The following is one of the only pieces of advice I have that that is of any value. *Bleurgh* first, polish second. This means that if you have an idea in your head or something you want to create, whether it's a story or an article or a post or a website, just spew out a rough version onto the page. As any highschool physicist will tell you, kinetic friction is much lower then static friction. If I had, for example, needed to come up with the perfect website name before starting it, I would have never begun. Or if I were to hold off writing a story until all the characters and places had perfect names and every sentence was perfect, then the story would never be written. Instead, I just have to *bleurgh* it out. Fixing things can happen after. It's way more motivating to work with something that has already taken form, no matter how misshapen it currently is.
This page is dedicated to the function of *bleurgh*. Any ideas that come into my head that are worth developing will get chucked up onto this page until they can be processed and neatly put away by the virtual librarian. I chose the title 'Musings' due to the M theme, even though 'Ramblings' is probably a more accurate description. Expect ramblings.
The nature of manna in the wilderness and daily dependance upon God for it (Exodus 16) and "Give us today our daily bread" in the Lord's Prayer (Matthew 6).
...witches quick freeze their potions to preserve potency much like we freeze soups for later consumption (potion ingredients are hard to come by after all!).
...the inner scale-stained skin of a tea-soaked egg is the core ingredient for a mighty spell.
...the leaves on the pathway are the wings of dead faeries.
...that baby I do not know in the pram across the street will grow up to become the hero in his or her own epic adventure.
...the geese by that lake are cursed faeries (see the old Irish tale about the Children of Lir).
...the sky is dark because something momentous is about to burst upon us.
...that fat fly on the wall is the Chieftain of the Fly Tribe.
...mothers are the greatest magical adepts ever and birthing is the most powerful spell ever.
2 John 12: Though I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink. Instead I hope to come to you and talk face to face, so that our joy may be complete.
Psalm 119:71 (Teth): It is good for me that I was afflicted, that I might learn your statutes.
Psalm 119:75 (Yodh): I know, O Lord, that your rules are righteous, and that in faithfulness you have afflicted me.
Psalm 119:120 (Samekh): My flesh trembles for fear of you, and I am afraid of your judgements.
Psalm 119:131 (Pe): I open my mouth and pant, because I long for your commandments (ESV).
This verse caught my eye in the Book of Common Prayer (BCP), translated differently: I opened my mouth, and drew in my breath: for my delight was in thy commandments. Instead of panting expressing longing, the reason for opening my mouth is drawing in breath for delight. Without making a comparison of translation accuracy, both images strike me as wonderful. Longing and delight. Longing for delight.
Long, long ago, before anyone alive today can remember, the night sky was pitch black. No stars shone in the heavens.
In those days there was a little village in which, a young girl met a young boy and the two fell in love. They were very happy for a time, but soon their happiness was interrupted. The mistress of the village was an old bitter witch who could not stand the sight of happiness. She went to the great many-jewelled gold and silver mirror that hung on her wall and wrote a curse on the surface with a finger dipped in magic potion. The curse prevented the boy and girl from seeing one another until the mirror was broken.
In sadness, they sent friends to the village wise man to ask why the mistress had done this and what they should do, for they were still very much in love. Their friends listened very carefully to the wise old man as he told them that the mistress had not always been like this. Long ago, she had been strong and kind, quick to bless and slow to curse. But then she had lost a daughter to a tragic accident. The world was no longer beautiful and the happiness of others was to be abhorred. Though she still wielded magic, she had lost her magic. If the two lovers were to be married, then they could only do so if they restored to the mistress her sense of wonder and beauty. They must embark on a great and terrible quest to bring back what was lost to the mistress so that they could retrieve what was lost to them. They must win the heart of the mistress by obtaining the Earth's seven smiles and seven tears.
At this the friends were puzzled, for the seven smiles and seven tears sounded very mysterious indeed. But it was soon explained to them that the seven smiles were the tallest flowers growing on the uppermost peaks of each of the Seven Mountains, plucked at noon on the longest day of the year. And the seven tears were the middlemost droplets of the deepest parts of each of the Seven Lakes, drawn at midnight on the darkest night of the year. And so it was decided that the girl would pluck the Earth's smiles and the boy would draw the Earth's tears. Out of their great love for one another, the two lovers went their separate ways.
Through many great and terrible trials they went, yearning for one another. Time passed slowly. Too slowly, it seemed to them. But they were not alone. For they made countless friends along their journeys who walked with them, laughed with them, laboured with them, wept with them, sung with them, fought with them, and danced with them.
