The dream weaver sleeps

Good morning dear friends and followers.
Today I present to you a poem I named The dream weaver sleeps. What is consciousness?
Have a great read. 

The dream weaver sleeps

A deep yet conscious sleep;

dreaming things wondrous

and things so very mundane.

She dreams of that from eons past.

Ages the dreamer remembers not;

not when or how long ago,

her endless journey had begun.

There were things that were,

and things that never were.

Events that should have been,

but instead never happened;

and yet they are.

Or were they all what was,

and is, and whatever may be?

Realities only being mirrored projections,

realities created of our own consciousness;

Consciousness of things that were,

and of things to be?

She only knew that she was just

the focal point of one consciousness.

She knew one other fact: she was not alone.

She could feel other consciousness all about.

She was ageless;

she had no physical body.

She was ancient;

she was elder of the stars.

And those who loved her

have all gone to dust.

But for as long as the dreamer dreams,

she dreams of new realities;

And the dream time goes on...

Or is the dream dreaming the dreamer

like a weaver at her loom?

Her eyes opened and beheld a great sea

without a wave, as calm as glass.

In its waters she saw herself

for the first time in ages. 

And then the mist cleared,

and she found herself in a forest,

not like any she had seen before.

Castles and dwellings carved into its trees,

the life therein shone all about,

like the golden light of the post-noon sun.

Those living there were dancing, singing,

and going about their daily chores.

She felt the wind on her cheek,

Her hair fluttered and tickled her nose.

She sneezed, and so loudly,

that the sound warned all around,

“Something is here, where it does not belong!”

She knew not what to do, 

and for the first time she feared!

She had never thought of size before.

She was conscious of but a flowing motion,

like being a leaf, adrift at night,

on a great see of darkness.

But now knowing her size

and that of her world,

She felt more alone here

than she did in the void.

Something touched her shoulder;

She nearly fainted dead away!

This being stooped down,

breaking her fall,

catching her in his arms!

He speaks to her gentle words to soothe:

“Welcome home, Princess of the Stars.”

Composed by Cindy

©

Thank you very much dear friends or dropping by to read my poem. If you have any questions or just wish to share your thoughts, you are most welcomed to do so. 

✿ڰۣ❤In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ✿ڰۣ❤

Frizzy Lizzy Time

Hi my dear friends and followers. Today is Saturday, my another week has gone by. Well we all know what that means, It's Frizzy Lizzy time.

“Hi, peeps! You're just in time for a fresh cup of coffee! Come on in and pull up a chair or two.”

Frizzy Lizzy takes her jacket off and hangs it on the back of her chair – the chair with the cushions on the seat - and pours herself a cup of coffee.

"I just finished cleaning up around the yard to get it ready for fall and winter. I want to have it done before the snow flies. I have all the gardening tools put away in the garage and the potted plants brought in the house.

“The plants aren't the only thing around here that got potted lately. Last Saturday Charley and I went to a big cookout, the last one of the season, appropriately enough called the 'Last Supper.' It was a bull and oyster roast, and let me tell you, once the drink took hold there was bull all over the place!

“They cooked a side of beef slowly, over the coals, with corn on the cob, roasted oysters, hot potato salad, and plenty of coffee and desserts. And beer. And whiskey.

“You know how men get when they get around alcohol. Sometimes the liquor gets in, the testosterone goes up, and all common sense takes off. Well, Charley surprised me! He had a few shots and a few beers and he got feeling pretty good but he only sank to the level of a high school kid and took to bragging about his car – from back when he was in high school! It could have been worse. The price of drinks was included in the ticket.”

"Anyway, all of that bullshit made me think about fertilizing the lawn, so I asked about it at the garden center. They told me that if I did, it would grow healthier, thicker, and of course, that also means taller next spring and summer. Precisely why I won't be fertilizing the lawn this fall.

"Ahhh, but finally it's the weekend,” Frizzy sighs, as she sits in her recliner and puts her pink fuzzy slippered feet up. "I haven't been this excited over the end of the week since that time my cell phone got stuck on vibrate," Frizzy says, blushing a bit as she coyly smiles.

"Speaking of sex, I've heard it said that there is no age limit for sex. Actually, you can have a healthy sex life well into your later years. That is assuming you can still get sexually turned on at the sight of a partner your age. Maybe I was better off with that vibrating cell phone, my computer, and auto-dial software.

"I've also been told that a little yoga exercise can fix that problem quick enough. I suppose one good thing about yoga is that when I do the legs up and over, my boobs are closer to my chin then they have been in years!

"Earlier today there was an accident down the road a bit from here, involving the careless use of a cell phone while driving. I can't be bothered with a cell phone in the car. I am much too busy giving folks the 'one-finger salute.'

“So this weekend is the last official day of summer and the first day of autumn. There are only 96 days until Christmas and Wal Mart has their toys and decorations out. I'm so glad that they don't have the holiday music in the stores just yet. 30 days of 'The Little Drummer Boy' is about all that I can take.

