Masterpiece

The photo just below is of Mount Sopris.  She is one of the most beautiful and often photographed peaks in the world.  South of Carbondale at the northwestern end of the Elk Mountain Range she is the pride of the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness, the jewel in the crown of the White Mountain National Forrest.   Majestically looking down upon the confluence of the Crystal and Roaring Fork Rivers she can be hiked or climbed, but no one no matter how rich or foolish will ever go sliding down her slopes on two sticks.

As one can see from looking at Mount Sopris drenched with afternoon light, dressed in ethereal indigo and faded, watercolor silver, the Mighty Rockies have a soul.  It was this soul that we Coloradoans protected years ago when we told the Olympic Committee to go to hell – the sight of children playing games in perpetuity was not justification for inflicting, as John Denver said, “More scars upon the land.”

In the dramatic granite canyons falling away sharply from the peaks one hears the Colorado River roaring through rapids and murmuring in placid meditation as she reflects the ruddy rocks that inspired the Spaniards to give my home the name Colorado or color red.  This is the voice of the High Country; a voice I hear often calling me out of the city to realize a new truth that can only come from the Earth.

The slopes and valleys glowing gold, green and terra cotta, splashed with every blush of wildflower in the light spectrum the human eye can perceive, are the heart of the immense boulder and clay barrier dividing the high planes from the high desert.  Such a heart with the nobility and graciousness that great artists, a Mozart or Monet, can only hope to approximate with note or brush beats inside of every pine and aspen. 

One cannot be in the bosom of the Colorado Mountains, listening to the voice of rivers and touching the soul of great summits without knowing the meaning of masterpiece.  We can appreciate it; under the influence of our darker angels we can destroy it, but for all our wretched arrogance and puerile greed we can never duplicate or achieve the magnificence that is my home – the Rocky Mountains.

 

 

In The Presence of History

On my first night in Glenwood my friend who was suppose to come from Grand Junction couldn’t make it owing to a sustained cloud burst in the High Country that resulted in a mudslide along her route.  So, I found myself alone in the hotel that night. 

Hotel Colorado was built in 1893.  Constructed in the Italianate style around a lovely courtyard, many gardens and several elegant entrances, the Colorado sits adjacent to one of Glenwood’s famous hot springs.  Over the decades she has had a number of famous visitors; Presidents Taft and Hoover, Tom Mix, the Mayo Brothers and the man whose many visits the staff seems most proud of, President Theodore Roosevelt.  Indeed scatter throughout the halls and filling the coffee shop are dozens of Teddy bears which, of course, were named for our 26^th President.  His busts and pictures proliferate on almost every floor. 

Glenwood Spring’s most picturesque hotel is also said to be haunted.  Some of you who have read my earlier posts might find it interesting to know that a man is often seen on the fifth floor, near the penthouse.  A little Victorian girl, playing with a ball; a lady who looks in on male guests; the frequently reported haunting of the two suites in the bell towers; an elevator that moves up and down on its own; strange smells and sounds often reported by guests and staff, all conspired to bring CCPI Paranormal Investigations out of Grand Junctions to the Colorado in 2006.  They found highly suspicious areas of electromagnetic energy outside of rooms 551 and 325.  My friend and I stayed in 321.

I fear very little in this world or the next.  I believe that all things are part of the Goddess, and being one with Her I have no reason to fear myself.  Thus, even if I had known these things at the beginning of my trip it wouldn’t have stopped me from roaming the halls, courtyard and entrances of the old hotel throughout most of the night that I spent alone. 

I didn’t see anything.  That isn’t my gift.  I am an intuitive and an empath.  I felt things, and I heard them – not with my ear but with my intuition.  All Witches have this ability. 

I can only surmise because a Witch was on the premises a fireplace in the lobby whispered, “He stood there.”  In the courtyard the fountain murmured, “They kissed here.”  A chair on the second floor wanted me to know that the doctors had been in the room down the hall, and that, “she would have bleed to death without them.”  In the near darkness a beautiful desk just outside of the elevator on the 5^th floor furtively said, “Many strange and frightening things have happened just around the corner in 551.”  The wall leading to room 325 was shouting, “They walked past here.  You can catch them before they do it.  Look closely and perhaps you might see their shadows – but that isn’t your gift is it?”

Do our dead return to us?  Do they come to warn us of our folly or to teach about the world in which they lived years, decades, centuries before?  Is it just that they want us to know that the world is different, but still the same?  That reality is like energy, it can neither be created nor destroy.  It just changes form within predictable parameters.   Is that why we speak of a swinging pendulum gliding between polar opposites like peace and war; moral and immoral; good and bad; civil rights and disenfranchisement?  Can it all be like alive or dead – you’re either one or the other, there is no third option and the time in-between is just the swinging of the pendulum?  If that is true is there anything any of us can do about anything with the force of the pendulum, like that of life and death, out of our control?

