and a pebble in the fog. People, speak to me, and we speak of what we can, I live the life I do, Flo understands as she does her own groovy thing. Its not easy being a healer!

is it needed? the world is beautiful, that purple sky.
« Last Edit: October 12, 2009, 12:30:55 AM by leafgirl » Logged
WhiteWitch
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« Reply #1 on: October 12, 2009, 08:36:38 AM »

Hello and welcome to www.whitemagic.ca

Glad to have you join us. Smiley
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