wooo....went for a walk the mile er so out at low tide(yea really low tide)and out there is a cross in the middle of nowhere between the 2 churches on either shore. (Will post that in a bit)
So I am taking pics all the way around
of the cross and the land/sea scape
.LOLOLHEY tell me what do you guys see??This Is called Gran Roche (Big rock)and Its another place that St Michel sent the dragon back into the depths of the earth.(Merovingian Mythos)...anyways it is odd how it too is shaped like a pyramid.Do you suppose its like...ahh look at the blue and you see blue everywhere
Of course i am refering to the new discoveries in Bosnia that has hit the news.
At the page below.
More later.
http://www.bosnianpyramid.com/index_files/Excavations.html

Aequis Meissen: so I was thinking lately about generosity
Aequis Meissen: and what it means to Gift
Aequis Meissen: if we have plenty to give
tea_and_pi: yes there is a portion of the writings of gibran
Aequis Meissen: why harbor anything but benefaction?
tea_and_pi: that the apple tree does not choose who eats the apples
Aequis Meissen: yes
Aequis Meissen: yes
Aequis Meissen: Let us be concerned more of our foundations and roots
tea_and_pi: but the real test is do we harbor it so intensely that we wither and die
Aequis Meissen: we draw our life's richness from a common root
Aequis Meissen: each other supplying the discernible links between
tea_and_pi: there is a portion in us that learns to release the fruit
Aequis Meissen: till we wend into each other's souls and heart like baby into a mother's arms
tea_and_pi: and know so much more will pass through
tea_and_pi: if we are truly of the orchard
Aequis Meissen: I speak outloud much more these days
Aequis Meissen: and ever shall from now on
Aequis Meissen: very rich encounters sometimes
Aequis Meissen: like an urgency to speak
Aequis Meissen: and response, too
Aequis Meissen: sometimes exquisitely impassioned
Aequis Meissen: sometimes mercifully pleading
Aequis Meissen: sometimes sobbing to say I love you till it hurts
Aequis Meissen: everything we protect, lays in our own breast
tea_and_pi: i cannot hold or protect
Aequis Meissen: for we are the Treasure Chamber's Hall
tea_and_pi: but tell me
tea_and_pi: is it the same to offer wisdom and council
Aequis Meissen: U have to almost hang upside down to see it
tea_and_pi: in dire situations that i know when the predator
tea_and_pi: lays in wait
Aequis Meissen: think of this...a mental experiment
Aequis Meissen: let me relate
Aequis Meissen: remember the Mountain Story
Aequis Meissen: when in the Drift and Snow
Aequis Meissen: I met the One eyed Mountain Smithe
tea_and_pi: ...
tea_and_pi: yes
Aequis Meissen: and I was led through the Mist to the Mountain Gait
tea_and_pi: yes
Aequis Meissen: or so it seemed
Aequis Meissen: the Loft overhead under which we passed was past my sight, but massive
Aequis Meissen: then entering to their Meeting
Aequis Meissen: the Music began, and they danced around and around
tea_and_pi: i remember
Aequis Meissen: some in 2 or more smaller groups
Aequis Meissen: joyful, but more like mathematics
Aequis Meissen: them taking parts in moving our a story of parts
Aequis Meissen: motioning their gravity of influences, in groups larger
tea_and_pi: you see this i know
tea_and_pi: go on
Aequis Meissen: and so it was, I almost at first sight leapt into the draft of their numbers
Aequis Meissen: and danced around, overcoming the narrower spheres of their own maneuvering
Aequis Meissen: spelling out the ascent and descent at once
Aequis Meissen: till drawn down and flying wide round the spectrum of influences
Aequis Meissen: spun to my back, then shoulders...till upright but upside down
Aequis Meissen: the motion stopped with a heaving sigh
Aequis Meissen: and my hanging hair became the Tree's Roots
Aequis Meissen: my toenails the stars
tea_and_pi: yaggdasel again
Aequis Meissen: and from their Patio of Dance
Aequis Meissen: my Eye upon the Stadium of Ascension
Aequis Meissen: a Great Mansion
Aequis Meissen: from Mountain Roots
Aequis Meissen: to Heaven's Caverned Vault
Aequis Meissen: Voila
Aequis Meissen: the arrangement we all perceive here
Aequis Meissen: is too horizontal, too linear
Aequis Meissen: we fear what may lay upon the Line
Aequis Meissen: and choose our lines by our intention
tea_and_pi: yes
Aequis Meissen: dragging out our gravity of spin
tea_and_pi: well put i see
Aequis Meissen: this orients us to others, who's upkeep we must sometimes spend ourselves on
Aequis Meissen: in order not to foul our own dire motions, or more determined defenses
Aequis Meissen: but choose we do
Aequis Meissen: and so bear out our karmic debts
Aequis Meissen: owning others as we influence them
Aequis Meissen: escaping no debt of influence
Aequis Meissen: harmed sometimes thereby
tea_and_pi: yes
Aequis Meissen: othertimes nourished, if we invest right...in our motions
Aequis Meissen: emotions
Aequis Meissen: and the thought designs raised to support the expressions
Aequis Meissen: thus the Word goes forth
tea_and_pi: but this still implys the balance of awakedness that one nudges the other
Aequis Meissen: and Creation, the Heart and Soul renewed
tea_and_pi: or takes turns
Aequis Meissen: the third thing is aught different
tea_and_pi: the third thing
tea_and_pi: on the trinity would be a balance
Aequis Meissen: yes
tea_and_pi: but so rare
Aequis Meissen: now why not tell me what this is
Aequis Meissen: quickly
Aequis Meissen: one word
tea_and_pi: love
tea_and_pi: of course
Aequis Meissen: spirit
Aequis Meissen: whose substance is love
tea_and_pi: the active element
tea_and_pi: ah
Aequis Meissen: it literally is the incarnation
Aequis Meissen: and our translation thereafter, through purification
Aequis Meissen: unto resurrection
tea_and_pi: purification?
Aequis Meissen: second resurrection, that is
Aequis Meissen: after which there is no death
Aequis Meissen: and so the Spirit Soars now
tea_and_pi: a final death
Aequis Meissen: if our Temple be Erect
tea_and_pi: temples
Aequis Meissen: and Love is the Light of the Temple
Aequis Meissen: our Bodies, which are the micro-structures of creation
Aequis Meissen: the subtle mirrors of the all
tea_and_pi: or prism point
Aequis Meissen: and We, together, as One united
Aequis Meissen: are the Focal Node of the Holy
tea_and_pi: tell me this
Aequis Meissen: wholly Beauty, wholly Wisdom, wholly Love
tea_and_pi: why is it that we insist on desire and longing
Aequis Meissen: we cherish, naturally
tea_and_pi: why is it so persistent
Aequis Meissen: it is the substance of devotion
Aequis Meissen: not tuned well, maybe
tea_and_pi: in spit of sight
tea_and_pi: or vision
Aequis Meissen: but a spring of action
Aequis Meissen: we rest upon this Wheel
Aequis Meissen: a motive force, born of very biology
Aequis Meissen: an interesting motor
tea_and_pi: and as in your pain...i know your longing for the beloved
Aequis Meissen: which one can keep revving, without direction
Aequis Meissen: like a low burning fire
tea_and_pi: and how its both sweet and unbearable
