Ganesh

Lord Ganesh, remover of obstacles

Son of Shiva

His elephantine head adorned with a crown of jewels

He swings his axe, clearing the path

His great wisdom growing from him like a lotus

I keep his statue to remind me of my own courage

For even if there is no elephant headed god, he represents the strength I require

To see the path through the obstacles, and to remove them

To clear the way to the summit

Mighty Lord Ganesh, remover of obstacles, son of Shiva

Please extinguish my fear that I might always speak the truth

The Spell Part 5

Gone. Always gone where the pigeons could not fly, where no messenger could walk. William of the Clear Mountain lived a melancholy existence, hiding in the drudgery of day to day labor. Reading scrolls. Taking up odd jobs as a laborer and a town crier. He tried to make the young sorceress a distant memory to shield his heart from the pain of her absence. Alas, this was to no avail for his memory of her was untarnished as the months lingered on for an eternity. He no longer remembered the calendar around the festival days, but on the days of her expected return. This young sorceress who had enchanted him so, even in her absence, had become a beacon in the gray mist that had become his life.

 

It was such a day, when he knew he would see her again, that he first became acquainted with the cruelty of the fates. For it was on this day that they would find means to send her away from him in such a manner, that he might never have the chance to confess his love. For so powerful was her mastery of water magic, that a great university of the southern lands bid her to train young sorcerers and sorceresses. This, an honor of the greatest sort, he could not begrudge anyone he could claim to love.

 

William of the Clear Mountain wandered along the road, carelessly strumming his lute. It was on this road that he encountered an old man in a ragged cloak, hunched over in pain. William extended his hand, helping the old man to a nearby log. He offered the old man food and wine from his bag. The old man smiled at his kindness and they began to talk.

The Bar

The bar has been set so high

that I can not clear it

I must become stronger

for the bar has been set so high

I am but a man standing at the foot of a tall building

the bar set at the very highest point on the roof

I jumped over and over again

crashing into the ledge and bruising my bones

Realizing

Perhaps too late

that I could have simply climbed the stairs

The Spell Part 4

William turned his gaze to witness a beauty of the southern lands. Her skin was smooth, a rich ocher hue. Her hair hung in braids. He admired the wide, sweet smile stretched across her lips. Her form, as shapely as any he had ever seen among the ladies of Andalusia, the northern lands, or the lands of the East.

Being no stranger to great beauties, William restrained all outward sign of nervousness. He merely smiled his ribald smile, engaged her in a conversation.

“I can tell you enjoyed my tale! Do you spend much time in taverns?”

“As often as my studies would allow, good sir,” she replied.

“What is it you study, good lady?”

“The principles of alchemy and water magic,” she replied.

“Ah, a lady of great wisdom!”

William felt his heart quicken. So used to being the object of the affection of bar maids and laundresses, dancing girls and wenches, he could not help but be impressed. She was young for a sorceress and water magic was notoriously difficult.

Mosh Pits

So I went out to my friend’s heavy metal concert the other night. He’s the lead singer of a band called Betrayus. (facebook.com/betrayus)…  They have a following here in NJ. Anyway, I stepped my old ass back in a mosh pit for the first time in over a year. I cut my hand… one dude got his leg broken. As sore as I am, and as itchy as this cut on my hand is, I’m not sure why I used to enjoy the pit so much. Sure, it vents a lot of frustration. Sure it makes metal chicks catch the vapors when I dominate the pit… but now my back is stiff and I’m pretty sure my hand has a staph infection. They really should erect some sort of padded barrier between the stage and the pit so I can’t be knocked directly into the musical equipment while the band is trying to put on a show. Also, I’m no sexist… but women… stop jumping in the pit when I’m around. I feel compelled to take hits for you and I can’t take them like I used to… my back is killing me!

Meditation 2

A beautiful gem is formed through long periods of heat and pressure, extracted from the Earth, cleaned, and carefully cut into shape, removing all excess. Such is the cultivation of the worthy, those who chart the path of their own destiny.

The Spell Part 3

Upon his entry, the pageantry and majesty of the ball was clear. Jesters, musicians, jugglers, and acrobats entertained the crowd of young merchants and artisans found in the great capital. William approached the lady of the house, as was custom in the cities of the East.

“My lady,” he said, “It has been far too long since I have seen you and enjoyed the hospitality of your beautiful home.”

