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chicken soup for the faery soul
Mar. 2nd, 2019 01:38 pmJust some quotes I've collected lately...
It is said that the land of Faery is as near as breath. So it is. And as far away as a land beneath the waves or deep underground. That is true too. Faërie logic allows for this contradiction.
--Greg, "The Faery"
As through the hard rock go the branching silver veins; as into the solid land run the creeks and gulfs from the unresting sea; as the lights and influences of the upper worlds sink silently through the earth's atmosphere; so doth Faerie invade the world of men.
--George MacDonald, Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and Women
I longed with all my heart for a fresh green silence between living water and forests.
--Renée Vivien (tr. Jeanette H. Foster), A Woman Appeared to Me
The fae breathed magic. They were magic. To separate a faerie from magic was to cleave them from life.
--India Drummond, Blood Faerie
...the mere presence of the Otherworld kindles in us the spark of higher consciousness, or imagination. It is the stories and tales and visions of the Otherworld--the magical, enchanted land just beyond the walls of the manifest world--which awaken and expand in human beings the very notions of beauty, of reverence, of love and nobility, and all the higher virtues.
--Stephen Lawhead, The Paradise War
The land changes. Faerie overlays the land and comes and goes with the waxing and waning of eldritch tides. And those follow the lead of faerie time, which is no' like time in this world at all. It does no' flow straight nor consistent, and I canna' help ye understand its passing. Indeed, it does no' quite pass. It ... spirals. It goes and returns, always moving, never changing, for Faerie is an eternal world.
--Cliff Seruntine, An Ogham Wood
Legend-making is not something that took place in the dim and distant past but a continuing process.
--Jennifer Westwood, Albion: A Guide to Legendary Britain
It is said that the land of Faery is as near as breath. So it is. And as far away as a land beneath the waves or deep underground. That is true too. Faërie logic allows for this contradiction.
--Greg, "The Faery"
As through the hard rock go the branching silver veins; as into the solid land run the creeks and gulfs from the unresting sea; as the lights and influences of the upper worlds sink silently through the earth's atmosphere; so doth Faerie invade the world of men.
--George MacDonald, Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and Women
I longed with all my heart for a fresh green silence between living water and forests.
--Renée Vivien (tr. Jeanette H. Foster), A Woman Appeared to Me
The fae breathed magic. They were magic. To separate a faerie from magic was to cleave them from life.
--India Drummond, Blood Faerie
...the mere presence of the Otherworld kindles in us the spark of higher consciousness, or imagination. It is the stories and tales and visions of the Otherworld--the magical, enchanted land just beyond the walls of the manifest world--which awaken and expand in human beings the very notions of beauty, of reverence, of love and nobility, and all the higher virtues.
--Stephen Lawhead, The Paradise War
The land changes. Faerie overlays the land and comes and goes with the waxing and waning of eldritch tides. And those follow the lead of faerie time, which is no' like time in this world at all. It does no' flow straight nor consistent, and I canna' help ye understand its passing. Indeed, it does no' quite pass. It ... spirals. It goes and returns, always moving, never changing, for Faerie is an eternal world.
--Cliff Seruntine, An Ogham Wood
Legend-making is not something that took place in the dim and distant past but a continuing process.
--Jennifer Westwood, Albion: A Guide to Legendary Britain
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:origin()/pre01/dfaa/th/pre/i/2017/172/2/9/fairy_propaganda_by_shannon_freeman-dbdi69p.jpg)
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:origin()/pre09/ed30/th/pre/i/2013/069/5/e/grasslands_of_longing_by_thephoenixdark-d5xlqj9.png)
I-Breasil
Ethna Carbery (Irish poet 1866–1902)
There is a way I am fain to go -
To the mystical land where all are young,
Where silver branches have buds of snow
And every leaf is a singing tongue.
It lies beyond the night and day,
Over shadowy hill, and moorland wide,
And whoso enters casts care away,
And wistful longings unsatisfied.
There are sweet white women, a radiant throng,
Swaying like flowers in a scented wind
But between us the veil of earth is strong,
And my eyes to their luring eyes are blind.
A blossom of fire is each beauteous bird,
Scarlet and gold on melodious wings
And never so haunting a strain was heard
From royal harp in the Hall of Kings.
The sacred trees stand in rainbow dew,
Apple and ash and the twisted thorn,
Quicken and holly and dusky yew,
Ancient ere ever gray Time was born.
The oak spreads mighty beneath the sun
In a wonderful dazzle of moonlight green-
O would I might hasten from tasks undone,
And journey where no grief hath been
Were I past the mountains of opal flame,
I would seek a couch of the king fern brown,
And when from its seed glad slumber came,
A flock of rare dreams would flutter down.
But I move about in an endless fret,
While somewhere beyond earth’s brink, afar,
Forgotten of men, in a rose-rim set,
I-Breasil shines like a beckoning star.
Ethna Carbery (Irish poet 1866–1902)
There is a way I am fain to go -
To the mystical land where all are young,
Where silver branches have buds of snow
And every leaf is a singing tongue.
It lies beyond the night and day,
Over shadowy hill, and moorland wide,
And whoso enters casts care away,
And wistful longings unsatisfied.
There are sweet white women, a radiant throng,
Swaying like flowers in a scented wind
But between us the veil of earth is strong,
And my eyes to their luring eyes are blind.
A blossom of fire is each beauteous bird,
Scarlet and gold on melodious wings
And never so haunting a strain was heard
From royal harp in the Hall of Kings.
The sacred trees stand in rainbow dew,
Apple and ash and the twisted thorn,
Quicken and holly and dusky yew,
Ancient ere ever gray Time was born.
The oak spreads mighty beneath the sun
In a wonderful dazzle of moonlight green-
O would I might hasten from tasks undone,
And journey where no grief hath been
Were I past the mountains of opal flame,
I would seek a couch of the king fern brown,
And when from its seed glad slumber came,
A flock of rare dreams would flutter down.
But I move about in an endless fret,
While somewhere beyond earth’s brink, afar,
Forgotten of men, in a rose-rim set,
I-Breasil shines like a beckoning star.
Thoughts of a Traveler
Jun. 18th, 2013 12:18 pm
Thoughts of a Traveler by ~Kuuraturkki on deviantART
Once, I swore never to come back here, but it seems I did. Like something or someone led me here, for a reason or another. I've been here before many times long ago, and know something of the place - one could say I have... Inside information.
The wind hums strangely here, almost singing. Like a wind chime stuck in a certain note, or the noise that's made when you blow into a bottle in a certain angle or run your finger across the edge of a wine glass. A calming sound to some, a warning to those with doubts and trickery in their minds.
It's not wise to anger the residents of these hills. ...