Tag: Fiction

Brighid the Mother

My festival is Imbolc ‘in womb’ time, so besides being the Maiden, I am also the Mother who bears the burden of the coming spring.
This is my lineage. I am the daughter of the Dagda, the Good God, king of the Tuatha de Danaan, the faerie people. With them I came, blown in a magic mist across the sea to Erin . But the mist was the far-furled smoke of our ships as we burned them on the western shores of Connemara . For we pledged ourselves to that land and swore we would never turn our faces towards the sea again. And so we shared that land with the Fomorians, the ancient giant race who lived there.

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The Bone Flute

Like a womb readying itself to give birth, the cave opened.  Victoria grabbed a tree to steady herself on the shaking Earth, the rocks tumbling away to reveal a small aperture near the ground. She stepped off the hiking path to peer in, drawn by the gaze of the mountain’s newly revealed eye.  Once her eyes became accustomed to the blackness, she travelled deep inside, mesmerized by the beasts painted on the walls seeming to move in her phone flashlight’s roving yellow beam.

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Buying Pomegranates in Demeter’s Supermarket

For one glorious week each year, the rose and white-showered magnolia trees lining Main Street transformed the potholed, two-lane road into a processional as elegant in its own simple way as any gracing a medieval European or an ancient city. The town did festoon the street with flags and balloons for parades with the Mayor and town council, high school band, and Boy and Girl Scouts on special occasions.

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Seeds on the Wind

In the garden of She Who Creates, tucked into a very remote corner, grows a small, water-blue planet whose inhabitants call it “Earth.” The soil is rich but most of what grows there appears on the surface to be only straggly stems fighting each other for a place near the dim light. But yet, somehow the most spectacular blooms emerge from the planet by the billions every day.

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The Shining of the Sparrow’s Eyes

A tiny ray of sunlight caressed the arm of the Goddess of Compassion as she lingered for just one more moment by the open window of her cottage.  Though a deity universal and known by many names among Earth’s religions, she chose to dwell among the humans she served in humble places closest to those most in need of her.

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Penelope and the Fish

While Penelope was being born in a small fishing village in the far north, a storm ascended from the surface of the ocean herself. Howling, raging, cursing, the relentless waves scattered the frail fishing boats that had sailed out on what had that morning been a fine summer day. From that day forward, water turned her wrath on Penelope’s life.

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The Goddess in the fast lane

The first time our fingers touched it was like butterflies – profound. I was busy crawling towards something, a new job…or something irretrievably forgotten on the shopping list in my jacket pocket in the lockers that sweat behind the fake palm trees near the lifeguard.

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Our Souls between Earth and Sea

If you stand on the shore long enough, the ocean’s waves and the pulse of the blood in your veins will synchronize. Go to the water’s edge. Wait and be mesmerized by the ancient unstoppable rhythm until you no longer hear the waves as separate from yourself.  That moment is the beginning of the story I have to tell, and that of all of us.

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Remember Who You Really Are

In Joan’s time, tranquility, prosperity and contentment were as newly abundant as the ocean while kindness and compassion were as commonplace as air. Still, Joan dreamt over and over of a tormented woman staring through hazy torchlight into the sanctuary of a cave held deep inside a mountain. Painted horses raced around the walls, unchained from the stone, while Paleolithic dancers circled round and round an altar in the center, their heels pounding grooves into the stone floor.

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Loving Brynhild – Part 7

The brutality of humans after having descended to the lowest depths of their animal souls far surpassed anything Odin could have foretold. The coarse and indecent aspect of human nature was a flaw in the works, an oversight, a divine miscalculation. Wild animals roared, pounced, and tore living creatures apart limb by limb in order to feast on raw meat and drip with fresh blood without remorse, without reflection, and without contrition.

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