The life of the Scottish Highlander was rich in lore and legend, music and song and the whole of everyday life was circumscribed by the powers that were believed to be everywhere present and to be placated by ritual or exploited by magical processes.
The otherworld forces, and the ghosts and monsters of hill and water were as real, substantial, and infinitely more menacing than one's own neighbors. Everyplace had its name and its legend -- how it got its name; what famous hero or infamous criminal, savage, supernatural animal, or shaggy, semi-human sprite was associated with it were stories known at one time to all.
This Celtic predilection for immediate locality, the love and knowledge of not only the homeland, but every detail of the native landscape, is an absolutely fundamental characteristic of the Celts, linked with their ancient and passionate love of nature and their feeling for the world of birds and animals which manifests itself so early in their recorded history.
Ancient tales about the gods and goddesses, and heroes long dead and gone are still told with simple sincerity and total credulity by those in whom the tradition still lives and who, like the ancient Celtic god Ogmios, holds the ears of his listeners enchained to the eloquence and fluency of his native tongue.
A tendency was for each community to have its seanachaidh, a 'tale-teller', par excellence. The Highlander has always loved stories and a whole group from a township would gather together in the tigh-cheilidh, or house of entertainment, to pass the long, dark and often wild winter nights listening enraptured to tales, many of incredible length, some of almost unbelievable antiquity, which formed part of the rich store of oral tradition, which itself is commented upon as early as the writings of Caesar.
Anne Ross
The Folklore of the Scottish Highlands
Hippolytus describes the teachings of the descent and ascent of the psyche as the history revealed to those "admitted to the highest grade of Eleusianian rites" and states that initiates of the Naassene school of gnosticism had developed their teachings specifically from this source.
Plato tells us the name Persephone comes from sophe and means "wise," so it derives from the same root as "Sophia." Persephone, who was known as Kore, meaning "daughter" or "girl," represents the fallen psyche. In the acts of Thomas, the psyche is called Kore. Demeter means "mother." She is the Celestial Queen who represents the pure psyche.
In the myth, Demeter's daughter Persephone is abducted by Hades, God of the underworld. This represents the fall into incarnation. Initiates into the mysteries of Eleusis had to imitate the grief felt by Demeter and Persephone at their separation. This represents the experience of metanoia which results from the initiates' grief at becoming separated from their deeper nature lost in the world.
Hermes goes to the underworld to rescue Persephone and reunite her with her mother Demeter. This represents rescuing the psyche from identification with the circumference of the circle of self and reuniting it with its true nature at the center.
Hades secretly gives Persephone pomegranate seeds, however, and because she eats the seeds she must return to the underworld for a third of every year. The pomegranate seeds represent the seeds of future lives which we create in this life, which brings us back into human incarnation to continue the journey of awakening.
The motif of returning to the underworld for a third of the year is an allusion to the threefold nature of the Self: consciousness, psyche, body. A third of our identity, the body, is in the underworld.
The figures of Demeter and Persephone were developed by the Greeks from ancient Egyptian mythology. The Egyptian Isis is equivalent to both Demeter and Persephone. In Egyptian mythology the higher and lower aspects of the goddess are represented by Isis and her sister Nepthys, the wife of the evil god Set, who, like Hades, represents the material world.
These Egyptian myths are the earliest sources of what was to become the myth of the lost and redeemed goddess. Although this perennial story has been expunged from Christianity, it survived in the form of fairy tales such as Sleeping Beauty. As her name suggests, Sleeping Beauty is an image of the Psyche, fallen asleep in the world. The story portrays her as a princess cursed to sleep forever, imprisoned in a dark castle surrounded by deep impenetrable forest, but finally rescued by her lover, the hero prince.
Timothy Freke and Peter Gandy
Jesus and the Lost Goddess; Secret Teachings of the Original Christians
.....
Early on in the experiment of masculine power several thousand years ago, those in power wished to keep things this way. This separation and disconnection from the divine essence/self - you as goddess - furthered their goals to keep you in the game of ego, access, acquisition, and desires.
This is the challenge: those who designed the game played it also. They became fully engrossed in the rules and design. In other words, as players they forgot, they overlooked the fact that they are not separate from the game, failing to recall that there ever was another version of reality.
This forgotten connection to, and as, spirit is a fundamental error in the experiment design. It has created all manner of destruction, to the point that life on your heavenly planet home is in grave danger.