“But first we observe Thanksgiving Day. Fun, fun, fun!

“Thanks so much for sharing a coffee with me. See you later. Have a great weekend!”

I do hope you have had a good time here with Frizzy Lizzy

Thank you very much dear friends for dropping by and please share your thoughts and comments, they are most welcomed.

✿

ڰۣ

❤

 In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ✿ڰۣ❤

CORN PLUME AND BEAN MAIDEN

Good morning dear friends and followers, please join me in another instalment from The stories the Iroquois told their Children

This is a beautiful story from the mythology of the Iroquois about two things in their lives that are inseparable. I can't add to it except to ask you to enjoy it.

CORN PLUME AND BEAN MAIDEN

The Great Spirit had smiled upon his Red Children. The land was filled with plenty, for the Great Spirit had given to them the three sustainers of life, the corn, the beans, and the squash. Flowers bloomed, birds sang, and all the earth was glad with the Red Children, for the gifts of the Great Spirit.

On one side of a hill grew the tall, waving corn, with its silk tassels and plumes. On another side, beans, with their velvety pods, climbed toward the sky. Some distance down a third slope, beautiful yellow squashes turned their faces to the sun.

One day the Spirit of the corn grew restless. There came a rustling through the waving leaves, and a great sigh burst from the heart of the tall stalks. The Spirit of the corn was lonely.

After that, every morning at sunrise, a handsome young chief was seen to come and stand on the brow of the hill. On his head were shining red plumes. Tall, and strong, and splendid he stood, wrapped in the folds of his waving blanket, whose fringed tassels danced to the summer breeze.

“Che che hen! Che che hen! Some one I would marry! Some one I would marry!” the young chieftain would sing, many, many times.
One day, his voice reached the Squash Maiden, on the other side of the hill. The Squash Maiden drew about her a rich green blanket, into which she had woven many flaunting gold trumpet-shaped flowers. Then she ran swiftly to the young chieftain.

“Marry me! Marry me!” said the Squash Maiden, as she spread her beautiful gold and green blanket at his feet.

Then Corn Plume spoke thus to the Squash Maiden.
“Corn Plume cannot marry Squash Maiden. She is very beautiful, but she will not make a song in Corn Plume's heart. Squash Maiden will grow tired of his lodge. She will not stay in his wigwam. She likes to go a long trail, and wander far from the lodge.

“Corn Plume cannot make Squash Maiden his wife, for he is not content with her. But she shall be Corn Plume's sister, and shall sit in his lodge whenever she will. The maiden Corn Plume weds must be ever at his side. She must go where he goes, stay where he stays.”

Next morning at sunrise, the voice of Corn Plume was again heard, singing from the hilltop, “Che che hen! Che che hen! Some one I would marry! Some one I would marry! Che che hen! Che che hen!”

This time the song reached the ears of the Bean Maiden. Her heart sang, when she heard the voice of Corn Plume, for she knew that he was calling her. So light of heart was Bean Maiden, that she ran like a deer up the hillside. On and on, up and over the brow of the hill she climbed, till she reached the young chieftain's side.

Then Corn Plume turned and beheld the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen. Her eyes were deep and dark, like mountain pools. Her breath was sweet as the waters of the maple. She threw off her blanket of green, purple, and white, and stretched her twining arms to him.

Corn Plume desired to keep Bean Maiden forever close to him. He bent his tall plumed head to her. Her arms wound round and round the young chieftain, and Corn Plume was content.

So closely were the arms of Corn Plume and the Bean Maiden entwined, so truly were they wed, that the Indians never attempted to separate them. Ever after, corn and beans were planted in the same hill, and often a squash seed was added.

Since the Great Spirit had placed the corn, the bean, and the squash together on a hill, the Indian said they should continue to live and grow and occupy a hill together.
The door to Corn Plume's lodge was ever open to the Squash Maiden, if she chose to enter. But seldom did she stay in his wigwam. More often, she was found running off on a long trail.

But Bean Maiden remained true to Corn Plume. Always she was found by his side. Never did she leave his lodge unless he went with her. Corn Plume's lodge was her lodge, and her trail was his trail.

And because the Spirits of the corn and the bean are as one, the Indians not only plant and grow them together, but cook and eat them together. “In life, they were one,” they say. “We will not separate them in death.”

And now, when there a great rustling and sighing of the corn is heard in the White man's land, the Indians often say, “'Tis the Spirit of Corn Plume, crying for his lost Bean Maiden.

Thank you very much dear friends for dropping by to view my poem. Your thoughts and comments are more than welcome here, they are valuable to me.

✿ڰۣ❤ In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ✿ڰۣ❤

The Print

Good morning dear friends and followers. Today I bring you another of my poems about a different kind of elemental. This elemental we call earth some refer to her as Gaea. Have a great read

The Print

The weaver's shuttle flies on the wind,

sighing through the mountains, over peak and vale.

She sleeps in sheets of the whitest of snow.