Aequis Meissen: punctuating the intensity and urgency of the heart
Aequis Meissen: in some respect
tea_and_pi: how do we survive?
Aequis Meissen: choosing it's devotional objects
Aequis Meissen: right or wrongly
Aequis Meissen: we take responsibility
Aequis Meissen: we own
Aequis Meissen: we cherish
Aequis Meissen: we confess our weaknesses
tea_and_pi: yes
Aequis Meissen: pray for bettered strength
Aequis Meissen: be cherishable
tea_and_pi: we have
Aequis Meissen: ooze into the warming embrace of promising tranquility
Aequis Meissen: it is our trust in the bare nakedness of the day
Aequis Meissen: our now
Aequis Meissen: which is spirit born
Aequis Meissen: and a child, literal child
Aequis Meissen: this cherishing simplicity is real
Aequis Meissen: no mere construct
Aequis Meissen: for the golden child is just that
Aequis Meissen: a genuine, spiritual inheritance
Aequis Meissen: and one blade of golden lock
Aequis Meissen: upholds all of Creation under the Sun
Aequis Meissen: which is our Parenthood
Aequis Meissen: with the
Aequis Meissen: Moon
Aequis Meissen: who bears the Child, as our Madonna
Aequis Meissen: see
Aequis Meissen: Our Life...this Third thing
Aequis Meissen: is our Nurturing
tea_and_pi: yes
Aequis Meissen: and we thus partake of the Mother's Milk
Aequis Meissen: the Philospher's See
Aequis Meissen: then our Father's Strength
Aequis Meissen: Oaken Sanctuary
Aequis Meissen: where the Red Lord IS persuasion
Aequis Meissen: then comes the Contest
Aequis Meissen: and Hestia steps forward
Aequis Meissen: the Starkest Memory
Aequis Meissen: whom none dares offend
Aequis Meissen: precisely for her Mildness
Aequis Meissen: her Mean
Aequis Meissen: her Middle
Aequis Meissen: her Third
tea_and_pi: ah
Aequis Meissen: thus Our Sacred Hearth
Aequis Meissen: IS the very Heart of what we know and show of Life
tea_and_pi: it can be created
Aequis Meissen: and we Own this process
Aequis Meissen: for it IS our Inheritance
Aequis Meissen: our Station, set among the stars
Aequis Meissen: who sung in the morning together
Aequis Meissen: when raised at first the foundations of the temple
Aequis Meissen: and rung round the spheres the orbital delight of aeons
tea_and_pi: reminding us of the joy
tea_and_pi: i treasure this
Aequis Meissen: it is this cherishing then
Aequis Meissen: our present innocence
Aequis Meissen: which we nurture
Aequis Meissen: our One Devotion
Aequis Meissen: which is lovely and kind and beautiful
Aequis Meissen: patient and spontaneous and artistic
Aequis Meissen: clever and witty and wise
Aequis Meissen: playful, mischievous, pranksteruy
tea_and_pi: chuckle
Aequis Meissen: tomfoolery and jester-like insight
Aequis Meissen: making Cere's laugh upon her way in search
Aequis Meissen: but which we do no longer search
Aequis Meissen: but are raised upon the Rites of Ceres/Demeter
Aequis Meissen: the Golden Shocks ingathered
Aequis Meissen: Stored to the Ceiling, our Grain
Aequis Meissen: which like Dragon Bones once strewn
Aequis Meissen: become the inheritance among men
Aequis Meissen: and the salvators mundi
Aequis Meissen: light of the world, salt of spirit
Aequis Meissen: reflecting over the craven bushels the sight past guessing
tea_and_pi: ...
Aequis Meissen: would you put this light under the bushels, and burn down the world?
Aequis Meissen: or raise it on a hill, a beacon
tea_and_pi: more likely set a beacon to the stars
Aequis Meissen: which becomes the new city, uncloven stone
Aequis Meissen: made without hands
Aequis Meissen: sheer light and substance, inherited and perfected
Aequis Meissen: like that Achilles hung by Ceres over the fire
Aequis Meissen: turning him to perfect his mortality
Aequis Meissen: in the Coals
Aequis Meissen: till his maid mother did Fear
Aequis Meissen: and Fearing Call Out for Rescue
Aequis Meissen: when the Torture WAS the Rescue, indeed
tea_and_pi: ah
Aequis Meissen: though she linearly feared the Dissolution
Aequis Meissen: it's a Weaver's Art
Aequis Meissen: wherefore the Graces dance
Aequis Meissen: and gift men the motion of creation
Aequis Meissen: weft and woof
Aequis Meissen: harmonizing the spheres of influence
tea_and_pi: ahh
Aequis Meissen: this is Aesthetics
Aequis Meissen: and it's the highest Intelligence of Creation
Aequis Meissen: which is sheer movement
Aequis Meissen: without an efficient cause
Aequis Meissen: it's own cause
tea_and_pi: delightful
Aequis Meissen: a lively spirit
Aequis Meissen: most subtle
Aequis Meissen: penetrates everything, sustaining them]
Aequis Meissen: breathing form and life and vigor into their seeming mortal fabric
Aequis Meissen: this is the love of our Maiden Queen
Aequis Meissen: who is our Sister
tea_and_pi:
tea_and_pi: yes
Aequis Meissen: which also paradigm suits our Genders
tea_and_pi: i understand
Aequis Meissen: for Ye have your young Green Prince
Aequis Meissen: but the Mother's Rule the Earth
Aequis Meissen: and the Son's inherit from Her
Aequis Meissen: the Matrimony of Heaven and Earth
Aequis Meissen: gods and godlike men adoring
Aequis Meissen: the Ascension Order of our Spheres is awsome majesty
Aequis Meissen: and we ambrace each other as our compliment
Aequis Meissen: nurturing the way
Aequis Meissen: we endear ourselves, by ourselves
Aequis Meissen: clasping the cusp of each other's bedroom hems
Aequis Meissen: pleading for midnight stories of heroes, heras ventured
Aequis Meissen: the mists on the lake and moon swung low some whispered eve
Aequis Meissen: how we pray
Aequis Meissen: pray
Aequis Meissen: pray...the verture of our hearts' satisfaction
Aequis Meissen: pleading again into our dreams
Aequis Meissen: the sweet admiration of lovers
Aequis Meissen: the soft and gentle streams of our affections purest waters
Aequis Meissen: spending out the tides's sure influences
Aequis Meissen: embracing, and embraced
Aequis Meissen: Water, Earth, Air
Aequis Meissen: semblancing the Fire in friction of Motion among Us
Aequis Meissen: sweet spell subtlest kisses
Aequis Meissen: from one upon an other to the next
tea_and_pi: ...
Aequis Meissen: pleading, praying, unity
Aequis Meissen: thus the Child emerges
Aequis Meissen: and our Resurrection occurs
Aequis Meissen: then all Doors swing open
Aequis Meissen: and the Universe lays before us
Aequis Meissen: like a ripe Table of Influence, and Eternal Banquet
Aequis Meissen: the Holy See
tea_and_pi: ...
Aequis Meissen: it's all about rebirth
Aequis Meissen: but the time is now
Aequis Meissen: we must accomplish this innocence
Aequis Meissen: and forebear to defend
Aequis Meissen: defending but our tears, cherishing them in our hope
Aequis Meissen: not letting anything slip
Aequis Meissen: but knowing also the embraced care that urges us
Aequis Meissen: urging us to ourselves, and to the insight
tea_and_pi: ..
Aequis Meissen: for the majesty of the quest is nothing but nearest to your care
Aequis Meissen: and the fountain of your rejuvenation, nearer than your very lips
Aequis Meissen: your own soul, the Holy Grail
Aequis Meissen: your own heart, the Royal Blood
Aequis Meissen: Drink, and B Satisfied

