healing haven

October 21, 2008

From Triton to Yaga (16)

Filed under: Baba Yaga journey,Enchanteur,healing,shape shifting,turtles — by thalia @ 3:45 am
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Before she knew it, she was riding a black mare, galloping over the verdant hills, her own satchel and the talisman bag received at the stables, deployed across her shoulders.  I wonder what is in the talisman bag?  There wasn’t time to glance at more than the package of dream seeds lying on top of other items.  This mare sure is in a hurry, the way she nickered, pulling at my arm until I mounted and gave her reign. I would have liked to ask a few questions to get a better idea of what this trip is about.  Something mentioned of Dream Masters and Baba Yaga.  Now there’s a combination!  What a sleek, almost iridescent black horse.  Her coat shimmers… well taken care of.   Reminds me of both “Black Beauty” and “The Black Stallion,” two books from childhood that completely enthralled me.  I don’t even know what her name is… another thing yet to be discovered.  I hope she knows where to go and isn’t just running for exercise.  Always needing to trust… always not knowing where the path leads and what one will learn… another lesson coming up.  The last she remembered, she had been playing in the ocean with a delightful turtle, an old friend of hers from her life as a mer-maid, newly returned daughter of Triton.


Previous to that she had been following her father as he moved into deeper waters.  Going from being afraid of him to recognizing her kinship with him, she felt she was on a roller coaster of emotions.  When the opportunity arose to play with Tico the Turtle when he appeared, it was exactly what she needed and wanted.  Growing up in the deep, she had frolicked with many turtles, fish, dolphins, even sea horses, as she learned the variables of the ocean and how to understand each interconnection with the other.  Her father ruled this area, keeping out undesirables by appearing ferocious, as Guardian of the Deep.  His seemingly evil appearance and ways were meant to weed out those wandering too close but who were not ready for the next step.  Those able to stand their ground and extend love regardless of his appearance–in spite of his appearance–were ready to be allowed on to the next level of experiences.  Those unable to overcome fear and extend love to something appearing bad were turned away.   


She had passed the criteria, not recognizing the monster as really being her long-ago father until that point.  Then she remembered more details of her time with him, her mother and siblings as mers.  Delighted to be on her way to see them all again, she allowed herself to be sidetracked when she saw Tico.  He had grown into a large sea turtle, the many years of existence and experience showing in his shell, now covered with various scars and abrasions, and his eyes, soft and loving and all-encompassing.  He had been such a wise teacher, even then much younger and smaller, yet someone who helped her learn patience and trust, all necessary to being able to find a quiet spot and quietly listen to, first her outer world, then her inner worlds.  Her father tended to be motivated but too critical and her mother loving but too dependent; Tico had helped her forge the best qualities of both parents.  He knew how to motivate others in a loving manner which she responded to best.  She had had dreams of him over the years she was primarily a human being, knowing him to be a great teacher and mentor, sharing his wisdom even in dreams or what might have been true-seeings, but never totally recalling from whence she knew him.  Her heart swelled to be with him again.



After time spent catching up, on her part (he knew all that happened with her over time), recognizing their means of communication was not verbal words but sounds and thoughts, she moved to ride on his back.  He wanted to take her somewhere.  As they swam, he conveyed that, once again, she was not going to remember it all, since she needed to go back and further experience the human condition.  There were still necessary experiences waiting for her.  But she would not be alone, and many of the associate traits of these other dimensions and worlds would still be with her, multiplied.  Learn, grow, know all as One!


The gentle sway of riding the turtle in the ocean somehow transformed to the more bouncy riding the black mare, bareback no less, over uneven terrain.  Here she was on her way to the Dream Master and Baba Yaga—what would she learn now?




