You are currently browsing the daily archive for January 24, 2007.

 

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The fullness of loving and being loved
like a mountain lake
whose falls plummet down the mountain
taking chances
and always landing in the safe arms
of beauty

I’m with you this day as you celebrate
Life and love

Here’s to hearts connecting
Smiles and laughter
Holding hands and hugging tears

I’m knowing you’re held in light and love
As is your beloved Darryl.
I burn a candle in my sacred space
to light his path as well as yours.

Anne

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May your journey to the field of rushes, the stars and beyond
be an awakening of great joy!

May the Goddess take your gentle hand and lead to the weighing of the heart
where it is found light as a feather

Hear my prayer O rider of the eternal night
Dear one of the sweet lady Heather

May universal energy embrace you, caress your tears and show you
a new beginning

lunagirl

I wrote this poem about the love I feel from and with my boyfriend.  From all I have seen and heard of Heather and Darryl and the love they share, it seemed appropriate for them too.  I hope all of you enjoy this, especially you Heather and Darryl.

Cyn

What is that beautiful sound?
It is like a soft, low, gentle humming
That envelops me in its strong, soothing embrace
It enters my mind
And permeates every part of me
I feel awash in warmth and security
comfort and pleasure
It is the sound of love
It is the sound of you
Filling my heart and soul with your presence
with your goodness
with your tenderness

Season of Solitude
For Heather and Darryl
.

Ivy on the garden wall.
Old stones, if only they could talk.
Last Autumn’s leaves
still beneath the snow.
Branches bare, basic in their nudity.
My thoughts are yet of thee.

Snow covered walks,
pristine, unspoiled.
The shaded tool shed
cloaked in white.
Silence, like a blanket, covers
the sins of yesterday.

Spring rains that cleanse and chase away
the musty smells of winter.
Closed doors and shuttered windows.
A hint of warmth, and then
shoots of daffodils and crocus
bring smiles instead of tears.

Leaves were falling when you left—
Erratic flight in Autumn’s fickle breezes.
I faced the long darkened nights
and shortened days alone
with many tears shed.

The sun is high this glorious morn,
its light, spring’s promise
of hope renewed,.
I see a shadow and there you are
just like you used to be—
I cannot touch but I can love,
what more is there to say,
until we meet again
upon that other sunny shore.

Vi Jones
©January 24, 2007

(Photo by Robin. 2006)

In China, the flower meanings for the peony are happy marriage and most beautiful.

I’m new here, but from what I’ve picked up I believe Darryl and Heather had a combination of the two, making for a most beautiful happy marriage.

Happy trails, Darryl.

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 Astral Dance

Silver cords weaving

astral souls dance together

a soul is rising.

 

Karen

The best way to celebrate life is to live it —
and we start anew,
with friends gathered ’round to toast a few
and share stories of full living

the Bard of Lemuria
………………………………………….

THIS VOICE and MORE

It was a large church, but not as large as it pretended. Services were well attended – at least when the choir sang, and even the most boring sermon could be endured to hear the grand organ play. Not at the same time, of course – for the organ was really too grand for the church, and when properly ‘let loose’ no choir could compete. A smaller organ hidden behind the pipes served to help them out.

The giant pipe organ had been carted over the Rockies by wagons and mules – way back about 1886. It was supposed to go to the new cathedral in Sacramento, but wound up here instead when the wagons broke down and winter set in. So, this local church was modified to hold her, with pipes running from the basement to the loft – some as big round as a man’s thigh, others as tiny as a twig – 270 in all filling the entire end of the church. the consol had four tiers and took two people to play – with a third man stocking the steam boiler down below. Magnificent! Of course, today it uses compressed air and can be played at any time – except when the choir sings.

Those castle-spire pipes does make a fine backdrop, though, when the voices ring out – the forty members ringed in a double row behind the consol where the organist sits just for show. And they work hard at it, practicing two nights week; and many folks say they are better than any choir ever heard this side of Salt Lake City. Their range and counterpart was phenomenal – the sound almost having a soul of its own – almost like a strum on a dulcimer – binding solo voices and harmony groups together in a magical weave beyond what even they expected. The choir I mean. Us out in the pews expected the best of everything, else what is church-going for?

A couple of years ago a visitor heard them sing and arranged for their participation in an out-of-state contest for choirs – Choral Jubilee or something. They did really well, third place – with some saying they were not ‘up to snuff’ – nervous maybe. We were all pleased enough, but the choir set about preparing for the next year. All this meant to us was having to hear the same songs over and over again, but with that organ playing some I could endure anything. And they were really good, you know – better than we deserved for certain. I got to go along on the bus the second year.

Well, they won this time, but I have to admit they still didn’t sound as good as back home by the organ – silent though it was – and I began to wonder of the why of it – others too. Me being a reporter and all, I decided to check it out – going to different practices and all. I discover that they did sound different in the practice room. What’s more, they sounded different during a different service! I had always attended the eleven o’clock gathering so that Angie and I could go out to lunch after – but that’s another story. That’s when they normally sang as that was when the Bishop usually made it; but with extra practice needed for the competitions the sang twice or more each Sunday. This meant more lucky parishioners, I guess, but they didn’t get the grand organ, with old James only up to one playing. The nine o’clock service had guitar and flute instead – alright I guess, but hardly the same. Anyways, the choir was wonderful, and no one knew they were getting second best but me – the choir not able to really hear themselves, of course.

I pulled some strings at the news bureau and got some recording equipment set up one Sunday and captures they performances. After listening later, the sound engineer agreed there was a special quality in the mid-day service missing in the others. Some digital analysis concurred – the other two performances were almost identical – only ‘my’ service was a tad bit better, richer, whatever. maybe someone has some equipment capable of separating out single voices – we didn’t, so I let the story slide by, seeing as how no one really cared except me.