its not the moving away but the movement toward that which draws it like to source
the course exacting distillation of the cause and solid forms that bear the spaces there between the structures of the infinite below to know the smell of sea and fog upon the shell of flesh and bone to own no vessel last and final coming to a place of crystal sands the lands forgotten form the former folly of a source design the stirring with the thunder
the force down under tempest winds in waltzes held in firm embrace blue arms blue face a subtle grace the anima that flies and feeds the young its flesh consuming widow’s male in crystal chalice held on high a personal universal walkabout willing collaboration with companions on the ruddy path the merry men and women retrieving sacred geometry of reason that which holds and builds cathedrals of the mind no person held in ancient weathered time r wise aloft r fed their saintly exploits to the martyrdom of having all the surface film removed with tethered knife or gallant sword walking through the walls of earth 2 realized all sacred birth from mothers of the stone the wonderment aloneis vision to a witnessed eye brief times of eternity n placement of events in places on the space of naught…immense that fit on heads of pins the distance immeasurable

In Breton folklore, a Korrigan is a female fairy or dwarf-like spirit. Korr means dwarf and ig is a diminutive and the suffix an is an hypocoristic.
Korrigans have beautiful hair and red flashing eyes. They are sometimes described as important princesses or druidesses who were opposed to Christianity when the Apostles came to convert Brittany. They hate priests, churches, and especially the Virgin Mary. They can predict the future, change shape, and move at lightning speed. Like sirens and mermaids, they sing and comb their long hair, and they haunt fountains and wells. They have the power of making men fall in love with them, but they then kill the ones who do. In many popular tales, they are eager to deceive the imprudent mortals who see them dancing or looking after a treasure, and fond of stealing human children, substituting them with changelings. On the night of 31st October (All Souls' Night), they are said to be lurking near dolmens, waiting for victims.

____________________________________



Been have bazaar dreams . last night was a night of the Korrigan. Found a way to softly breath smoke into crevices of trees and rock and their outline would appear and solidify.They are fierce little buggers and will take on giants if they have no respect for the earth and its creatures.
They are not the cute little Tinker Bells nor are they sweet with pixie dust. In this dream a friend had squashed a little bu on the table and this little korrigan went after her with a tiny knife. Gesturing that it wanted to cut off her hand for the offense. The strange thing though was ..as I was examining all the different kinds of korrigan …some appeared as geometric shapes or spirals like in sea shells. All very interesting. I will walk / tread softly as I wander the forests.
Things are often misplaced around here and I tell Cheryl that the korrigan are playing. And if all they do is hide your items she is lucky.
I took yesterday off. And spent the day reading the book Wicked. Harry Potter fans wil enjoy . Just wanted to share this little bit from the story.
Really worth the read.
__________________________________________
“Wicked

The attack on the Vinkis student provoked gossip and speculation. In sorcery the next day Glinda asked Miss Greyling to explain something. How could Doctor Nikidiks Extract of Biological Intention or whatever it was, how could it fall under the heading of life sciences when it behaved like a master spell? What really is the difference between science and sorcery?
Ah, said Miss Greylin, choosing the moment to apply herself to the care of her hair. Science , my dears, is the systematic dissection of nature, to reduce it to working parts that more or less obey universal laws. Sorcery moves in the opposite direction. It doesnt rend, it repairs. It is synthesis rather than analysis. It builds anew rather than revealing the old.In the hands of someone truly skilled.it is Art. One,in fact, may call it the Superior , or the Finest Art. It bypasses the Fine Arts of painting and drama and recitation. It doesnt pose to represent the world. It becomes. A very noble calling She began to weep softly with the force of her own rhetoric. Can there be a higher desire than to change the world? Not to draw Utopian blueprints, but really to order change. To revise the misshapen, reshape the mistaken, to justify the margins of this ragged error of the universe? Through sorcery to survive?
At teatime, still awed and amused, Glinda reported Miss Greylings little heartfelt speech to the two Thropp sisters. Nessarose said, Only the Unnamed God creates, Glinda. If Miss Greyling confuses sorcery with creation she is in grave danger of corrupting your morals.

