Eddies of Love

For my beloved:

I do not question. Instead, I thank you for such sublime, abandoned moments outside of ordinary space/time where we become consummately entwined. 

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The Calling

Spirit:

Come, come and meet me there, there where is neither. Where reality and unreality merge, where the lines are blurred and crossed, fixed in a point of being unfixed. A gatweway and hole in space/time.

Come, come meet me there, be there until fear prickles your skin, sweat trickles down your back, unable to turn back, let fear give way to Beauty.

Come, I will meet you there.

The Weaver Of Snow

The Weaver Of Snow by Fiona Macleod

In Polar noons when moonshine glimmers,

And the frost-fans whirl,

And whiter than moonlight the ice-flowers grow,

And the lunar rainbow quivers and shimmers,

And the Silent Laughers dance to and fro,

A stooping girl

As pale as pearl

Gathers the frost-flowers where they blow:

And the fleet-foot fairies smile, for they know

The Weaver of Snow.

And she climbs at last to a berg set free,

That drifteth slow:

And she sails to the edge of the world we see:

And waits till the wings of the north wind lean

Like an eagle’s wings o’er a lochan of green,

And the pale stars glow

On berg and floe…

Then down on our world with a wild laugh of glee

She empties her lap full of shimmer and sheen.

And that is the way in a dream I have seen

The Weaver of Snow.