We call this being in the game, when you are currently embodied into form and personality. what you would call a life. It was never intended that the separation from the ocean of what is, would be completely forgotten.
Claire Sierra
The Magdalene Path
.......................
The psyche is dragged by the body into the region of the changeable, where she wanders in confusion. The world spins around her and she is like a drunkard under its influence. In returning to herself, she reflects. Then she passes into the realm of purity, eternity, immortality, and unchangeableness, which are her kindred. When she is herself and not obstructed or hindered she is ever with them. When she ceases from her erring ways and is in communion with the unchanging, she is herself unchanging. This state of the psyche is called Sophia.
Plato
.....................
Daryl was deep in thought leaving the tea room as he headed back up the great hills towards home. True, he had to give both Yvonna and young Anna credit for their instinctive wariness of St.John, however...
'However,' he told himself, halting, and turning to gaze down at the docks, he allowed there was still something decidedly fishy in this newest enterprise of St.John's, '-- And it ain't all clams and caviar, either,' he decided, shoving hands in pockets as he turned and renewed his climb.
Thinking then that he'd perhaps spotted someone who knew him, he glanced over his shoulder, only to see the man in question duck quickly behind a corner. Hm. Odd, that.
Daryl slowed his pace, and decided to become inordinately interested in the dry goods shop he was near. Gazing deeply at the array of shoe-shine kits, powders and unguents for bunions and bruises, hair-restoring miracles and flour guaranteed to make one's biscuits '...so light they float off the plate', illustrated by airborne discs he took to be the winged biscuits, he glanced to his right and espied his tail who had paused to light a cigarillo whilst Daryl window shopped.
This bodes not well, Daryl told himself as he slowly turned from the shop front and resumed his homeward trek. He had only just returned after having been away for some months; already some intrigue seemed to be brewing. Had it to do with St.John? Yvonna's Alaska expedition? Or both?
Bending to tie a bootlace, he sneak'd a quick peek sideways and was dismayed to find his shadow gaining on him somewhat. He could see now that the gent was also taller than he'd first appeared, and broader. A heavy.
Daryl quickly straightened and decided to cut over to California and try to grab a trolley, and maybe lose this guy...
Seeing that a large dray was pulling over to the dry goods shop, he took advantage of the unloading and sprinted at a run across the street and down the alley, hoping he might have thrown off his man.
Luck was with him: the ring-ding of the trolley bell sounded as welcome as supper; he leapt aboard the slowing car and swung himself into a seat, removing his hat. He slouched down a bit, then chanced a glance behind: dammitol! Although he'd missed the cable car, his tail had been on him still -- there he stood, obviously miffed to see his prey escape, having just missed the trolley.
Heart pounding, Daryl eased himself upright and exhaled. That was close. That was also most disturbing. St.John put a tail on him? Had to be he...but whatever for? Daryl was at a loss there.
Well, one thing he knew for certain; he wasn't going straight home. Although he was rather concerned about Athena, he knew Manuel was there, most likely. He would be there soon, but first he'd have to find some different approach to Nob Hill House, perhaps...
Ascending the hilltop, Daryl jumped out at the corner, and noting the Leek's residence, decided that Connor would be just the bloke to aid him in this. He would see him first, and keep an eye out from there for a while.
With this new plan in mind, Daryl felt somewhat relieved. Connor did have quite an arsenal as well...both sword and gun. The bloody man had, indeed, a wee cannon!
It was kept in the backyard, facing the bay. Connor had joked that Daryl had best not cross him or he'd be pointing that barrel his way, ha ha! The auld pirate."Wee blaster," he'd call it, patting it like a dog. Connor'd gotten it off an old ship in harbor that was being dismantled, Daryl recalled. It had been the one prize of his that Daryl had envied, and did still.
He sighed then. What would Emlyn think, to see him wheeling in cannon, eh? A sad smile ghosted his lips then quickly fled.
................
The chill here always took Emlyn by surprise.
Massachusetts seemed out of season to her California-shaped mindset; there it was summer still, but here...
Tree tips were coldly singed with reds, especially the maples. And the chill!
They had arrived at the gatehouse earlier, after Em had shown up at Nob Hill House
completely undone. She had refused to speak of whatever had happened; she was simply "very upset" and wished to be away from "this awful place" as soon as possible.