From Wicked
by Gregory Maguire

completed room

Lisa asked for other pics of the house. This is one of the bedrooms that we stripped giant flowered wallpaper off ,painted, and sanded and polished the floors. It looks quite nice now.
I will post more later as they finish.

Sunrise at The Cave of Treasures

SUN TODAY!!!!!!!!!!1Hope it stays. I am going to work for a while this morn then venture to the sands at low tide. Me thinks I heard a whisper in the early mist ...
a breeze across the edge of light
something passing with the night
a breath
a call to venture on the traveled sands
a thousand times the
spoken name of source design
was echoed
now is whispered
in the faint of rising suns

korrigan and sprite
hold stance
and watch the east
amazed at all the changing of the waves
they scatter at the scent of coming winds and rain
and wonder what slight tremor brings the birds to flight
perhaps the poles are shifting in the light
or inner worlds are lifting veils
or continents dividing loafs and fishes
for the children of the muse
nay
merely waves against the tide
a lifting from the see
a shadow
follows paths of former dragons
in the night
(held under foot to treasure's cave and depth...
St Michel at his best)

if not for all the foam and stir
one never would have seen
the silki
on the stone
or heard the puff of air between the waves
to synchrnize the veil
hidden shades of pale
a venture toward the Grand Roche
a rock
a cave
and while the veil falls fast away
beneath the foam and sands
the bearly light of sunrise
lifts a woman in her round

to cave and dark
the path of steps ascends
a place where tide and wave can blend
with cries of birthing
breathing
one more generation of the see
an imitation of androgeny

the virgin birthing
both the you and me
-------------------------------------------------------

The green is beginning to look very lush. But I am still amazed at the lack of animals for all the wood that is here. We have left bags of garbage in the garage waiting on our trip to the Deshedderie(phonetic spelling) and they are never disturbed, except by an occasional dog.
And the variety of birds is minimal. I do hear doves and owls in the evening. And loads of finch and Ravens. Some blackbirds with white markings. And a few hawks. Oh yes, of course, lots of sea gulls.

Perhaps as the spring becomes more in bloom.

The tulips are sprouting. Daffodils are waning. And roses are promising.

Am I missing something?

The one thing they don't tell you is that Rosanbo is built in a deep recess. One goes down steep hills to approach the chateau. Not like most that sit up on high hills overlooking the countryside. Curious.
Rosenbo reveals the history of one of the most spacious and splendid estates in Brittany. Although it sounds as if it might have something to do with a rose, the name Rosenbo is actually derived from Bo, a local stream,Rosanbo meaning"rock above the Bo"in the Breton language.
Dating from the 15th century.The library contains over 8000 books that belonged to Claude Le Peletier.
We attempted to visit this chateau but it was closed for the holiday. So we will return soon.
One of the inner structures I am interested in seeing is the elaborate organ in gold that was built by Robert Dallam in 1653, in the Rosanbo chapel. Every chateau had their own chapel.
------------------------------

We had a peak of sunshine today. Just long enough to venture outside for our dinner at the picnic table and a marvelous sunset. We watch carefully for the sun to come out and try to take advantage of every morsel. I think I am sun starved. Comes with being a floridian.
Working feverisly on art work so as to finish as much as possible before leaving. And in between examining all the sites in the area. I have three more places I want to see before I leave . Carnac(whick may wait for another visit), Mont St Michel and Ginggamp ,where the only Black Modanna in Brittany is held.

Finished the Kitchen cupboards/Berton Images:)

Easter in Brittany

First tangles of vines

Up the oak and birch

Forsythia waning

Setting place for the bed of roses

In a much to moist garden

First burst of leaves

Reddened with exertion

Promising the redder Rose to come

talasa

long waiting in the desert of the mind
hard derma full encapsulating steady sleep
the fragile point of all beginnings
waiting on the moisture breech
a liquid reach that feeds a timed response
within expands n stretches first the life-ped
stable
held to place
position for receiving grace
expansion reaching slow minute meanderings
away from all geometries of earth
reach reaching toward the sun
…..though futile in the reaching
still
one thrives within the warmth
relentless
until death
and more than often
turn to follow face and worship
with the rainbow colors
programmed
for the blooming
of life’s banner for the real

talasa







Another cloudy day. Last Sunday was such a treat ...having sun all day. Guess I have been spoiled with all the Florida sunshine. But then there is such a thing as too much of a good thing too.
Being Saturday may inspires me to do something different for a change. I have been waiting on a day with sun to walk the low tide. I am beginning to think that if I wait for sun it may not happen.
There is a standing stone cross emerging out of the sand a ways down the road. I am told that the Sea used to be 30 feet lower in the past. And that many old stone monuments and homes are now under sand.
We picked up a book on the local legends but I am finding that most of the english books are translated by French speaking individuals, and the flow of sentances may not always make sense. When I read them I always feel as if part of the story is missing. And travel folders are even worse. Guess one should just use their imagination.
I have also been working on a novel....chuckle...with me own take on the modern day Merovingians . Perhaps I will spend a bit o time on that too. After all, The powers that bee say that we all have a story to tell.:)
I finished the Berton Pictures on the kitchen cupboards. And I have been trying to get pics. Every time i take them some foggy etherial foam wanders into the pic. So i am going to recgarge me batteries and try again later. Then i will post them.
With all the wonder of the Korrigan and Fae I reposted a Fae Queen poem i wrote a few years back. If anyone is interested it is posted on

http://blog.myspace.com/teaandpi

Just a little something for Easter.
Going to try to find a place to attend services.
Funny...I was told they celebrate Easter on Monday. I need to clarify that and find out why.
Interesting.

