Spun out of the Narrative Again

Why does it happen this break from the track of a narrative?

In truth it is hard being human, shapeshifter and writer.  It is hard being human and keeping the report between the everyday and the mythological going.

Holding a narrative is the work of the bardic nature.  The Bard,  the Storyteller  holds this role.  Sometimes the human has to go far away from the script to experience whatever it is that brings the workings of the myth and the human into being.  There is a dive, a descent,  an immersion into the experience that is required.  Making magic is an experience you see.   There is a structure to the process of  forging reality and undoing the strings of what binds us like puppets to a course. In this case it is the task of undoing the charm of the poisoned chalice.

So first you experience.

After that, the bardic nature awakens, often through shock or self-preservation.  You step back, process and view.  This always strikes me as an almost supernatural process. It is like many rivers of different dimensions can suddenly flow together and communicate with one another.  It is the seeing of the patterns and the different levels of the narratives that make the magic true.

Finally, it is the reporting back of it all as a script and a story.  This is such a needed and sacred act.  Without this all is lost.  Without the new story, the past will just keep on cruising, you see.  You have to put meaning and authority to these changes and occurrences.  Storytelling is an act of change, empowerment and healing.

It is a crime against healing and humanity that the value of our bards and storytellers has been lost. It is a defilement of nature and the mysteries of time.  But much of what is powerful and freeing for humans and nature has been scratched out and minimised by those bulldozing ruling forces.

But this is part of what the Cailleach is here to teach us in this book.  This is part of her great message.   She is teaching Crimson Glory how story works.  Ah, the power we have when we open up to the wisdom of the storylines.

You think writing stories is easy?

It is like pulling crocodile’s teeth.

Dear reader as you position yourself within this story I know you will find resonant themes in your own life. I know it will awaken your stories too.  I wonder how this story will move through you and with you. I wonder if through the air waves of everything a part of your story has already fed into mine?

The narrator is back. It has been a long,  brilliant and deep few months.

We have found the real life man within the bull and we have also been to death and back.

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Seed number 3

She was back fully in her living room.  Alone.  Her whole being felt the contrast.  She had never felt so close and yet so lost as she had just then in that cavity of the heart of bull with the man she had yet to meet in real life.

Seed number three was betrayed by the fact that she had come back with two drum sticks.

She picked up the new drum stick and felt the leather on it.

Somewhere in time a white bull had given its life for this.

She sobbed so deeply and she didn’t know why.

The Split

It felt like she was nudging her way around a very tight corner with a very narrow opening through which to slip.  She was drifting again. She had received a message via the fairy that morning that the Cailleach had contacted them from inner space to tell Crimson to get her drum out and go directly to the central point of the labyrinth to see the Minotaur. She said not to worry.  To pick up the drum with the buffalo hide and to be reassured that her own bull would guard her well.

It made sense.  Although Crimson did wonder what this thing about inner space was. Why not just outer space?   Even so, in her perceptive way,  she noticed that she felt the Crane woman closer and more personable than she had felt her for a long time.  A flood of relief poured through her body.

She was tired.  Spring had come and she could feel Bride and Cernunnos back on the land again.  The dragon energy was merging with everything in its friendly rejuvenating way and she knew that really she should just go with nature too and feel this lift within herself.  But in truth, the experience with the second seed of karma had taken it out of her. Plus, she still had to collect another five and then work out the codes all before Venus went direct again on 9 April.  It was 24 March now. Three more weeks of intense labour.  Really she thought, I would rather have a holiday than face this Minotaur character right now.

Somehow she knew the third seed would be in this experience.

So here she was with her buffalo hide drum, riding the buffalo through the drifts of time and right back to Knossos in Crete to the very centre point of the labyrinth. ‘Bulls eye!’  she exclaimed on landing there.  She sniggered at her own wit at a time like this.

Bloody hell it was hot in here.  And boy could she feel the testosterone.

Before she could do anything she found arms grabbing her,  pulling her into the space at the centre and then felt herself being shaken by a brute force more strong than anything ever in her life before.  She thought her eye balls were going to be shaken out.  She gasped for air in the spot where she stood in real time in her living room on Dragon Hill and let her heart and her drum stick connect even more deeply with the heart of the buffalo bull whose spirit took her on this journey through the realms.

Surrender.  there was never any other way once you got to this point.  You just had to step back and let spirit do the work.

She felt her self merge with her Buffalo Bull.  The Minotaur who had been shaking her loosened his grip.  She felt Ariadne taking the drum and sensed herself suddenly in a chamber of the heart in between the worlds.  ‘Where am I?’ she asked. ‘Inside bull’s heart’  the Red Woman’s voice replied.  ‘Grandmother!’  Crimson felt the love and the sanity in the Cailleach’s tone again.  Immediately she felt the strength return to her feminine soul as she negotiated the accommodation of bull feelings inside herself right now.

‘Blimey,  this is potent stuff’  she thought to herself.  She had never felt so simple,  direct, powerful and clear in her life before.

Buffalo bull met Minotaur Bull.  The man stepped out of the bull and the bull of the Minotaur myth was white and European.  North America met Greece too now.   The Olympic channels of the Washington State came to Crete.

