primal heroes

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In my cabin, looking out over the primordial waters, my mind made journeys back to the time when the sea was still a god, and when fire was a new diety- a deity that brought terror and storytelling from the hearts of emergent humanity. I seemed then to travel back to those unrecorded ages when communities and families sat huddled beneath the undeciphered sky, gazing into the mystery of fire, with all the terrors of the world lurking about them in the darkness which was also a god. The fire was the home then of the living soul, and the refuge from the unknown shapes and monsters of the growing dark. And the masters of enchantment, of bringing the dark sky and the howling dark within the realm of the bearable, the masters of keeping terror at bay, were the storytellers. The earliest storytellers were magi, seers, bards, griots, shamans. They were, it would seem, old as time, and as terrifying to gaze upon as the mysteries with which they wrestled. I can see them now, the old masters. I can see them standing on the other side of the flames, speaking in the voices of lions, or thunder, or monsters, or heroes, heroines, or the earth, or fire itself- for they had to contain all voices within them, had to be all things, and nothing. They had to have the ability to become lightning, to become a future homeland, to be the dreaded guide to the fabled land where the community will settle and fructify. These old storytellers were the true magicians. They were humanity’s truest friends and most reliable guides. They had to go down deep into the seeds of time, into the dreams of their people, into the unconscious, into the uncharted fears, and bring shapes and moods back up into the light. They brought the world within our souls. They made living within and living without as one…….Ben Okri

it is this undeniable movement within that cannot be shifted and is echoed in stories we bring down into soul…..can anything be as beautiful as the gifts of ancient solace?….find that stillpoint where no question is too sublime……once upon a time…..

When tools and instruction manuals and experts become secondary, and the question at the heart of one’s life becomes something spare and simple like, ‘What is growing here?’ or ‘What is this?’ we are prepared to fathom what we are.’ At a certain point it was time for me to let go of the teachers, stop looking for new tools, and dig down deep into myself,’ a young medicine woman told us. A meditation teacher in her sixties echoed the sentiment: ‘At some point you no longer want comfort or inspiration. You just want the truth.’…..S. Anderson & P. Hopkins

moving with trees swaying

Assume, with many ancient traditions, that you have within you a source of understanding and wisdom that knows who you are, what you have been, and what you can most meaningfully become in the future. This source is in tune with your unfolding purpose. It can help you direct your energies toward achieving increasing integration, toward harmonizing and unifying your life. Having made this assumption, close your eyes, take a few deep breaths, and imagine that you are seeing the face of a wise old man or woman whose eyes express great love for you. Engage this wise old person in dialogue, using the presence and guidance of the sage to help you better understand whatever questions, directions or choices you are dealing with at the moment………W. Harman & H. Rheingold

4 thoughts on “primal heroes

  1. Once upon a time …. Perhaps this is the reason fairy tales begin that way. They take us to a new beginning. To a quiet place of the soul where everything is a new experience 1000 years hence or past, it does not matter, the future or past only relative to the place we stand today. Sending quiet echoes …

    • indeed, it does not matter…..we are alive in our ancestors shadows…..living their wisdom, and finding harmony in the intuitive knowing that invites us to trust…..may your gods align within g.f.s….

  2. I’ve often wondered if compassion and writing go hand-in-hand. The writer longs to know it all, and once we do, how can we not wear it as part of our own? For every soul, there is a story of becoming; dare we care enough to listen. I’ve often wondered which was harder, in the end. The act of telling, or who you told it to. Or maybe if, when you finally got it out, the story was really all that mattered. As long as one remembers our name, we live.

    One of my favorite quotes by CPE ~ “I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you, and that you will work them, water them with your blood and tears and you laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.” Always, the treasure is the story. ~ Love, Bobbie

    • beautiful quote….wow….storytellers always fascinate with their deep resonance to something unquestionable….may your/their inner quest be the lilting beauties that flow through your pen Bobbie…

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