A good page to see the local sights here at Michel en Greve

is here....great pics....hope you read French:)

http://www.infobretagne.com/saint-michel-en-greve.htm

I was surprised how the legend and art work portraying St. Brendan is so alive here in Bertange. ________________________

The Story of Saint Brendan the Navigator

The story of St. Brendan's "Journey to the Promised Land" was one of the most famous and enduring stories of western Europe for almost a thousand years - a multi-language 'best seller'. it may be that in his voyages in the Atlantic Ocean he reached the shores of America long before Columbus. There is a renewed interest internationally in this sixth-century Irish saint whose name appeared on ocean maps through the centuries, and whose story has been written in countless versions in many languages.
St Patrick is now the best known abroad of the saints of Ireland; but for perhaps seven centuries, up to the 16th century, that place was held by St. Brendan the Navigator. This was mainly because so many countries were fascinated for so long by the Navigatio, the ninth century account of his travels in the Atlantic Ocean. Part of this fascination was caused by the way the story seemed to penetrate the vast mysteries of the Atlantic and part because the charm and literary skill with which events of the voyage and the personality of the saint are depicted. In recent years the interest in the saint has revived as it becomes more likely that the Navigatio may be the earliest account of Voyaging to America. This likelihood has been increased by the success of Tim Severin in 1977 in reaching Newfoundland by way of the Faeroes, Iceland and Greenland in a boat built according to the specifications laid down in the Navigatio, an adventure described in his book, The Brendan Voyage.
We know a fair amount about Brendan, thanks to the Navigatio and to several related, but occasionally conflicting, biographies. He was notable not only as a voyager, but also as a prominent leader of Irish Christianity in one of its great creative periods. He was born probably in A-D. 484 at a place now called Church Hill on a narrow ridge on the north shore of Tralee Bay, Co. Kerry, between Fenit Harbour, to the south, and Barrow Harbour. At the age of one he was, in accordance with custom, sent in fosterage to St. Ita, the mystic; this was the source of a famous and lifelong friendship between the two saints. After a life of activity, exceptional even by the standards of the sixth century, Brendan died, aged 93, in 577-8 at Annaghdown, Co. Galway.
Brendan belonged to what was called the Second Order of Irish saints, also known as the Twelve Apostles of Ireland. These included another Brendan (of Birr) hence the distinguishing title of' 'Navigator' given to our Brendan. These' Apostles' gave Irish Christianity its distinctive monastic character which it was to retain for some six centuries. In the monasteries, religion, learning and the arts were fostered and developed until, Ireland having been largely Christianized, there spilled over into Britain and continental Europe that great missionary, cultural and intellectual movement that up to the 11th century was to contribute so much to the slow recovery of European civilization after the collapse of the Roman Empire. Brendan's Irish foundations were Ardfert, near his birthplace; Inisdadroum (now Coney island) in the River Shannon close to Ennis, Co. Clare; another foundation on an island, Inchiquin in Lough Corrib in Co. Galway; Annaghdown by the Corrib in Co. Galway - a foundation for nuns of which his sister Briga became abbess; and his main foundation at Clonfert by the Shannon in Co. Galway. He also had foundations in Scotland (near St. Colm Cille's iona), Wales, Brittany and, most likely, the Faeroe islands. We read in the Navigatio that in all his foundations he had nearly 3,000 monks. His influence was widespread, not only in his native county and in other parts of Ireland, but also in Scotland, England and Wales and in continental Europe - Brittany, the Low Countries, Germany and along the Baltic coast to the Gulf of Finland.
He was an indefatigable traveler, as the spread of his foundations shows. There is a reliable account of his visiting Colm Cille in Scotland after 563. At that time Brendan was eighty. If we are to accept literally the account in the Navigatio, he was already in his mid-eighties when he set out on the great voyage that was to last seven years. As the young man he met in the Promised land at the end of the seven- year search said to him of that Land, 'You could not find it immediately because God wanted to show you his varied secrets in the great ocean .'
THE VOYAGE
There is no doubt about the impact of the tale, but was there really a voyage, and did it reach America? Let us look at the story in outline. It opens with an account of an abbot on an island monastery in Donegal Bay who often paid visits to the Promised Land of the saints by sailing some apparently short way out into the Atlantic. Brendan is fired with ambition to find this Land and, with fourteen picked monks, he goes to Brandon Creek, west of Mount Brandon in Kerry where, 'as is usual in those parts' (and still is !) they constructed a light, wooden-framed and ribbed boat. This they covered with skins. With three late-comers - who were to add drama to the voyage - they sailed west to find the Promised Land of the saints. They had no practical idea of where this island was but great confidence that God would, sooner or later, reveal it to them. Why did they not go north (instead of west) to consult with the abbot in Donegal Bay who clearly knew how to get to the Promised Land and back again? If they had, perhaps there would have been no tale!
Certainly, if that Promised Land was to be America we can, with hindsight, see that even in a keel-less boat - always at the mercy of changing winds - the conditions for success were there, as Tim Severin was to demonstrate in 1977. Some nine months later Brendan and his companions had clearly, by way of the island of St. Kilda, reached the Faroe Islands ('The Island of sheep') where each year they were to spend the period from Easter to Pentecost. There they met two important characters of the story, the mysterious steward who proved so helpful, and the amiable whale, Jasconius, who was content to pose as an island each Easter Sunday so that Mass could be offered on his back. The relationship began in an unfortunate manner when, at the first meeting, the voyagers - Sinbad-like - lit a fire on his back. He bore them no grudge and, on their last visit, showed some graceful emotion in taking them for a short farewell cruise! During the following autumn they reached an island which had the monastery of the Community of Ailbe, the Irish followers of a pre- Patrician Irish missionary, who had set out to seek their Promised Land many years before. Here, according to the Navigatio, Brendan's party were to spend each Christmas for five years. We get a charming if somewhat idealized picture of life in a monastery of contemplative Irish monks. it is not clear where this island was. There are references to a warm muddy pool and crystal which might suggest Iceland and Icelandic spar: but the general ambience is one of a very temperate climate, and the later context suggests a tropical latitude, perhaps the Azores, or indeed the Canaries, both also volcanic. We meet a 'soporific island' (possibly one of the Azores) and, some distance further on, what may be the Sargasso sea. in the following year we reach an island that is described as 'extraordinarily flat so much so that it seemed to them to be level with the sea. It had no trees or anything that would move with the wind, it was very spacious and covered with white and purple fruit'. This may have been one of the Bahamas, some of which do not rise more than 10 feet above the sea. (it was at one of the Bahamas - which he named San Salvador, now Watlings island - that Columbus, sailing from the Canaries in the wake of Brendan, but nine centuries later, was to make his first American landfall). some six days sail away was a very fertile island (Jamaica?) with 'grapes as big as apples' and 'a perfume like that of a house filled with pomegranate.' Then back to the Ailbe community for Christmas.
By now they had been two and a half years on the voyage. The narrative skips the adventures of the next four years, except to say that they spent Easter and Christmas in the usual places. The narrative resumes on what we can take from the description to be clearly the return voyage by way of the Bahamas-Bermuda (countless fish in crystal water), the Labrador- Greenland iceberg belt ('The Crystal Pillar') and two Icelandic volcanoes (the 'Island of Smiths' and the 'Fiery Mountain'), then by Rockall to Donegal Bay. There is a sharp break in the Southward thrust of the narrative after Rockall so as to retrace tracks to repeat the Easter visit to the Faeroes, and to pick up the 'steward' to act as pilot to the spiritual, as distinct from the material, Promised Land; but this is plainly a literary artifice. For one thing, the implication seems clear that the fog-enshrouded island (Newfoundland?) is here placed fairly close to Ireland, not where it belongs at the other side of the Atlantic. it is typical of the balanced composition of the tale that it should be made to begin and end with a visit to the Promised Land, however this may upset the orderly narration of the voyage. Close reading of the Navigatio shows it to be a masterly balance between precisely observed facts, vivid embroidery, and skilful story telling.
Weaving through the topographical details are accounts of the perils and hardships of the sea, vivid writing - as of the submarine volcano off Iceland, or the Dantesque account of the weekend leave of Judas from Hell spent on a wave- drenched, but cooling rock - and accounts of unfamiliar monsters.

