Today I am sovereignty,
I am Morrighan, Bouddica, Macha … I am woman
in my body, is the ancestral blood
In my mind, the ultimate inspiration
in my soul, the energy of all those who marched my breeding ground, and walked not in vain
Today I am woman,
I am the one who collects the spoils of battle, who fertilizes the earth, who curses the unworthy … I am Sovereignty
in my body, the smell of lust
In my mind, memories of dancing moments
in my soul, a mixture of energy, light, passion
Today I am a druid,
I am the one who walks among the cries of war, amidst ancient forests, between worlds … I am inspiration
in my body, seeds of creation
In my mind, the light of Awen
in my soul, magic, strength, gratitude
We can’t deny stories may guide our lives in ways we can’t explain, and I have to confess, the one that have been following me for a long time, is not a very happy one, but I find in it some elements that make my life magical and inspiring… so,if I could choose a poem/ fairytale, as a favourite, I would choose:
“The Lady of Shalott”, which is a Victorian ballad by the English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892). The poem talks about the Arthurian subject based on medieval sources. What is it about? (Especially for those too lazy to read a good poem!)
The Lady of Shalott lives in an island castle in a river, which flows to Camelot, but the local farmers know little about her.
She seems to be a magical and Her business is to look at the world outside her castle through a mirror, and to weave what she sees into a tapestry/loom. She is forbidden by the magic to look at the outside world directly.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
The farmers who live near her island hear her singing and know who she is, but they never see her.
The Lady sees ordinary people, loving couples, and knights in pairs reflected in her mirror.
One day, she sees the reflection of Sir Lancelot riding alone. Although she knows that it is forbidden, in love, she looks out the window at him.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot
The mirror brakes, the tapestry flies off on the wind, and the Lady feels the power of her curse.
Out flew the web and floated wide-
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.
An autumn storm suddenly arises. The lady leaves her castle, finds a boat, writes her name on it, gets into the boat, sets it adrift, and sings her death song as she drifts down the river to Camelot. The locals find the boat and the body, realize whom she is, and are saddened. Lancelot, in Love, prays that God will have mercy on her soul.
Lord Alfred Tennyson’s Inspiration
This is one of Tennyson’s most popular poems. The story of the Lady of Shalott is a version of “Elaine the fair maid of Astolat”, from Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur. Elaine’s naive love for Lancelot was unrequited. She died of a broken heart (committed suicide). Her dead body (with a suicide note between her hands) was floated down the Thames to Camelot.
Some late authors wrote about her, or inspired in Tennyson’s poem, such as, Agatha Christie that wrote a Miss Marple mystery entitled “The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side”.
Other forms of art were inspired by it, like, The Pre-Raphaelites Brotherhood painters. Where a good example is Waterhouse who made three separate paintings of “The Lady of Shalott”. I have a copy of one of them hanging above my bed… LONG STORY!) CLICK TO ENLARGE
Even in a modern world, we have the exquisite work of Loreena Mckennitt in the following song:
and finally:
THE POEM
The Lady of Shalott – 1842 version
“On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil’d,
Slide the heavy barges trail’d
By slow horses; and unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower’d Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, ” ‘Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.”
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower’d Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
“I am half sick of shadows,” said
The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
“Tirra lirra,” by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower’d Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river’s dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance –
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right –
The leaves upon her falling light –
Thro’ the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.”
Have you ever met someone, and from that first moment you knew there was something special about them?
When a friendship was formed quickly and easily, and from the start you felt like this person knew you better than anyone ever could. You may have just met an Anam Cara.
Anam Cara is the Gaelic term for a soul friend. It is much more than just a regular friendship – the Anam Cara friendship is deep and transcendent. An Anam Cara knows your thoughts, your feelings, your past and your present sometimes better than you do.
The meaning of Anam cara is Soul Friend – Anam = Soul and Cara = Friend. An Anam cara offers spiritual direction. This includes the invitation to the awakening of your emotional body/mind/soul.
At one time or another we have all felt lonely or isolated. We have all had times were we felt misunderstood; standing on the outside looking in, just longing to belong. The Anam Cara eases that feeling of loneliness and isolation. Our Anam Cara understands us at a deep, spiritual level, and reminds us that we are never alone. They provide shelter from the storm and a light in the darkest of places.
Our Anam Cara is not necessarily our spouse, or partner (though they can be). Frequently our Anam Cara fills the role of a best friend and confidant. An Anam Cara may be a life time friend, who appears to us in childhood and stays with us throughout the years. Or they may appear later in life to accompany us on our journey. They may stay for years, or go out with the tide. However long they stay, their presence is a gift and a blessing.
And just as we are blessed by this relationship, so they are blessed too, because we, also, are an Anam Cara.
A Friendship Blessing
From the book “Anam Cara” By John O’Donohue
May you be blessed with good friends.
May you learn to be a good friend to yourself.
May you be able to journey to that place in your soul where there is great love, warmth, feeling, and forgiveness.
May this change you.
May it transfigure that which is negative, distant, or cold in you.
May you be brought in to the real passion, kinship, and affinity of belonging.
May you treasure your friends.
May you be good to them and may you be there for them;
May they bring you all the blessings, challenges, truth, and light that you need for your journey.
May you never be isolated.
May you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your anam cara.
“Dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men.” Goethe
I have been thinking about some dreams lately. Dreams people had and also my dreams. My random, sometimes interesting reveries I’ve encountered in Dreamland.No, I am not only talking about dreams I have when sleeping
Today I concluded the 2nd out of 3 steps to my first BIG plan… and I am very happy. In a way I never thought I would. Better than this only having a True love, and having my Brazilian and English family in a single place- I miss them a lot, especially right now. (Guess my heart will always be partially broken).
After all:
“-What power would hell have if those imprisoned here would not be able to dream of heaven?”
Dream to Lucifer and the citizens of Hell, in Preludes and Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman
I decided to keep dreaming, but this time, with my feet on the ground! And things seem to be working!
All this reminded me of a movie I watched a while ago… it talks about dreams, inspiration, Love, eternal life…
“-People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.”
John Dee, in Preludes & Nocturnes. By Neil Gaiman
“Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.”
Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act 5, Scene 1
by W. Shakespeare
but from today’s dream… I AM CELEBRATING, for this one is coming true!
I woke up and got dressed as if time { past, present and future } was one, and in the following second I could not remember what was gone.
Is it me reflected here? And that? is that me house?I don’t know …
I always talk to myself, but I never see myself like this. What a strange thing! It seems everything was done and I… did nothing!
I think that is why I say that in the end, I do not remember people properly. But how appropriate is that? How would I [and you] be remembered?
I not even know what to think today. After all … NO WAY! I sound like a sad poet that despite its inspiration, the disease of unhappiness come over too soon … I do not like this!
I have to forget such beautiful lines and go back to the fact {the life} that waits for me.
I have to be grateful – I need to. To each second.And all its beauty!
My eyes are heavy, but my heart is radiant.
I want a party at home. It is not my birthday, but why not celebrate?
I do not remember anything special that happened on this day,
so,
What a glorious ordinary day!
I made a cake… it smells as good! whole house does and my soul loved it!
I’ll have an afternoon tea with cake. Not alone, but with me soul!
“Molly, my sister and I fell out,
And what do you think it was all about?
She loved coffee and I loved tea,
And that was the reason we couldn’t agree.”
Aline TeaParty Martins
Alice -by Tim Burton
I won’t say much, since I love Tim Burton’s works…
but this movie is very polemic even before its release… but for those like me…
March 5th 2010 is the day…. to enjoy Alice in Wonderland
and a nice and crazy Tea Party
What’s the most important room in your house? This would be a good question to begin a therapy analysis. I think it´s because when we reveal the most important place of the house in our opinion, we reveal the favorite place of our soul.
For some people, the most important place is the Kitchen, it’s not more beautiful or tidy. The tidiest place is the living room, remember? With the souvenirs, mirrors, rugs… In the living room children have to behave, wearing their masks. But the kitchen is different… there we are hungry, we have fire and happiness.
Remember those old stoves? Logs inside, coffee, sparkling fire, the smell of smoke, rosy cheeks…sometimes my soul misses these old country kitchens… these old stoves are different from the new ones, look at it like a single candle. A simple match can lighten it up. No art or science is necessary to do it, even children can do it! The lonely fire has a different personality. It’s different from the log fire, where we have to put a log in the perfect time, like in a fireplace.
People nowadays only know the electric or gas fire, they don’t know anything about the art of the logs, and with it much is lost. Exupèry said:
“somewhere the fire was burning and I could fly, and around the fire, some people were getting warm”.
Someone once said the men came to be when the first song was sung. And I think, it was sung by the fire. Before the song, the fire. A lighten fire can be a solitary communion. Solitary because the fire that sparkles there awakens some dreams that are only ours. But the solitary dreams become communitarian when we eat and warm up.
In the old houses in the countryside of my country, the kitchens used to be the last place of the house, the most distant from the entrance, like in my Grandparent´s house. Not because it was not important, but because it was protected by being there. To protect the intimacy of the family. It was also very close to a place of dreams, the Garden, where we could get some seasonings to cook special dreams.
But from living abroad I learnt something; many houses have their kitchens connected to the living room or some place people gather to talk. So everyone could enjoy the magic ritual of cooking, while listening to music and chatting. So, the cooking was part of the family and friendship routine. I would like to be many things, a pianist, gardener, writer, artist… life is short and the arts are many. But I would also like to be a cook.
My grandmother was a great cook (nowadays we cook for her, and she barely eat).I remember her cooking things that were so delicious I can´t describe, and she never had a notebook with recipes. (That´s why most of it was lost with her memory).
Sometime ago, when I used to have my own place, I used to like to invite friends to cook once a month. Yes, I didn´t invite them for dinner, I invited them to cook. The party used to start early, around 6 pm. And everyone helped, chopping, peeling, preparing. And we know, the objective is not the start, nor the end, it’s the path in between these two points. Eating is the end, but is very fast…but the path to get there is long. And we used to cook, drink a bit, eat a bit, laugh a lot, chat. It was ready about eleven o´clock. And we were happy.
Friends cooking before Poetry Sharing
Rossana and Cy working hard and being Happy
I feel happy when I cook, eve though I am not a cook. I prepare simple recipes, and like to try and create new ones. Cooking bring us close to the magical place of our soul, just like Vianne does in Chocolat by Joanne Harris, where through their food, they change the life of a whole country village… What makes me think I must finish reading this book now…
Fausto and Dani "wine experts"?
After feeding the body, we used to feed the soul with music, poetry, dance...ARTS!
Aline Cook Martins
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