Archive for love

The Story of the Green Man and his White Lady

Posted in Hestia's Hearth, It's In The Cards, My Inspirations, Soul Food Cafe Fun, Tarot Journey, You can do these! with tags , , , , , , , on 13/05/2010 by gwenguin1

Once upon a time, in a small kingdom by the edge of a wide, sweet sea there lived a King and Queen who reigned happily over their people.  There was but one wee grey cloud in sll the kingdom…  

 

The King and Queen were only able to have one child…


 The Lady Anemone Fionn, a daughter they deeply adored, for all that she was a solemn, chubby child who preferred the company of books and commoners to days spent gossiping in the court.   Since she was not the prettiest of children and did not have the sprightly temperament of many princesses, they despaired of her ever being happily wed.

 

 So she was allowed to wander among the commoners in sparrow-brown garb, where she learned about love and kindness, as well as tolerance in the huts and shops of the capital city.   As she began to grow older, she accepted the training she would need to be their heir without complaint or rebellion.  She wished to serve her country with the best she could be.

 

 

It was early in her training that the first letter from the Green Man came to them, aboard a gaily-painted ship, with sails of exotic silks.  One of the letters was given up to the King and Queen, requesting their daughter’s hand in marriage when she came of age.

 

 The other letter was delivered to the young Lady; from that day on she kept all of the Green Man’s letters in a box of delicate silver filigree.  She wore the key to the box around her neck on a plain silvery chain.

 

“Anemone Fionn, Sweet lady of the Beaches, you hold my heart in your gentle hands.  My Spirit sings at the merest thought of you, and my heart beats in tune with thine.  When the day comes that all see the beauty I do I shall claim you as my beloved bride.”

 

 His words had lost no power since they had been given to her by a man from the Green Man’s country when she had not yet blossomed into womanhood.
 
 

When the arrogant young princelings would laugh at her face and form she would reread them and find much comfort in the words he had written only for her.

 

 When no nearby princes or kings asked for her hand, she begged her parents to accept the Green Man’s pledge, and betroth her to the man who had comforted her, and sparked her mind to discover more about the world than any other Princess deigned to pretend to know.

 

And so it came to pass, after many long years that the Green Man wrote to the Lady and told her.  “I will be with you in truth with the coming of summer my sweet Lady Anemone.”

 

Faioléan the seagull perched close to the sorrowful lady and spoke in his skree-ing language.  “Weep not my lady fair.  The Uaine Fear, comes to claim thee, sailing across the wide green seas.”

 

 

The lady did return, “O Faioléan tell me true, does he love this plain face of mine?”

 

 

“Fear not fair Lady Anemone, the Uaine Fear comes for you, seeking yon beauty across the wide, green seas

 

 

The Seagull hopped close enough for the Lady to smell the sea and fish on his feathers, his bright eye locked with hers.

 

 

“Fear not dear Lady, for the Uaine Fear cometh to you, seeking your beauty and pure spirit.”

 

 

So the lady returned day after day, waiting by the ocean for this secret lover who sought her.

 

 

Her pale cheeks were given a golden glow by the sun’s light, and the gentle, salt air of the ocean soothed her breathing so much so that she even stopped coughing.

 

 

The dull brown hair that had been so lifeless and limp began to have secret tints of gold in its curls.

 

 

The longer she remained by the sea, and forsook the rich food and many sweets in the castle the slimmer her limbs became, and her skin became smooth and honeyed.

 

 Every day the same gull was at her side, reassuring her of the Green Man’s advance across the wide, sweet sea.
 
 

Every day, the sailors on the docks, calling to her how pretty she was becoming, greeted the Lady and she would thank them prettily for their kind words.

 

 

Every night as she lay in her soft, fluffy bed the Green Man would send nightingales to sing her to sleep.  In their sweet voices she heard the words the Green Man had written to her all those years ago.

 

 

One summer day, years ago, the Green Man gifted her with vibrant silks to clothe herself with.  They had delicate laces, golden and silver buttons, the fur of exotic animals, and rare jewels to sew to the clothes with Thread-of-Gold.

 

Every season the Lady would take them out and ponder dresses from them, and them put them away, until she would have a fairer form to wear them upon.

 

 

One day as she dressed in another drab gown, that now hung off her like sails on a windless sea, her ladies-in-waiting all conspired to measure her for a new gown. 

 

While the Lady waited at the shore for the Green Man, the ladies in waiting made her a new gown, from a deep peacock blue silk, trimmed with Peacock’s feathers and Thread-of-Silver, and many, many tiny pearls crusting the bodice.
 

When the lady returned that evening, and began to ready herself for dinner her ladies-in-waiting slipped the blue gown over her head, and styled her hair to show off the golden dusting on the soft curls.

