Saga Kraft podcast

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اضافه شده در four سال پیش

محتوای ارائه شده توسط Betsy Bergstrom, Gabriela Sarna, Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft, Betsy Bergstrom, Gabriela Sarna, and Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft. تمام محتوای پادکست شامل قسمت‌ها، گرافیک‌ها و توضیحات پادکست مستقیماً توسط Betsy Bergstrom, Gabriela Sarna, Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft, Betsy Bergstrom, Gabriela Sarna, and Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft یا شریک پلتفرم پادکست آن‌ها آپلود و ارائه می‌شوند. اگر فکر می‌کنید شخصی بدون اجازه شما از اثر دارای حق نسخه‌برداری شما استفاده می‌کند، می‌توانید روندی که در اینجا شرح داده شده است را دنبال کنید.https://fa.player.fm/legal

<div class="span index">1</div> <span><a class="" data-remote="true" data-type="html" href="/series/uncuffed">Uncuffed</a></span>

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Uncuffed

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۳ روز پیش۳d ago

لغو اشتراک

ماهیانه

Uncuffed empowers people in California prisons to tell their own stories. The award-winning collaboration between incarcerated student producers and professional journalists shines light on the human experience of people before, during, and after their prison terms. The new Season 4 is hosted by formerly incarcerated producer Greg Eskridge. https://www.WeAreUncuffed.org

Saga Kraft

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خانه سری•Feed

Welcome to Saga Kraft. Myths, fairy tales, legends: Stories comfort us, inspire us, and heal us. Please join us as we share stories, both old and new. More than anything, we are open to the story and its unfolding. At times, it may be one story told by one person. At times, it’s the same story told through three different voices. In the end, we go were the story takes us . . . and we invite you to follow. We are: Sea, a writer artist and storyteller. Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. Gabriela, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. We’re magical fairy godmothers in training. May our stories meet yours.

38 قسمت

#Religion #Arts #Audio Drama #Betsy Bergstrom #Gabriela Sarna #Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft

Saga Kraft

updated ۴ سال پیش

اشتراک گذاری

خانه سری•Feed

38 قسمت

#Religion #Arts #Audio Drama #Betsy Bergstrom #Gabriela Sarna #Sea Gabriel: Saga Kraft

