Sparkling gypsies

Your part and my part fit together

Just what would you do with a great big space in time?

a big beach in front of you?

the salty sea air to inhale?

a breakwater that looks like a dragon?

And a bicycle?

a green hill you tobogganed down

on a sparkly February day

when this land is quieter than quiet is -

quieter than a breath held from letting go?

I still see a magical parade on that hilltop.

Sparkling gypsies

claiming that land as their own.

Making music on their way.

A happy pilgrimmage

Going where?

Just going.

Nomads

owning nowhere

but their passage

owning nowhere

but their brilliant journey

owning nowhere

but their twinkling eyes

full of tales

richer than the most precious

of jewels.

"Dare,"

she whispers,

"to follow the invitation."

"Gather up the storytellers now,

ring the churchbells that have been silent too long.

Let the magic spill out

and fill the land

with what is Real and True.

Hang the shimmering cloth flapping in the wind.

Prepare the gypsy caravan.

Breathe in deeply.

Fill yourself up with this energy.

This is yours to claim forevermore.

You are the salty sea air,

the gentle river,

the emerald drumlin,

the fragrant lilac,

the open wings,

the small footprint in the sand.

You are all of this and more."

Blessed be.

Sarah Priestess

September 2007

Petite-Rivière, Nova Scotia