In the first year, the first flower was plucked and the first droplet was drawn with the help of the faerie who had lost her wings and the wizard with the very long beard. And there were many others as well.
In the second year, the second flower was plucked and the second droplet was drawn with the help of the lonely dragon and the tadpole with two tails. And there were many others as well.
In the third year, the third flower was plucked and the third droplet was drawn with the help of the charioteer and her trusty chariot and the monkey with small but nimble hands. And there were many others as well.
In the fourth year, the fourth flower was plucked and the fourth droplet was drawn with the help of the Hearthkeeper's daughter and the philosopher who could never quite remember what he was philosophising about. And there were many others as well.
In the fifth year, the fifth flower was plucked and the fifth droplet was drawn with the help of the curly-haired lawyer with the perfect teeth and the tree spirit whose tree had been cut down. And there were many others as well.
In the sixth year, the sixth flower was plucked and the sixth droplet was drawn with the help of the knight who wielded the spear of great length and the goblin with the runny nose. And there were many others as well.
In the seventh and final year, the final flower was plucked and the final droplet was drawn with the help of the delightful little girl and her magical kitten and the tar elf who had a small wooden boat. And there were many others as well, too many to speak of.
And so it came to pass that after seven long years, during which The girl had become a woman and the boy had become a man, the deed was done. The flowers were put into a bouquet which was put into a vase that contained the droplets. The most wonderful and beautiful gift imaginable was created and given to the mistress who had first cursed the lovers. So wonderful and beautiful it was that the old witch could not help but laugh with the Earth's smiles and weep with the Earth's tears. The laughter and weeping melted the mistress' stony heart and the magic of wonder and beauty was restored to her. Whereupon she swiftly took down the cursed mirror from her wall and broke it, breaking the curse along with it.
Now at last, the man and the woman could be married.
But that is not the end of the story, for the night sky was still black and we have not yet learned where the stars come from.
With great laughter and joy the two lovers planned their wedding day and sent invites far and wide to all parts of the Earth to all their many friends they had made along the way. A further year passed and the long-awaited day finally came. What a wonderful day it was. They and all their friends danced and sung and shouted for joy until midnight.
When the great celebration drew to an end, and it was indeed great, the lovers' friends formed two long lines outside the door of the wedding hall so that the new bride and groom could pass between. The lines wound very far indeed, through a plain, across a river, around a forest, and to the top of a hill. Each guest was given a handful of magic glitter, made by the old witch who had ground the many-jewelled gold and silver frame of her old mirror and blessed the dust, to cast into the air for when their now-at-long-last married friends passed by them.
And as the lovers passed, each guest threw their handful a little higher than the guest before them, so as to make a double glittering crescendo of increasing height that stretched as far as the long double line of friends.
And because the woman and man had made so, so many friends on their journeys, the final pair of guests threw their magic glitter so high up that it stuck to the sky.
That is why we see stars shining in the night.
Long ago, when the gods still walked this land, there was a great and mighty hunter who could be spotted roaming and looking for his next awesome prize. A truly skilled huntsman he was, with a camouflaging cloak, a sharp knife and a powerful bow. Other than his hunting skills and tales of his hunts, however, not much was known about him, though two things were known to the people of his home village.
First, venison, it was said, was the hunter’s favourite food. Sometimes he would hunt for deer in the woods and sometimes, if he was feeling lazy, he would buy it from the local village butcher. He was not an unreasonable man, you see. Some hunters only ever eat their own kills as a point of pride, but not this hunter. He was a reasonable man. You would have liked him, for if you had not known that he was the deadliest hunter in the land, you would have mistaken him to be the same as any other man in the village. And second, he had a young son whom he did not know well, the result of an encounter with an adoring barmaid from a village near the furthest wilderness. He saw them once every one or two years when he passed through to hunt there. Otherwise he mostly minded his own business and so not much else could be said about him.
But what could be said was that he was the most skilful hunter in all the land. He was so skilled, that both he and others claimed that there was nothing he could not catch. Indeed, he had caught one of every kind of animal known to exist in the land, and more so, he had even caught some of the famed beasts of legend. The Boar of the Sunless Forest and the Soaring Eagle of the Cliffs. These he had released upon capture, keeping for himself only the tip of a tusk of the great pig and two pinion feathers from either side of the bird. Legend said that the gods would invite the one who by catching all the famed beasts proved himself to be the greatest ever to join them in the Starry Hunt across the night sky. Three more famed beasts now remained for him to conquer, after which, he would be forever heralded as the greatest of all hunters. These three remaining prizes were the Deer-as-white-as-milk, the Serpent of the Thousand Tunnels and the Duskwolf. There were, however, also claims that a seventh creature of legend lived in the land.