I left Glenwood ill, not physically, but psychically.  I felt the way I had years before in circle with Crones who where Drawing Down the Moon, bringing the full force of the Goddess’ energy too close for a novice to handle.  I was overwhelmed; anxiety ridden and tormented by the idea that I hadn’t tried hard enough.  While I had learned some of it, I hadn’t learned it all and had missed something important.  I realized then that the only way to truly see the pendulum is to learn the lessons that inform its movement faster than it can move.  If we understand it, might we find a way to repeatedly send it back toward the things that promote life and not death?  Is that what the dead could be trying to tell us?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All I Have Is Yours by Jackie B. Steele

 

 

They say to write what you know,
I don't know much, but all I've got is yours,
Grandmother Moon is waxing to full, soon now...
Waves of hot days & Sultry Summer nights rolling in.
Blessings upon the Waters that give their all, and many will be grateful to wade in her offering of renewal & refreshment. Thank you Water,
The Birds are quietly starting to flock. Less Birds this year, less insects, less bats. Prayers for our siblings.
Gentle winds of transition are blowing through the hardwood leaves, singing their song for rain.
The squirrels are gathering acorns as they fall, and other tree fruit & seeds. Rose hips are red and look like tiny apples, as they are all in the family.
Hummingbirds are play fighting and chasing each other around the feeders and flowers that are left. Exercising their tiny wings for the long flight south.
This has been a unique, yet beautiful Summer
I am sharing this simple message with ~Love~ For the Earth
& for all of her children.

 

 

Early Fall or Not?

 

 

The yellow waxy leaves are falling now.  Perennials are dying back for the season.  Roses have bloomed very little this summer owing no doubt to the short spring, if spring you can call it.  Days are hot while the evenings and nights are growing cold.  The Lady’s children are confused; should they prepare to retreat before the coming winter or stay to enjoy the Indian Summer?  We have declared war on the Earth, believing in our arrogance and stupidity that we are her masters.  When all is said and done she will adapt, and she will win – sweeping us away as easily as we destroy her forests and pollute her waters. 

Hot August Night in the Tropics by Peno Hardesty

hot august night in the tropics---owls speak from the tree line and a splash in the distance signals the raccoons to chatter and scatter---no one really wants to be gator bait----the tall grass at the woods line begins to move and a cat opens her eyes but decides not to chase---it's hot and sticky ----a glass of iced tea and a cigarette share the steps with me---quiet and serene---sirens and cars speed by----more sirens----darkness is illuminated by the floodlight of the chopper circling overhead---minutes turn to hours and the chopper circles ---even the gators are still---rapid gunfire rings out---silence---more gunfire and more----frozen on the steps i light another cigarette----the dogs are barking but the cats have hidden---i leave the refuge of the porch to answer the calls of the old horse---she is looking up believing the shots are fireworks--which terrify her---as i stand by her side i hear the silence--even the dogs have settled---cars--no lights or sirens this time---seems some good guy with a gun---an AK47---was having a bad evening--he threatened to kill his wife--she got out--SWAT arrived---communications broke down when the good guy with a gun stood at his front door and opened fire on SWAT---SWAT returned fire------but this is fla and fla does not need background checks on private gun sales---this is fla and there is no need for mental health checks---this is fla where almost everyone has an AK47 just because they can----this is fla where the state legislators claim there is no need to review stand your ground laws---this is fla--where the home directly across from the good guy with a gun were evacuated --which is good since the house was hits with several bullets--and a car a few houses down had windows shot out----this is fla--i stopped to get gas on the way home from work and the lady at the next pump asked if i had heard about the shooting---i nodded---she walked over to me as i was getting in my car to show me the gun in her purse---her son had given it to her after the shooting---he has ordered an AK47 but they are in demand so they are on back order----hot august night in the tropics

Sweet Sundown by Jackie B. Steele

A nocturnal greeting of Sweet Sundown to you & all our relations.
As we feel our way through space & time.
Gliding upon night,
using intuited insight,
Observing the glowing Night eyes with delight,
to Those who serve with the light of the Sun - star
Thank you for all you do & see.
For those who work the night,
Thank you for all your wisdom & wit.
Playful, Loving beings
Rest well, Sweet Dreams

The Old Ones Speak by Barbara Carvallo

 

Magnificent Photo by Jackie B. Steele

 

When I see the Blessed Moon gowned in silvery light

Drifting through the ebony sky cloudy with star dust
I see the hills of Ireland drenched in the fog of time
I see my grandmothers worshiping that ancient land,
Healing, comforting, advising their ancient people;
Even as they midwife and support those who must crossover
They honor the Goddess Cerridwen,
They tend Her cauldron of life and death.

 I see the men in long black gowns coming for them

Swelling out of the shadows on a wave of self righteousness
In service to an angry god they come with Bible and fire
To torture, burn and drowned Cerridwen’s daughters,
These men say that to accept their angry god is salvation;
But not from the cruelty, lies and murder hidden in their vestments
They rob for profit those they kill as they preach forgiveness,
For when was such a Church ever built without commerce.

Through shadowy trees my ancestors whisper in the Sacred Night

To a daughter who need not fear the Bible or the torch
Be careful as you go in a world of angry gods say they
In words deepened by centuries of generational harmony,
Honor the Goddess and know the Craft;
To be free you must think free and never doubt the path
Some will trivialize your knowledge and demonize your faith,
It is their own darkness they fear and only they can light their way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Sweet Dreams and the Tao of Poo" - words and photos by Jackie B. Steele

 

 

Sweet Sundown & Dreams, been Jammin with lilies, and Bees in the Meadow. Some Mowing, not finished because like the Tao of Poo Bear, I watched and saw images in clouds and trees. Beautiful Day, and sweet Dreams to you with LOVE.

My Life is simple, The Beauty of Jamming with Lilies makes me grateful,
Good Saturn's Day to you all with Love~

 

 

Lilies by the Goddess