fileg (fileg) wrote,

old journals /Pele

found this loose in the volume I am reading. It belongs to a much later time, and to the dream journals as well, not here at all....

you will need to know the amazing powzie for this... she was the smartest cat I have ever known, and had a rare and wicked sense of humor. Jim named her Black Powder and fire was always her element, as well as her black tortie coat having the look of cooling lava. This picture of her was done by hannah shaperio (she has also been drawn by robin, teanna and lee as well as her dad)

When I got to my cabin, I found that the glass wall where the deer had crashed through was either boarded or gone. The cabin was dark and there was a shadow standing on the library balcony. I couldn't wait to get outside and see what had happened to my safe terrain. Luckily, everything outside was all right, the seacliffs in their proper position, the beach and the steps leading down just as they belong. It was still autumn in the forest against the cabin, and the leaf litter lay in perfect disarray on the paths. I started down toward the beach, but decided I could not always run the same way, that it had become important to my life that my first impulse be to check what the sources of resource are, instead of always falling into the most comfortable / usual. I headed off to the variable terrain zone, and except for the unusual quiet and lack of woodlife, that too seemed right.

When the road turned to black hardened lava beneath my feet, I discovered Powzie, swimming through the solid stuff. She told me it was much cooler to swim in than the liquid lava, although it required one to be incredibly fast. I told her not to be silly, heat is molecular motion, but she replied that heat she generated herself was not inimical to her, nor in fact even much worthy of her notice. (watch my smoke!)

In the volcano I encountered Pele, who, drawn on the wall in bas relief, opened her heart to me and showed me that within she was completely composed of liquid fire. "Brightness tends to consume," she sighed, "But no one attains a brilliant life with a peaceful heart."

When I entered the inner chamber of the caldera, fish swam up in the hot lava bubbles and told me that there were mermaids living in the molten liquid. They would not come up where I could see them. I imagined them, loving the lava for its liquidity, trailing their bright, semi-solid hair in their wake as they swam, singing the siren songs of those who dare the all consuming.

The fire rose up in a sheet, and Pele stepped through, ageless and beautiful. Her hair, polynesian style, hung in a liquid sheet of flame, with a wreathing crown of cold black lava roses. I barely had time to think how wrong the red-haired image seemed in my celtic brain, when her lava locks, released from the heat of the molten pool, began to cool and turn to the hard black shiny stuff of the road outside. When the change reached the crown of her head, the roses became molten and began to glow, as though they were storing the heat and flame, or, perhaps, as if the brilliance within her had to shine through somewhere.

She stood with me in the caldera awhile, and then walked with me back down the tunnel to the obsidian road. During that time, she spoke to me of anger and volcanoes, explaining to me that if there is anger molten within you, then wishing will not change it, and expulsion is the only course. The lava heart will surface, whether by explosion or flow, the only choice is in the expression. Once released, the pressure is relieved.

By that time we had reached the path, and turning to her, I pointed at the hardened flows, saying, "I haven't yet come to terms with the scaring process." She laughed, and turned my face to the sea. Over the water, I could see the misty shapes of the other islands in the distance. She gestured with a sweep of her arm to take in the landscape around us, all the lush tropical teeming of life and land. "It wasn't Venus, but Pele who rose from the sea," she said.

She lowered her hand to a flowering branch and again indicated the islands. "These are the scars. No one attains a brilliant life with a peaceful heart. But sometimes the releasing of the hearts core-heat can gift you with both."

As I turned back into the dappled sunlight of my autumnal northern hardwoods, I could feel the images burning their way out of me, the sharing of them the first bubbling over of my molten core.

I can hardly wait to see the scars!!

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