 

 The Lady looked in her polished silver mirror, and stared.  Surely this lovely creature brushed in gold dust couldn’t be her!!   

From whence had come the womanly curves, and kissable freckles?

 

 

The same princes and Kings who had jested at her expense gathered about her, each vying for her full attention.

 

 

She laughed and treated them with tolerance, but none of them turned her head from the Green Man, who had sought her hand when no others would.

 

 

Night after night, she fended off a parade of handsome Princes and Kings.  Day after day her ladies fashioned another gown, trying to outdo the previous one in beauty and uniqueness.

 

 

Day after day she watched the seas for some sign of the green Man’s bright sails on the horizon.

 

 

At last there was only white silk that seemed to hide all other colours in its shadows left in her case of fabrics.

 

 

She took it out and caressed it, delighting in the way it slid through her fingers.  “I wish to save this gown for when my future husband, the Green Man, arrives.  And this is how I want it to look.”

 

 

And so it was that her ladies fashioned a gown to be the envy of every highborn woman in every country.

 

 

It was of clean and simple lines, and a bodice set with squares of abalone, mother-of-pearl, and lapis lazuli set in it like a necklace.  With Thread-of-Silver, they embroidered circles of ivy, mistletoe sprigs, holly, and white roses along the bottom of the gown.

 

 

The lady went to the Royal Jeweller and asked him to make her a discrete coronet.  A silver band to sit among her curls, engraved with flowers, and set with magical stones that continued in the silver netting that fell to the ground.

 

 

The lady tried it on, and she was well pleased and thanked her ladies-in-waiting with generous gifts and sweet words of gratitude.

 

 

And so, not long after, she spied a black spot on the horizon.  Her heart beat so she could barely breathe, and she ran home, calling for her ladies in waiting as soon as she had seen the bright colours of the Green Man’s sails.

 

 

Once she was dressed in her white gown and she had caught her breath she returned to the docks to await the Green Man.

 

 

At long last, the Green Man’s fleet filled the harbour, their sails were each of a different pattern of silk, and they lay at anchor peacefully.

 

 

With all due ceremony, and great pomp, the Green Man walked from his ship, across the plank, and onto the dock, where the Lady awaited him with bright eyes and glowing smile.

 

 

She could see nothing of his face behind a cunningly carved emerald mask.  At last they stood face to face, and still he held up the mask.

 

 “

My Dear Lady of the Blue Harbour.  Will you still wed me?”

 

 

The Lady answered happily. “I have awaited this day forever and a day, yes, I will wed you.”

 

 

At last the Green Man took down his mask, showing everyone an ugly, twisted old man’s face with spindly legs and potbelly.

 

 

“One last time I would ask thee.  Wilt thou marry me as I am?”

 

 

“I will marry thee, whether thou art handsome or no.  You have always treated me with gentleness and respect, and have gifted me with loveliness and comfort.  Yes, I will gladly call you husband, and follow wherever thou wilt go.”  The Lady knelt in her white raiment and kissed the wrinkled hand tenderly.

 

 

The Green Man threw back his cape and dashed the mask to pieces on the dock’s planks.  “And so our love will be fulfilled.!!”

 

 

In a flash of golden light he stood tall, becoming a young and very handsome prince, medals at his breast and a golden crown covered in rare jewels sat amongst his golden brown curls.  His sea green eyes were afire with love for the Lady.

 

“When I was young a Sorceress cursed my Kingdom and me.  Neither would know a happy day, or prosperity until I would be accepted by a Lady who did not recoil at the ugliness she set upon me.”

 

 

And so it was that the Green Prince and his White Lady were married and travelled to his Kingdom on the other side of the deep, sweet sea, where they lived happily ever after, and made sure that the people of their kingdoms would know happiness as well.

 

 

Again, what has this to do with out Tarot Journey?  This surely is The Lovers of the Major Arcana.  The choice between love and lust, a true connexion, and a passing fling.

  

 

The Lovers

"Love has a thousand feathers."

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My Holiday Spell for You

Posted in Everday Living, My Inspirations, Old Deep Roots, Stuff And Nonsense with tags , , , , , on 23/12/2009 by gwenguin1

I offer you Solstice Greetings

of love, peace, and abiding

joy.  Whatever Holiday

you celebrate this time of the

year, I wish you the best of

 everything, now and always.

 

 I wish for all of you a

lifetime of loving

and being loved.  I

pray you will

always have faith,

and a friend that

understands you. 

 

 May the God and Goddess

bless you with everything

you need in the coming

year and may you

always know

the benefits of faith.   