September 5, 2008

Meeting Triton (15)

Filed under: Enchanteur,fiction,shape shifting — by thalia @ 4:14 pm
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Settling into a steady swim with broad sweeps of her powerful tail, Thalia moved quickly over the ocean floor strewn with shells, little fish seeking food, a discarded can here and there previously tossed onto the beach by someone careless and taken out with the tides, pieces of beach-washed and eroded glass of various hues from old soda and beer bottles.  She wasn’t exactly sure where she was headed so she ranged along the shoreline a bit, looking for something that would show her the way.  There was enough of the human in her to be annoyed at people throwing things away rather than recycling or at least placing into garbage bins.  The fish part just observed the objects as part of the landscape.  Until one gets caught in a plastic ring holding a six-pack of cans togetheror swallows a metal tab from a can.  None of us seem to be really aware until us, or someone we love, are hurt.


She entered a current leading away from the beach, a current of warmer, faster moving water.  Deciding to follow that for a while, Thalia changed direction with a flip of her tail and her fins, and basked in the warmth of the water.  She could see lights flickering in the distance and assumed it was the play of sunlight on the surface, reflecting down.  But she could discern colors in the light as she approached, colors becoming increasingly vivid and tantalizing.  The colors of the rainbow!  Here is where the rainbow intersected with the sea.  How beautiful!  But the other fish seem to be avoiding the area.  I wonder why?  It would be like my time of riding the rainbow to Rainbow Beach.  All that color and light surrounding me, embracing me.  Dare I risk it?  Will it be the same or is there a problem? 




She circled around and around the area where the crayon-lights penetrated the water, watching the fish as they approached.  It was almost as if there was a barrier: they would swim up to a point, then turn around and dart away.   The colors sparkle!  It looks as if the light-crystals would penetrate into whoever or whatever was in its path.  Light therapy!  Let the body be immersed in colors of all hues to help heal and become whole.  But there is also a hum, a sound, emanating from the rainbow.  Light and sound therapy!  So each organ and body part takes what it needs to move to the correct vibration, whether of light or sound or any combination it needs for wholeness and wellness.  Each being knows what it needs.  This would allow each part to receive the frequencies necessary for its growth.  Synergistic!  The whole is equal to more than the sum of its parts.   The merging of sound and light—what could be better?


Thalia edged into the whirling mix of colors and sounds, arching this way and that to be sure all parts of her were exposed.  She wound up automatically twirling in the encounter, not sure what she was seeing or feeling or hearing.  Closing her eyes momentarily, she gave herself up to the experience.


Once again she was riding the rainbow.  But this time she was not only riding the rainbow ever upwards through the ocean, she continued the ride into the air as the rainbow curved around the earth, then up into the heavens.  It was all part of her, one with her.  She was that and that and that as she encompassed all things.  She rose so high she was now coming back down, around the earth again, and then up through the earth and emerging into the ocean again.  She was back where she started, but was no longer who she was when she started.  She recalled the quote by TS Elliot: …the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.





Then suddenly, the colors and sound disappeared.  In their place was darkness and silence.  She waited, holding on to the sense of wonder.   The smell reached her before she could see what it rode on.  A putrid, disgusting, overwhelming smell of fumes and sulphur and noxious toxins.  She recoiled reflexively as her gills reacted to the smell of decay and corrupting flesh.  The darkness thickened, shimmered and took on a hideous form.  Was this the Triton she heard about?     Half man and half fish?  Exacting a price to allow anyone to pass to the Island of Mudjimba?  She remembered pictures from mythologies, teeth bared, grotesque smile. The better to eat you?   




The smell and sight was so overpowering, she wanted to recoil from him.  Not just odious, but a sense of evil emanated from him.  The hell-fire red eyes added to the sense of evil.  Was this Triton?  Or something else?  Much worse?  The smells became suffocating, and the baseness, the heaviness of his presence seemed to drag on her.  Repelling–yet drawing her as a magnet of negative pole draws one of positive pole.  Lumps all over his face and body, maybe tumors?  Black, sharpened teeth.  Arms outstretched as if to welcome but seem more ready to envelope and annihilate.       


