baby wizard is dreaming.
She is asleep in her bed in her dutch blue room with green kasbah trim. You can tell she is sleeping because a wreath of stars are dancing around her head in a circle. As the stars are decoriously steppibg in a circle tiny Commedia characters are bobbing in and out of the ring. Capitano is practicing bowing with a boquet of red roses....Columbina is primping in a mirror...Harlequino is cleaning up spilled gold dust after Pantalone who is leaking from his scuddi bag...unaware Pantalone is explaining a financial matter to Isabella who is laughing and following Fabian who dissapears into an artists studio.
Around baby wizard are her mundane tools of her mundane life. A mirror above
her altar, a chrystal in the west window, her painted "PVC" flute
(Nay pronounced "Nai"), a braided corn dollie she made last fall.
In the bedroom is another "altar", this one on top of her dresser.
This altar is a good indication of the levels of chaos in her life. When it
is cleaned her shell necklaces are displayed in their red abalone nest, all
the tinctures, vitamins, herbs and cures are in little rows like good soldiers,
the cobwebs are all swept away from her gilt framed picture of the etruscan
flute player from Kouros (the walls of the Minotaur labrynth which depict
bull-dancers and musicians in procession...her first yard sale score), the
bronze periscope inherited from french canadian ancestors, a Mexican "Sacred
Heart of Mary" candle, wooden goblet from Mountebank Stage, bronze funny
horn from under the old Fools Guild House...it doesent look any different
than ever...except that there is a small waterfront row of organized piles
which march right into the drawers sticking up and out of the top drawer like
a ruffle of lace...and liberally being held by the half open secong drawer
like a pile of strange sparse teeth. A wooden cigar box full of paraphernelia,
stacks of photos in their red and white paper envelopes,two small wooden drawers
and a jar of leaves soaking in everclear.
Baby wizard is *moving*which makes her tired and spreads chaos like cream cheese on a Canter's Deli bagel. Against this slow sure tide she has laboured and she has made small triumphs. A great deal of her belongings are organized far away in a storage which will someday be mostly transported into a new *studio* (got storage with shelves in it its sooo dreamy). Some things are going out to the farm ...mostly sewing stuff and books left behind. In the storage there are rows and rows of suitcases...cosmetic cases mostly...which baby wizard gets at thrift stores to organize her life.(two bucks...ok price).
While baby wizard is dreaming the sun creeps up over the Madrone and Bay Laurel. Froggie in the greenhouse is singing "ggive up old tears, gggive ooup old tears, cleeeeaning dry tears..." Froggie likes the semi tropical climate afforded by the halogen lamp in the greenhouse which comes on periodically to warm and stregnthen the young flower maidens. A cold fog pervades everything, dragons breath from the jade dragon called "Eel river south fork".
In her dream baby wizard is sitting having tea with Burgundi and Diane. It
is not regular tea...although it is their *mundane* tea...fresh grated ginger
and nutmeg with darjeling, they are sitting in the belly of a whale, and yet
it appears to be a forest at the same time, They are sitting on a velvet couch,
which is also a bed and a platform...known to the tribe as a "hootch
bed". Diane and Burgundi look young and beautiful...not any different
than they ever do. They are less dressed than usual, bugsy in her chain mail
shirt al fresco and harem pants, di in a voluminous japanese silk kimono from
which she keeps sliding out like a gladioulus in the afternoon sun. While
di is sipping tea and sort of purring bugsy is shuffling a big thick tarot
deck as baby wizard looks on. The cards are laid out in three stacks, their
dutch blue backs worn with years of use. Di points at the middle stack and
Burgundi piles it on top of the other two. She looks up at baby wizard, half
serious in her cat eyed rinestone bedecked glasses, baby wizard nods her assent,
bugsy turns over the card....
it is the Star.
Far away above the whale who scoops earth leagues below the sea and carries
a funny tea party in his dreams breath in the night sky wild geese are flying.
They are flying in from everywhere ahead of a storm. This is not the regulated
curving processional of the great herd of wild geese complete with ancestral
memories, faeries and Bob T at the lead helm with pipes wailing. These are
scattered groups of geese who can remember and who can fly the great pathway.
Their feathered backs are not yet encrusted with leagues of faerie ancestors
coming and going and mother goose to sing the oldest songs of history...childrens
lulaby's.
These geese are not quite orphans and yet they are not knitted in right...they are not felt in the song of the heart of the tribe ...yet. They have not been written into the book of names. They fly with their grannies and grandpa's, their beloved lost posse's and fragments of remembered songs. Some of them are firmly mated flying in pairs one ahead, some fly in formation with their families and bits of kin(blood family), parts of kith (made family) and quite a lot of hope frankly. As they move away from the deep waters on the mysterious river current of wind they can hear the sound of other wildgeese in the distance and this excites them. Their singing and crying sound gets louder and more intent.
They do not know each other well enough to quite know how to get into clear formation. As they begin to gather a mile from shore they are moving in a discordant hulk of crying singing wild geese. Pairs are still in pairs, family groups spread with the strongest still at the head. Excited at having found each other the sound is almost unbearable for a moment. Are they striving for order? are they simply excited to see so many othet magic faerie wild geese? The things which make them fit together so well are not readily apparent...their ability to shift roles and take the lead as needed, their equal desire to reach the pastures and wetlands which will feed their spirits and their beings, At first they are loud and overlapping...then suddenly they are quiet.(Are they lost? Are they all digesting? are they all swamped under snowy peaks of e-mail?)
Out ahead....why its...its ...KING DOO DAH.... leading the way to the spring
assembly on one side Derfsilla "didi" and Billy bob, the other Topsy,
Heidi, Text Toon and the gang... with sparklers and cigars, explosive bursts
of good humor and camadrie (more than just handsome and charming...thats you
Dooh Dah oh King of Steel who leads us into the wkole new Millenia)
Around the sleepy little wizards head the stars are still dancing and the
zanies are processional. KIP (keep it positive) and KIT (keep it truthful)
the twin white cloaked clowns move sometimes together sometimes opposite,,,always
in a dance. A step behind them the sly handsome SIG (silence is golden). KIP
KIT and SIG immediately step into a complex choreographed routine where a
handkerchief is passed between them. Is it a hat? is it a juggling ball? is
it a letter?...it is so hard to tell, one moment it is a handkercheif around
KIP's neck, the next a crying rag for KIT...and then SIG is using at as an
alluring gesture at the end of an outstretched arm...
YEah!!
It is the late winter spring pastures it is that old ice breaker known as
FOOLS NEW YEARS where geese shall feed in dreams and fools shall dance.
Tomorrow is the ides of march
a week until spring..the last reign of dark forces and any minute now *mercury* will go out of retrograde.
Wake up Baby Wizard, time to go to work on *rtgarden*.