Joining Don and Wen…

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

I had been living in the area for years. I was aware of the hillfort hidden in the woods, could have pointed out the chalk-carved figures, shown you where the burial mounds were and explained how the Ridgeway had traversed these hilltops for the past five thousand years. Even so, the land had never come to life for me.

I am a Yorkshire lass. The moors of home were alive and calling. I needed millstone grit and bracken, peat-gold streams and a sea of heather before the land would sing to my soul.

Until, that is, my friend came to visit.

It was a day of pure magic and the land, no matter where we found ourselves, would never again be silent. By simply paying attention, it was as if the earth was illuminating itself from within, whispering secrets it had been longing to share for millennia and laying before…

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News of the Rodeo Classic.

From the folks at CarrotRanch.com, a wonderful gesture of friendship and love:

willowdot21

Carrot Ranch

Sue Vincent is many things, blogger, mother, grandmother, carer to her older son and and a founder member of the Silent Eye a modern mystery school and friend and inspiration to many worldwide.

© SueVincent.

I have met Sue and joined her and her companions from the The Silent Eye on a couple or their weekend workshops. My life has been enriched by knowing her. I have learned a lot from her and basked in the warmth of her friendship.

Like many others I have been inspired by her posts about her musings, beliefs and always been uplifted by her regular #midnighthaiku. Like many others I have joined in with Sue’s #writephoto prompts. Weekly Sue has tirelessly supported other bloggers by sharing their responses to to #writephoto. As well as explaining about the photo prompt and entering her own contrabution. Also her thoughts on her life, her…

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The Return #return #writephoto #SueVincent

Photo Credit: Sue Vincent

The last star reader was called down from the hills to prophecy the outcome of the divide. He stood on the cusp of the morning, more sure of where he was going than all who stood below. To understand the language of the stars was a gift seeded into the womb and those who received it could not pass it along. Only their words carried forth the song of the light. A light to which he longed to return.

Yet it was his duty to translate when beckoned. How weary he was of trying to reduce the vast into the limited. Minds trapped inside longing were not easily opened, and for the star reader this was another futile effort.

“I see it!” hollered a tiny voice. “I see the dragon!”

“What is she talking about?”

“Shush the child.”

“What insolence. Put her back to bed!”

The crowd below grew angry together, feeding upon the rise of their wrath bestowed upon a wee child who spoke only the truth. The last star reader watched and waited. He listened to the rise and fall of dissonance and sighed.

“See what I mean?” he muttered up to the sky.

“What are you waiting for?” the sky replied.

“It will not work. It never does.”

“Speak to the girl then.”

“Come here,” he beckoned in the softest of whispers, yet she heard him.

Softly she crawled the tangled roots, grabbling hold of the grasses for support until she reach the last star reader. He said nothing, just nudged the staff towards her waiting hand. One finger and then another curled the weathered wood.

No one knew she was missing. No one knew she had left their masses. Filled with their wrath, they had forgotten all meaning.

“Why don’t they see it?” she asked the reader as she peered at the angry mob below.

“Because their eyes have turned blind.”

“But it’s so beautiful.”

“Those who cannot see truth cannot see beauty.”

So the wee child turned her head back to the sky and the dragon, every-so-gently, swooped down to receive her.

For Sue Vincent’s #writephoto challenge #return.

Lucky birds

From Sue Vincent:

The Silent Eye

red kite

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.” J.M. Barrie

When I was a girl we often spent New Year’s Eve with my great grandparents. Unless a neighbour could be relied upon to spontaneously perform the service, the tallest, darkest man of the company would be ushered outside via the back door at five to midnight and the door locked behind them… Heaven forefend that a woman should enter first by accident!

Duly armed with a silver sixpence, a piece of coal and a slice of the rich, dark fruit cake to make sure the conditions for first footing were met… that there would always be wealth, food, and warmth in the home throughout the year…. They would be welcomed back in through the front door, not able to speak until the gifts were distributed. These first footers were called…

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Christmas Nostalgia #childhood

Photo by Dương Nhân from Pexels

During the quiet moments of yesterday, my mind played back childhood memories of Christmas. In particular, I thought of the holiday spend with my grandmothers when I was eight. I had three grandmothers during most of my childhood, as my birth parents divorced when I was quite little.

The first scenes of Christmas past to slip into my conscious mind were wrapped in favorite gifts from “Grammie.” Grammie loved to shop and she had a wonderful knack for gifting the perfect presents, even though she hardly knew me. The one Christmas I can remember spending at Grammie’s house, when I was eight-years-old, she made me a ruffled skirt of shiny green-and-white plaid, bought me the Sugar Plum Fairy Effenabee doll, and a pale pink satin nightgown with a matching robe. I could not have been more delighted with the contents of her beautifully wrapped gifts nestled under Grammie’s tree and labeled for me.