Decades pass, and in the canyons and caves,

the lonely wind goes where light cannot;

High on the crags and low in the basins,

the wind howls, sighing down the mountain wall.

She awakens in the warmth of valley below,

The songbirds break her sleep, she sees the flowers wild.

In the warm, cradling arms of a staunch, ancient oak,

there she lies, safe and protected as seasons pass.

Summer, autumn, winter, and spring,

the seasons came and the seasons went.

She loves all seasons, all months, and all days,

But the passage of time means nothing to her.

She follows no clock nor notches any stick;

she has nothing to mark the passing time.

Time is but a part of the web,

the web of nature, continuously woven.

Woven and stitched to the fabric of Earth.

She is the one who embroiders each stitch.

Outside, who remembers her,

except for those who will perish with her?

A legend? Perhaps. A figment, some say,

of an active imagination that has gone afield.

And so would many say of the the lady of the wind,

so beautiful to behold, like a rainbow at noon or

the aurora borealis as it illumines the night.

But what of time? Time is but counted motion,

the motion of the seamless weaver.

The weave is perpetual, having no time.

For it is woven upon our living Mother, Gaea.

She, with Father Sky, is the giver of life!

Love and joy are the pure essence

of the Great Mother, Earth.

And so time passes, with each day

slipping into the next, day upon day.

And the cooling breeze flows freely

across the moonlit clouds.

But still no one can describe

the beauty that she is; 

the perfection that is hers,

as she weaves the colors

of the seasons.

Composed by Cynthia ©

Thank you very much dear friends for dropping by to view my poem. Your thoughts and comments are more than welcome here, they are valuable to me.

✿ڰۣ❤ In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ✿ڰۣ❤

WHY THE HARE HAS A SPLIT LIP AND SHORT TAIL

Good morning my dear friends and followers, welcome to another saga of  The stories the Iroquois told their children
Sometimes I think that the Wonder Stories of the Iroquois were told to the children by the old storytellers, with a sly smile on their face. This story surely had to be one of them – a story for the sake of the telling.

WHY THE HARE HAS A SPLIT LIP AND SHORT TAIL

Once a rabbit began to run back and forth through the woods, calling for snow, snow, snow! It was one of those large, gray rabbits, with long ears, that people call hares.

As this hare ran back and forth through the woods, he sang at the top of his voice, “Ah gon ne yah – yeh! Ah gon ne yah – yeh! Ah gon ne yah – yeh! Dah gen, dah ton, Ah gon ne yah – yeh! Ah gon ne yah – yeh!” This meant, “Snow,snow, snow! How I would run if I had snow! Snow, snow, snow! How I would run if I had snow!”

Now, strange as it may seem, as this hare ran back and forth singing for snow, snow, snow, some flakes of snow began to fall. The hare was so delighted that he jumped up and down for joy.

“Ah gon ne yah – yeh! Ah gon ne yah – yeh! Ah gon ne yah – yeh!” he sang, in short, quick notes of joy. And the higher he jumped, and the louder he sang, the faster and thicker the snow came.

The hare was so delighted that he again began to run. All day long he ran, back and forth through the woods, calling for “Snow, snow, snow! How I would run if I had snow!” And the snow fell faster and faster. Thicker and thicker it came. The path in which the rabbit ran grew higher and higher, as the snow fell deeper and deeper.

But at last the hare was so tired that he could run no longer. He no longer sang for “Snow, snow, snow! How I would run if I had snow,” for now he had more snow than he wanted. The snow was up to the tiptops of the trees, and it was very hard to run.

The hare was very tired. He thought he must take a rest. Night was coming on. He looked about him. Near the path were the top branches of a willow tree, sticking out of the snow. He sprang into a crotch of those branches. There he could sit and rest for a time. Soon he fell asleep. He slept all night and part of the next day.

That night it began to rain, and it rained very, very hard. The snow began to melt, and it melted very, very fast, and when that hare awoke, not a flake of the snow was to be seen!

But there was the hare away up in the tiptop of that willow tree! What to do he did not know. He was very hungry. He wondered how long he could stay there and not starve. He saw some tender buds on the branches. He ate those, and then he gnawed bark for a time.

However, sooner or later, the hare knew he must jump or starve. He looked down at the earth. It looked very good to him. He could see some fresh green moss and some beautiful grass. One jump and they were his! But what a jump!

At last the hare whipped his courage up to the jumping point. He shut his eyes and gave one great jump to earth. But when he jumped, he caught his tail on the branch of the willow tree and left part of it up there. And when he jumped, he struck the front of his face on a sharp stone, and the stone split his upper lip in two.

Ever since then, hares have had split lips and short tails, and ever since then, willow trees have tails, or catkins, on them, in the spring.

Thank you all so very much for dropping by. Your comments and thoughts are more then welcome here.  You are most welcome to come back again any time you wish

✿ڰۣ❤ In Loving Light from the Fairy Lady ✿ڰۣ❤