Opening Night - Queen Titania & Oberon Read....
it is to Pandora's Costume box that the Travelling Trevere' go to find the perfect costume and accessories for their performance. Here we display the performances and costumes, the behind the scene activity as artists prepare to go out on to a stage.
One of the Enchantress' ravens has told me that a travelling Shakespeare company will be setting up in the Golden Grove on 1 September. So, just to get you in the mood, I would like to invite you to delve in the costume box, choose something suitable and perform a favourite bit from Shakespeare's writing, whether it be an extract from a play or one of his sonnets. I know Heather is planning some suitably extravagant costume so why not come along and join the fun. Wardrobe Mistress
I am discovering that this journey will be a deeper one than I suspected. I wear Pandora's clothes...as I open the box of my self, I feel a bit frightened but also curious and exhilarated at what I will release. I feel the universe is waiting for me to let loose my secrets, but I must be courageous enough to take the first step.
I Name as Invocation shapeshifter; dappled daughter of ash, luminous sister of fire; story -stalker, wordtwirler tumbling from a nightshade sky: star-hearted poet II Name as Promise unpaid bills, coffeecups, appointments, flat tires... at the grocery choice of vegetables for a cheap month's-end supper: voluptous bell peppers glow like lamps; bloodveined curly chard, white carrots - ordinary grace posted by Lisa Phoenix
A journey so soon after arriving - I implored the help of my guide, on learning of my performance she returned with this Gold Raven Mask and robes of black. I have borrowed a poem of Ted Hughes that I have loved since reading it in high school, that over the years has come to mean more to me. Examination at the Womb-Door - Ted Hughes Who owns those scrawny little feet? Death. Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face? Death. Who owns these still-working lungs? Death. Who owns this utility coat of muscles? Death. Who owns these unspeakable guts? Death. Who owns these questionable brains? Death. All this messy blood? Death. These minimum-efficiency eyes? Death. This wicked little tongue? Death. This occasional wakefulness? Death. Given, stolen, or held pending trial? Held. Who owns the whole rainy, stony earth? Death. Who owns all of space? Death. Who is stronger than hope? Death. Who is stronger than the will? Death. Stronger than love? Death. Stronger than life? Death. But who is stronger than Death? Me, evidently. Pass, Crow. posted by Megan Warren
I have partaken of the chocolates that the Enchantress so kindly left for me. While I was bathing my guide returned in her mysterious nature, she advised she was delivering a parcel that was left for me. I thanked her, telling her that I would attend to it after my bath. And then she was gone. I quickly got out of the bath, wrapping myself in the luxurious robe that had been left for me. The parcel, a small box lay on the table next to the chocolate box.It contained the following items: yarn, thread, beads and charms of the sea. It was then that I noticed the note on the inside of the chocolate wrapper Reclaim a RitualI held each of the items, a spiral bead, a seahorse, fish and turtle. The yarn became a knitted amulet bag with a spiral bead closure. As I worked I thought of Clarissa Pinkola Estes (Women Who Run with the Wolves) story of The Skeleton Woman. The Skeleton Woman Cast out banished into the sea tossing and turning washed in washed out bones lay waste. Fishing casting outhooked reeling in fright fear tangled line pile of bones. Untangling piecing together her form tear quenching thirst taking heart beating drum fleshing her ut building her up. Sleep wounded souls entwined together nourishment from the sea feeding off one another. © Megan Warren 21/7/2005 Lisa Phoenix said... Truly beautiful, Megan. Megan said... Thank you, Lisa Anita Marie Moscoso said... Let's try this out at the Abbey!Anita
THE DOOKERER (THE FORTUNE TELLER) ``Do you want to know the future, lady?” She has ten gold teeth and five gold rings, Her tent is dark and cool inside. From behind the beaded curtain Comes her wheedling voice and Gold encrusted claw. Beckoning ``Do you want to hear your fortune, master?” Her father was a seventh son. When he died, Embraced in flame and hoarded riches, She tore her silken scarves and wailed. Then searched the ground for golden coins Scattered from her broken bracelets. ``Do you want to learn the dookerin, child?” Hidden in her musty tent I hear This one and her burning for a man, That one and his hunger for a quid. ``Pity the fools, their beds are cold, Their purses slim. See lovers, wealth, Sudden windfalls – telling fortunes Is only telling them what they want to hear.” posted by Gail Kavanagh Believer said... There's been a gypsy woman coming to our library computer lab for the past week. I can hear these words coming directly from her mouth every time I see her. I don't know which is more amazing--that we have a gypsy using a computer in New Jersey, or that you (from where?) have captured her so completely. Lisa Phoenix said... Found myself a bit bemused, as i was the family fortuneteller. Now i only read cards for myself - trying to learn to make my own luck. Gail Kavanagh said... (Edited because that too many typos, even for this hour!)I am in Australia, Believer. The gipsy woman of the poem wanted to teach my mother the dookerin. When I was about two years old, she found me hiding in her tent. Luckily she took it in good humour - I'm not certain why I hid in there. Maybe I thought she really could do magic! But I have never forgotten her, she has become another persona for me. I have chosen to wear her mask at the banquet. I don't remember her name, but the one I have given her is Traveller Rose.
