Cave of Enchantress

Gaia Welcomes Leonie

2006-05-01T05:50:00.000-07:00

Her daughter returns home.
with love
Heather Blakey

Bringing Leonie Bryant Home

2006-05-01T05:49:00.000-07:00

le Enchanteur and Leonie Bryant's spirit bird taking Leonie home to sleep in the Bower of Bliss

Wisdom Speaks

2005-11-30T19:06:00.000-08:00

I welcome returning to my chambers within this cave. I have been travelling so long, I am ready for a much-needed rest. The dwelling opens its arms to me and enfolds me in its moist air.

My most cherished companion resides a short walk through narrow passages away from the cavern I call home. She introduced herself to me a few months back and has been with me, guiding me along my journey. Sometimes during my travels, I took action without consulting her. But, nonetheless, she prodded me until I learned the lesson I was meant to receive.

I have learned that Wisdom is ever present. She lies in wait for me to approach her. When I don't, she stirs up the situation to produce the teaching I need. Most often, her teachings are gentle. Only when she can't get my attention does she turn to whirlwinds akin to tornados.

Since my travels have returned me to this welcome cave, the home of Wisdom, I cannot put off visiting her. I enter the archway that leads to the narrow path to Wisdom's lounge. A few rocks have accumulated along the pathway since my last visit. I take the time to move them out of the way so I don't stumble on them on my way back. In no time at all, I can see the warm glow I will forever associate with Wisdom. I reverently cross the threshold into her chamber and make my way to the seating area.

Closing my eyes, I breath deeply the thick air and clear my mind. When I open them again, Wisdom sits before me.

"Hello, Dear One," Wisdom welcomes me in a gentle voice as soft as a whisper.

"Hello, Wisdom," my voice giving away my weariness despite my effor to hide it.

"Don't feel the need to hide anything from me, Dear One. You know I've seen all that you have been through along your journeys. I know of your grief and pain as well as your joys and triumphs."

"Why I thought I could hide anything from you, Wisdom, I haven't a clue. I'm just tired of grieving. I'm tired of the pain and loss in my life. It's a heavy weight to bear and I'm ready to get rid of it. Instead of moving on naturally, I'm trying to mask the pain."

"As you well know, you can't push the river. But, there is something you can do to help ease the pain."

"What can I do, Wisdom?"

"Take action."

"What kind of action?"

"Do something for someone else....anything."

"Oh, I've heard of that old adage," I sigh. "By doing something for someone else I'll see that there are people in the world who have it worse than I. In giving I will receive. Well, I know that there are people in worse situations. My brother, for one, who has lost a brother and a wife in a very short time. I'd love to do something for him, but I don't know that there is anything that will console his loss right now. And...well, I give all the time. I do feel joy when I give or do something unexpected for another..."

"So...why not do that now?"

"I have...I am... I purchased some food for a poor family. I am doing my Christmas planning to surprise people with special gifts."

"How's that going?"

"Not very well. It feels very mechanical. My heart isn't in it."

"Why not? Where is your heart?"

Sigh... "My heart is in recovery."

"Ah! But you know that you can't protect your heart from pain, no matter how many layers of gauze you wrap it in. You are human. You will feel pain, agony, remorse, regret, grief, depression....and all sorts of uncomfortable things. It's part of life, just as joy is a part of life. If life brings you dark or light, your heart will feel it. "Protecting" your heart is a mask. It only hides the real you from others and keeps you from expressing the sadness you feel. The mask doesn't protect your heart."

"I don't want to feel those things any more. I don't want to express those feelings. I want them to evaporate."

"In your heart of hearts, you know this won't happen. You know you'll have to experience the feelings, one way or another," Wisdom responded with much gentleness in her voice. I looked down to the floor, not wanting to meet her eyes for I knew what she said was true.

"Dear one, you can move on once you set your emotions free. The longer you put it off, the longer you'll be in this holding pattern, the longer you will experience pain. Let it go, don't hold on to it. Once it is released you will not be able to stop yourself from taking action. It just comes naturally."

Still looking down I could feel a tear roll down the side of my nose. The release had begun.

Here I am...

2005-10-10T10:20:00.000-07:00

I approach the Enchantress' Cave, weary and dusty from my long trek. It's a good weariness though, one that satisfies the physical as well as the mental needs of the body. I chose to walk rather than ride because I wanted to feel Mother Earth breathing beneath my feet. I felt as one with her as I walked through the woods and strolled across meadows sprinkled liberally with wild flowers of all varieties. Such a difference from a brief trip I made recently when I drove many miles to the State of Minnesota. Locked away inside a steel enclosure with the scenery flashing by at breakneck speed doesn't do it for me, though it is sometimes a necessity when time is calling the shots.

The dust fell away and the weariness vanished when I saw the Enchantress waiting to welcome me and any other travelers who might happen along. I know there are many like me who, having taken different trails, will end up here for a well earned rest before proceeding to BabaYaga's hut.

The enchantress is a welcoming sight as she stands there at the cave entrance ready to check me in. Her ivory gown shimmers in the morning sunlight … her eyes are bright, and the breeze ruffles her reddish hair. She embraces me and invites me to enter and join the others who are waiting. I am ready now for good company and conversation. We all have stories to share about our varied experiences on the trail. It's at times like this that I appreciate all the good that life has to offer.