And so to the gatehouse they had escaped.
It was now nearly evening and Emlyn and Athena were seated together before a welcome fire. Tea had been administered upon arrival and now the two of them were polishing off the remains of dinner and discussing a film Athena had just played for Em: The Little Mermaid.
'Oh, Athena -- such colors! Indeed, beyond nature's palette...and I had no idea, what it truly was about! This Disney fellow had to be a Mason, too, at the very least.'
'I believe you are right there,' Athena replied, pouring a bit more cider for Em and a little less for herself.
'Although there were odd rumors about his rather, um...far right leanings. He did a great deal however, with agitprop against the Nazis in WWII. His most famous cartoon characters were all actively engaged in smearing the evildoers, which at that time were not only Germany, Italy, Spain and Japan, but let us not forget Vichy...part of then-Occupied France. Petain was as bad as the others; sometimes even worse...or so it seemed, perhaps, as he was a 'fellow' Frenchman.'
'It all seems so…impossible, now,' Em pondered, frowning. 'Although you say that a first world war actually now looms upon our horizon.'
Athena shook her head as she set down her cider, waving away that thought.
'Pray, don't mention it... for, who knows? Perhaps things may change. One thing we did learn in the future before things went to hell, was that thoughts have power. Words even more so. A branch of physics, quantum physics, was discovered when scientists found that simply having a human about during an experiment could influence the outcome. This was referred to as the 'observer effect'.'
'Hm...,' Em mused. She sighed. 'And then, sometimes, one is simply blind-sided by events which one could never have imagined…'
A pause. Athena stood and added more wood to the fire. She came round behind the sofa and gently began to knead Emlyn's shoulders. Em sighed again. She put her hand over Athena's then.
'Thank you. For everything.' She leaned her head back and offered a wan smile to Athena. 'Again.'
Athena patted her hand and then took her seat beside Em. 'You ready to talk about it?'
Emlyn nodded. 'I...suppose I should.' She sounded unsure. 'Well, I guess I have found out where Daryl has been all this time.'
Ah, bethought Athena. Figures it involves Daryl. Daryl/Diego/Diablo. 'You have?'
Em looked straight into her friends eyes. 'I SAW them, Athena.'
'Yes? You saw whom?'
Em sighed shortly, 'Daryl, of course! With HER!'
Athena frowned, taken aback. 'Who? Her, whom?'
'SHE! That young...whatever!' Em waved a hand, dismissive. 'That girl at Madame Yvonna's tea room!' Em drank down her cider, pouring more. Emptying the bottle, she railed on at last, 'He, Daryl, with her! Having TEA!'
'Yes?' Athena was somewhat confused now. 'You stopped at the Tea Room, then?'
'I did.' Em was geared up now. 'I hadn't slept or eaten, not much, throughout the voyage home, and Sebastiao brought me all the way to the city docks. I was so tired...but hungry more than anything, and it felt good to walk on dry land; I was still wobbly from sailing. So, I stopped in early, before the rush. I thought.'
She looked down at her hands, frowning. 'Although, it did seem odd not to see Yvonna at all. I wonder if she knows about...all that?'
To Emlyn's amazed bewilderment, Athena began to laugh heartily.
'Excuse me?!' Em sat up hands on hips, ready to be most offended.
Athena reached out to her, bottling her mirth a minute. 'Oh, cherie...why, oh, why could you not have told me this earlier? Oh, my...' She was still chuckling. At last she lay back against the sofa and shook her head slowly.
'My dear Em. Yes, Daryl has returned. No, Yvonna isn't here but in Alaska now, on business. And, yes, she has engaged someone to run the shop and restaurant in her absence; her niece, Anna, who, although I'm sure she is a competent sort, has Daryl referring to her as "a major pain in the"...neck.'
Em sat stunned for a full minute.
'Well the masochist was all for some major pain then; they were practically holding hands.'
'Truly?!' Athena was doubtful.
Em sighed. 'Well...he had a hand on her arm, entreating her...'
'Oh, Em...' Athena stood, hands on hips in turn. 'If only... Well, too late now. At least I left him a note.'
'That note was to Daryl? Why didn't you tell me of his return?'
Athena looked down upon the girl. 'You did not want to talk. Especially about Daryl, so you said.'
'So I did.' Em pondered. 'What was he doing there, then? When did he get back?'
