2006-2-19 – Fields of Estrella

The Books of Fae 2006-2-19 – “Estrella” “…on the invitation of Carl Bridge I learn about a group of medieval reconstructionists known as the Society for Creative Anarchronisms whose shared intent has created a world within the world, a place where they may enact the quest and vigor of the olde country in modern myth. Taking him up on his offer, I make my way to a place called ‘Estrella’ …”

My tracking of the landscapes of the Mythica continues where, during the ‘Estrella’ episode of the Journey Home, I had been invited to a gathering of modern-day sword fighters, through something called the ‘Society for Creative Anachronism’.  The invitation came from Carl Bridge, the earth avatar i’d met during the “Call of Mercury” episode of 2003.  I had respected his nobility and the strength of the earth that moved through him then, and accepted the invitation, eager to explore this realm of modern-day medieval combat.

The Troll Forge

Coming as I did from the constancy of magic in the deep mountains, this was a welcome relief.  I trusted it as the invitation came from Carl Bridge, who I recognized in 2003 as carrying the energy of the troll-clans and their strength in the Earth.

There is such a feeling of embodied mythology! Where life itself is an ongoing divination into the mythica significance, the undercurrents of archetypical embodiment that are moving through the surface plane of perception.

To me, this is more than mere recreation, it is a spellwork of intricately woven resolution, of vibrations clashing and resolving in a natural ritual, thick with the energy of both fellowship and fantasy, where that which is real pushes through what seems not.

Setting up Camp

True to his word, Caius assists me in outfitting myself for the coming war, pulling together bits of heavy fabric and a novice shield to go with the helmet he has so graciously lent me …

The Olde Kingdoms

I love it.  The place is flush with battle, with knights and dames moving about clad in the fantasy of how they would like the Middle Ages to have been.

I continue to practice my divination and invocation as I move through the space, feeling into the energies beneath the surface, into the landscape of the Mythica that I am moving through in what appears on the surface plane as this flickering realm of reborn battle.

It was an interesting place, seen in the underlands of the Mythica, where a map unveiled across my mindseye.  Here, I saw my own movement across the territories, the various states of being beneath the surface of our stories.

The map was subtle, the archetypes moving back and forth across it’s surface, yet the energy was clearly there.  Part and parcel of the mythologies that were playing out on the surface.

There was combat here. Endless combat. The facing of the questions and shadows within the self that existed in the octaves of the mortal plane. Here, the people fought for territories that existed within the maps of the mortal plane, warring over factions and fealties in a romance with what was.

Yet through this, there is fellowship.  A sense of brotherhood and sisterhood.  Of camaraderie gained on the field of battle.  While it may not be the risk of life and limb that defined an earlier Age of humanity, to face the challenges of one’s fears, the question of one’s empowerment in the confronting of the essence of conflict and resolution, is a noble thing.  To see the men embracing each other, to smell the aroma of the dirt and sweat upon the field is a great blessing, reminding me of days gone by.

The Master of Blades

“Tell me about the marketplace,” Calliope says, waving her hand through ribbons of light that dance between the library’s columns. The scene before them shifts to show rows of medieval tents filled with leather goods, gleaming metal work, and delicate laces.

“Ah, the market,” Peter replies, his gold cloak catching the ethereal light. “I was wandering through the stalls when I came upon a particular tent. The moment I approached, I could feel something different about it – a resonance that spoke to the deeper currents of magic.”

“What drew you there?”

“At first glance, it was the swords – but there was something more. The proprietor, a man called Monster, had this presence about him. When I picked up one of his blades, the balance was extraordinary. He told me it was used for moving meditation, like Tai Chi.”

Calliope raises an eyebrow. “Tai Chi?”

“After a fashion. He was speaking of the balance, the smoothness of the cut through the air and the meditative quality of practice, all a mark of his excellence of craftsmanship.” Peter smiles, watching the scene unfold before them. “But what I didn’t fully understand then was that I had stumbled upon a family of true mystics. They were nomads who channeled the Yoruba pantheon. Looking back, I can see how my own resonance as a worldwalker aligned me with their frequency. It wasn’t chance that brought me to their tent – it was synchronicity.”

Calliope points to a sculpture in the space, a throne made of many swords that sat within the tent. “Is that, the Iron Throne?” she asked. “From the Game of Thrones story?”

He nodded. “Yes. Though this would be years before the show became popular in 2011, he had crafted his own version. To me it was simply an icon of Monster’s realm, of his aspect as a Maker God.”

“And he agreed to forge a sword for you?”

“Yes. We made a deal that I would return after the Pennsic War to have him craft a blade made from damascus steel that honored my magics. At the time, I was still adjusting to life beyond the faerie realms of Tahoe’s mountains. To meet these mystics, these Old Gods walking the modern world…” Peter pauses, his expression thoughtful. “It felt like destiny. The sword was meant to be a companion to Thorn, the blade Cerronus’s aspect had given me when I first entered the Academy.”

