The Raven's Nest | Walking the path of the Ancient Ones

In My Mind

Always a dreamer....

They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. - Edgar Allen Poe

Near Avalon

by William Morris

A ship with shields before the sun,
Six maidens round the mast,
A red gold-crown on every one,
A green gown on the last.

The fluttering green banners there
Are wrought with ladies' heads most fair,
And a portraiture of Guenevere
The middle of each sail doth bear.

A ship with sails before the wind,
And round the helm six knights,
Their heaumes are on, whereby half blind,
They pass by many sights.

The tattered scarlet banners there,
Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.
Those six knights sorrowfully bear
In all their heaumes some yellow hair.

Tara's Harp

Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, vol. 1

The harp that once through Tara's Hall
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's wall
As if that soul were fled.
So sleeps the pride of former days
So glory's thrill is o'er
And hearts that once beat high for praise
Now feel that pulse no more

No more to chiefs and ladies bright,
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone, that breaks at night,
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.

In the glow of the full moon light,

Fairies dance throughout the night,

From their gardens they gracefully fly,

Adding starlight to the sky.

~ Cordelia ~

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The Stolen Child by William Butler Yeats Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water-rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's morefully of weeping than you can understand. Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,.
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For to world's morefully of weeping than you can understand. Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
from a world more full of weeping than you can understand.

Since I was little I have had a facination with Gypsies. Perhaps the fact that my mother did too helped! Oral family tradition eluded to gypsies in her past, but nothing to verify or document that. It was supposedly in her grandma's line. Mom, her mom and grandma have gone on to the Summerland, so I have no one to ask. But, as I continue to read more on the Romany Gypsies, I find some beliefs, practices and superstitions that I heard or saw as I was growing up. I recently recalled that my mother mentioned her grandmother named her. My mother's name was Romona (yes, hers was spelled with an O not an A as she would always point out!). Did her grandmother give her a tie to the Romany Gypsies or was this just a name she fancied?

I had the most amazing dream recently. It was so vivid, it didn't seem that I was dreaming, but actually there and actively a part of everything going on. I dreamt that I was sitting around the fire with what I perceived as my gypsy family. No faces I recognized, but somehow I felt they were family. I could smell the burning wood and the stew I was stirring for our supper. The sounds were very vivid as well; the crackling of the fire, the sound of the metal spoon scraping the kettle, laughter, voices singing and various instruments. The paintings and carvings on each vardo were so detailed.

I remember intently gazing into the fire and then looking up and out of a red and gold wagon stepped my mom. She had a bright red bandana tied round her head, her long dark curly hair dancing around her beautiful smiling face in the wind. I remember her wearing a lot of jewelry (which mom always did love), a paisley type shawl and a long red skirt. She smiled at me and said "I am so glad you found your way home". I woke up with such an amazing feeling of peace. I expected to see my mom standing there it was so real. Hmmmm, was this a message from her here? Was she trying to let me know she is happy with my path and/or that yes, gypsies truly are a part of my past??? I would like to think she was talking to me that night... Cordelia 9/10/2007

At the Kursaal Essex, 1914

Belgian Gypsies - circa 1921