Vi

Courier message gone astray

2005-10-09T07:09:00.000-07:00

My RaVEN messenger found Donkeys Inc. and tried to post this message in comments but it would not take it so I will try to reach you here. I am heading down the road in Ithaka Bound, on foot, leading Destiny. Hope you receive this message. I guess I should contact the Enhantress for a few more invitations.

MESSAGE FROM THE RAVEN COURIER: I know you are extremely busy right now but I was wondering if I could drop off my horse Destiny for the time I am on the silk road. At the moment I am just leaving the cave of the Enhantress at my first dawn on the Road to Ithaka and would like to walk a while. As your mules are magical I guess I had better mind the Enhantress once more and try out one after I have walked a while, so also please find one that would fit my spirit. I look forward to seeing you. Will you be at the Gypsy camp? (That is if I ever find it) Love, Jane

Morgaine's Arrival

2005-10-07T22:19:00.000-07:00

Gallahad returned with good news. He knew the way to the Enchantresses Cave. 'Gather you're belongings Morgaine, we must make haste'!

Morgaine quickly gathered her bags, she climbed upon Gallahad's back, 'lead on Gallahad, let us depart'.

Awhile later Morgaine was at the cave's entrance with her bags. Gallahad munched on some grass a little way off.
'Quite a crowd had already come through', the Enchantress told Morgaine, 'it has quietened down now, so you're Morgaine, the Camelot Scribe, welcome to my cave and the beginning of a wonderful journey! What did you bring?
I hope you packed light'.

Morgaine assured the enchantress that her bag was light and its contents are a necessity. ' I have my journal, recorder for my interviews with fellow travellers, some clothing, my warm cloak, some food, my hairbrush, some herbs and oils, and some precious stones'.

'This is good Morgaine, so you plan to interview fellow travellers? That sounds interestinng, you will find many interesting stories, I'm sure. So you come from Camelot? '

'Yes and I am considered the Camelot Scribe, the Camelot Correspondent for the Camelot Chronicle. I am on a Crusade, the Camelot Crusade. I wish to learn about other places, people and communities and also to introduce and invite people to Camelot, this is one of the reasons I decided to undertake this journey, I look forward to meeting people, learning about different places and communities and hope to befriend many. I believe that if we all help one another we can all continue to exist in people's hearts'.

'Very interesting Morgaine, I'm sure others will share your belief's and you will find your journey very inspiring, once again, welcome aboard! Now, I must give you this bag, in it you will find some things to help you on your journey, a compass amongst other things and most importantly, a doll'.

'A doll? Why is a doll the most important thing'? Asked Morgaine.

'This is no ordinary doll, this doll talks and can help and guide you along the way, you have met and named your talking donkey Gallahad, now this doll is yours to keep and name too. You will find her very wise, with much insight to share'.

Morgaine was taken aback, a telepathic, talking donkey and now a wise, insightful doll! They say Camelot's ways are weird, she thought to herself. What is this magic? I must learn them so I can teach them back home to those who
believe. The more wonder, enchantment, magic, old and new ways introduced to humans, the more they will seek their own truth and belief and the world will be a better place.

The Enchantress interrupted her thoughts saying, 'it is time to go now Morgaine. Your first destination is to the Gypsy camp, where they are having a wake for Meagan's mother. Meagan is a fellow traveller on the Silk Road and it is a time to share, god speed Morgaine'.

With that the Enchantress dissappeared and Morgaine was left alone with the bag. She reached in and pulled out the doll, it was a very pretty doll. She decided to call the doll, Angel. In that instant Morgaine found herself outside the cave with Gallahad. 'Well Gallahad, it's time to move on in search of the gypsies'.

They departed in silence.

2005-10-07T05:16:00.000-07:00

DAWN IN THE GROTTO

Jane : HERE!

2005-10-07T04:58:00.000-07:00

Oh my goodness, it is dawn and I seem to be in the Grotto. I don't even remember presenting my picture of the doorway. From the moment I climbed onto Destiny’s back to the moment I woke up in this lovely room everything is a foggy . I just know that right now I am snuggling deeper into this feather bed trying to escape the loud speaker requesting everyone to show up for roll call at the cave entrance.

GROAN****************Now where are my shoes?****************

I do look forward to walking down the Silk road though. Hopefully there will be some shops on the way to the Gypsy camp so I can buy some silks for a gypsy skirt . I love the way they dress. When I get old ( : ) ) I am going to wear all the beautiful colors in the rainbow at one time. I must ask the enchantress if there is a blog for the Silk road when she calls my name as I look forward to the journey to Itaka, not the destination, and plan to take my time.

I think I will send Destiny ahead to Frans donkey shop and see if she will care for him tell I get to the gypsy camp. I don’t want to fly by things too fast and I defiately do not want to get on a donkey. I know a little more aboout donkeys then I need to as my husband was in a mule pack when he was in the army during the Korean war and it was hell. They are not pleasant animals, co-operative animals. Sorry Fran, but walking gives you a chance to use all your senses and that, to me, is the only way to absorb the world. Did you ever notice how you never really absorb a scene until you stand silent..and that no one speaks? I think it was Michaelangelo who said, : You can not appreciate a sunrise with another person.