همه قسمت ها

1
Nature Spirits 27:50

۴ years پیش27:50

پخش در آینده

لیست ها

پسندیدن

دوست داشته شد

27:50

1
The Magic of the Staff 37:40

۴ years پیش37:40

37:40

1
Djinn Pt. 2 49:37

۴ years پیش49:37

49:37

1
Mirrors 53:30

۴ years پیش53:30

53:30

1
Grandparents 33:16

۴ years پیش33:16

33:16

1
Magical Dolls 50:11

۴ years پیش50:11

50:11

1
Dark Moon Mounds 48:42

۴ years پیش48:42

48:42

1
Djinn Pt. 1 48:21

۴ years پیش48:21

48:21

1
Skaði 27:43

۴ years پیش27:43

27:43

Sea: Welcome to Saga Kraft: myths, fairytales, legends, stories comfort us, inspire us and heal us. Please join us as we share stories both old and new. More than anything, we are open to the story and it's unfolding. At times it may be one story told by one person, at times it's the same story told through three different voices. In the end, we go where the story takes us and we invite you to follow. I'm Sea, a writer, artist, and storyteller. Betsy: I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. Gabriela: I'm Gabriella, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. Saga Kraft: We are magical fairy godmothers in training. . Betsy: Our stories this week are about theNorse goddess, giantess, Skadi, known to be a goddess of winter, known to be a very strong lady deity. she's a ???? goddess. A wild one. I hope you enjoy our stories, and I'm going to begin. Sleep started out deep and fulfilling. The kind of sleep that occurred after physical exhaustion. The pull to sleep had been enormous, after her body worked hard in the dark of the Northern night for hours. Her birch and bone shovel, carried in on skis along with her pack of provisions, finally lay at rest beside her after helping her dig a cave in the dense snow. Her pack, bottomless, had provided furs to wrap up in after she had cut boughs from a spruce tree to line the bottom of the cave. She had pulled out kindling, and a pan for cooking a stew from creatures of the north. Having eaten reindeer many times, she knew the signature and she had made her body into a reindeer to travel across the snowy landscape. Her senses were so immense and intense in that form, she had felt herself honing into informational fields that guided her. It was compelling enough that only her ability to focus with an almost brutal single mindedness allowed herself to make the wrench that freed her from the reindeer form when she had made it to the mountain of her choice. Or rather the mountain of the the mountain’s choice. It had been calling her for sometime, but exactly why she wasn’t clear. That would come. For now, she was where she needed to be and it was some undisclosed time of actual night, not just the night of afternoon or morning that is part of the long winter day. She slept again. It could have been for an instant, it could have been for a year, she wasn’t sure and relaxed into not caring. This was why she was free. So that she could just move through her life and just be. To choose her moments and her days. She listened to the sounds of snow settling over her. It wouldn’t dare to fall in on her, but it did by its nature settle as crystal patterns morphed. She honed in on snow patterns on the surface outside, crystals clear and exquisite. Like her, she thought without vanity. The snow inside the cave was compacted and formidably strong. Also like her. She listened to her blood moving in her body, to the sound of her breath, her digestion also audible as the reindeer stew slowly digested. Not so very long asleep then if she was still digesting. She slept again. A high pitched sound disturbed her. It was flowing and singing in waves and in her minds eye colours began to form and dance in waves of green edging in cherry red. The aurora was beginning and from the size of the waves would be vast and memorable. She checked in and found the pull to sleep was less and more manageable. She pulled her woollen tunic on and her boots and slid into her fur coat, wrapping a woolen and fur scarf around her sleek blonde hair and her long swan like neck. The cold did’t really bother her, but habits were habits and her furs and wools allowed her to comfortably remain outside for as long as she desired. Again, choosing to have choice. She exited the cave and gasped at the enormous display of curtains of waving and flowing green banded with cherry colour. Offshoots of silver and gold flowed in other directions and danced into new patterns. Fierce, exultant love moved in her heart and without thought flowed out of her and joined the colours in the sky. Love flowed form her heart and dictated colours of violet and silver which added new bands and surges melting into the green and cherry. As the colours swelled, so did her heart and more love poured from her. The aurora incorporated her offerings and built in size and intensity and flowed around the mountain in all directions. She began to dance under the sky, singing in a trilling voice, colours spun out of her and her voice shifted the colours to orange and deep red and spinning off into lilac. The aurora listened and sang back and the dancing curtain of moving light and colour began to swirl into a great spiral that spun out stars and spheres of radiance. The sound grew as each colour had its own note, the aurora sang in chords that didn’t harmonize with her voice but instead let her voice sing it into further actualized being. The mountain itself began to glow, waking up from its drowsy slumber. A halo effect was beginning to shine on the mountain peak, and her voice picked up the deeper notes of the mountain weaving them into a song of sky and earth, of light and stone. The mountain became non-physical and all its slumbering inhabitants either woke and joined or dreamt and joined in the dance. When the mountain began to sing, she could feel the ecstasy in her bones and teeth, in her sinews and her hair. She could feel it in her sacred center as orgasm began in waves of pleasure radiating out from her pelvis. The mountain’s orgasm began, not as an earthquake but as an uplifting of energy that exploded out into the sky and could be seen as silver and golden light flowing into the sky from the mountain’s silhouette. The aurora received the waves from her and the mountain, absorbed them and let itself be seeded and conceived new life. Bear and fox, marmot and rabbit all received the enlivening of their seed as did the trees and the frozen waters. The elven-kind, radiant in their etherial forms, were glowing in unison with the light dancing in the sky and within and were undulating in forms freer than usual, that fluidity momentarily gifted by the aurora. As the waves of ecstasy arced, various liminal doorways in the mountain shone with light