One of several french horns from Grammie

I never saw Grammie again on Christmas, but for several years she sent her perfect gifts perfectly wrapped inside an oversized box addressed to me and my sister. Inside the brown packing container, a handmade wreath adorned with ornaments welcomed us to the holiday’s delights. Tiny rocking horses, french horns, and silver bells hung from the evergreen boughs until they were untangled and nestled into boxes of ornaments to be hung in later years on our own trees.

One of Grammie’s recycled wreath ornaments

I don’t remember the gifts of my other grandmother gave me that Christmas. Instead, I remember sitting in her green velvet chair in the living room admiring her crystal bowl of ribbon candy almost-too-pretty-to-eat. Yet, it’s enough. A simple memory that contains more feeling than images, but evokes the joy of the holiday in my child self.

These brief, simple memories are from a cherished, yet troubled Christmas now long past. I have many more, filled with vivid scenes of laughter, food, and gifts shared with my stepfamily. Yet not one stands out for me in particular. I think perhaps it’s easier to take for granted what we become used to, even if it only occurs once a year.

I wonder what my own children will choose to cherish from past holidays as they grow older. No doubt they will be different, shaped by their individual perspectives of joy and love.

The Best Indie Authors You’ve Never Heard Of – Part One

I’m thrilled to be one of the authors featured on Lucy Bracier’s blog today alongside three other fantasy writers:

Lucy Brazier

Welcome to the first in my series of some of the best independent authors and writers you probably haven’t read yet, but really should. With so many new books being independently published every day, it is simply impossible to keep up with them all. But over the next few days, we can explore writers (some established, some brand spanking new) who might otherwise be under the reading radar. To get us started, here are some fabulous fables for the fantasy connoisseur…

Annabelle Franklin – Gateway To Magic & The Slapstyx

I’m a writer, musician and rescuer of ex-racing dogs. I live in a quirky little shed on the South Gower coast in South Wales UK. The landscape is stunning and magical, providing plenty of inspiration for fairy tales and fantasy.

When a family member had a phase of video game addiction, I wondered how he would manage in a dimension…

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Living with Elephants… #cancer

From Sue Vincent:

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

My neighbour stood six feet back from the doorstep to collect the heavy box that I had been babysitting since its delivery. His eyes were fixed on the headscarf I use to cover my baldness.
“We’ve heard you have cancer?”
“Yep.”
“Curable?”
“Nope.”
“I can see you are on chemo,” he nods at the hairless head. “Will it help at all?”
“It might buy me some time…”
“Cool. Thanks for clearing that up. We’ve been watching you since the ambulance came a couple of months ago, but of course, we couldn’t just ask…”

That is how the conversation could have gone. Instead, all I got were thanks for minding the parcel and some curiously furtive looks, as if one of us should be ashamed of themselves for some reason, whether that would be him for what was going through his mind, or me for having cancer in the first…

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Petals of the Rose ~ a new book

From Sue Vincent:

France & Vincent

Petals of the Rose

Guided Journeys

Sue Vincent

A collection of guided meditations, designed to open aspects of the personality in as gentle and natural way as the petals of the rose open at the touch of the sun. Each inner journey will carry you to a haven within your own psyche from which to explore layers of your own being, learning their meaning and purpose.

From mystical and silent castles, to the song of the unicorn… each journey takes you deeper into your inner being and carries you out beyond the stars.

Stories stir the imagination, casting images upon the screen of mind that allow us to explore, in safety, aspects of our lives and being that we might otherwise avoid or overlook. There is a rich vein of experience in memory that can be mined for its treasures. One of the simplest and best ways of exploring the…

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A child’s tale

From Sue Vincent:

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

bee 015
Road to Love – S.Vincent

I had one of those ‘moments’ today as I passed between the bookcases in the bedroom. It is odd the things that make it through the veneer of calm acceptance. In this case, it was the characters in books… characters I had first met as I snuggled within the circle of my mother’s arms. Characters like Aslan and Reepicheep, whose stories I had read, decades later, to my own sons while I held them too in my arms… creatures to whom I had hoped to introduce my granddaughters too. But, of course, it isn’t really about the characters… it is all about the memories and the love in which they shared.

There is a lot of wisdom in books, and children’s books in particular have always held a place in my heart for the gentle wisdom they hold. Moments of pure gold are scattered through…

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Self-Guided Energy Work Script: Release Untruths, Affirm Your Truths

Mommy Mystic

You are invited to a FREE Sacred Body Summit: Reclaim Your Feminine Power online this Sunday, October 25th. Love your body. Reclaim your power. Come spend the day in Sacred Sisterhood with other Wise Women. Register now, I hope to see you there.

The value of energy work is often that it is non-lingual, and can help us work with our emotions and emotional patterns as energy and vibration, dropping away from our chattering minds. Energy techniques employ our senses through sound, visualization, touch and more. But words are powerful too, and right now is a particularly good time to work with words to clear imprints and self-beliefs that do not serve us and replace them with those that do. 

The following script is simple, and uses the chakras as a structure for releasing and replacing false self-beliefs or imprints along the following threads:

  • I’m not…

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