To the place of Shakespeare’s verse
a space of Story on the Earth
as we walk the lines and prose of our high desire
so we find our paths are led to the Ashland Shire
We continue along the highway. In the underlands of my awareness, I can feel the energies of the Shire approaching, the soft bubble of healing and the magick of storytelling that defines the aspect of Ashland as she occurs on my path through the Mythica.
All the places of the surface plane had their analogue in the underlands. What they appeared as in the shallows of perception was merely the current expression of something much deeper.
The Shire of Ashland is sacred to me. She was the towne close enough to the elemental realms of Faerie I had lived in while studying at the Academy of the Ancient Arts. During the ‘2009 – Faerie Roads’ chapter of the Journey Home I had followed Noah McLain here, traveling the rainbow bridge from the far realms en route to the Commonwealth. I had lived there on and off over the years, and had much love for the towne’s simplicity and good nature.
The energy of Avalon is thick in this place, with many of her avatars living within her environs. I had met many of the avatars of the Mythica here, many of them early on their sacred Quest. Flanked by mountains and deep within the Greenlands, the Shire of Ashland has served as a place of great sanctuary. She is a towne of healing and of the transformational power of Story.As we approach the towneship, I point off to the left, continuing the remembrance.
“This is the Colestein valley” I say. “In 2014, I lived at a 75-acre buddhist retreat centre called ‘Heaven and Earth’. It was a magnificent house with Joyous Presence, Lucinda Loves and others, all avatars of the emergent World. There the Mythica first started as I built my timeline in the ethers of the internet.”
Yeshua nods his assent.
This was deeply significant. The idea of “Heaven on Earth” was a constant throughout all the avatars of the emergence. Such was the pulse, shared amongst all of us, to transform our selves and the World for the better. As a manifestation of the underlands through the surface plane, it was an idea that continued to repeat all throughout the Quest.
I stared wistfully into the distance for a moment. A memory of my beloved wolf North and I walking on the land. He had transitioned from the earth plane about a year ago. I missed him still.
Blinking the tears such remembrance brings to my eyes, I continue.
“It was a nexus point for all of our paths. Over the course of my time there, many avatars who would later blossom into their purpose arrived to be witnessed by the sacred narrative. These included Dakota Kaiser of the Earth Nation, Kundra Rose and Bloom to name a few.”
He considers this. I watch as Yeshua’s ever-clarifying awareness digests what I am saying, adding it to his bank of gnosis and technique on his charge to be the change he wishes to see in the World. I am so proud of him.
The Shire of Ashland / Cripple Creek / Shakespear’s Expression
As we move through the towne, the maps of the Mythica unfold. I see with new eyes the gravity of Avalon’s champions and their significance of arrival at this nexus between Worlds.
My gaze shifts to the subtle realms, where the deep territories of the underlands unfold. Such is the realm of vibrational archetypes, the geometries of a protean realm of harmony and wholeness whose echoes are still felt on the surface of What Is. From such a place, images of a Crown, the Grail and the Rose flash across my mindseye, weaving together with th threadwork of the many timelines moving across the surface of the World.
“The Quest has so deeply been about Avalon.” I say. “Through the Akasha, we see the context for these connections as the intersections of synchronicity that give rise to the Great Story. Avalon, the Grail, the Rose, and the Royalty of Faerie are all part of a shared mythology.”.
I smile at the memory. When I had come here, I had received a vision to go to the isle of Scotland in service to Faerie. McLain, Patience and I had traveled to Scotland on the Faerie roads. It was my first encounter with the Grail, part of the revelation of Avalon’s guardians and their part in the Great Story.
We find our way to the main street, parking next to the local music shoppe Cripple Creek.
The wood deva sing a subtle harmony as we enter, the vibrations of their joyful expressions resonating through the strings and the wood of the guild.
There is great magick here for me. Years ago, I had come to Cripple Creek in an effort to anchor my understanding of music in the mortal plane. For many years, I had been unable to digest the patterns of order that underlie this beautiful form of expression. Here, I felt an Opening, a connection with the deva, who would show me the nature of such things, helping me to anchor that talent into the World.
For this I was deeply thankful, both to the deva of music and the maestros of Cripple Creek. While I had not expected them to understand the deeper nature of my arrival in their store with a giant wolf by my side kindly asing to have leave to sit and play the instruments, their kindness and charity held me nonetheless, the instruments and their stewards becoming a peaceful grove by which I could hear the Song beneath the surface waiting to be heard.
Oberon’s Tavern – A Place for Adventurers
Nostalgia fills me as we continue our journey. I so wish to share the places of this magickal place with Yeshua.
We drive past Oberon’s Tavern, the creation of Jordan Mackay, one of my fellows in the realms of Faerie. I grin, remembering times of mead and magick in the drinking hall.
“While I had lived in Ashland, Jordan had held station here, and the tavern had been a waystation for many adventurers through the realms. Here, I had enjoyed many mugs of mead, sharing the tales of my adventures with my friend. He now invokes the tavern on route to festivals like Faerieworlds.”
Such memories. At the time, I had considered the manifestation of the tavern within the Shire and the faerie-folk it had attracted a sign of Avalon’s re-emergence into the World. In the years of my journey across the World, Jordan had sold it to interested parties. While beautiful, the timbre was not the same as I had known it in it’s time. Still, echoes of our Story and Song remained, reverberating through the woods and wind.
One never knows who shall arrive on the Path. It is the beautiful quintessence of Story, the great mystery of the unfoldment. An intuition leads me to the Ashland co-op, wondering who we shall intersect. As we park the vehicle and walk inside, we come face to face with Shanti, the wandering sadhu who appeared several times on both the Journey Home and the Seed Within. It was this same sadhu that I had escorted from Crestone to the Vedic City of Fairfield and the embrace of the Maharishi University.