" Where is that raven when you need him?

Unsure

2005-10-06T05:04:00.000-07:00

I am not sure whether to post information about the Brown House here, or on the Ithaka place or the Donkey yard. I don't plan to take the girls to the wake. Until I understand better how this works I will hope the Tour Guide will repost or direct us to the right place.

Here is some information about us.

I have a better backpack for this adventure, but also an old gunnie sack with three pockets. This will work because I am going to carry three special people with me on this trip. We play an old board game called "Uncle Wiggly" and they think it is going to be like that. They like playing "make believe", but don't understand that you are all adults. Sometimes I have to tell them what your names mean, or help them look it up in the dictionary. This is a game too.

These three girls are my friends. I work at a small house set up for Developmentally Disabled Adults. Since they are over 16 they are not available for child service support, but can go to a Work Center everyday except Sunday. They could live in a group home, but their fathers all wanted something more "homey" (sp). They are all in Iraq right now and one of them had this large home and let the other girls move in. I am both a social worker and a substitute teacher, so I get paid a little bit over room and board. Another woman shares the long hours and all day Sunday, but doesn't like computers. I call them girls even though they are 17, 22, and 28 years old. Emotionally they are much younger, but capable enough to use the bus system and help cook and clean their rooms.

Together they decided to use "game pieces" for this trip. They will be gem stones and played a game to decide what to be. They are Coral, Jade and 'quoise. That way I can carry them on this trip without you knowing they have snuck along. However, Fran has now offered us a cart with donkeys to help on the journey, so them hiding out. They are not afraid of people, but sometimes give more affection than others are willing to deal with.

Nessie

More later.

Trap Door

2005-10-05T05:10:00.000-07:00

I think I have fallen thru a trap door. I have never blogged before, if that is how you say it. I belong to many Yahoo Groups and may chat to much here. Let me know. My name is Norene Kness, but everyone calles me Nessie. The girls here at Brown House especially like that. They think that I keep appearing where I am not expected. They will be my traveling companions on this journey (adventure?), but it is supposed to be a secret. All three have developmental disabilties and I will edit and read your posting to them. Only one of them can use the keyboard well, so I will type comments for them occationally.

Your kindness is appreciated. I will explain more later as we travel along.

Right now they are playing a game to decide what they should bring. They are acting like it is their own Reality TV show (which they don't watch).

Nessie

Letter To the Secretary of Donkeys Incorporated

2005-10-04T19:26:00.000-07:00

A Letter To the Secretary of Donkeys Incorporated

Dear Secretary,
Hello from the open road. My name is Treasa O'Leary, a traveler along the Soulfood Silk Road...but then...you might already know that. I wouldn't be a wee bit surprised if you did, the way this fantastic adventure is constantly keeping me in a state of surrealness. I never know what expect next!

*shakes head in amazement* Certainly not a talking donkey! Jack has made the trip quite...interesting and humorous thus far--we've only been on the road two days. He's been helpful at times as well. And that's why I'm writing you, to tell you what an amazing trip this is going to be with him as a mount and to thank you.

I don't know how you choose which mount for which traveler, but, in my case, you hit gold. You see, I've never ridden a donkey before in my life; only horses a handful of times and not since my childhood at that. The longest I've ever ridden one has been two or three hours and afterwards I was saddle-sore for two days!

*as if the mere mention of it is their cue, all my various aches and throbbing pains intensify and I shift stiffly, trying to find a more comfortable position on my sleeping bag, unable to hold back a low moan*

*silent wry laugh as I resume writing in the combined light of flickering fire and flashlight* I'm in much the same position as I was then. Saddle-sore. But Jack is being an awfully good sport about it, thank goodnees. Right from the start it was painfully obvious to both of us and to my silent guide (whose name I've since learned is Ophelia) that I'm no natural horsewoman--or donkey rider. Jack's gentle swaying gait is as smooth and fluid as any donkey's could be. But until today, for the life of me, I couldn't establish a reasonably good rhythm that allowed me to move as one with him. My butt kept bouncing, up and down, up and down, hard on the saddle until my poor abused tailbone made its first throbbing protests. I felt like a Mexican jumping bean. *rolls eyes and shakes head in embarrassment*

Ah well. At least no one has laughed at this bobbing Irish lass yet--well, not very much and not because of my poor riding skills. For that, I have to give thanks. Jack has been really sweet and has been trying to give me pointers.

"Consider this a crash course in riding," he said after Ophelia helped pull me from the ground at his hooves that first day. We hadn't gone 20 feet down the road from the Enchantress' cave before I was bested by a low-hanging branch that caught me in the chest and knocked me from his saddle. "Rule Number 1: Relax! Your fear and uncertainty transmits to your fine noble steed, letting me--I mean, him--know he's the boss. Rule Number 2: Match your body's rhythm to your donkey's gait. The ride will be smoother and easier this way--for both of us. And Rule Number 3: You've got to be smarter than the average tree. Be aware of your surroundings too."