Saint Brendans Prayer

Shall I put myself wholly at your mercy, without silver, witout a horse, without fame, without honor?Shall I throw myself wholly upon You,without sword and shield, without food and drink,without a bed to lie on?
Shall I say farewell to my beautiful land, placing myself under Your yoke?
Shall I pour out my heart to You, confessing my manifold sins and begging forgiveness,tears streaming down my cheeks?Shall I leave the prints of my knees on the sandy beach,a record of my final prayer in my native land? Shall I then suffer every kind of wound that the sea can inflict?Shall I take my tiny boat across the wide sparkling ocean?
O King of the Glorious Heaven, shall I go of my own choice upon the sea?O Christ, will You help me on the wild waves?

trembling walls n structures
deep
the deep
emerging growl n groan
from deep far deep
earth trembles
ocean tides recede
elements together
immovable forces in motion
destined to struggle
awesome laws of change
no text contains

someone spoke and woke
the deep
....sentinels all
i say
tremble!





http://www.castles.org/castles/Europe/Western_Europe/France/france2.htm

When I was growing up I placed a lot of worth on dreams. It was a time of meeting with several in a group. And we traveled to several places in this world and others. Each time taking on different group persona. One time around a campfire, in desert like robes...another as native american or at least the flavor of what it seems to be....then in mountains high on cliff echoing chants before dawn...and sometimes stepping into matalic like structures and zapping off to who knows where.

Then one day while brushing me teeth a sudden silence came and I paused to look around. Sadly i knew they had left. And the dreams became just memory.*

I had this dream last night.

Two of the many places in Brittany I have wanted to see are Carnac and MOnt St Michel.

Last night in the dream I was shown a dolmin with marks carved in the stone from top to bottom.

I tried so hard to memorize the symbols but could only bring back the first 2. I knew it was directions to the entrance of an underground city beneath Mont St Michel.

If I get a chance to draw them and scan them I will post them.

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The little old woman across the street that visits here regularly ,invited Cheryl ,me and Christian to apertief at 6.

What a delightful woman.She knows we do not speak french very well, but she chatted non stop while we were there at her home. ..About her husband that she kicked out. ..About her children and how the first child is always born at home.We had champange and almonds. And a little strawberry liquor (made locally) to flavor the champange.

On entry to her home there is a life size statue of Isis holding a lamp in the shape of a flame.
She said she got it a a local store like home depot.

The company was delightful and the conversation difficult but fun. We laughed a lot.

She would not let us take her picture because she said she needed to see the hairdresser first.

It was a nice end to the day, good compay,laughter, and being a bit tipsy.

As for my art...I am now painting pictures of Berton life on the cupboards. I will post them tomorrow.

a curious find

The best part of getting lost in the country side is finding treasures of curiosity.
We have yet to find the name of this church. It was way out in the hills of this area and all boarded up. We asked someone walking who was across the dirt road how to see the inside and she told us we had to go to the town hall to get permission. Its on our list ,that is, if we can find our way back there.
The curious thing was the pagan images on the tower and the cross with christ on one side and a mother and child on the other. I have since seen this in several other places so the 2 sided cross does not seem to be an oddity.
The endless assortment of churches is incredable. One could never see them all or what treasures they may hold.
And the number of churches that are name "Notre Dame" must be in the thousands.
Each has a history and folklore about their origins.
I am trying my best to see if there is a map of churches in this area and others.
I suspect it is not just RLC that can grip the imagination or have stories to tell.
.....t

http://www.equinoxe-lagrandescene.com/plus_ou_moins_linfini.html

This is the "Circus" we attended. It was one of the most stunning visuals I have ever seen.
If you have an opportunity to go to this webpage....click translate.
And if there is anyway you might be in the vacinity to see them in person......
The creativity is near perfection in me little opinion.
Not just eye candy but an eye gasm.
Lighting...music....weaving of magic.
Yes my sunday was complete.