This was the creature known simply as the Crow, if indeed it existed at all. Many people had claimed to have seen the Crow. It hung around places of death and evil, often hovering above battlefields or execution sites, but never had it been seen to actually eat carrion. It would just be there, like a portent or sign. Now the reason people were unsure if it truly existed, was because, by all descriptions, it looked very much like a regular crow. True, it was slightly larger in size and people who claimed to have seen it said also that it was especially black. Like the sky on a moonless and starless night in the middle of a field far away from any villages. And it’s eyes beady and fully of intelligence. Even more so than regular crows. But humans are often mistaken and it was not really so different in description to a normal crow. What is more, though people all around the land said they had seen the Crow before, it had never been seen by groups of two or more people. Only ever by people who were alone at the time. So not everyone believed that the Crow was real.
The hunter was one of those people who did not believe, having never seen it for himself. His time was precious, and he just did not have enough of it to embark on a false quest. He did know, however, that the Deer-as-white-as-milk, the Serpent of the Thousand Tunnels and the Duskwolf would be his next hunts. And so, when he had prepared his supplies and readied his weapons, he went looking for the White Deer.
Eventually, he saw the beautiful white animal grazing in a clearing within a forest and the chase began. Long and wild, the chase, as predator and prey went this way and that throughout all the land. Many times the hunter got close to snaring the White Deer and just as many times the prize barely slipped out. Through fields, over mountains, across rivers, under clouded sun and clear bright starlight, for a thousand and one days the chase continued. Til at long last while leaping across a ravine, the Deer-as-white-as-milk stumbled and broke his leg and collapsed on the ground. The hunter let out a great cry of victory for he was now one step closer to hunting with the gods. He took out his knife, eyeing one of the great snowy antlers that protruded from the head of the White Deer. He would add some length of the prized antler to his hard won collection and let the Deer go free.
But then the hunter realised just how hungry he was. He had barely eaten for a thousand and one days. And so his eyes dropped from the antler to the throat of the helpless animal. Yes, the beast was unique and beautiful, but have I not earned this kill? The hunter drew closer, imagining just how wonderful the taste of venison would be at this moment. To his surprise, he saw tears appear in the White Deer’s eyes. In response he closed his own eyes as a battle of desires raged within him. The desire to eat his favourite meal at this hour of starvation and the desire to preserve that which was rare and pure and beautiful. In the end, like in so many human struggles, the desire for pleasure won through. And so he killed the Deer-as-white-as-milk and ate its sweet meat.
When the hunter had finished his priceless meal, he felt the guilt rising in him. And so he began to lie down, ready to sleep for a thousand and one nights and forget that this ever happened. As his eyes began to close, he heard a raspy croak. A berating sound. Slowly sitting up, he saw, out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadowy form perched on the branch of a nearby tree. Is this the Crow? The guilt in him surged with power and growing sorrow and tears began to cloud his vision. He wiped them away. The shadowy form was gone and the tree branch was empty. The hunter was left all alone to drift into sleep.
At first his sleep was fitful, haunted by dreams, but eventually exhaustion took over, and he slept a deep sleep, free of torment. He slept for a thousand and one nights.
When the hunter woke at last, he felt much better. The carcass of the Deer had skeletonised, looking much like the skeleton of any other deer. Taking off a large chunk of the antler, he went back to his home village. The people wondered where he had been, for he had been missing for over five years and he told them that the epic chase had been for a thousand and one days and his sleep after had been for a thousand and one nights. The other villagers, however, told him that while he had been away, the fame of another great hunter had arisen. This other hunter had also conquered the Boar of the Sunless Forest and the Soaring Eagle of the Cliffs and what is more, he had caught and released the Serpent of the Thousand Caves and taken an emerald plate-sized scale from it, something even the first hunter had not yet achieved.
This incensed the first hunter. After all, how dare another seek to steal his spot in the divine hunt with the gods.
...
Long ago, when the gods still walked this land, there was a great and terrible beast of carrion that could be seen flying whenever the sun set red. A truly horrifying creature it was, with rotting black feathers, a wicked beak and cruel claws. Men hung from trees, it was said, were the beast’s favourite food. Sometimes it would find such grotesque delicacies outside of towns that executed their criminals by hanging. But most horrific of all, was that a vaguely human form could be recognised hiding within those dark feathers. And its raspy croak could almost be construed as a human groan.