 

 I wish you a future full

of laughter and Light. 

May your family be many

and  your enemies few.

 

I may not be able to give

everyone precious to me

a Christmas gift,

but I can tell them h

how much I value them

and their friendship. 

 

Through the past 4 1/2

years you have

inspired, trusted, supported,

loved, scolded and

bossed me around.  

 

I cannot imagine a life

without you, for it would

be grey indeed.  In the 

brittle blackness of depression

you have become stars and

constellations, that delight

and comfort me. 

 

Each morning it is a

wee bittie easier to

choose to seek out joy

instead of sorrow. 

Every day it is a little

easier to live because of

your presence in my life.

 

I am here to thank you

for every second of it.  You

have helped me grow

as a person and a spirit,

as well as a creative being. 

So, my dear E-family/friend

I send you the

gift of appreciation.

Happy Holidays,

Thank you,

Now and Forever,

Gwen

In the Arms of Hestia

Posted in Everday Living, Family History, Hestia's Hearth, Old Deep Roots, Soul Food Cafe Fun with tags , , , , , on 01/11/2009 by gwenguin1

My throat was closing tight, and oxygen was getting scarce.  I itched in places that sent shivers of fear through me.  Yet, I couldn’t give in to the fear, not there, not anywhere.  I am the strong one, the calm one who can always be counted on to cover for everybody else.  Why should I go to the people who won’t even let me finish a sentence, never mind shut up and listen?

 

So I go to the one place, and to the people I know will listen.  I can trust them to care, I have trusted them with my deepest sorrows, and my quiet joys and they have loved me the same, and supported me no matter what I have or haven’t done.  And now they have gifted me with a safer place, seated at the hearth of my favourite Goddess, Hestia-

 

She is the One who warms the home, and guides the children, the One that feeds everyone happily and impartially, and takes pride in the homeliest of tasks.  The One Woman who can find happiness in a sink of dirty dishes, and the laundry to be folded and put away.  The All-Mother who makes sure everyone has their vitamins, and warm dry slippers.

 

You will see her hand in rows of home-canned food, patchwork quilts, crocheted afghans, and daintily embroidered handkerchiefs.  You will hear her in the songs that echo of family, and shared laughter.

 

It is to her I turn.  She is brimming over with comfort and love, in her arms I can admit the fear and helplessness that gripped me when I struggled for breath, and knew how bad I was getting; even though those around me doubted that what I felt was real. 

 

She has the most comforting tones of my mother’s voice

(happy memories in my heart),

The soul-borne empathy

(we understand one another so well)

Of my brother Matt, and the ineffable

Ability to awaken my mischief

(necessary for someone of my moody nature)

Like my brother Jim.

 

And yet, nothing like them at the same time, Hestia carries the wisdom of always watching those around her with a protective eye- but is it She who teaches us that Parents must let their Children fly or fall on their own eventually, or they will never believe in themselves, nor trust themselves to weather difficult life-lessons.

 

She is also the one to remind us that our sorrows make us one with everyone around us, and our kindnesses will make us welcome to all who have been touched by us.  And yet, it is no exaggeration to speak of the She-Bear protecting her cubs, or the Lionesses in a pride mothering one another’s litters. 

 

She’s the one that gets up at Midnight to check on restless sleepers, and quiet little coughs.  The one who rises first, to start coffee and breakfast for a family that overflows bloodlines.

 

She is the keeper of family histories, and the funny, naughty things that dignified elders did in their youth.  She will show you pictures of people you will never meet, and tell you they are family.

 

It is wrapped in her love, warmed by her protection, and strengthened by her belief in me that I am become my best.  She is the Teacher, Care Taker, Feeder, Nurturer, Taker of Temperatures, Maker of Treats, and She Whose Kiss Makes All Things Better.

 

A Happy Memory Surfaces

Posted in Everday Living, Family History, Old Deep Roots, Stuff And Nonsense with tags , , , , , , , , on 10/04/2009 by gwenguin1

I have always been a precocious, bull-headed little geek.  I was reading by the age of three, and always fascinated by scientific.  Christmas age 8, what did I want?  Colorforms Dolls?  Nope.  A new Barbie, with clothes?  Huhn-uhn.

 

“Oh for goodness’ sake Gwen Marie, what do you want then?”

 

“I want the Scientist Kit, the one with stuff ta take apart an’ look at their insides.”

 

“My God Herm, she sounds just like her Mother!!”  Quoth Grandma DeShaw.

 

“Hrrrrrrmmmmmbbbbbblllllllllrrrrrrrrrrrrr…” Meaning, “You’re wrong, but I don’t want to fight.”