And yet?  She knew she was that, too.  She needed to relax her fears and extend love to this creature, whatever it was.  A few deep breaths, a remembrance of the rainbow experience and the connections to all things, “this, too, oh Lord.  I am that.”  She could feel the love fill her from Grace, and pour out of her, from Grace.  She reached for the black crystal in her hair and offered it to him, in love, in connection.  His aura altered as he graciously received the crystal, and held it close to better see.  Thalia could observe the crystal first enhancing the red fire from his eyes, but then changing it into many colors, like the rainbow, and finally, into sparkling white light.  


His appearance changed.  Long seaweed-rope hair, crystal ocean-blue clear eyes, human upper body and arms with green fish tail.  Still strange but more familiar.  His words bubbled out:  Sirrssle…welcome home!  You’ve been away for a long time.  We’ve missed you.




What do you mean?  Who are you?


I am your father, Sirrssle.  You disappeared many, many tides ago.  We could find no trace of you.


My father?  How can that be?  You now look familiar, but…


I gave you this black crystal when you matured to the egg-laying stage, to protect and remind you of your ocean origins, no matter where you travelled.  And now you bring it back to me.  I am the Guardian of the Deep.  Those who are frightened of me in my other form, flee.  Those who can accept or even love, are allowed entrance.  You have returned to your family, from once upon a tide.


But I am human now.


You did not appear human as you swam here.


I am able to shape-shift.


Can humans do that?  I didn’t know that.


They can if they focus and are able to move beyond themselves and what they think is their identity.  Most don’t.  But I don’t look like you.


He held up a polished piece of glass, now a mirror.  She could see herself, no longer all fish but now a meld of fish below with green scales on a fish tail with human features.  Well, not exactly human—my face would be considered ugly by human standards. My long, rough rope-hair looks rather coarse and ungainly, and is such an odd shade of brown with green highlights.  And my skin is really slightly scaly with protrusions that I thought were tumors on him.  No, I would be considered ugly.  But somehow he…father? Doesn’t seem so ugly now.  He seems natural, like a mer-person.  Pre-Atlantian or future earth… or both? 






He swam off, to who knows where?  She hesitated, looked in the mirror again, then followed.


Thalia had met the Triton, and he was her.




(see also:  http://enchanteur.wordpress.com/2008/09/06/meeting-triton/#comments)




August 9, 2008

Searching for Triton (14)

Filed under: Enchanteur,fiction,SoulCollage — by thalia @ 7:12 am
Tags: , , ,


Talking with the people gathered at Rainbow Beach, Thalia heard mention of others who already departed to travel to Mudjimba Island and the Triton that one has to meet before being allowed entrance.  First arrange for a ferry, then be literally dropped off into the water to meet the Triton and appease him in some undefined way, and then, hopefully, finally getting to the Island.  What a long drawn-out process. The ferry is away on a trip so I would have to wait for its return and then do my own bargaining.   I wonder if there isn’t a quicker way so I can catch up with the others.   Sounds like the more adventurous are already there.  And who is this Triton?  What does he want from me?  I just have some odds and ends in my satchel—I can’t imagine there would be anything he wants.


She sat down on the lovely sand, specked with the now-crystal Crayola specks from the Crayola Rainbow.  Gathering up a few of the crystals and watching the interplay of color and light, Thalia decided to look for at least one crystal of every color. 


How long will this take?  But how beautiful they are.  Definitely worth the time to create a ‘Crayola’ box of 64 light-crystals.  Just read that the box of 64 is now 50 years old after having been introduced on the Captain Kangeroo TV show in 1958.  Crayola says more than 200 million of these boxes were sold containing enough crayons to circle the earth 24 times.  Maybe that is where my Crayola Rainbow Ride came from. 


I love the quote by Robert Fulghum?  “Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon.  A happiness weapon.  A beauty bomb.  And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one.  It would explode high in the air – explode softly – and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air.  Floating down to earth – boxes of Crayolas.  And we wouldn’t go cheap, either – not little boxes of eight.  Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in.  With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest.  And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination.”   


