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Sunday, August 26, 2012

The Butterfly God


There is entirely too much culture conflict when we speak of our Creator. Whether you refer to the source of all that exists as, “God, Allah, the Creator, the Great Spirit, Odin, Zeus, or what-have-you…our Creator is all of the names mentioned. If you strip away all the secular ideological sugar-coating and/or razored fluff…you end up with the primary wings of love and forgiveness. Wings that have the ability to transform us into angelic beings and lift us upon the winds of tomorrow, and eventually set us free from the binding emotional chains of days gone by. 

There is a unique magic that many call the “butterfly.” Some cultures call it a “mariposa,” while others have a different name for this touch of beauty: papillon, motýl, kelebek, or матылёк. It also has many titles from days gone past; faerie, pixie, sprite, etc. But it is the same entity: beginning, middle, and end. Thru time the butterfly has evolved to fit its environment. Our idea of the Creator has also evolved thru time to fit the secular machine of fear and control.
I chose the mariposa for this because I believe it to be an ethereal being that slips in and out of the astral regions as it see fit. Notice its life. In the caterpillar stage, it crawls slowly and sees the world up close. Hmmm…mortal childhood? Perhaps. Then it cocoons and goes thru a time of introspection; where it decides to evolve, purify itself, grow wings, and free itself from the darkness. Hmmm…young mortal adulthood? Perhaps. Once free of their self made prison, the butterfly sees the world from a distance. Is awed by its beauty and spends the rest of its days helping Terra maintain her beauty. By pollinating flowers butterflies spread beauty for all to enjoy, even those that would destroy it. Hmmm…enlightenment? Absolutely! Is that not a school of training for humans to observe and emulate? Absolute truth!
So many people wander thru the day and forget to look around at the majestic presence of creation. Far too many forget the awe and innocence of childhood, when God was just the omnipotent Creator. No names, no fear, no hate, just love. That is the place we need to return. That field where butterflies fly free and the ever-sweet hint of flowers slowly try to overwhelm the senses and carry us to heavenly ecstasy.


© Aug 25, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


NOTE: Words are the intellectual property of DBC ~ Duke of the Arctic. Photo is random find on the internet. 

Thursday, August 23, 2012

COUNTRY GIRLS

"I have run country roads and strolled thru city streets. Sat in the grass under a tall oak, and hid from the sun in a cyber cafe. Been 3 miles underground in a mountain cave, and stood a thousand feet above the street atop a city tower. I
have helped herd cattle in the fields afar, and been herded down the city street by the bustling crowds. Counted stars in the open sky, andbeen mesmerized by countless neon signs . Listened to the tree frogs call, and heard the music spill from a lively jazz hall. Each is an awe-inspiring memory, but nothing compared to gazing into the eyes of a true country girl. Yee-haw!"



© August 23, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic


Rachel
Danne
Susan
Angela
Bonnie
Diana
Jana

Tears...

Strange how individual sensations can pass without trace, no touching the soul; but a combination of two or more can send the senses reeling and rush one back to a certain moment in time: a childhood flash of magic or a special brush of a l
over's lips.
No time or space can stop these occasional "sparkles." The currents of time might send them off to some ethereal pool, but the run-off of the memory leaves condensation on the heart...ready for re-absorption through time.
Sometimes that condensation finds its way to the arena of tears, slips away, and leaves an emotional scar down one's face. But that trail of pain etches beauty into the face and spirit of each of us.
NOTE: photo is random internet find...words are mine...

Monday, August 13, 2012

RETURN OF THE DUKE



I spent the day with my fae friends as
the rain pitter-pattered upon the shrooms above.
Ara drank deep from the goblet of creation,
then offered the golden vessel to me.
She reminded me of the silent language,
that was lost between the rustle of the leaves.
Drinking deep of the honey-dewed elixir,
my soul reached out in anguish.
My spirit cried out in pain
as I looked upon mortality.
Ara let a tear slip through
her shimmering veil of life.
It hit the grass and faded quickly
into the pool of rainwater.
Gazing upon the mirrored surface
I watched her sadness be engulfed.
Feeling magic winds arrive,
I closed my eyes and looked within.
I was taken back to another time,
when there was more than there really is.
I recalled a time when all of man
were but one race; we were “mankind.”
Children ran in fields of clover,
chased by butterflies and laughter.
Ladies kept the family bound
with mighty threads of love.
Men were the ambassadors of life,
the voice of hope for tomorrow.
The gardens were lush and green,
full of pixies and elvish lore.
But man missed the serpent
that hid amongst the roses.
The venom of greed, hate, and distrust
fertilized the sacred ground and polluted the waters.
The taste was sweet and tempting,
and soon mankind’s soul withered.
The fae warned upon closed ears,
and soon returned to the in-between.
Death and decay rained and reigned,
and poisoned the earth and seas.
When man forgot to reach his knees,
man got knocked off his feet.
The fae stand between the trees
and hope of mankind rising again.
Their tears flow to the astral
and flood the gates of the Heavens.
Returning to the present moment’
I turned my gaze to Ara.
Smiling she spoke without a word,
“You have learned and must now teach.
There are but two possessions
to nurture in one’s heart.
Forgiveness and compassion,
are the magic elements of the fae.”
With that she kissed me on the cheek,
and slipped into the wind.
“See you soon, my dear friend,”
my words chasing her into the ethereal…