Athena took their plates and empty cider bottles to the kitchen. She returned bearing fruit and nuts. And brandy.
'Found your tongue now, have you?' She wrestled with the cork a moment. 'Armagnac?'
'Oh, oui, merci! And, Athena...thank you, again. Forgive me?'
'There is nothing to forgive, cher. Salud!' Athena sat, sipping a snifter of her own.
'Yes, Daryl returned...just after you left! Hours in fact! But...perhaps I should allow him to tell you about it all.'
Em began to protest, but Athena put up a hand. 'I will say that he is safe, and well. And that he had been in the Otherwhere and when, with Thelene and Axelis and Yeats.
He thought he had only been gone overnight. When he was returned, he needed but a slight shave. I believe him.'
Silence reigned for a moment as Emlyn digested this multi-faceted morsel.
Athena swirled her Armagnac. 'Daryl had gone to the Tea Room that morning to warn Anna and Yvonna not to trust St.John, his friend,' Athena paused, wondering just what sort of friend, but..she sighed, '...well, business associate, with whom Yvonna had been dealing in trade, furs and caviar in Sitka.'
'Strictly business, then?' Em hoped.
'Indeed.' Athena answered dryly. 'Did you truly expect anything else?'
Em leaned forward, head in hands a moment as she rubbed her forehead, then stood, arms wrapped about herself as she began to pace about the sofa...
'You know what, Athena?' She said at last, as she ceased her elliptic orbit and came to stand at the mantle, 'I am simply truly weary of...all that.'
'Yes? All what, cher?' Athena leaned her head upon the sofa back.
Em gazed downward, pondering feet. 'All that...with Daryl.' She turned and sat suddenly. 'You know, for months I had been going mad, wondering if he was dead or alive, and then, I was getting over it or had at least found a way to live around it...
'And, then, I met up with Alice, who is well, by the way, but still...well, still chasing through time, after Frank, her husband...as she should, and I only commend her for that. But, she has been doing this for, decades, Athena!' Em shook her head. 'I do not wish to live like that. Like this!'
She fell back into the sofa corner, spent.
'I was content, just being here with you, and the Kabbalah meetings with the others, and gardening, cooking, with Rosa and our trips out with Manuel, I was content!' She looked pained as her eyes met Athena's. 'I am content no longer.'
Athena allowed her time to sit and stew a bit. She knew that being a young woman was truly not as enviable a state as some recalled, through rose-tinted memories.
She was not about to reveal to her young friend how glad she now was not to be obsessed with a 'significant other' who just happened to be a time-traveling magus-madman. Though he was a dab hand at playing the fiddle. Much as Old Nick himself was rumored to do.
.............
Daryl drew himself up and adjusted his tie as he rapped upon the Leek's front door, surreptitiously gazing about, trying to discern any creeping shadows...
When had he last been here? No doubt the Winter Solstice Ball. Which seemed like only yesterday.Tempus Fugit; especially for Daryl.
Sharp barks and a growl issued from behind the door then. Since when did the Leeks keep watchdogs? Daryl backed away from the door somewhat.
'Fergus! Maeve! Back now! Sit! And stay!' Bridget's voice came echoing down the hall as she approached, and slowly opened the door a crack.
'Daryl! Such a surprise!' Bridget's bright face with apple red cheeks smiled through the doorway.
'Who's there?' He heard Connor's voice call, as heavy footfalls approached and the barking recommenced. 'Avast ye buggers! Woman, call off your wolfpack, will ye no?'
'A moment...' Bridget shut the door to. Much scrambling about, barking and oaths were heard behind the door. At last, it was reopened by Connor, who stood smoothing his lapels and silver-russet curls.'
'Daryl, man! How're ye, then?' He held out a rough hand.
'Fine, fine, Connor. You and Bridget look well!' They shook and Connor ushered Daryl into Leek House. 'Have some new guard dogs, eh?' Daryl looked cautiously about.
Connor shook his head. 'If only!' He took Daryl's elbow. 'Let's be off to my study, shall we, away from all this hooley...'