Yes, wouldn’t that be wonderful—bombs of Crayolas—of color to delight instead of bombs to kill.  Look at how they catch the light and shimmer.  It’s like a kaleidoscope, a light show.   She held the crystals this way and that, becoming totally immersed in and mesmerized by the sparkle.




Atlantis rises again, just as they said it would.  We measure the rise in barely perceptible increments, thus allowing us time to formulate plans and, perhaps, time for us to adapt.  As the ancient ones always said, a world gained is a world lost.


We go to survey the changes, Sssss-irl and I.  We will then return and report to the engineers so they can calculate how much time remains now before new evacuations are needed.  Swimming to the rising Atlantis, we scramble over chunks of marble gleaming in the moonlight to the apex of the high temple ruins and measure the distance to water’s edge.  Each moon-pass saw us there, walking a heartbeat’s distance further down the slope.  The incoming waves scour the marble one final time, a final smoothing-out of edges originally rough when entering the deep, and worn smooth over the millennium by the peace of the water. 



I remember playing amongst the original columns and buildings, running lithely, the one who is now Sssss-irl chasing, never quite able to catch me.  Those were the lifetimes when we could run gracefully on land.  Now, all has changed.   We have changed.  But still we play amongst the ruins, swimming and frolicking with ease, enjoying the light filtering through the water as flocks of multi-hued fish glint colors as they bank from one side to the other.  Sometimes the big fish, the Sharp-Teeth Eater, would appear, scaring us into hiding amongst the marble half-hidden by plant-growth.  We wriggle down into the algae, becoming as still as the ancient skeletons of lost civilizations entombed with us. 


As we wait, the shadow of Sharp-Teeth and old times passes over us, and we remember.  It is the transitions that are hard.  Over time, we move from one form to another, initially not remembering the others.  But during moments of quiet and awareness, the impact of the whole can overwhelm.  Questions swim and dart like a flock of fish as we wait.  How long will it take?  How long did it take?  What will happen to us this time?  Should we even try to adapt – once again?   We haven’t totally completed the last transition, and now another? 


With a long out-breath, hiss of water over gills, I turn to Sssss-irl and observe her legs almost blended into powerful back flippers, remnants of fingers showing from front flippers, eye membrane complete over eyes that have gradually migrated sideways to increase visibility to 180 degrees.  Yes, over the ages we adapted to our watery surroundings, and now?  Now what?  Do we stay below and continue this process, or rise above and start the reversal?  Atlantis rises again. 




Whoa!  What was that?  When was that?  Who was that?  But it gave her an idea. Why wait for the ferry?  I can change shape and swim to meet the Triton.  Who knows what sights are in the waters around here?  She carefully gathered all the lovely crystals.  Tucking the largest jet-black crystal into her pocket, Thalia placed the rest into a plastic baggie from her satchel and returned the bag of lights into the satchel, feeling sad as their sparkle disappeared from view.  She walked to water’s edge and sat down with her legs extended into the blue world.  Thalia then took the black crystal from her pocket and wound it into her long hair. 


A moments pause, focus, intent… and she shifted, flipping to face the water, then squirming deeper into the brine, satchel diagonally across her scaled body, legs now fused with tail flipper.  Another wriggle and the satchel settled into a better placed for long travel.  She was on her way to search for Triton.

(see also http://enchanteur.wordpress.com/2008/08/09/searching-for-triton-2/#comments)



July 21, 2008

Pirates of Panama (13)

Filed under: Enchanteur,fiction,memoir — by thalia @ 6:49 pm
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Thalia inhaled the wonderful, familiar smell of the ocean and listened to the gentle lapping of the waves onto the beach.  Nearby, a group of people were dancing and delighting as the creative rainbow flowed onto the beach and everyone on it.  She was about to join them, but still felt a little dizzy from the marvelous Rainbow/Comet ride from Tholos, so she looked around for a spot where she might be able to sit quietly and gather all her senses back into the here and now.