Every day like clockwork, Jesus comes by. Cousins and aunts drop their tortillas. They make the sign of the cross, rush to her bedside, stir death and flour into the air. Her son and husband stand nearby clutching prayer cards, While the women surround the bed, clucking and patting. She reaches out to her Savior. “Dios mio! Dos mio!” The rosaries click. “Go on, take his hand, hermana. It’s all right. ”Jesus walks away empty-handed every day. The women become disgruntled with Jesus. There is muttering, dissatisfaction. He is beloved but he is just a son, like their sons. It is the Virgin Mother that they trust. To her they gossip, make their petitions, one mother to another. But the Virgin cannot persuade her son to take the woman. And so, like all mothers of obstinate sons, the Holy Mother suffers too. She joins the aunts and cousins at the counter, elbow to elbow, patting the tortillas into pleasing pale circles that call to mind the moon, a pregnant belly. The fullness of life. The women become bitter. “Here comes the drive-by Jesus! Oh, there he goes…” They jostle La Virgen a little more at the counter, returning to the work of the living, rolling and folding the tortillas, recipe the same as always but fortified with prayers, enriched with blessings. “Take her, Jesus, she has suffered enough. Talk to him, La Virgen!” The moon fills her cup and drains away two times. Tortillas fill the house, the freezer, the side tables. Jesus comes by the next evening. He is tired of the grumbling, as tired as the woman is of living. He has had his fill of tortillas. In the quiet of the empty room, he takes her hand. They walk away. The table is full: aunts, cousins, son, husband. The eldest aunt passes a platter of tortillas; the Virgin nudges her. The tortillas fall to the ground and the plate shatters. They run to her room. She is gone. Her son and husband sob, “Thank you, Jesus, thank you.” The aunts and cousins make the sign of the cross and murmur, “Maria, Maria.” by Karen Roberts Gail Kavanagh said... Karen, I keep coming back just to read this again. Believer said... Karen,This is so beautifully written and so bittersweet. I'm not hispanic, but I have prayed and waited and wondered why, too. Lisa Phoenix said... i've returned multiple times as well. It kind of sneaks up on you, in the best possible way. Traveller said... I love this. It reminds me of the book "water for chocolate" by Laura Esquivel - an exquisite evocation of life in Mexico in a busy kitchen where things weren't quite what they seemed and the cooks put all their emotions into the food they cooked, resulting in the occasional bout of indigestion or ecastay for the diners
On her website,Loreena McKennit.has a door and when you enter she says that "Every journey brings its own surprises: a challenge, a sudden detour, a new set of friends along the way, perhaps even a destination different from the one you intended. These days, as I make my way along the path to researching, writing and recording a new album, I find myself thinking with amazement of all of the individual journeys that have brought all of you to this website. I am honoured to count you among our community of friends, and I remember how many people I have met in my travels through music that have made my life so much richer." To appreciate my dance for the Gorgons you need to listen to Loreena McKennitt's Book of Secrets, listen, in particular to The Mummeries Dance and Marco Polo.
I'm already prepared for our next ride by horseback -- if that's the means of transportation we will be using again on this journey. While poking through Pandora's Box, I found an extra fluffly, extra poofy, just-right-for-a-cushion, rainbow wig! I won't need it for the performance, but it will certainly keep my bum from getting sore on our next bumpity trail ride. Besides, just looking at it make me smile and reminds me of the rainbow I saw over the valley behind the Hermitage. Please, Enchantress. Can I keep it!?
According to myth, the first Athenian woman was Pandora. Unlike the first Athenian citizen, a male, the first Athenian woman, commonly known as Pandora, was crafted by Hephaestus in his forge. Athena provided Pandora with skills in the womanly arts and made her dangerous. Zeus, who ordered her creation, gave her as a gift and a curse to mankind. Thus Pandora can be said to have had three parents. Pandora is better known as the woman whose curiosity got the best of her when she opened the forbidden box out of which came all the evils of the world and one good, hope. Greetings fellow travellers and welcome to the magic of Pandora´s costume box. In here you will get the chance to choose from a variety of costumes, grown in my special herbarium, courtesy of some seeds the hermitess was kind enough to give me when I visited her and admired her greenhouse. I hope these will add just that special touch to your peformances. Please help yourself to whichever costume you would like. I will endeavour to collect together various accessories which I will store on the shelves. Please feel free to put your performances in here yourselves or send them to me, together with any images you would like included, and I will upload them to the box. Wardrobe Mistress