Daryl loved Connor's study. It was everything that his study back home wasn't; whereas Daryl's designs were to emphasize what light could be conjured from without with blond furniture, and golden raffia woven shades, the window seat open to the light; Connor's was as a gentleman's study should be in the time-honored tradition of walnut wainscotting, a great stone fireplace, books lining walls, ladders and a loft. No hunting trophies however, though much adored by the braw men of Scotland; Connor's tastes ran to sword and shield, axes a plenty, however. Rifles and guns were kept in a locked case.
Oddly, Daryl felt somewhat safer ensconced here in thick walls, with a no-nonsense friend at his back with a fair arsenal, and now guard dogs!
'A wee dram, Daryl?' Knowing Daryl's tastes, Connor proffered the Courvoisier.
'Don't mind if I do,' Daryl answered amiably, wandering over to the window and gazing about, noting the wonderfully high fence about the property. Time for some high fencing of his own, he decided.
Connor joined him at the window, handing over a snifter. 'Sla'inte',' he raised his glass.
'Sla'inte,' Daryl nodded, sipping.
The men stood together at the window a minute and then Daryl noted two moving shadows. These soon resolved into the largest, furriest gray 'dogs' Daryl had seen in some time.
'No dogs,' Connor was reading his mind. 'The wife has her own wolf pack now.' He drank a hefty tot.
'Wolves?!' Daryl stared. 'Bigods, so they are! Handsome beasts, eh?' They were indeed; thick grey and white coats, one having rather darker markings than the other, and was taller, more filled-out. The male, Daryl guessed.
'A mated pair?' he asked.
Connor sighed. 'Ach, indeed. They're hybrids, actually. Wolf-dogs. But raised since pups by a friend of Bridget's, who had to move to Europe. Bit tricky to take the beasts; and they would be happier staying here anyway. So we offered to take them on.'
'How is that working out?'
'Weel, noo...' Connor refreshed his glass, Daryl shook his head. 'It's, coming along. The beasts adore Bridget! Who doesn't, eh? But, as they had been used to her, they're more her pets, you see. Me, they're not so sure about. Yet. They'll have to learn that I'm not going anywhere!' His brows beetled a challenge, frowning out the window.
They watched the wolves sniff about the yard until they disappeared into a copse of conifers.
'So!' Connor sauntered over to his chair by the fireplace, waving to Daryl to join him. 'What's going on with you then? Ye seem a trifle...distracted.'
Daryl followed, taking a seat opposite. 'I am that, Connor.' He finished his cognac.
'Actually, I just had a rather odd experience, and wished to run it by you, see what you think.'
Daryl's gaze wandered about the room, taking in the armory. He grinned then, shaking his head. 'I have to say I'm feeling better about things just being here with you, this armory here,' he waved a hand about the walls, '...and your wolves!'
Connor's eyebrows rose to this admission. 'Ach. That sort of experience! Do tell.'
'Well,' Daryl wasn't certain where to begin. 'I believe, I may have had someone following me as I walked up the hill.' He raised a hand, 'Don't worry; I think I lost them before I got this far. I grabbed a trolley and left him on the corner of Van Ness.'
'Any idea who it was? Or why the tail?' Connor frowned as he packed his pipe.
Daryl slowly shook his head, deep in thought. 'No-o...not really. But, it might have something to do with an associate of mine in the antiques trade. I just came from a place where we usually meet for a bite while discussing business matters. Somehow I think it has to do with him, since I picked up the tail after leaving there.'
'Do you know any detectives in town?' Connor asked.
'No,' answered Daryl. 'Do you think I should?'
Connor struck a lucifer and puffed up his bowl. 'I do. Knowledge is power. It's best to nip this in the bud, find out what's what. Take action, man.' He tossed the match in the fire. 'I know a man. Discreet. Careful. He knows this city like no one else.'
Connor stood and went to his desk, taking a key from his pocket and unlocking a wee drawer, he shuffled papers a minute, then found a tattered address book. He wrote down the detective's name and phone number, handing it to Daryl.
'He changes offices every so often. Not sure where he may be now, so best to call first.' Connor hovered over Daryl a moment. 'Yer not in any need of extra sword or shot, are ye?'
Daryl stood then, smiling as he pocketed the note. 'I thank you, Connor, but no, I have plenty at home. And Manuel is there, too; a good man to have your back.' He regarded Connor then. 'I'm sure it's nothing. My eh, associate, is sometimes prone to rather unorthodox forays. He may simply be keeping watch on me to see if I have any business contacts, fancy deals that I'm keeping from him...'