Encountering Shanti is always potent. Like Ashland, he played a significant part of my movement deeper into the Mythica, embodying a shared aspect of siddhic capability and challenge. We had passed through a beautiful portal together in Fairfield, one which taught me great lessons in the nature of distortion and it’s remedy.
The scents of the Shire are so reminding. A softness tugs on me, a sense of peacefulness and water. I know Yeshua would love this place if we had time to stay.“There is one last place i must show you as we continue to Wynden Keep” I tell him, as we head north.
The Goddess Temple of Ashland
We continue our drive, mindful of the time and the necessity of returning the vehicle tomorrow morning. Not for the first time, I flinch at the constraint of finance, remembering a time when I was deeply flush and could provide easement for such things. Sighing within, I re-establish my inner asana, the posture of gratitude for the journey, and breathe into the nature of the unfolding Quest.
There is so much I wish to share with him. Here, initiated by the twin priestesses Jumana Sophia and Graell Corsini, lay the Goddess Temple, a bastion of sacred mystery on the northern edges of the Shire.
Even from the distance of our moving car I could feel her essence. In the underlands of the Mythica, the pulse of Avalon, of dedicated to the ideals of Grace and alignment with the Land, the temple shone. So many avatars of the remembrance had made their way through this place, a seed of the new Earth tended by the Feminine Divine.
I point to the gardens. ‘The Goddess Temple is here. Yet another major nexus of Story for the avatars of Avalon.”
“Isn’t this where you met Dakota Chanel?” he asks.
“Yes. Along with Kundra Rose during a Beltane festival to honor the Spring, both destined to be a major part of the sacred Story of the Mythica.”
I pull into the Wellsprings, hoping to spot one of the familiar avatars of Avalon, yet none appear. It would have been beautiful for Yeshua to experience the keepers of the temple firsthand, yet such must wait. Wynden Keep beckons, and we cannot tarry.
We take the pass off of the I-5, heading westward through the Emerald City of Eugene. All around me, I can feel the energies of hte deva. The scent of the faerie-clans that have taken residence in this bordertowne between the realms.
Happiness overtakes me. I can feel the abundance in the field.
I turn to Yeshua, feeling a sense of grounding in the compass of my mindseye. “This is where we’re meant to be! This is the perfect place for us to ground in and release the Mythica!. I can feel it!”
It is late dusk when we make it to Wynden Keep. Immediately upon pulling into the driveway, I can feel the bubble of harmony that surrounds this place, the emanation of clan Wynden and their station as guardians of the rainbow bridge.
A pack of hounds greets us at the front gate, Luna the wolfhound at the fore. I can feel her recognition of me, remembering my scent from the many times North and I rested here on our journey through the realms.
A wave passes through me, the scents of the dogs, of the keep, of Story and Song. I had not realized how many years I had been gone. How far I had travelled from the Greenlands of the northwest.
‘I’m returning to my Faerie Family!” I call to Yeshua. “I had forgotten after all this time, laboring to create the Mythica.”
In the distance, I see a familiar shape. I wonder aloud, “Is that the bus of the Mythmaker?”
My vision clarifies in the waning Sun. It is Jagara, the roadship of the Mythmaker. It is deeply relieving to my Heart, to see my brother’s vessel awaiting her captain in the golden fields. Such is bright portent, for I know Hjeron will arrive on the morrows, on his annual pilgrimage to Blackrock – the City of Dreams. I share this with Yeshua as my bare feet touch the nurturing Earth of the Keep.
I walk over to the house. Carefully, I place Muse, my splintered harp, beneath the awning. To see her in such condition is a deep sadness, yet I resolve, somehow I will find a way to repair her, if possible. Somehow the money or resource will arrive. The song that wishes to be sung between Yeshua and I is deep, still resonating within the timbres of Muse’s wooden skin. I do not feel her departure yet from our shared Story.
While the loss of Yeshua’s laptop and the blow to our ability to publish feels extreme, I remain steadfast in our declaration, to trust the Divine unfoldment and release some of the push and pressure we have been working towards manifesting our way to the realms of abundance and grace such that may open a portal of Remembrance for the people.
After setting my tent up in the Wyndenwood, another surprise greets me as I open my laptop. Flickers of colour move across the screen, obscuring my view, rendering the laptop, newly purchased a year previous and beyond the boundaries of warranty, unusable. In amazement, I realize that both of our laptops are suddenly removed from the field.
Like Yeshua, I am suddenly without my prime instrument in recording the Mythica, and must face the shadow of my Faith in the unfoldment.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I say to no one in particular as I breathe in deeply, invoking the inner asana of surrender and acceptance.
Honestly, i’m not surprised. Our journey through the Mythica aims to prove the physics of the Quest, the underlying principles that support all our human journeys through the underlands of our sacred path. To have my laptop malfunction within the same timespace as Yeshua’s right after invoking our surrender to the Divine is poetry to me, the Universe demanding we stand behind our declaration in real-time. It is a test, clear and simple, and I face it squarely. Managing a grin, I wander over to Yeshua’s tent.
‘I have something to show you” I say, and reveal the flickering screen.
His eyes widen. “How will we publish?”
“We still have the tablets and our phones, I say we fulfill what it means to be an author-adventurer for the Mythica and continue through.“ I reply.
He nods. “It leads us in that direction. We must surrender to trust in the unfoldment. This is the lesson after all.”
I feel it. Yet such is part of the teaching of the Mythica. Truly discovering if we live in a Friendly Universe.
“Perhaps it will prove that God is Good” I say, and bow goodnight to my ally.
Weariness overtakes me. Having done all I feel I can do, I head off to my tent to rest, knowing we must return the vehicle early in the morning or face another day’s charges that we cannot afford.
Share the Magick!