What a perfect Sunday. We got up late. Enjoyed the morning with a cup o coffee and decided to go to the market. At the market we found fresh fruit ,vegtables,fomage, and bacon. All the meat her is extreamly lean. So don't expect to cook your eggs in bacon drippings:).
Bought a couple pastries and settled at a little cafe with cafe latte to compliment our pastry.
As we basked in the warm sun in what was still 50 degree weather we heard our names called out. Veronic and her fanily were across the street with friends. They invited us over for champange and olives. In spite of our very bad french we communicated well with the new acquaintances that they introduced us to.They also had children who were all playing and giggling as we sat and chated.
Veronic told us that there was a circus today and would we like to see. Now...I am thinking jugglers,clowns...etc. ok So we make plans to meet as the exposition building as it is called.
So we head home,and decide to sit in the yard and have our pizza that we found at the market. That "sorta" pizza that i mentioned before. Kinda getting used to it.
We sat in the sun eating our pizza and watched the fishermen walking up the strem. I am told the salmon are beginning to run .
In the meantime
Madam Fred the resident mouse catcher decides to join us and beg for pizza.(pic)
The day is so warm and by now it is almost 3. Chertl decides she wants a nap before we attend the circus and I decide to wander in the woods. Beautiful> The mud is drying out so there is not too much concern about getting my sneakers dirty. So I don'y put on boots.
Paths are beginning to be overgrown with violets and vines.
Then I crossed over the highway and walked the beach . Low tide...and the beach was occupied by several scarfed and jacketed brave souls enjoying the sunshine.
Opon returning i remembered I left my last piece of pizza on the table in the yard. Yes...long gone to Madam Fred.
Lovely sinple day. No thoughts but to enjoy and breath.

The cross shaped hole was created for the crossbows to fit through in defense.

Our friends,Veronic and Christian live here with their little boy .(an aspiring rock star) and they raise their own chickens and sheep. Veronic is the real estate person who found Cheryl her home. Since then they have been wonderful friends and have helped Cheryl adjust to her new environment.

pics

sooooo far behind in all that has passed....
I finally have access to the internet and I will try to catch up on just too much to tell. the first of this is some writing I began when arriving at St Michel en Grave. We stayed at a motel for the first week while we readied the house for occupancy. Making sure the heatwater and plumbing worked.
All the magic I expected to greet me was delayed by a major painful adjustment to time change and work in volved in getting comfortable. It has now been a month of stripping wallpaper, painting and cleaning. We eat work and sleep. But i try to take time to walk the woods and streams... Observe the magnificent tides and we do try to see the local sights.
The area is breathtaking and the weather extreams and change. I truly have not been really warm since we got here. It may be calm one minute and vast winds the next, out of the north to set frost on the windows.
So going back to a few weeks ago i will try to update.
This is where i began writing .
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Sitting at rest now in a lovely little hotel room overlooking the sea: only fifty dollars a night and very clean and comfortable. Warm and cozy after wine and a French version of pizza. That is, flattened bread with strange cheeses scattered randomly over an ever so flat dough. But I really didn’t care. We were starving after a long day working on cleaning and organizing the little home at St. Michel en Greve, nestled by and on the sea. Stacks of magazines to be removed, three years of spiders to gently relocate, dust and brine from the windows, all the usual preparation you would expect of a home not lived in for three years. Most of the furniture was left and many utensils for the kitchen. The same family has used this house over the years so there is a sweet consistency to the arrangement of even the littlest details. I have been working mainly on the kitchen so as to prepare it to be painted. The cupboards are full of Bretagne ware that is a ceramic artist’s wet dream.
A large kitchen, bath, den ,bedroom and library downstairs and 3 large bedrooms upstairs.
A full celler too.
Large heavy furniture and wooden shelves and cupboards, six-foot windows looking out on a garden of roses and fruit trees that needs tending and all ready to bud in the springtime mist. This home is truly something out of myth n tale.
I now know why they call it the Mists of Avalon. The ongoing rain is at most a misty pelting of pin like drops… sometimes stronger into a full rain but usually just enough to decorate my glasses with tiny jewels of moisture.

…That even trees n landscape hold a different gesture here
through the prism mist
All foreign tongues to vision in the round
A stranger gone too long
I am
A pirate meant to capture
Back a heritage
Without a bawdy song
Without a tale
Or clipper sail
Or burly mate for me own brave heart
Brave is the heart
We follow through the storm and warnings of the fae
Alone we find the path to our delights
For naught is friend or foe
No mage can rightly gno
Full harmony in rhyme of reason
For our late arrival to the sea
….best let the tale unfold
And twice portray the depth of brine and brew
It knits and ties our knots
Securing all that follows
To the new


We have been staying in a small hotel until the final closing on the house. The ocean comes up below us over a hill, in maybe a few feet of water over a vast expanse of sand. Windsurfers ride the moist sand in spite of the 30-degree winds and rain. It must be a favorite sport here. When the tide is out you can walk the sand out for a quarter of a mile. I am looking forward to doing that when it warms up a bit. My Florida blood is still acclimating to this damp-cold. I haven’t really been warm since I left Florida.

Arriving here has been endless “Lion’s at the gate” at every turn …every entrance,yes,
and without persistence we may have never arrived.
Not to mention the logistics of time and money….sheesh…
Our plane from Miami to London was delayed for hours, and when we finally boarded and on our way… two hours past Bermuda to London, a woman became very ill and we circled back to Bermuda to have her sent to a hospital. More hours of delay we finally resumed our trip only to go through sever turbulence half way there mid-ocean. That was fun for some imaginings of what it would be like to slide down the escape hatch in ten-foot waves.
My friend Cheryl, who owns the new home in France, had a dripping air conditioning duct over her seat, someone’s ill behaved child was screaming like a banshee making everyone shudder and roll their eyes, as he demanded his mother’s attention and the woman who sat in the seat next to me continuously bumped me at every move…most often as I was just about to find some forced sleep. Now this would have been enough to fray nerves and encourage one to call again for the tiny bottles of spirits, but there were more gates to pass when we arrived at the airport in London. They could not get the door open. It took an hour and a half for them to find the problem and let us off the plane…then to find luggage claim down long endless corridors of Heathrow Airport…sigh…
We had a large amount of luggage, since my friend Cheryl was moving to her new home. Something like 60 boxes were sent ahead to the house but we too carried some things we needed right away.
Anyways, we did find a taxi to the hotel. And after paying an 80-dollar cab tab or 40 pounds in English currency, we finally arrived at the hotel we stayed at until the next part of our journey to Paris in two days.
It was bitter cold in London but we fiercely found time over the next two days to see all the tourist delights like Westminster Abby, Big Ben, and Oxo. We also found some delightful dining, great pubs, and even met up with some friends of Cheryl’s who took us to a restaurant called .
(about them)
More delays and problems getting to Paris.
Hardly worth remembering.
But while in Paris we visited all the major tourist delights, including a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower. That was wonderful in spite of the bitter cold. And I was amazed at the number of tourist this time of year too.
Every Place I entered brought about a sort of despair as I realized that in order to see all and take it in , one would need months or years to behold all the detailed beauty and art and lifestyle and shopping and restaurants and all there is to experience. So, selectively we visited Versailles, Musee d’Orsay, the Louvre, Notre Dame and took an evening ride on the Beteaus-Mouches on the Seine River.We arrived at Notre dame just in time to attend Mass and receive the host. Amazing how the quiet is sustained even though tourists are a continual stream flowing around the center of the church.
Then on to Jazz club and restaurants, met friends, and was then finally on our way to Brittany by train.
Our Lions at the Gates were becoming a joke by now. So when our train was stopped by
A mob of an youths on the tracks we were not surprised. We watched as they brought out three buses of swat teams and carefully subdued and encouraged them to let the train proceed. No violence, just a bit of intimidation was used.And after about two hours we aere on our way again.
Hmmm…now what was that all about. I was wondering if it made the news to the US.