©August 13, 2012 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Soul day...

Good Sol-day/Sunday/Soul-day. As I wrote last month, I find it intriguing that the Latin word for sun is sol, sol is also spelled soul, and "Sun"day is the day we focus on our soul.
The soul is the immortal essence of a person, the ethereal part of us that keeps us alive and well. The sun is the exact same to all life in our region of space. It is the center of our solar system. Our soul is the center of our spiritual system. Without the sun, we could not exist. Without a soul, we could not exist. Some claim others to be without a soul, but this is not true. All have souls, some are just on the dark side of the rock. They can be turned to the light side again. Help another find the sun again.
Apologies for being so wordy, that is the problem with writers. And I said all that to say; today, let your soul catch fire and radiate like the sun. Be a guiding light for another or many others. Burn, baby, burn!
Remember: We are all ONE, much like the sun. Each "soul" is a particle of the sun. We bounce off each other and charge each other to bring radiance to the darkness. As we look inward, we also look without-since all are one. When we reflect upon our own souls, we are also reflecting on others. The old sayings ring true right here, "What fault you find in another is a fault in the self." As well as, "The beauty you find in another, also lies within yourself." Looking within, you are looking without and looking without you are looking within. Purify your soul with fire! The Creator makes no mistakes! We are perfect! We are all part of the perfection of creation! Let your soul-fire burn all impurities of mortal thoughts

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Put the quill to the test




Wandering thru the dark taverns, I felt a tug at my consciousness. Looking up and around , I saw the glint of eyes piercing the darkness and trying to penetrate my mood. “Buy you a drink?” I asked. “Sure.” He replied.
Then I noticed his lady. She was moving to the music, slowly his eyes returned to her. Sipping his ale, he said, “Isn’t she lovely? Over the last cycle of the moon, I have fallen in love with this beautiful woman. Love is an amazing thing…”
As the music temporarily faded, she wandered over and brushed my hand to recognize the kinsmanship between her lover and I. She whispered a greeting and then returning to her music induced trance, she flowed away. He and I drank and spoke of love and the ethereal creature known as woman. The music carried his lady and our conversation into the evening.
The scene eventually faded and I wandered out into the night. Many passersby offered acknowledgement. I smile and continued on. I had a mission. Where am I? Where is it? There! My field of concentration. Solace! Time to reflect.
I sat, looked to the Heavens, and pondered “love.” I have been teased by it, touched by it, intoxicated by it, and wounded by it. Now I tend to avoid its closeness. But hasn't everyone been bruised by the most wonderful but also injurious feeling known?  Must clear the mind.
I sat til near dawn and watched a thin veil of clouds drift over the moon as David Gilmour’s finger created magic on 6 strings. I danced with the spectre of my beautiful Lebanese dance partner. We swayed until near dawn. The trees around us offering sanctuary, I felt them move close and embrace our being. I attained a moment of peace.
I opened my eyes and found myself alone in the park glade. Mmmmm. Amazing!
I remembered love and the utmost feeling of peace it can offer when true. But every coin has a flip side. The dark side of deceit came creeping in. I shook it off and stood to wander home.
Rambling on, I stumbled over pieces of broken dreams scattered in my path. As I was falling, I noticed movement. I looked up and saw two beautiful fairie folk. Gazing upon them, all the sadness was gone.They spoke of the Forgotten Ones.The language without words. The look. I felt the chaos within turn to order. The bitter cold turned to warmth. I am alive. There is still hope. There is still magic. The voices of the Ancient Ones whisper in my ears, “Stand up and live! Don’t just exist…but live!”
So, once again...I pull my quill from retirement and wet it with ink and inspiration. Let us journey into yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Let us live! 

DBC~Duke of the Arctic Wednesday, August 8, 2012 at 6:22pm ·