In my defense, I have to say I was in a state of shock when those leaves smacked me in the face and that branch connected with my breastbone! Jack had started talking--without warning--about the journey and introducing himself and Ophelia and her horse Nightshade. Who wouldn't be floored by a talking donkey when, where I come from, they don't speak?! Well, except for the ones in the Bible and Arabian Tales, but the one was from a parable I believe, the other from a fairy tale.

I gaped at his big gray-brown donkey face, blinking stupidly into his velvety brown eyes once I was back on my feet, repeating over and over, "He talks! He talks! My donkey talks!!"

Ophelia nodded, an amused look on her face. She went to Nightshade, who stood five feet up ahead, with his ebony neck craned right in our direction and dug through his saddlebags. On her way to the stallion she gave Jack an admonishing look. Pulling out medical supplies from one of the bags, she walked back toward me and doctored the few cuts and scrapes I'd sustained from the encounter with the olive tree. (I thought olive branches were supposed to be peaceful?) Once she was satisfied I was ok and taken care of, Ophelia nodded to herself decisively, gathered the box of bandages and ointment and rejoined Nightshade. Putting the things away she mounted the black stallion and motioned with her arm I should do the same.

"Yes, I talk," Jack said, gazing at me with what passes, I suppose, for patience in a donkey. "And you're quite the observer. We have a lot of miles to cover before we reach the Valley of the Temples, where we will be camping over the next few days before reaching the Gypsy Camp. Are you brave enough to try again?"

Dumbly I nodded, reaching behind me to check and make sure everything in my backpack was ok after having landed on the bag in my fall. I mounted and we were off again--albeit at a slower pace--the guide and her black stallion, Jack the donkey and me, the Irish Mexican jumping bean.

As I said, Jack has been sweet and pretty understanding, only making fun of me once in awhile, laughing his braying laugh as he watches me move stiffly about the campsite or if I do some clumsy thing like trip over an exposed tree root. "It was right in front of you, in plain view! You shouldn't read that book of Roman myths as you walk." He admonished just today as we took our lunch break.

I have to thank you. Despite moments like those, I'm sure you're well aware he can be quite amusing. I also have no doubt you already know he can hold entire coversations with himself, for Jack can talk and talk. And talk. I can't help but laugh when he gets going. By no means would this journey be dull or ordinary without him; he just adds to the the wonder and joy of it. So, with all my gratitude, thank you. He is a wonderful companion and mount, and I will take good care of him for as long as he is with me.

Sincerely,
Treasa O'Leary, Awed, Amazed and Humble Explorer

*folds the letter written on the lavender stationery from the cave room and seals it in the matching envelope; writes the address on the front and hands it to a waiting raven who accepts it with its beak and a nod; spreading its dark wings it takes off and I shut the flashlight off, sliding and settling into my sleeping bag by the fire*

2005-10-04T16:16:00.000-07:00

As always, I'm not ready! I'm never ready. I don't know what to bring with me. I look out my window and I search the sky for birds to see what they carry...feathers on their backs, a seed in their beaks and maybe a tiny stray piece of a tattered white chiffon dress in their delicate claw feet. So, that's what I'll bring -- my favorite feather, seeds I recently harvested from my beautiful moonflower vines, a white gossamer chiffon shawl and, of course, my journal and pencil. That's all I need.

The birds remind me that I can fit at least half the sky in my back pocket and... well, off I go.

Ithaka Bound - The Doorway to the Silk Road

2005-10-03T16:19:00.000-07:00

People are standing around with bags, rucksacks, suitcases, backpacks, carry alls and saddle bags at the door to the Cave. And to think Sibyl said to travel light! Lucky we have a big store room to keep things so that people can pick them up on their way back home. That room is filling because there hasn't been too many leave the realm.

The first instructions from our guide are at Soul Food Silk Road. Keep checking this and Ithaka Bound if you get lost. We are bound for Ithaka. Ithaka lies within the realm of the Silk Road somewhere, tucked away from view. It is a very enchanted place, a bit like the dreamlike lake of Nemi - Diana's Mirror, as it was called by the ancients. No one who has seen the calm waters of the lake where the Amazon Queen's summer palace nestles, can forget it. Sip from the waters and you forget about the earthly realm and feel the creativity pulsing through your veins.

Ithaka Bound will be open to the public for comment. If you don't get an invitation to join and want to post on this blogger please let me know. I will post out a swathe of invitations but it is very easy to overlook someone so for goodness sake don't let this happen and get lost.

If you are on the Soul Food Cafe mailing list do make sure to ask for an invite to join because I will not keep sending instructions to the whole group.

Chocolate Box-My Imaginary Friend

2005-08-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

" Here " Kincross says from behind my right shoulder, " let me take a look at what you're writing. Is it about me? "

Kincross is quiet for a second, which surprises me because my Werewolf has never been the quiet type. This can't be a good sign, especially when the second turns into a minute and I hear her growl " an imaginary friend? Write a dialog with an imaginary friend? "

" That's what it says Kincross " I tell her.

" I'm not imaginary and I'm not part of your subconscious either " she says quickly.

" If only." I snap " You're TOO pushy and noisy to be imaginary. Go on, go howl at the moon or something, I have work to do "

" I want my story told. " she says darkly.

