I am the Blue Dragon. I serve the Blue Light; whose physical manifestation is the Universe: the One Voice, the Eternal Word, the Infinite Sound. All things are revealed by the Light. All shadows are created by the Light. Love is the Way of the Light. Either one serves Love or one opposes Love. One cannot claim to serve Love through hate. Anger and fear are the absence of Love. Love is omnipresent. There is nowhere it is not. It does not shirk; it does not hide. To be unable to feel its presence is delusion. It is we who turn away from the Light. It is constant and never abandons us. It is The Energy; The Force; The Power. The Source of all. Love is indiscriminate. Love is not concerned with what name it is called, or what rituals it is worshiped by. Love does not favor one over another. Love does not punish. Love wants you to be happy and healthy. For this to happen you must conform to Love. Love cannot be ruled by you. You are a manifestation of Love. There is no intermediary.
I’ve been working on a new series of faerie sketches for a children’s book. Some are more finished than others. Most of them are in a little 5×7 sketchbook that my wife gave me as a gift, so the sketches are kind of small. These newer ones are being done with water soluble graphite, watercolor pencils and markers. They are helping me to flesh out the story. I’ve also been writing some poetry for the book, but again, more as sketches or ideas that may or may not end up in the book.
All I can really tell for sure is I probably won’t do the finished pieces in watercolor pencil and marker.
Marina was born on the night of a surging storm. The clouds hid the moon, but the sky was lit intermittently by blue crackling lightning. It was neither cold nor warm. The whole of the sky was filled with dark, thundering clouds, rolling in the wind. These things didn’t frighten the newborn Marina; she was a raindrop. The whole world was rain.
For a time, the wind blew Marina in the clouds where she was born. In the diffused electric light of the lightning behind the clouds, she could see the other baby raindrops whirling around in the high winds of the sky, playing in the clouds.
Marina played in the clouds, too. Weightless and small, she flew around and around, whirling and dancing in the safety of the clouds. Sometimes the wind would slow down, and marina would fall, laughing gleefully almost to the bottom of the clouds, but then she would catch another gust of wind and go soaring back up into the clouds.
When the lightning lit up the clouds, you could see marina, clear, and round, and pure, spinning up into the highest part of the clouds, only to be lost in the millions of baby raindrops swirling in the sky.
Once the wind blew Marina above the clouds where the moon shown its cool, distant light over the surface of the clouds, stretching as far as the eye could see. The clouds glowed in the moonlight, and swirled and danced in the wind. Marina realized the clouds were made of tiny dancing baby raindrops, and that she made up a very small part of clouds. She never wanted to leave.
Marina danced among the clouds, and began to grow. Tiny bits of mist through which she danced became part of her.
As morning came, marina began to fall beneath the clouds. The cool grey clouds began to blur. All around marina, there were millions of other raindrops all falling through the endless sky. She became friends with many of the raindrops around her. Some became part of her life.
The storm began to grow cold. The rain cascaded into a wind that was getting bitter from blowing for so long in the distance, lightning was shattering ice.
Marina’s heart was born. It solidified into crystal ice. Marina took shape as only marina ever would. She sprang out in six directions at once. All around her, rain was blossoming into snow.
Marina swirled, and danced, and floated and, fell. all with vigor new to her. For the first time she looked where she was. Marina sparkled in the diffused morning light in an endless sky of glittering snow.
Far above were the distant massive storm clouds of her birth. Far below she could see glittering blue. Marina wondered what future awaited her in the vast blue expanse.
Marina saw a brilliant light at the end of the vast expanse of clouds. The sun was breaking through the grey above. Great shining streaks of light poured through the sky. Marina felt the glorious warmth of the sunlight and melted back into a clear shining raindrop.
Marina and her friends basked in gleaming morning sunlight. She could see light pouring through her and her friends creating an arcing rainbow that stretched to the sparkling sea below.
Marina and her friends wondered about the sea and what it held for them. Marina seemed to have an inner feeling that the sea was good, almost like a memory.
Quite unexpectedly, marina came upon the sea as she plummeted into the vast unknown; she realized that she had been here before. She became the sea. Once a drop of water enters the ocean it is no longer a drop of water but part of the greater whole. Marina felt her self lap on distant shores; she welcomed the rain that swelled the ocean. Marina had come home.
Far away, in the sky a tiny bit of mist becomes a swirling baby raindrop, dancing in the clouds.
What mysteries lurk beneath the surface, looking outward, unseen; waiting to be discovered? My work methods are unorthodox. Try as I might to sit down and devise a tale of my own making, I find it’s a bit like hunting. Not that I have ever hunted anything except cats with my childhood dog; Heidi. Nevertheless. One has to pick up the scent, track one’s quarry. I have to lay in wait, sniff the wind. It’s a merry dance, the hunt. I do research, I conceive a subject; in this case faeries. I devise a format: a picture book. I want it to be in verse, but not the verse of picture books. They’re all so much the same.
My research takes me to medieval poetry. I skip Victorian because that’s where everyone hunts for fairies. But I’m not looking for the story. I’m looking for the voice. I’m looking for something antiquated. Something to give a flavor of a treasure long-lost and discovered anew. In medieval verse, there was a taste for alliteration as much as if not more than rhyme. I find I’m not ready to unravel sonnets and the tricks of language that make poets from Shakespeare to Shelly thought great. Wordsworth’s genius eludes me. I find I like Taliesin.
Then, back in the real world, my one year old is having nightmares. I feel this is my legacy. He has his mother’s eyes, and his father’s untamable imagination. Perhaps the faeries can be called upon to drive them away. I’m generally unconcerned with whether fairies are mischievous as conceived in the Christian era or minor nature gods as seen previous to that. To me all things are manifestations of the Source: Love. In fact, along the way as I fill my sketch book with non sequiturs and rubbish, I hit upon a new mantra: Always choose love. It becomes my hashtag. It is to be a guiding principle in all I do and create, so that when I am done here, I won’t have left only rubbish behind. Looking back on my work, one could argue that it has always been my mantra, just latent, undiscovered. So my faeries will be bringers of light.
I may be getting closer, but still the hunt goes on.
When William Brewer, the Sheriff of Nottingham, foreclosed on Robin’s house, due to failure to pay taxes, Robin thought his young life was over. Forced into the forest to live as an outlaw, Robin finds that he is not alone. Sherwood is filled with outlaws who share Robin’s same story. If Robin can unite these loners against a common foe, he will have an army. Is it really stealing, if you take back what is yours?
Back in town, Marian is unimpressed by outlaws. She and Tuck have an orphanage to run. But when the sheriff decides money meant for the orphans belongs to him, she finds she needs allies that play outside the rules.
And the archery contest. Don’t forget the archery contest.
Join all your favorite characters and meet some new ones in this new retelling of the classic folktale.