Cauldron and Cradle
What wrote itSelf today………with a muse ing…….muse ings…….
I am that which marries cauldron and cradle
I am the one who beheads and renames you
I come in the water
I leave in the storm
I sing in the evening
when the day world is gone
Listen for me in the Greenworld of the Dreamworld
I am coming home…….
by Laurel Aisling
write now
I shall live badly if I don’t write, and I shall write badly if I don’t live.
by Francoise Sagan
Pomegranate seeds in the midst of destruction that is not at all constructive
There is supposedly construction going on in my flat but it is insanely destructive, toxic, far worse than before and never ending. I am now making a film, a horror film to depict this disaster. Disaster means against the stars. A kind friend gifted me with a gas mask. I watched a film amidst all the rubble from the wantonly chopped down walls, from the gaggle of broken glass and barbed wire and I bled on the old carpets which are dangerously demented and forsaken but I am eating pomegranate seeds and the pomegranate seeds are good.
The Plot of the Magical Marking Pens
The Plot of the Magical Marking Pens by Laurel, Aisling and all
Strong winds and stronger marking pens, search for a way to compete with the thirteen different outlines that Darwin is working on, trying to envision his story. The outlines are piled ontop of each other, as if the pattern of edges and antlers will create a new outline, one that can conjur a storm.
Darwin crawls to the window and screams.
The glass disappears, touched by the rain’s response to the scream, or from the marking pens that are creating their own outline.
The marking pens begin to vibrate expectantly, then they bow and begin to initiate drawing circles in strange patterns on the walls. Darwin looks at the mind map or trap that is appearing on the wall. The words are colorful, and in Gaelic. “Great” he moans, addressing the magic markers. ” Would you please, make some marks, I can understand?”
The markers utilize their magic by drawing a spiral around Darwin’s desires. The spiral becomes a scintillating spiral. Tiny sparks, lightning flashes of awarenesses that enlighten, and those that burn, begin to weave together a new outline, in Gaelic. After Darwin decides this drawing is a map and not a trap, he finds himself marking the magic of being able to understand and to read Gaelic.
The Red Magic Marker begins drawing a new bigger circle, that becomes a spiral, that encircles the names of the three possible story tellers, the Senachie of the story.
The Blue Magic Marker draws a flash of lightning after each circle, then like quicksilver, writes down an image from what each character dreamed last night.
The green magic marker chooses the place in between the blue and red circles and creates a diamond that reminds Darwin of what his characters desire, what is the greenness of his characters? What is the redness? What is the blue- what is the unique way the other than conscious mind, stream of eternal images moves through each of his characters?
It is now raining harder inside Darwins underground loft, than it is raining outside.
The rain helps the words flow together, without dissolving any of them.
Darwin lifts his left hand, reaches tenatively for a citrine-vermillion marking pen, but it skids away on the rain soaked floor, just out of reach.
“Top of the morning” he hears himself say, although it is evening. He reaches for a shy turquoise silver-gold marking pen that willingly creates a staircase for Darwin to climb, so he can begin to draw an outline on the ceiling. He has a sense that this outline will work.
“Thank you” he says, addressing the storm, the future past perfect presently discovering itself inside the not yet knowing. Somehow Darwin realizes when he finishes drawing the outline on the ceiling he will be able to complete it on the floor. His body a bridge between the earth and sky; and all the colors of the not yet conceived patterns that exist within the stream of consciousness that is awaiting the Sensuous unexpected but desired, possibly inevitable, but not guaranteed Storm of epiphany. The thunder enters the outline, “Yes” Damon screams including the thunder- in what he will name- something different than line-out/out line; perhaps I’ll call it a magical alignment, he muses.
The night claims large portions of the outline,”yes” Damon sighs, “oh yes, Thank you.”
The Magic Markers transform themselves into colorful candles that initiate,contain and witness the creative dance of conjuring a way to innerstand the Novel that will help contain the Mystery within the Mystery, within that Mystery too.
The Green magic marker suggests all the characters be green. Darwin smiles and silently communicates in Gaelic; not in this novel, perhaps in a different one. I appreciate the suggestion. Slainte
Laurel
Astrology, Yoga, Tarot, Meditation
too many details
Too many details is a danger sign in novel writing, in dating and in anyone we encounter.
Too many details is a dance step of all con artists.
Weave Wonders
I like the term I created Weaving Wonders better than Mind Mapping.
Names are important as are very cool ways to imagine and to conjure the Mysterium Magnum.
Insouciant and Wondrous Ways
Within the entelechy of myriad learnings I imagine quintessential and diverse sentences arranging themselves on the various pages in insouciant and wondrous ways.
Aisling aka Laurel