" I want to be six inches taller and fifty pounds lighter but it ain't gonna happen in the next half hour.So get lost, go kill a Vampire or something I have to get this exercise done right now. "

" Okay. I'm sorry Anita. " she says with feeling.

" That's alright. "

I can hear her talking to my cat, and then I can hear the chair at my husband's work desk, the one on wheels, coasting from one end of the room to the other. I can hear Darwin my cat chasing something around and I'm guessing Kincross and Darwin are racing each other.

" Anita? " she stage whispers. I use the word whispers very lightly. You could probably hear her over the end of the world right now but she IS whispering. And she won't stop she sounds like some weird primitive cave woman chanting my name AnitaAnitaAnitaAnitaAniiiiittttAnittta "

" WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT NOW? DO YOU WANT TO BE TALLER IN THE NEXT STORY? YOUNGER? OR IS IT BLOND AND SKINNY? WHAT DO YOU WANT? "

" The phone is ringing. "

" OUT! Get out NOW! " I yell.

" You shouldn't talk out loud like that, people are going to start thinking your mental or something. " Kincross says, her voice dripping with concern and honey. Neither of which is in her nature.

" Is so in my nature...hey, what the heck are you saying about me there? "

" Are you watching? " I ask.

I look back and her eyes are narrowing, " Yes. "

" Once upon a time a self absorbed Werewolf got hit by a bus loaded with silver bullets and she died and never bothered her Author again. The end. "

" Oh very funny. "

I turn back to my keyboard and start to write and two seconds go by. Then a minute. No Kincross. I look out my door, under my desk. It's quiet it's actually...

" Go on, you missed me " my Werewolf says as she jumps down from the top of my bookshelf. She looks very pleased with herself and she sounds pleased as well.

" I really want to finish this. " I tell her.

" Oh, alright, but I'm not going anywhere...you know that right? "

I sure do.

Kincross is whistling, something I wish I could do and she looks over my shoulder again.

" I'd end there if I were you. "

" I look back and she actually pulls away. " FINE I'll just go sit until her Majesty is ready. "

And as I type away we both start snickering, " imaginary friend " we both say at the same time.

" Hey that's fun " Kincross says " let's do another one of these exercise things. "

"GET OUT KINCROSS"

And she actually does...for about two minutes.

What a record.

THE NEXT DAY:

Kincross is standing next to my computer tapping her foot and whistling " Ode To Joy"
when I walked into my work room this morning. I ignored her so she went into a loud shrill rousing rendition of " We are the Champions. "

I wish she had air in her lungs, then she'd have passed out by now and I wouldn't have to listen to her love herself anymore.

" Nasty nasty thing to wish on your friend " she says as I start to write. " nasty thing to say about your friend who was a big hit up at the Abbey. "

" Oh, it's about to get nastier because I have to post a note about our rehearsal and all I have to report is... " while I worked very hard on our project and actually cared about it my imaginary friend goofed off, chased my cat around the room and bugged me the entire time and actively tried to scuttle our project? "

She looks up in remembrance and nods, " yes, that's exactly what happened only you forgot about the part where your nasty temper got the best of you and you kept screaming at me like a little baby. "

She watches the letters fill up the screen and nods. " Yep, that looks right. "

Wonderful silence...wonderful qui....

" Oh Anitttaaaaaahhhhh ? " Kincross says in a ghostly voice.

" What? "

" Can I ask you a question?"

" What? " I stop everything I'm doing and look at her, I'm hoping if I pay attention to her for few minutes in return I may get a few minutes of peace and quiet.

" That was it, hahahah. "

" God! go AWAY! "

" No really, who are all these strangers in my town...why are they in Duwamish. " she asks primly, back straight with her hands behind her back. She rocking back and forth on her heels and looking up at the ceiling like she's reading something that's written up there.

" They're visiting Kincross. "

" That's nice, when are they leaving? "

" When they feel like it Kincross. "

" Duwamish doesn't work that way you know. "

I look at her and she looks at me and I have to say, " I know. "

" Good place to end this? " I ask.

Kincross nods and for once I agree.

© anita marie moscoso 2005-text

The Chocolate Box - Simone Crowther

2005-08-16T01:46:00.000-07:00

I wake up and there is a jewelled box at the end of my bed. The jewels glisten in sea colours of violet, blue, green and acquamarine; eels and fish entwine in the silver work. I open the box and therein incongruously lay chocolates!

Rich dark chocolates, milk chocolate, chocolate truffles, nut encrusted chocolates and white chocolates. I puck a white chocolate and memories swirl before me, memories that form the core of me. I find myself in a tiny airless attic with a trunk in front of me. I know of this trunk from the enchantress as the trunk of wonderment.

I open it and there at the bottom is a faded photograph of myself as a frail, pale girl, almost albino in my lack of colour with a voluminous mass of white blond hair that made me look like a mop on a stick. Such a miserable girl bowed beneath the hatred of a Poe-faced family. I remember her sadly. She was the sacrifice, I made to survive. I laid her in a chest, a stout wooden box, the size of a child's coffin and hid her (in the cave of an old formidable she-bear who takes in all such orphans) in a netherworld of my own depths because she was sick beyond my healing. She lies there still, swathed in a few precious scraps of sun shot nature, dreams and hidden ambitions, waiting... So wan, pale and sick almost to death but lo' she breathes, so precious!