A little ways off were what appeared to be, stone ruins barely visible above the undulating sea grasses.  She ambled along a path and came upon a cluster of old ruins.  Thalia walked over to the closest one, placing her hands on its rough surface.   She then moved from one to the other, touching the remaining stone walls and buildings, feeling the heat the stone captured from the sun.  She sat on a protruding rock, leaned back, felt the solid stone beneath and behind her, great for grounding her.  Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to drift on the still-heard sounds of the nearby rolling tides.  The warm air soothed her skin that had become somewhat cold from the comet portion of her ride.  It felt good to feel the heat to penetrate into her, warming her core.






She smelled smoke just as she felt a sudden heat blast surging through the rocks and stones into her. Thalia jumped up and was thrown into masses of people yelling as they stampeded for cover.  “Pirates!”  “Pirates are here!  Run for your life!” “It’s Morgan the Pirate!”  Screams, smoke, chaos surrounded her as people scrambled every which way to escape.  She started to seek cover, but then realized they moved right through her, seemingly oblivious to her presence.  She was the observer of this madness—she wasn’t actually there in it. 


Thalia then recognized what she was seeing.  Years ago, when she was first married she lived in Panama for almost a year.  While there, she and her husband, and 2 of his service buddies, went to visit Old Panama—Panama Viejo—after a Thanksgiving dinner at their apartment.  She loved walking among the many stone ruins and then reading about the history of the place, which was fascinating.  Old Panama was located near the ocean.  Her husband took many pictures, most of which were turned into slides, with a few later made into photographs.



Panama Viejo, a World Heritage site founded in 1519 by Peter Arias and 100 other inhabitants, was the first permanent inhabited settlement in the America’s along the Pacific.  After being presented with a coat of arms by Charles V of Spain, the town became an important base where gold and silver gathered from Peru was sent back to Spain.  Much wealth accumulated in the port city. 



By 1610, the city grew to a population of 5,000 with 500 homes, a convent, a hospital and a cathedral.  At the beginning of the 17th century, the city had been attacked by pirates, attracted by the wealth, and by the indigenous people of Darien.  An earthquake in 1620 and the Great Fire in 1644 destroyed much of the city, which was then rebuilt. 


However, on January 28, 1671, the English pirate, Henry Morgan, attacked the city of 10,000 inhabitants with his 1400 soldiers.  The resulting fire completely destroyed the city, necessitating a new city to be rebuilt a few kilometers away.  Between the massacre and the fire, this action by Morgan the Pirate is still considered to be “the most barbarous atrocity ever perpetuated by a British privateer against Spanish colonies in America.” (Wikipedia)



Morgan was arrested and taken to England, proved he had no prior knowledge of the peace treaty between England and Spain, so was knighted in 1674 before returning to Jamaica to assume the post of Lieutenant Governor.  He died in 1688, one of the few pirates able to ‘retire’ from piracy.  Errol Flynn’s 1935 film, Captain Blood, was loosely based on Morgan’s life.


Panama Viejo was so peaceful when Thalia visited it in the early 1960’s—a contrast to those tumultuous days in 1671.  An even greater contrast was the real damage pirates do compared to the entertainment versions like Mary Martin in Peter Pan where Thalia was thrilled to see her glide across the stage in the play and loved the Walt Disney cartoon-movie version of Captain Hook. And, of course, Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.  The modern version of pirates was presented in Pirates of the Caribbean.


Quite a difference between the brutal reality and the romanticized fictional.  But it is nice to be aware of both as each balances the other. 




Thalia got up and walked to join the others on the beach.  I love my time alone, but I also love time spent with people.  Good balance—to be able to ride the Rainbow and to walk the sand.


(see also http://enchanteur.wordpress.com/2008/07/23/pirates-of-panama/#comments)



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