Gaia Welcomes Leonie Home

Her daughter returns home.
with love
Heather Blakey

Bringing Leonie Home

le Enchanteur and Leonie Bryant's spirit bird taking her home to sleep in the Bower of Bliss

Pioneers who went before us

Emigrants


Old men plough while sons grow cold
under the mountain

Prairie wheat fields murmuring golden and rich in the days
before harvest
the smell of grass—long hay newly mown dry crunching
under our running
We counted our days in puffs of old-man dandelions knew our
distances in the long rows of telephone poles.

At the base of the poles We put our ears to wood that trembled
messages of the great world
wind on our shoulders, telling, listening, and we knew that the time of our leaving would be soon.

The winds of migration were everywhere—in the v-line of ducks
and the wide sweep of Canada geese
We heard at dusk the calling and in the morning packed,
our bags growing fat with things we could not leave, memories of a hundred days of
our mothers

Grandpa

Must have been back there somewhere,
don't you think?

A Card from Dad

A Card from Dad

The other day
while searching
for something unrelated,
I stopped to look at pictures
made so long ago,
and there I found,
a postcard from Dad.

Among long forgotten images
of Mum and Dad,
and me
when I was small,
eight as I recall,
was
a sepia picture postcard
from Dad.
On the front,
a picture of
the First and Last House
on that glorious British Isle.

On the back,
the writing faded,
was the message.
Dear Vi, it read,
I’m sending this inside Mum’s letter
because I do not want it spoiled.
Keep it for a souvenir of me,
Love, Dad.

Seeing,
holding,
and reading its message now
after so many years have passed,
means more to me, I think,
than it did
when I was eight.

My Dad … he was my pal,
and though he never said
he loved me,
never hugged me,
I knew I was his buddy,
but was I not his daughter, too?

Those simple words
across the years
tell me that,
despite his silence,
he loved this child,
but couldn’t voice the words
that would have meant so much.

Two years later
and far too young,
he was taken,
ravaged by
the cancer that took his mind
and made him crazy.

Now that I am old,
his words are strong
and clear.
I am his daughter,
always was—
Love from Dad

Vi Jones
©February 5, 2006

Of Ancestors

Lost in tomorrow
is the song of yesterbeen,
when I will foretell
of what I forgot to be
when I get another chance.

For I am right now
what I have always known,
but have been taught to believe instead;
and my father's father back unfold
must laugh at what could said.

For hist'ry retold
is as smoke unto the fire,
and ashes are nothing
compared with the warmth once shared
when I was taught to sing.

Look then to the mists,
my daughter, my love, my son;
for the songs we sing and joyful dance
still live in the soul's timeless view,
when all the words are gone.

The End

For those that have gone before me.

Kavyn Brian Warren

31/01/2002

This gluebook was created using the prompt: last end final.

An Ancestor Be

Regardless of your ability
to embrace the presence and influence
of ancestors, it is easy to acknowledge a debt
to 'what has come before' -- personally
and as a culture.

One might muse then,
on what kind of ancestor you will be --
what footsteps left on the sands,
what handholds etched
on craggy cliffs --
that might help children
find their way.

consider ...

REVOLVING

For those who drift only partly awakened,
I can be there --
need only be there --
be there --
be.
This is the finest of attentions --
to … be the hidden handmaiden of dreams,
to … guide in silence,
to … conduct a symphony of hopes,
to … gather discarded prayers into a basket of fairywind.
Hush -- hush, for though they slumber
by choice and Current blend --
someday they will remember,
and search your cheek
for tears of joy.

Ancient View

In Mongolian Shamanism mythos,
the touch and relevance of ancestors
was embraced in several special ways.

It was believed that each person had seven souls;
some assigned (destined) to various dominions
as a return of spirit to source,
but others whose function was influenced
by the family that remained.

All souls spend a time in the 'Lower Kingdom'
from which they could sometimes be 'saved',
usually by the interaction of a Shaman.
This embraced conditions of coma
and near death experience. In both, the family
had to desire and petition for the return.

One soul hovered near the family home (camp)
in order to provide council and assuage grief.
Often people 'Heard' the voice of this spirit
as if they were still alive. Eventually this influence
diminished. However, the family by group will
or ritual could install this 'soul' in an object
near the home for eternity -- usually a favored
tree or rock, from which it's presence would be
known by future generations.

One soul went to the Upper Kingdom (Tengri),
To provide a communication link with the
demi-gods of the weather. People did not pray
to the Tengri itself, but to their ancestors there.

NOTE: none of this was considered 'religious' --
The other four souls returned to Source
Completely outside and distinct from the
Known and imagined worlds of the Three Kingdoms
(seven thousand years before the 'Rings'). While there
was no possible communication with these souls,
it was felt that the way a person lived their life
had an influence on how these souls behaved
in the shaping of the universe. These four 'aspects'
of being roughly can be equated with,
Mind, Soul, Heart and Spirit with which you
Might be more familiar.

Thus any ancestor might have influence on future
generations in a myriad of complex ways -- all revered.