Almost Winter Solstice, dream deeply and dance
The deepest darkest longest most mysterious yin feminine nurturing night.
I am asking the Tarot Cards -
1. How to best honor, this evening, to nourish and complete my four novels?
2. How to best honor, the evening, to celebrate what life is asking of me?
3. How to best respond to this moment in the turning of the wheel, this pause after the last exhale, before the new breath is inhaled?
Blessed Be,
Laurel
Laurel Kahaner, Transformational Counselor.
Welcome,
In my work I combine Yoga, Meditation, Astrology and Tarot; Dream work and the Creative process are involved.Symbols are Transformers of Consciousness.
I work symbolically.
I have a background in Jungian Psychology.
I have taught the Mysteries for a very long time.
The creative process and living from a deep place are central to my work.
Listening to the guidance, aligning with the guidance, being enriched
by the relationship with the deep Self nurture and nourish creativity.
I am available for private sessions.
Each session is created individually. We can combine Yoga, Meditation,
Astrology and Tarot. We can also work with one way of honoring the Mysterium Magnum.
I also teach classes.
There are ongoing classes, as well as new classes that evolve out of a moment
that wishes to be explored more deeply.
For more information or to make an appointment
Please e-mail Laurel@symbolicbridging.com Laurel Kahaner
Transformational Counselor.
Tension of the opposites game
what opposites do you find most intriguing or particularly ghastly now?
take one word from the two words and add yours?
first words are
trust and disdain
so the next could begin with
either
trust
or
disdain?
ken?
so trust and disdain
could become
trust and rust
tis late…
I started this game on another thread and wish to remember it here, two/too/also/anon/amongst/miracles/mirages and is it possible to measure the magnetic field of the heart in space. I just heard that, I wonder if tis true, passing marvelous……
Slainte
first bit of my nano novel 09
Excerpt: The Dissolving Detective and the Third Staircase
I listen to the new way this story is being told through me. I listen as the voice of the Piper, now within me, makes the tales particularly musical on this night. Simultaneously the stability of telling my tale, even from the Piper’s Pov, within the container of the pub gifts me with the ability to dream of leaping into a wild green wood from the stones in the furious river that races crashing over rocks as if it is an ocean wave. There is no gently flowing or gliding peaceful lulling in this stream. The stream feels like a challenge- stay upright admidst these crashing waters or fall and perish. What would I fall to in the story world? Would I be carried away by the angry waters or would I swim, or drown? I remind myself to focus on the story I am telling. As I focus I am more strongly present in the pub. Shall I weave this precarious perch over the rushing waters into the story? I’m going to have to weave something of this experience- because I can feel several in the audience realize that something irrevocable has changed. My boots grows ever more soggy as they continue to fill with water and I am shivering from the cold but hot too from the effort of maintaining my balance. I feel like I am trying out for Cirque De Soleil. As I am trying to stay upright on stones separated by rapidly rushing waters growing ever stronger, someone or something is trying to force me to fall into the deepening waters. The water is blue and yet translucent. I look closer and see deep green shimmering currents seeming to merge with the blues- as if the colors are dancing shapes, formed and reformed, as if a celtic knot pattern is being drawn by an invisible hand or emerges from within the waters into the ever changing currents of the river.
finding this mystery intriguing – from a bbc site
Jan Van Eyck was here in the sense that he is the storyteller. He is the manipulator of reality. It’s only by Van Eyck’s art that we’re there. And he wants us to remember that.
NARRATOR
But what story is Van Eyck telling? If the man took a step sideways his hat would be knocked off by the chandelier. And if the woman wanted to look at her reflection she would have to bend down to a mirror which is far too low.
But if the painting isn’t meant to be a direct reproduction of reality, then what is it?
Who are these people? Why did the artist paint them in such a unique way? And how did the lives of all three overlap in the world of Renaissance Europe?
Gaelic , good knight/night/ahh write
Oidhche mhath – Good Night in Gaelic
POSTED BY LARKIN @ 2:28 PM
Five ways to taste a wee dram or dream
A quintessence of whisky tastes.
Laurel aka Aisling
1. ” Ah, seaweed, sultry smoke and harsh loveliness,” she sighs appreciatively, sipping the amber liquid, as a rather long tongue traces circles around lips moist with the thrice dlstilled laphroaig.
2. “This stuff tastes like a smokehouse and slaughter house combined”. He grimaces spitting out her drink of choice. She smiles, surreptitiously savoring her recently discovered way to discern if there will be a second date.
3. Laird Hardon gazes with fascination at the three shots of Island Whisky before him. Slowly he raises the first glass. As he inhales, descending, his eyes close. Within he tastes the salty splendors of wave tossed wild windy skys, craggy damp rocks and a tantalizingly dangerous briney ocean, As he savors the wicked tastes he slips more deeply into trance.
Sir? “Was that the Lagavoolin, the Laphroiag or the Talisker?”
Lord Hardon was lost in the pleasures of penetrating a mystery. He was not ready to give words to the stimulating serenede of scents.
4. ” Papa, I want a wee taste. Your third wifey said I could have a wee taste.”
“Did she lad? all right, here.” The child wraps both hands around the shot glass that is decorated with pirate ships. The child grimaces and then manages a smile. Tiny pink tongue flicking back and forth he says, “it smells like pirates and treasures and the long legs of ladies.”
“Lad”, his father said.” I thought that was you under the table last night.”
The wee boy giggled. ” I wish I could join you down there son.”
“You can if you like, it’s oh so much fun.”
“Another wee taste of the amber licorice brew?”
5. “This one is staid and dependable” said the olderly man dressed in a violet velvet vest and quite a few strange strings woven into a medley of mistakes. The olderly man set the whisky glass on the table with a clang. As he tried the next glass he sniffed strangely, almost inhaling the stuff.
” This is too wild” he said, insulted by the wild smokey peaty pleasures. “This is island whisky” he intoned. ” I want my whisky from the center of Scotland, not from the wild Islands full of Silkie Stories.” To himself, he whispers, and far too many memories.