“What fascinates me,” Calliope says, making a subtle gesture that causes the scene in the portal to shift, highlighting the subtle energies flowing around Monster’s tent, “is how these intersections of magical lineages manifested in the physical world. You mentioned feeling their resonance immediately.”

Peter nods, his eyes distant with memory. “The Mythica was showing herself to me, though I didn’t have the full language for it then. Here was this family of mystics, practitioners of Yoruba traditions, appearing in what most would see as simply a medieval reenactment fair. But beneath the surface…”

“Tell me what you saw beneath,” Calliope encourages, watching as ethereal patterns begin to shimmer around the figures in the memory. From their vantage in the library, books and blades from many traditions misted into view.

“They were living embodiments of the Old Ways. Monster and his family weren’t just craftsmen – they were channels for ancient forces. When I entered their space, it was like stepping into a different realm entirely. The swords weren’t just weapons; they were physical manifestations of spiritual alignments.”

“And this helped shape your understanding of the realms beneath the surface?”

“Exactly,” Peter replies, gesturing to where the scene shows layers of reality overlapping. “I was witnessing how different magical traditions could coexist and blend in these pocket universes that formed at gatherings like Estrella. The marketplace wasn’t just a physical space – it was a confluence of ley lines, a gathering point where different mystical currents could meet and mingle. My own journey from the fae realms of Tahoe had led me here, to these keepers of Yoruba wisdom, these crafters of blades that bridged worlds.”

“And the agreement to forge a sword after Pennsic…” Calliope prompts.

“Was more than just a transaction. It was a recognition between practitioners of different traditions. Monster could see what I was, just as I could sense what they were. The timing – waiting until after Pennsic – wasn’t arbitrary. It was part of the larger orchestration of events, the weaving of synchronicities that defined the Quest.”

The Prince and the Pilgrim

Everything was elemental for me. Awash in the aroma of their resolving legends.

I travel through the market wearing Golgatha-the-carpet-that-walks-like-a-man ….

It is during this episode that I meet the Pilgrim, a shoemaker and seeker with whom I share a potion of Opening, and travel round and around the many paths of the spot where the Estrella event is based, witnessing the whorls and spirals of the Creation in Celtic knot works, our footsteps on the paths recognized as our movement through the spirals of our repeating myths.

There is a deeply Yggdrasil energy, a sense of swirling whorls of Time, that occurs as I walk the fields of Estrella with the Pilgrim.  As I do, aided by the potion, the veils of the World shift and shimmer.  I become aware of the ripples within the ocean of moments, bearing the shapes of our sagas at their crest.  We walk through an Arabian night, making our way to campfires lit across the rolling hills, dancing in mad devotion to the rising Moon.

From here, the Pilgrim and I simply walk, following the paths around the various campsites, the miniature worlds created by the magics of the attendees intent.  By the end of the night, we are sitting, cold and waiting on the hilltop, patiently waiting for the next camel to arrive and take us home.  All in all, it was a deliciously druidic experience, flush with the textures of the Great Tree.

Calliope traced a spiral pattern in the air above the shimmering book. “Tell me about the moment on the hillside with the Pilgrim. Something significant revealed itself to you there, didn’t it?”

Peter nodded slowly, his golden cloak catching the library’s ethereal light. “It was late at night. The Pilgrim and I had found ourselves on this hill overlooking the entire encampment. The medicine we’d taken was opening our perception, and suddenly…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Suddenly I could see the pattern. The way the tents and campfires formed these spiraling paths below, like a Celtic knot worked into the land itself.”

“And above?” Calliope prompted softly.

“That’s what struck me most profoundly,” Peter’s eyes lit up with the memory. “As I looked up at the night sky, the stars… they were arranged in the exact same pattern. It was as if the constellations had rearranged themselves to mirror what was happening on the ground. Or perhaps it was the other way around – the camp below unconsciously mirroring the celestial patterns above.”

“The Stars and the Soil,” Calliope observed.

“Yes, though I didn’t have those words yet,” Peter leaned forward eagerly. “In that moment, I saw how everything was connected – the patterns in the heavens and the patterns on earth. The way people moved through the camp followed these same spiraling lines, these same sacred geometries. It was like seeing the blueprint of reality itself, manifesting both above and below.”

“And this influenced your understanding of the Mythica?”

“Profoundly. It became one of the core recognitions that would later form the Mythica thesis – this idea that there’s no separation between the Stars and the Soil, between the celestial and the terrestrial. That our movements through space and time follow these ancient patterns, these mythlines that are reflected in both the heavens and the earth.” He gestured to encompass the library around them. “Even this place, the Akashic Library, exists as a point between those realms, where we can see both patterns at once.”