Connor said nought but was eyeing Daryl curiously. At last, he sauntered back round and knocked his pipe against the fireplace into the ashes, then turned to his young neighbor and put a hand on his shoulder.
'I ken yer a mon who likes to keep much to himself, and that's all to the good, as far as it goes. But, when chips are doon and ye have some wolf or other at your door, it's good to have backup, no?'
'It is that, aye,' Daryl agreed, wondering indeed, who that may be now...with Jack at odds and Raimundo and Sebastiao seemingly unknown ciphers there, he didn't know whom he could count as a friend, especially when he wasn't throwing dollars around but instead in need of aid. Manuel was his right-hand man, of course, but he was also silent and solitary, and a very secretive sort.,
'Ye may, or may not have ken't that I, myself have Masonic brethern,' Connor confessed, tapping his be-ringed finger with the Square and Compass on the wooden mantlepiece. 'Scottish Rite, of course. Aye, there are some business men aboot town there as well, and some come just for the association with others for that reason mainly.
'But, there are some brothers who do take the Work seriously. All in all, they're good people to know, and to cultivate knowing.'
All I need is yet another secret society, Daryl thought. But he knew what Connor was about; it might not be a bad thing to present himself as a more available and approachable figure in the local business community. And get to know some 'good people' as well. He sighed.
'Aye. I can see the wisdom there, Connor. You have a good point...' Daryl ran a hand through his hair in thought. 'Scottish, yes? -- Not York Rite?'
Connor's 'Ach!' was followed by mutterings unintelligible but the gist of the growling was decidedly in favor of Scottish, not York Rite.
'Ye can believe in the Great Spirit or Gitchie Manitou, whatever ye wish! Ye need not necessarily be Christian in faith and deed.' Connor paced about, glancing outside for wolf sightings, no doubt. 'Do ye think I would be in it, then? Bridget would have me flayed and roasted...'
Daryl smiled. 'Bridget has many fine qualities, indeed.'
Connor barked a laugh at that.
'Weel, think it over, eh? Let me know if ye'd consider it. I'd put in a recommendation for ye.'
'I will. Thank you, for your advice, I do appreciate it. Daryl paused, then added, 'Connor...do you still have your cannon?'
Connor smiled. 'O'course! I do indeed! A beauty...from one o'the ships left to mold away in harbor whilst the mad buggers onboard deserted for the gold fields, daft bastards... Aye, I'd not part w'that prize. Care to see her?'
'Always. If it isn't too much trouble...' Daryl's curiosity had renewed just recalling the odd wee cannon.
'Ach, nivver...it could use some grease and polish before the weather turns wet, any road...this way!' Connor exited the front door, then put a hand to Daryl. 'Eh, hold back a moment whilst I check for the wee wolf pack.' He went round the corner then signaled a come-ahead to Daryl.
'She has them on the screen porch with some bones. We're safe for noo..' And he led the way to the corner overlook with a grand shot, or view, of the bay. There chained to a large granite boulder was the fat black cannon, squatting like a long-nosed iron dragon awaiting trouble.
'Here she be; a ton o'fun, she is. Ach, the bloody birds...sooch a mess, here!' Connor went into a nearby stone shed and brought out some rags and cleaner, began wiping nature's flotsam from the barrel. As he cleaned, Daryl noticed the sculptured form of a lovely woman begin to take form upon the old gun.
'Ye can see her better noo; that be Santa Barbara, eh? She is the patron saint of artillerymen, ye ken.'
'I didn't know!' Daryl bent closer and ran a hand over the lovely lady's features. 'It's finely worked, isn't it? You have a prize here, indeed, Connor.' Daryl's antiques acquisition lust began to do a slow burn in his veins. He vowed he would have his own cannon as well then. And why not?
Just then, the back door opened and barks and growls were heard as the wolf pack was loosed among them.
'"Cry havoc! And loose the dogs of war!"' Daryl yelled, taking to his heels, with Connor close behind.
They managed to outrun them and gained the front gate. Panting safely on the street,
Connor and Daryl grinned at one another.
'It'll keep ye on yer toes here, lad; nivver a dull moment.' He put a hand on Daryl's shoulder. 'Contact my man. And keep yer wits about ye. Ye ever considered having a wee dog yerself?'
Daryl paused. 'Hm. I travel, or used to, too much to keep any pets. But, my circumstances may be changing. I plan to stay put for a while now.'