‘All you need to do is to hold this channel.  You can do this Crimson’.  It was her bison speaking now.

When she was to look back on this experience later,  she was to reflect that this was the most powerful piece of sacred theatre she had ever experienced in her life so far. When she came back,  which she eventually did,  she would tell the story to her children that she would never find a cause to hide behind her fear again.  She was to go on to work with the sacred bull and the medicine of his heart like a woman who had found her soul mate.

When she was to remember the image of the man who stepped out of the bull,  she was to remember that he looked familiar to her,  even though she knew she had not yet met him in person in her life.  She was to remember that she needed to be here with the Grandmother and her own bull to initiate the reprogramming of a split that had set the world apart form itself.  She was to remember that most programmes that we have inherited come from this point.  She was to remember that she now carried the medicine to stop running away from herself.

She was to remember that what we most fear is in fact what we most need.

There was no battle in there. It was strange.  Such a lot of fear for an act so peaceful.

The bison shone through her.  The white bull shone back.  They each bared their teeth.  It felt like two big grins.  Then she watched as a cloud of smog lifted from the white bull’s form.  It was as if an enchantment was being lifted.  She felt the Red Woman’s magic and saw her step forward with a potion bottle which she left at the White Bull’s feet. She saw the Red Woman dig her hand deep into the crane skin purse and pull out a card which she left there too.  Then she turned to Crimson in her bison form and winked.  And suddenly she was gone.

And suddenly the bull was gone.  And bison left her form.

It was just her and the man.

They were just standing there together in a barren landscape with a tree.

‘Well, shall we go?’  she asked.

‘Yes,  let’s go’.

They just stood there.

Thoughts on Character

Wilhelm Reich,  a contemporary of Freud, in 1949 defined character as being early patterns of relational dynamics which began in infancy.   He described character as defensive in nature and observed its effects on physical, emotional and relational development.

I imagine all of these characters wandering everywhere with the objective of defending themselves.

Against what are we each defending?

Of course, the trouble with a theory like this is that it sets up a proposition that to be able to relate as a character we have to accept the fact that we are built from a warrior script. The world is out to get each of us in some way. We become relatable to through the individuation process of defining ourselves against what we fear.

I am a shell.  You can relate to me because I am protecting myself.  Show me your shell too.

Hmm.

It’s an interesting idea.

Crimson Glory, in her new found project to define herself is up against this very notion right now.

Tortoise Glory, walking slowly up her hill, feeling the dragon beneath her body and the beautiful grounding luxury of creation and gravity hosting her here on this beautiful planet.   Tortoise Glory with the shell she can crawl back into at any time: Her safe and beautiful projection to the world.

Who was she?

She had many shells.  All of these female archetypes she had been spinning with recently:  to name a few,  Perspephone and Bride,  Ariadne,  the Cailleach at times.  She was the Red Woman’s Apprentice – but what did that mean really?  And all of these archetypes of the Scottish and Greek parthenon who had decided they wanted to teach her something an help her through this mission,  what were they defending themselves against?  Was it really all one big war once you stepped out of wholeness and into this life of human and godly separation and perspective?

She was looking at her Warrior costume again and thinking about the changes to her spirit since she had decided she wanted to bring the Bodach back into the story.  What had made her adorn this Warrior outfit she wondered?  Ah, she remembered, it was the need to protect herself from the split between the bull and the man.

Her Lover archetype found the Warrior when the split came in.

Was the protection always from a split?

It was making sense to her to think along these lines.

So,  the Narcissists who have just arrived on their motorbikes.  Who are they and what are they protecting themselves against?

It is time for Crimson to put herself in the Narcissist’s shoes.

We attract what we need to bring home within ourselves.

Bring in the daffs.

Cue Narcissist

Finally.

The Stars of the Show.

We have kept that quiet up until now,  although you may have noticed the elements of a Narcissistic ride that pepper this trail.  Get off your motorbikes Sir and Madame Narcissist.   Your scene is here.

Let those curtains open wide.

Applaud!

Prepare to be sucked.

The Real Red Woman

The Cailleach was flying into the atmosphere as crane. She had to find Crimson Glory. She had been tossed up in a basket seventeen times as high as the moon.

She had to get back to the garden.

How long had she been up there sweeping cobwebs off the sky? It had been almost two years now.

There was this obnoxious twin sister who had stepped in and meddled through the forces with the stories.

Crimson needed to know.

She stopped abruptly as if electrified.

There was a force field around the earth prohibiting her re -entry.

What to do?

In my Father’s House

Is it that when we can finally accept that something is missing and we have an inkling that we know where it is that it can find its way back to us?

In some way,  Crimson had been in communication with the Ancient aspect of the God since her night in his house.  Since hearing him speak from the Pole Star,  she had known where he had taken his energy to.

Or maybe it was the invitation from Zeus to Crete and her finding of herself with the grand-daughter of the Ancient aspect of the God on the lands there Ariadne?

Maybe it was in making the link and finding him in the sky and in connecting with the Ancient God Zeus and the Father God Minos,   that it came to pass that as the Spring returned to the Earth again,  the old nature god was to be felt in the  transmissions on the hill behind her house.

It was so obvious really.

It was that simple.

She needed to build a house for him on her hillside.

The Dragon in the land smiled.