Monday March13
The kitchen is almost finished, that is , the painting.
The walls are highly textured and the painting is tedious and tiring. No scaffolding, so we go up and down the ladder a few million times. The colors she chose are new green and tuscan sun. The trim will be white and we are painting the cement floors
It Promises to be bright and cheerful and with the large windows looking out on the landscape of flowers it will be wonderful.
This all matches her new dinnerware and curtains. It will be interesting when finished.
We have been making our meals at the house and finding new spices and combinations or meals at the stores. The groceries are priced about the same as in the US but there are many things missing that one gets used to. There are only a few sandwich breads to choose from. Peanut butter is scarce. And I have yet to figure out the best coffee…we are trying three different kinds. All the home improvement items including paint are very expensive. Most of the colors are already mixed and any computer color that you may desire is very limited.
There is a full moon hanging heavy over the Mer tonight…or almost a full moon. Hard for me to tell. I have no internet access yet to check. But the moon reflecting over the water is incredible. And the serge of dream time that accompanies full moons has been in full force.
And today it was finally warm enough for me to briefly venture to the oceans edge. Strange shells and seaweed must have washed in and decorated the shores with curious designs coaxing one to read like tealeaves in a cup. Wondering what manner of creatures these are that occupied these dainty, frail balloon shells,I wandered in between the waves to look for more treasures.
What an enchanting beach.
I wonder if the locals have become so accustom to this incredible beauty that it is mundane to them.Although I never grew tired of the Florida beaches and all their moods. I am overwhelmed here and just can’t seem to take it all in yet. Perhaps because the dream of walking the shores of France has been a fantasy for so long.
I find I walk with my eyes down and tremble at times at the thought of even being here. Maybe I am just live to long in the imaginal. I even let the nothing words escape as I walked on the sand amid the kelp. The wind was blowing so no one heard and the tumbling out of rhythm sound released a bit of the tension of finally being present here.
Wondering if mine
Are eyes that see a new
Or mere imagined haze of
Breathing wide eyed Giea
Waking frim her dream
First time lovers see each other in the
Colors of the prism that
Divides and pours out rainbow bridges
Mine to yours
And when you read these words
You gno
Its you
That woke the edges of my spring
So late
But soon enough
For me to gasp
When … light
Upon the lips
Your kissssss…..

Interesting that when you leave the beach you immediately walk on dark moist soil rich with flora and fauna climbing over hills and rocks. The walls of paths and vine imply some hidden caves to be discovered. But me queasy feeling about bugs keeps me from exploring further.
We are on the edge of spring here, and the forsythia are just beginning to show a bit of bloom in our back yard. Daffodils are edging the gardens and forest, and the promise of abundant roses and various other blooms teases the imagination with new growth showing through the untended edges of the property. Several fruit trees are budding. I suspect they are apple trees.
There is an old mill is in her back yard at the edge of the rushing stream. Perhaps an old flour mill for the family in the past or means of enterprise I have been told that there are salmon and trout in the streams here, so I will probably try my luck at fishing.
Behind the gardens, Cheryl owns a couple acres of forest with paths winding through violets and vines, tall pines, oak and birch. I have yet to venture there. For now we are concentrating on making the house livable.
Two feral cats have been keeping house in the mill and watching all the comings and goings. And they have shyly accepted our offerings of cat food and treats. Although they are shy they seem to be enjoying our presence. One is black and white (Madam Fred) and the other black one we call
Surprisingly ,there are few insects and animals to be seen. No squirrels. I hear many birds but there is a strange silence at times. Not quite sure why. As if something is missing.

HAHA…I spoke with the woman at the front desk in the hotel we sleep at for now. I asked her if she spoke Breton…the language of the Celts that is fast disappearing although one million people still speak this Celtic language. She said no but that the old woman across the road did. I saw the woman she spoke of this very morning opening her shutters to let in the morning light and thought what a wonderful head of white hair she had. Perhaps I will find a way to meet her.
I then mentioned to her that I had ancestors from this region that may have been Druids. She startled at this and asked Oh , are you a witch?”
I paused at this and said no. She looked at me very strange. And I wondered if it would have been a different reaction if I had said yes. More to investigate.
There are several standing stones scattered around this area. In fact, the largest collections of Stone Age monuments in the world are scattered around this area-Plouharnel, Carnec, Locmariaquer, the islands in the Morbihan Gulf and the Crozon peninsula. The remains of the ancient Broceliande-Forest is also here where memories of the Knights of the Round Table, Merlin and Vivian La Fae linger too. Many different types of Fae haunt this region of Brittany .
Much to know and learn about the past here. Brittany was described by the ancients as the “land facing the sea. ..easy to see why when standing on the Pointe du Raz ...looking west. I am told that it is like leaning on the furthest most point on the brow of the ship as she leans into the surf and sea. Perhaps we will make it there on our trips .
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