“William! Your presence is most welcome,” she replied.

“You honor me. Shall we reminisce over a cup or two of wine?”

“Yes we shall,” she replied, “I am sure you have plenty of bawdy tales to tell.”

The two old friends made their way to the banquet table, laden with exotic fruits and pastries made with fragrant leaves from the east, said to intoxicate the mind and leave one in a state of bliss. William poured the wine, and he related the tale of his journey.

 

As he was telling a particularly humorous tale about the tavern owner’s daughter and her pet monkey, William became distracted by soft feminine laughter coming from the corner.

A Meditation

You can not possess that which you love, for in possession you reduce your beloved to a possession. Love is not possession, it’s something you do. It is an active process that flows from your core and outwards like radiation from the heart of the sun. Being that this is so, no force on Earth can stop the flow of genuine love through your soul. No time, no space, no distance, no obstacle.

The Spell Part 2

William of the Clear Mountain felt the calling to become a bard from the moment he was old enough to hold a quill. His mother was a sculptress, his father a bard himself before taking a position as head clerk of the local magistrate. Though local villagers would come from miles around to hear him sing tales of great men, fearsome creatures, and lovely maidens, he could not seem to attain the fame he sought in the great cities of the East. His father secured him a position as a clerk in the great library in the capital, one hour’s ride from his home. He hunched over the scrolls, directing the patrons to the wisdom of the ancients, softly singing his poems to himself under his breath.

 

He was handsome, in his own way, albeit large and oafish. He was like one of the great apes of the southern lands. He had the neck and strong back of a yeoman, the square jaw of a warrior, and the hands of an artisan. His back was knotted with thick muscle and sinew. Each calf was thick as a tree trunk. He seemed built more to swing an axe than to strum a lute but his voice was low and booming. His eyes were an icy blue and he used them to mesmerize chamber maids and tavern wenches along the road to the village square. He wore a black leather tunic, worn with age but well oiled. He had a black beard, and long wavy black hair.

 

Being an educated man, he held favor among ladies of the house of the local lord as well, familiar with him from their days spent in the great library. They often invited him to balls, as he was known to make merry with great fervor. He tread the path on the way to such a ball, stepping lightly across the frosted ground. He admired the yellowing leaves, a good omen at the beginning of the harvest festival. He longed to dance to lively tunes and crush a few cups of wine, his only escape from the drudgery of the library.

 

He saw the banners of the lord’s keep, waving in the sun. He came to the great oak door.

The Spell

Hear me oh tempestuous fates who obscure my path to light and  truth and happiness-

May the passion of my words serve as testament to their truth-

Oh fates who simultaneously show such beneficence and cruelty-

I implore you to heed these words of power-

May all of her endeavors be met with success and happiness-

Whether in presence or in absence, may she become the impetus of my ascent-

May my mark upon this world blaze with passion and fury-

Burning brightly across the night sky so that she may see it from any distance-

May the light illuminate my path-

May it illuminate the truth of the heart and the spirit and set the paths to cross again-

May the fetters be broken-

May this heart, so baptized in the fire, beating as the drum, guide me to the true path-

I speak these words to the four winds, that they may carry them to the ends of the Earth-

May I have the peace that I have long sought-

May I find the path to light in darkened forests-

May love prevail-

I speak these words to the birds that they may be carried to the heavens-

May my actions be swift and bold and worthy-

May my present weakness become further confirmation of the strength of my conviction-

May I find my solace and my comfort-

I speak these words to the Earth, that it may bear witness-

May she be forever shielded from harm-

May two lights shine like twin stars-

I speak these words to myself that I may always remember-

It is in the truth of the heart that your power resides-

It is in your mind that the light may be found to illuminate the path-

Crawl through the thorns and emerge-

May what is meant to be, be-

I implore you, fates, to heed these words of power-

So mote it be.

 

The young bard, his heart weary, his body screaming to the heavens, stood up and stepped away from the altar. He had spoken the words loudly, enough for the fates to hear his plea. He had spoken the words as a mantra, focusing them inward upon himself and out into the aether. In his heart of hearts, he hoped his words worthy and sincere enough for the fates to take pity on him. The old wizard had taught him that magic and poetic verse could be the same thing. It was the belief in the words that gave them power.

 

He knelt at the altar and spoke them again.