 

“I’ll let your Mother buy you that one.  What else do you want?”  Meaning, “Please ask for something I can relate to?”

 

“I wanna Jane West doll, cuz she comes with a saddle an’ every thing else, and she can really ride my horses!”  Oh the relief and delight on her face when I said that.

 

“What else Puss?” 

 

“I wanna artist kit, with paints, paper, an’ brushes.  An’ more horses.”  I adored horses and collected the Breyer Model Horses.  I had quite a herd, and they all had names, pedigrees and personalities.  I knew I would probably never own a horse, so this was how I satisfied that longing.

 

“Are you makin’ me a scarf, mittens, an’ hat again?  Everybody at school think it’s cool that you make ‘em for me.”  How she beamed every year when I said that!  What she didden know was that her love stayed in the yarn, an’ I felt safe when I wore ‘em. 

 

And winters were long, cold, and dismal in Michigan.  We got ‘Lake Effects Snow’ from the East and West.   A winter storm coming across the Great Lakes would glut itself on the cold waters below, and then disgorge all of that moisture when it makes landfall.

 

This is the land of lawn Mowers that double as a snow-blower, 50 pound bags of rock salt stacked in the garage, where it was necessary to store one’s wheels to be more sure of it starting every morning.

 

Cap, gloves, and a long scarf were a necessity.  Very often, all you would see of your neighbours were eyes peering from bundling up, until one waddled like brightly painted Penguins into the promise of a new snowfall.

 

More than a few times a year the snow would drift high enough, that someone had to come at the snow from the outside.  The first one to dig out would start on a neighbour’s sidewalk and driveways.

 

All that babble to illustrate why those simple accessories were a necessity, a person could lose fingers, toes, or bits of their faces if they weren’t protected.  And the ones I was gifted with every Christmas were infused with her protective, determined love.

 

To those of you who have never known this, my sincerest apologies.  And to those of you who have been blessed by this experience, wasn’t it wonderful to remember such a moment?

For Our Bobbie Jo

Posted in Everday Living, Family History, My Inspirations, Old Deep Roots with tags , , , , , , , , , , on 16/05/2008 by gwenguin1

This was written in response to the ‘Saddest Words’ prompt on

http://www.squidoo.com/ilpostino

 

Once Upon a time, I was married, and loved my husband’s family as I do my blood kin.  Some of them were easier to love than others, my husband’s sisters Kathy and Melanie I still call onw another sisters and our love grew deeply and permanently.  From each of them I was blessed with a beautiful, loveable niece.

 

Our Kathy lived near my husband and I in Corvallis, Oregon with her sons, Brian and Brandon, and her daughter Roberta Joliene (Bobbie Jo).  Brandon and Bobbie were of school age and I watched Bobbie after Kindergarten at my house. 

 

Bobbie and I had wonderful times together, puddle-jumping, cooking, and other such delights filled our afternoons.  I called her, “Ma Petite.” , and I became ‘Aunt Bear’., I wondered why she called me that until the day she tried her best to wrap child-sized arms around my Earth Mother hips, looked up at me from adoring green eyes and said, “I call you my Aunt Bear, do you know why?”

 

“No, ma petite, I don’t know.  Why do you call me your Aunt Bear?”

“Because huggung you is like hugging a teddy bear!!”  She squeezed as tightly as she could, and I hugged her back.

 

“Oh thank you sweetie!!”  I managed to say this around the lump filling my throat.

 

Bobbie had been the flower girl at my wedding, and my husband caught this utterly darling photo of her:

The Perfedt lower Girl

 

 

Time does what it does best and passed, Kathy moved back to her beloved New York, I separated from my husband and returned to Arizona; Bobbie and Brandon grew up.

 

Kat and I kept in touch over the years, we have now been friends for over 30 years and will most likely be friends until we return to the First Home of All Souls.  Kat has not had an easy life by any road, and last year she was dealt the cruellest blow any mother could suffer.

 

In August of 2007, at the age of 18, Bubbie Jo passed away suddenly, leaving a silent, aching void behind.

 

All grown up?

 

So young, pretty, and loving; far too soon to be taken from her family and friends.

Unwilling farewell

 

Last weekend I dreamed of our Bobbie Jo, as she was when I was her Aunt Bear.  She came to me and asked a gift of me, one I must do, although in my heart I would not do it .  She held my hand, suffused with love and trust and  asked this simple gift of me.

 

“Let me go.”

So now, although I still weep and hear her voice in my heart; the hand of my spirit opens, and Bobbie Jo flies; bright and happy into the arms of All-Mother, who holds her in love and tenderness until we shall meet again.

 

And I, I must say the saddest words;

 

“Good-bye, ma Petite, and Gods’speed to you.”