I have been digging for that soul, to wake it up, revive it, breathe life energy back into it. I lay a honey comb as good will for the bear. A token of my recognition of the sweetness of life, my love and commitment. I take her childish form from the bear.

I call to her, coax her with soft words. It is safe to come out and be loved, joined with my body, joined with the present. It is safe to breathe deeply, to laugh, to dare, to dance wildly. It is safe to weep for old pain and dissolve old wounds.

I place her sleeping form over my shoulder and dig my way back up to the daylight world.

She is a splinter of my soul, a long forgotten part of me that had to lie hidden from the searching claws of my family.

She is a precious, precious thing. A part of me that wasn't safe to express. She is the forbidden, the wild, the magick and also the vulnerable flame of youth, of life lived passionately. She is white like the moon and her fragility is deceptive for she holds tremendous power. She is my Persephone, my playful, puckish spirit that had to lie in the underworld but now returns to be my soul's delight.

She lay like a spiritual seed and now she can grow like an immense silver-hot tree that casts both light and shadow.

I have let the moon out from my box. She is both the daughter and the mother of me.

She rests now, breathing deeply, rapidly gaining strength.

She is hungry and I feed her little scraps of meet. This is no vegetarian soul but a huntress with wolf's tail, canine teeth and claws.

Delving into the Chocolate Box - Alex Chua

2005-08-13T05:49:00.000-07:00

Delving into the Chocolate Box has been a gratifying and sensual
experience for me. The chocolates from Australia taste so much better
than what I get in Singapore :-) Pure and milky, melting seductively
in my mouth as I savor the moment of intense pleasure.

Anyone who really knows me will know that I am a really slow eater...
I savor my food. If there is anything I appreciate more than the air I
breathe, it is the food that I eat. And these chocolates is so filled
with love that I can feel the love over flows and spills all around my
body, a shimmering energetic field that glows brightly, lighting up
not only my little corner of the Grotto, but the whole Cave and Abbey.

The love from the chocolates revitalized and inspired me to go on the
Road Trip to the Lemurian Abbey with zest. Stopping at Duwamish Bay, I
am ready to present my piece to the inhabitants of the Abbey in a
rehearsal.

The Invitation
Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Canadian Teacher, Writer

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful
be realistic
remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you
can disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes."

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

Reclaiming a Ritual - The Skeleton Woman - Megan Warren

2005-08-13T05:17:00.000-07:00

I have partaken of the chocolates that the Enchantress so kindly left for me.
While I was bathing my guide returned in her mysterious nature, she advised she was delivering a parcel that was left for me. I thanked her, telling her that I would attend to it after my bath. And then she was gone.

I quickly got out of the bath, wrapping myself in the luxurious robe that had been left for me. The parcel, a small box lay on the table next to the chocolate box.
It contained the following items: yarn, thread, beads and charms of the sea.

It was then that I noticed the note on the inside of the chocolate wrapper Reclaim a Ritual I held each of the items, a spiral bead, a seahorse, fish and turtle.

The yarn became a knitted amulet bag with a spiral bead closure. As I worked I thought of Clarissa Pinkola Estes (Women Who Run with the Wolves) story of The Skeleton Woman.

The Skeleton Woman

Cast out
banished
into the sea
tossing and
turning
washed in
washed out
bones lay
waste.

Fishing
casting out
hooked
reeling in
fright feat
tangled line
pile of bones.

Untangling
piecing together
her form
tear
quenching thirst
taking heart
beating drum
fleshing her
out
building her
up.

Sleep
wounded souls
entwined together
nourishment from
the sea
feeding off
one another.

© Megan Warren 21/7/2005

Those welcome Chocolates were delicious - Lois Daley

2005-08-13T05:15:00.000-07:00

I awoke after having slept for 12 hours in the cave and even on a hard stone bed the sleep was the most peaceful and sound as I can remember although perhaps one would have to have a special memory to say this.
I touched my left hand as it felt warmer than my right hand,I wondered why ..perhaps it still had the lingering touch of my Grandmother Maria Sophie ...yes that was it I could still feel her tiny hands curled around my short fat fingers.
Beside my bed on the small table was a large leaf all curled up as if it was tied with ribbon but it wasn't ,it had grown that way......I uncurled it and inside were four of the biggest cholcolates I had ever seen......Dark chocolate my favourite ..I said aloud......I was hungry but had never had chocolates for breakfast before.....Damm I thought here goes ....I had left sensibility in the cupboard at home ....One down, a sip of water...lovely.......Two down another sip of water....I was starting to feel a little sickly so I wrapped up my remaining two chocolates in the curled leaf and popped them in my cotton backpack....." For later On as they say"
I sprinkled some of the water on my hankie ,washed my face ,combed my hair ..luckily it has a curl in it and it looked ok.
I walked toward the door after tidying up (In case I was to come back this way, or one of my companions might follow in my tracks and need a restful bed)......I found the doorway I had come through and wandered out into the warm sun ..whatever the time was I did not know ,as I had not brought a watch ,I came back in to write in my diary as to what I had experienced and as I wrote my journey so far. I looked about me wondering what was to be the
next adventure.....and this is where I leave my story for now and will look further as to the orders left for me from the Enchantress .....(She who must be obeyed)

Chocolate Box Memory - Leonie Bryant

2005-08-13T05:09:00.000-07:00

Sitting in my warm cosy room, I opened my delicious box of chocolates. My mind drifted back to life on the farm in the Mallee in Northern Victoria.

