“It is a curious sensation when a young person realizes she or he is not altogether the child of that person’s natural parents. Freud reduced such a sensation to ‘the changeling fantasy,’ in which you imagine you are a faery child, plucked away by adoptive parents who then masquerade as a natural mother and father. But is it only a fantasy to locate, in the self, a magical or occult element, older than any other component of the self?” Harold Bloom, Omens of the Millennium
Admission of Gilt
Do you know that I flutter with butterflies?
That my heart beats like hummingbird wings?
Do you know I’ve the kind of a natural mind
That knows what the hummingbird sings?
May I give you a tour of The Garden,
Just once through and you, too, will see—
That the Lord has just granted your pardon,
You’ve been given permission to Be!
Throughout my life I have felt more kindred to plants than animals. I imagined myself to be an exile from the Nature Kingdom—kept from penetrating the inter-dimensional veil until I could inspire and assist humans to evolve the English Language to be as resonant and nourishing to the planet as birdsong and cricket choirs.
Once I had a dream in which I wanted to enroll in a metaphysical class but had to demonstrate a certain level of knowledge in order to be admitted. I instantly said, ‘Faeries wings grow from green to bronze as they get older.’ Then I woke up.
On another occasion—I dreamt I was walking with another woman when we accidentally encountered a small colony of 3,000 faeries. They said they wanted to have children through us. And I said that it was rather past time for that for me. They said that this was no problem. Then I woke up.
I asked Penelope Smith, one of the leading lights in animal telepathy and communication with Nature spirits, what this might mean. As I recall, she told me that I was being asked to serve as a bridge between the natural world and the human realm, and to translate Nature magic into this dimension.
In the mid-1990’s, I wrote my faerie-ography, wRites of Passion, about an elemental being who goes through the Looking Glass into this dimension and has to deconstruct the language to find her way back home again. I wrote this suite of verse over a period of time in the dark and fertile pre-dawn hours before going to one of my many ‘full-time, permanent jobs’ (a story in itself, which shall be told).
One very early morning, I consulted Roget’s Thesaurus for a synonym for Poet. There, I discovered that the early 18th C English Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley had defined a poet as “a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” For the first time in my life I felt truly ‘seen’—even though the ‘sighting’ had occurred long before my current in-carnation. [Philomela, the name that popped into my head for my multi-dimensional ‘altar’-ego, is a literary term for the nightingale—by way of a gruesome Greek myth].
In the opening chapter of wRites of Passion, Philomela explains, ‘I was born in Upsidedown Town to the King and Queen of Backword Land.’ My perception that the human plane plane of existence is essentially ‘Backword Land’ has helped me to accept the total insanity of the ‘jabberwocky’ that passes for ‘normality’ in this culture—without getting too exorcised about it.
Then, I received confirmation for my perception when I read these words in the preface to The Way of Wyrd: Tales of an Anglo-Saxon Sorcerer, by Professor Brian Bates: “When the Christians came to power in Britain, anything heathen was automatically bad. Consequently, everything that had a strong meaning to the Anglo-Saxons was reversed 180 degrees. This reversal not only affected the people and their traditions, but also the English language we use today.” Fred Alan Wolf, PhD, authored the preface that gave me a piece for my life-long word-puzzling.
A Naturally Ordained WishFaerie
When writing my wish-granting incantation for Philomela, I knew I wanted something as musical, rhythmic and whimsical as ‘bippity-boppity.’ But I wanted every sound and syllable to make sense. The first two stanzas emerged as if by magic, ending with the phrase ‘symple symbols that eclipse the prospects for Apocalypse.”
After I wrote that down, I wondered how the Apocalypse had found its way into my verse. Years later, I read in the book, Healing Mantras by Thomas Ashley-Farrend, that John Dee, the most educated man in the realm during the reign of Elizabeth I, “….studied the effects of music, rhythm and spoken word on human consciousness and believed – as did some of the most gifted poets – that sounds could be used to heal some of the most intense political antagonisms of their time.” Thus, “Working in secret with a cabal of artistic poets in both England and France, John Dee developed measured poetic rhythms that were intended to bring about world peace.”
When I read that, I felt certain that I must have been among those working with John Dee, which may be why I was certain as a toddler that I already knew all the words in the English language.
On this page, you’ll find several video-chapters from my faeriography. You’ll also see an article I wrote and published in Faerie Magazine in 2010 before performing excerpts from wRites of Passion at a faerie festival in Canterbury, England.
Our sensitivities grant us the ability to recognize our Mother’s magical enchantment in every moment, element, creature and feature of the natural world. However, they can also lead to an identity crisis when we discover that we view the world through very different eyes than do the people all around us.
This becomes particularly problematic if the family through which we incarnate has only scant appreciation for our enhanced perceptions and is unreceptive to our gifts. Yet, no matter how much flack we may receive from the outer whirled for seeming to be slightly odd, faeries are known experts at turning flax to gold, which reciprocally precipitates our own metamorphosis.