One Sunday, though, I hung around late because I had dropped my keys inside – thought to wait until everyone left before crawling around the floor. So Lars didn’t see me when he came up the basement stairs. Didn’t know that I watched him take some music sheets from the podium. Didn’t know much, actually. Lars is a good sort, but kind of slow – war injury way back I’ve heard. He was the janitor and gardeners about the grounds – waving at everyone, but never saying much. He was mostly deaf amongst other things, but the church was blessed to have him, and didn’t have to pay him much with throwing in a free apartment over the garage. I’d complimented him a time or two over his flowers and well tended walks, but never got more than a little bow and a grin. Something didn’t fit – thought I’d check it out.

Next Sunday I went early and sat behind some boxes of emergency food in the basement. Sure enough, Lars arrived just before eleven and sat in a chair next to the big organ pipes sticking through the floor. He was silent until the grand organ stopped – I could feel those tubes pulsing from across the room – kind eerie feeling the heart of the sound down here with the notes coming out upstairs. Then the little organ started – barely heard except through the now silent pipes – and Lars began to sing along. He did not sing all that loudly, but I closed my ears against the tears for the beauty of it! Each deep note was like a waterfall in prayer, and his higher range could cause birds to gather in awe. I don’t think he knew he could best most opera I have heard – and maybe he didn’t have the power for it, his being kinda frail and all. But here – those giant tin pipes swept up his voice and amplified it across the church above – not a single voice like the unknowing singers in the choir, but twenty-four voices modulated slightly in pitch and color and wonder. Fully a third of the spectacular presentation the Bishop applauded came from a tiny, seventy-year old man in the bowels of the earth.

I’ve never told anyone of this ‘til now – just coming as I have from laying flowers on his grave – not many people there at the service to recognize his forty years there. So, I have to tell, I guess – as they will surly know next Sunday when more than fresh flowers are missing. And I’ve been wondering how much we miss of what’s really going on with people because we look for the grand organ and the prize winning choir and the towering steeple — and never hear the simplest of prayers that somehow touch our souls.

I look about … knowing you are more present than ever … and see you smiling and happy … suffused with the love that is your true essence. And I thank you for the blessing of you.

Donna 

I have not been here long (at the Soul Food Cafe) however, because of Heather’s sharings about her life with Darryl, I am getting a sense of Darryl’s character. And when I was doing a little web browsing before heading to the Tavern, I came across the item below. My intuition suddenly shouted–this is Heather and Darryl’s philosophy about life! How they have lived. What an example for all of us!  In the face of death, let us honor the sadness of loss and remember how he lived.

Dawn  (Cheshire)

                                                                                                                                                                            WHAT IS LIFE?

Life is a gift, accept it. 
Life is an adventure, dare it. 
Life is a mystery, unfold it. 
Life is a game, play it. 
Life is a struggle, face it. 
Life is beauty, praise it. 
Life is a puzzle, solve it. 
Life is opportunity, take it. 
Life is sorrowful, experience it. 
Life is a song, sing it. 
Life is a goal, achieve it. 
Life is a mission, fulfill it.

Author Unknown

( mournful & never ending remembrance ~Edgar Allen Poe~ )

I am a soul

I know well that what I shall render up to grace

Is not myself

That which is myself

Will go elsewhere.   ~Victor Hugo~

Love To Both of You, Patricia

as the sparrow flies - animated

I have piggy backed my spirit
to the little sparrow
which wanted so much to take me

to be with friends
to celebrate
and
to send

a friend on a voyage
while making sure
his beloved is
well taken care of
so he need not worry

 aletta

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From one Rider to another,

I’d be honored if Darryl and Heather

Would Fly

The Colors of The Moscoso Family

on this day

January 24,2006

While Darryl’s friends are revving up the engines, Kent and I honored Darryl’s spirit by taking a memorial motorcycle ride by the cold winter Potomac. The bikes took a while to warm up, but it was a good way for us to be with you. I took pictures on the trip, and posted them to an unpublished page of my website. Or, if you prefer, you can cut and paste this into your browser: http://quinncreative.com/id35.html There is a link at the bottom of my page that will return you to the Temple of Solace.          Kent waving goodbye to Darryl:

Kent waves goodbye

Motored guests have come in order to honor their brother and comrade.

My offering of comfort food is deep, dark, gooey, extra-chocolately brownies.

 

Lori

Official Lemurian Tavern


Authenticated by le Enchanteur

What is the Soul Food Cafe?

The Soul Food Cafe is an international group of writers and artists whose global mission is to promote writing and art-making as a daily practice through the use of interactive web-based technologies such as blogging and e-mail groups.

Exploring Lemuria

Lemuria is the fantasy construct where the participants of the Soul Food Cafe post their work, andThe Taverna di Muse is one of many places and realms within Lemuria. To see some other Lemurian destinations, select one below and start your journey:

Riversleigh Manor
Murmuring Woods
Cyberia, City of Ladies
The Hermitage
On the Road with Enchanteur
The Digital Atelier The Cave of the Ancients
Lemurian Abbey
Halloween Party, 2006
The Heroine's Journey
Aboard the Calabar Felonway
The Pythian Games
Isle of the Temple People
Isle of Ancestors
The Temple of Solace
Grand Tour
Lemurian Tour
The Gypsy Camp

Joining Soul Food

If you are an intrigued visitor now wanting to join the Soul Food Experience, visit the Soul Food Cafe for instructions. Or you may write the SFC owner and manager heatherblakey @ dailywriting.net .

Disclaimer– Copyright

The opinions expressed by contributors to Taverna di Muse on this blog as well as on public domains outside this blog are not to be construed as an endorsement by Heather Blakey or Lori Gloyd. Material appearing on this site remains the property of individual artists and writers.

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