My fondest memories are of the derelict old buildings around the farm. My favorite was the stables which were used to house the draft horses who pulled the machinery around the paddocks. The building was made of split posts with a thatched roof of straw. The empty troughs lined the walls and the old harnesses and bridles hung from the posts. I can remember climbing onto the roof and jumping off onto the heaps of earth behind the stables. I can almost smell the aroma of the rotted straw and grease as I sit here.

The other derelict building I remember is the pig sty, as above. The picture here is of a painting done by my sister when she returned there in the 80's. As you can see, the shelter for the pigs is almost intact, although the drifting sands from the drought have covered most of the surrounding fence.

Despite the fact that I had 3 sisters and a brother, I can only remember playing by myself. Strange! The home held many difficulties for all of us. As I reflect now, I can see the resourcefulness of the little girl who nurtured herself helping her rise above those difficulities.

Shamrocks and Chocolates - Barbara Banta

2005-08-13T05:08:00.000-07:00

Chocolate. Of all the things in life that would be troublesome to give up, chocolate is high on my list. Thankfully, not only do I *not* have to give it up, here in the cave, eating it is mandatory! I force myself to take another piece and as the silken delight melts in my mouth I look around my room for perhaps the 100th time.

My suite of rooms is in the shape of a three-leaf clover--a shamrock. I have no idea what types of quarters the others have been given, perhaps they are all alike, but something tells me that each of our rooms has been designed specifically to make that person happy.

My bedroom is one leaf, the kitchen another, and the third is, I think, waiting for me to design or tell it what it should be, for at the moment it is simply an empty shape. The stem of the shamrock, flanged wide at the bottom, narrower where it connects to the body, serves as the bathroom.

In the center, where leaves and stem converge, is the living-room or social area and here I sit, my box of chocolates on my lap, on a luscious fawn colored couch. Most of the furniture is rounded or freeform to fit the curving walls. Everything is either off-white or neutral tones, but there are brilliant flowering plants and ivy everywhere.

The chocolate prompts are lovely and the two words they've given me are words I cherish and claim in my writing: wonderment and conjure. An image in Archie's box of wonderments (a tiny bird's nest) also helped release a small golden memory.

One day, while sitting on my back porch, I saw movement in my garden and went to investigate. I found a baby bird, featherless, eyes sealed shut,
writhing in pain and covered with ants. Its movements had dug a tiny cup in the dusty earth. I lifted it into a trash can lid and poured water on it until the ants had been washed away. Not quite drowned, it lay there, gray and naked and gasping for air.

That night I sat looking at TV with the bird nestled in my hand. Every half hour or so it raised it's scrawny neck and begged for food and I fed it thin farina by eyedropper. After it ate it dropped into a deep sleep.

Suddenly it woke with a start and instead of begging began to squirm and wiggle, almost flinging itself out of my hand. I assumed the poison from the ant stings was causing it to go into a fit and feared the end was near.

Then it pooped.

Not a messy bird poop, but a perfect green and white marble fit for a box of wonderments.

From the chocolate box - a song for my imaginary friends - Gail Kavanagh

2005-08-13T04:51:00.000-07:00

"You'll have to stop this talking to yourself," my mother said.
"People are saying there's something wrong with you."
My immediate reaction was embarrassment and shame. It never occurred
to me to say that I wasn't talking to myself. If I'd said I was
talking to imaginary friends my parents would have been convinced I
was crazy - or doo lally tap, as they used to say.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who talk to people who aren't there are
Doo Lally Tap

So I told my friends they'd have to lay low for a while, at least
until my mother's friends stopped spying on me. I was the classic
candidate for imaginary friends, although I didn't realise it at
that age - I was an only child, my parents had few friends with
children of their own, I had never made any close friends my own age.
But in my imagination, I was never alone.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who let their imagination run away with them are
Doo Lally Tap

My imaginary friends didn't have to be human. For a long time I had
an imaginary dog, until my parents relented and bought me a real
one. I was never without an imaginary horse, which looked a lot like
the one Tamzin rode in Monica Edward's books. When I discovered the
Moomin books of Tove Jannsen, I happily followed Moomintroll and the
Snork Maiden into their enchanted world.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who have their noses stuck in a book are
Doo Lally Tap

If my parents had visions of me ending up in a padded cell having in
depth conversations with people and creatures no one else could see,
they needn't have worried. The world is well adapted to making sure
no one grows up hanging on to the innocence of their childhood. My
imaginary friends politely took to staying out of sight when their
presence might prove embarrassing, eventually settling into
my subconscious as all well behaved imaginary friends do. But they
refused to disappear completely.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who stare dreamily off into the distance are
Doo Lally Tap