.................
It was evening at the gatehouse and Athena had built up the fire to last the night.
She had put Emlyn to work on chopping wood by the last light of day to give her something else to think about other than Daryl.
Evening had now settled about the cottage like a flock of black crows and Em shut the door to and deposited her load of fuel, glad to be indoors. She poured some hot tea took her mug to the sofa where Athena joined her, each curling into her respective corner.
'So. What's it to be then?' Athena leaned an arm on the sofa back, eyeing Em. 'Are you staying here now? That is to say...There? In Daryl's mausoleum-cum-mansion?'
Emlyn shivered and slowly shook her head. 'No. I cannot imagine how anyone could live in that museum of his. Full of Things, but no Life.' She sighed. 'I will probably return to the west and head for the hills, as I usually do when I wish to return to my Self. Back to Mrs. Murphy's, if she'll have me, after all this time! I miss my Triad sisters. I miss being alone, more...'
'I can always head up to the loft,' Athena smiled.
Em laughed. 'You know what I mean... Your presence is no intrusion, but complementary.' She stared into the fire a while, musing. 'I'm still mesmerised by that Disney film...I cannot believe some of the more obvious metaphors once you pointed them out!' She looked with wide eyes at Athena. 'La Tours "The Penitent Magdalene"! Holding a skull! Amazing. And few people would even notice, or wonder...'
'That's how they did it, the Disney animators. Very sly and subtle. Have to be, to escape the heavy scrutinization of the Church. But, yes, with such a blatantly obvious tale of the subjugation of women due to the banishment of the Divine Feminine from scripture, it could not be left out.' Athena knew her onions, indeed.
'And Ursula! What a great villainess!' Em's eyes lit up like candles. 'To portray her as an octopus is brilliant; the corporate state...greedy politicians and the lust for material wealth and powerful monopolies. She who enticed all the merfolk to abandon their watery paradise for the promise of bright, shiny Things!
'It so obviously and perfectly portrays the fall of humankind, separation from the pleroma, the Otherworld and Summerland...our true home where we need not things nor this fleshy burden. We know and long for this blissful state of all-knowing, all-encompassing oneness with all, our natural state of being. As it is said, the Buddha did not become enlightened, but only remembered that he already was.'
'Many, many folk tales all attempted to illustrate this,' Athena continued, 'The Swan Maiden, the Selkies...the Eleusian mysteries of Greece and their initiations revolving around the myth of Persephone and Demeter...the daughter separates from the mother and 'eats the seeds' given her by Hades. Obviously, the girl is no longer virgin, and has been 'seeded'; once one falls into carnality and lust, there is no longer any time for thoughts of the nature of reality or something greater, beyond the everyday demands of husband and family...
'Sometime I will have to show you The Wizard of Oz. About Kansas, which is portraying heaven, truly, in the countryside, and a loving family, and a little girl who longs for a more colorful Somewhere, Over the Rainbow...'
'Does she find it?' Em wondered.
'Oh yes,' Athena nodded. 'She finds it, in all its multicolored chaos, flying monkeys and all!' Athena shifted round, putting her feet up on her pirate's chest. 'But, in the end, she comes back round to knowing that "there's no place like home;" that is, our true home the pleroma. Only then will this longing for 'the other' be truly satisfied; when we become once again part of the whole, and remember what we lost.'
'Like all country kids who long for bright lights, big city...they soon find out that concrete makes a cold, hard bed.' Emlyn was pensive. 'That's another thing...I am wearying of city life, back at Nob Hill. It has been so long since I have been in the wild. It's where I belong, truly..my wee corner of the pleroma here on earth.'
'Then make it so.' Athena was adamant.
'Will do.' Em nodded. And then yawned. 'I actually think I could sleep.'
Athena slunk up from the sofa then and brought round blankets and a pillow. 'Here you are, ma cheri. And I am off to Bedfordshire. Good night and sweet dreams.'
'You too, Athena. I hope only for dreamless sleep.'
'Tomorrow will take care of itself then. Bon soir.'
And Athena blew out the candles, and headed up to her loft, leaving Emlyn the fire.
'The Goddess is in her heaven and all is right tonight,' she murmured.
CLICK BELOW TO LISTEN!Waterboys - Strange Boat
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PvLd29MCvM
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