Through my teens and young womanhood I was repeatedly accused of
`day dreaming'. The only way I could be alone with my imaginary
friends was to run or bike for miles, giving them a free rein in my head.
I learned that slipping into a daydream any other time earned
me the title of `Typical Moony Eyed Teenager." I mooned around
painting, writing stories and doing other pointless things that
would clearly never help me earn a living in the real world.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People who can't get with the program are
Doo Lally Tap

Eventually I married, which seemed to be the only honorable thing to
do when my parents realised I would never make a proper career, and
started having children. Suddenly my lonely life was full of the
most enchanting little friends. And they had imaginary friends and
they weren't lonely onlies, so that knocked that theory on the head.
And they kept my imagination alive, making up Dungeons and Dragons
games for them and playing in our family orchestra.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
People with no imaginary friends will soon go
Doo Lally Tap

Oh but so many years went by, and life got more and more serious and
my imagination retreated in horror at the reality pouring into my
mind day after day. I became everything my elders had entreated me
to be when I was young and moony eyed and now I feared for my own
sanity.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
Dancing in the moonlight is a sure sign you are
Doo Lally Tap

I thought they'd all gone, my imaginary friends, my imaginary
worlds, my beautiful horse that carried me deep into the realms of
dreams. Then one day he nudged me in the middle of the back, and I
heard giggles, and I smelt the Moomins' pine forest. I know I can find
my way back there, if I can just let go of the baggage I've
been carrying.

Doo Lally Tap
Doo Lally Tap
I will dance to the rhythm of
Doo Lally Tap.

From the Chocolate Box - Heather Blakey

2005-08-13T04:50:00.000-07:00

I put my suitcase on a ledge, leaving it open, ready to store the stories, images, artefacts and look for a place to rest. I am suddenly beyond weary. I yearn to sleep. The Enchantress is gone, riding, galloping towards the Lemurian Abbey. A night rider, dressed in black she is sure to return, eventually. I have faith that she will return.

It is a deep sleep filled with recurring images of the womb. The image of that Wintered Womb that I have lain in rises to the front, demanding I lay a ghost to rest.

From The Wintered Womb

Underneath the thrice ploughed, fertile, fallow field
Impregnated within a wintered, woven, womb
Of richly composted humus
I lay seeking sustenance, nourishment from
The oxygen filled wintered mist that
Drizzles, seeping, replenishing the amniotic fluids
That trickles through the membranous umbilical cord
Fertilizing, greening,
Ensuring a bountiful spring harvest.

Voices on the wind, drift through the chosen womb, throught the richly composted humus... a mother crying... she has three children already... how will she manage. Dr Salvaris reassures her. They will do a tubal ligation at the same time as this child is delivered, to ensure that her womb will lie fallow from this time on. What does this mean for me I wonder? 'Prove your worth that's what you will do....' more words come filtering into the womb filling me with apprehension. Will I ever be good enough?

A delicious box of chocolates - Karen

2005-08-13T04:44:00.000-07:00

When I awakened from my sleep, I found on the bed next to me a lovely box. It was in the shape of a sort of reliquery, tall and tapered like a cathedral. Purple satin and gold beading and tassels bedecked this lovely creation. I opened the little doors on the front and saw rows of delectable chocolates, nestled within layers of spun sugar. I selected my favorite, a succulent dark and popped it into my mouth. I was instantly transported to another time and place. I am quite small, I thought. I hear a voice, somewhat muffled, saying, "And what do YOU want to be when you growup?"

Countdown to a Grown-Up

At seven a teacher, a nurse, an actress
wild dog, space alien,a magician
At thirteen an artist, a writer, a poet
beautiful, sexy, someone who belonged
At twenty-one a nurse, a mother, a wife
artist, writer, traveler
At thirty divorced, wealthy, somewhere else
intense, passionate, sexual
At forty Frida Kahlo, Georgia O'Keefe, Ellen Gilchrist, Barbara
Kingsolver, Margaret Mead, Winnie Mandela, Guinevere, an organic
farmer, Sojourner Truth, Lillian Wald, Margaret Sanger, the Dalai
Lama, Laxshmi, a bellydancer, a healer
someone who sees, listens, transforms, creates
I grow toward myself.
I am large, I contain multitudes.*

(Walt Whitman)

Complimentary Chocolates

2005-08-13T04:41:00.000-07:00

Fellow Cave Dwellers

At last you are alone in your quarters, able like the young bride in the Bloody Chamber to rummage and explore your new surroundings. You will find a box of chocolates. On the box it says that:

Childhood is a state or phase of imaginative existence, the phase in which the world of imagination is still a brave new world and yet reassuring and intelligible.

The strictly non-fat chocolate from the Soul Food Chocolate Box is full of projects and material to help us return to that wondrous kingdom where imagination and creativity rule. The special fillings focus on celebrating childhood joy, spontaneity and imagination.
Choose one and respond.

have a good day in the Cave
love The Enchantress

~My Room~ - Patricia

2005-08-13T04:40:00.004-07:00

~A Room of One's Own~
... My finger tips push the door open. Astonished, I try and take the whole room in at once. An impossible task. The flow of calmness and serenity speaks volumes to my soul. It is the colors of sky and water. It's as soothing as the sound of the waves past midnight, this ocean blue room. It is instantly an escape from any world. The room shares my passion for vintage embellishment ...
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