and then slowly receded as the ecstasy moved to its farthest limits and then gradually faded. The curtains of light began to pale and to flicker and slowly to wink out. She took one last long breath and sighed in unison with the landscape, made sacred by love and communion. A movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Standing in the eery afterglow was a slight, translucent female figure with an enraptured face still uplifted to the sky. Skadi’s eyes narrowed as she took in the hamr (the etherial body) of a human woman. Elf-light shone in her, illuminated by the sacred union, so not fully human and gifted enough to be here. No doubt called here as she was by mountain or sky. She turned back to the night sky, giving space for the woman to have her moments with the wonder of the night and let her self bask in the afterglow. Animals stirred and then snuggled in their dens, drifting back into blessed sleep. The woman slowly came back to herself in the still glowing night. How she came to be here was a question in her mind that she pushed to the back as she surveyed the scene before her. A very tall and statuesque woman stood before her, with long platinum hair falling in a shining sheet past her waist. She was dressed in furs and standing straight as a lance. Feeling the scrutiny on her back, Skadi slowly turned, aware the woman was more present now and perhaps as easily spooked as any shy animal. Seeing her face, the woman dropped to her knees in surprise and a little shock. Skadi’s eyes radiated the eery green light whose match was even now fading in the sky. The green shifted her light blue eyes to turquoise. Clearly not a human woman. The kneeling one reached out her hands to the goddess, palms up and though shivering now, honouring her and accepting. Skadi looked at her, into her and slowly nodded, aware of the woman’s sleeping body far away to the south. She opened her coat and stepping towards the slight figure, wrapped her in it, and carried her, as easily as a child into the snow cave. Murmuring something in a tongue so ancient that it is rarely spoken aloud anymore, she drew the shivering and clinging woman between the piled furs to dream the night away. Sea: Who is she? Betsy: She could be anyone. She could be you. . Gabriela: I would love to be her. I would love to be carried by Skadi. That was beautiful. The sky... you gave so much life to that sky, and the colors in winter against the snow really have an incredible vibrance, an incredible other worldly dimension in how they're reflected. And I really felt like I was there with those colors in that magic, in that crisp visceral magic of place and the sky. And I love Skadi here too, who was such a part of the landscape, but at the same time, an observer. She was both the observer and the observed, the landscape and the movement. I thought that was just beautiful, and it feels very real and very true of her. Sea: It was absolutely beautiful. I felt deeply touched and honored. Thank you. Betsy: I loved having the opportunity to get to know her a little bit more. I'm a winter lover myself, and a person who used to dig snow caves and sleep in them, so I know the feeling of it. I feel very honored to, not so much, write a story about her, but be shown a glimpse of a moment in her life, and to be able to share it, experience and share it, and do whatever justice to it that I could. Sea: It was fabulous, thank you. Gabriela: Do you feel like you have a different perspective now? Or do you feel like this is how you've always seen Skadi and this is what you've always known of her? Betsy: I do feel like as though it's a different, more intimate perspective of her. I felt her wildness. I don't know if I conveyed it, but her confidence was stunning to experience, and her desire to be in the moment, really, really living in the moment, and in the moment making whatever choice is the next choice in the moment. That was actually quite inspirational to me. Gabriela: Well, it certainly feels so much of her energy was driven by instinct of environment, and her environment is that of cold, snow and wind. So she would really have to know how to master those moments. Betsy: Yeah, I think that's true. Gabriela: And I love how her deep awareness of what her level of normal was and what she could withhold, or rather what she could be comfortable in, would not be the same as for a human, and knowing that the woman is so... in that moment, she might just not make it through, and taking her home, taking her back. I love that. Betsy: Thank you. And now Sea, you have a story about Skadi also. Sea: When she was as a little girl, she would play for hours in the snow. Her furs wrapped tightly around her tiny frame, with a stick for a sword and a Wolf for a sidekick. She fought and won a lifetime of frosty battles. She championed the frost as the day turned to night and her tiny lips turned blue. Her mother would run out, searching for her wild charge in the depths of frozen nights. When she finally found her, in a mound of snow or the hollow of a tree, her mother would scold her, warning of the cold that would creep into her as she hazarded the dangers of the cold, alone in the mountains. When summer came she would hide in the root cellar, her weapons softer now in their vegetable forms. When she was nine, lost in a winter war against invisible allies, the sun set and no one came. Her fingers, wound tightly around the branch spear, would not uncurl. She pried them off. Surveyed the darkness. She knew the woods better than her heart. She could track even the most stealthful beast. Her mother could not. As the sun rose she found the older woman's body curled around the remains of a small fire, deep in the wood. She fashioned a sled and pulled her home where her father angrily awaited his breakfast. And she took that in, the obligation. Three meals a day she prepared for him. Porridge, stew, bread, mead, ale, buttermilk. A young frigid warrior subsumed by emerging duty, her time in the snow lost in penance. Until it was not. This time there was no body in the woods, no remaining relative to cast a demanding eye. Her father went out never to return. If he didn't, why should she? She went back to her snowy forests. When she came across a man from Asgard, she heard a story of an eagle, a border wall, and a stage incineration. The questions she'd not cared to ask were answered. Another obligation: revenge. Pitching her sled, she headed out. She arrived on a bright early morning. After losing the wolves, she climbed the thick stone wall, too hurried to search for a gate. She stole from building to building, listening for sounds of life. She came to B???. A party ravaged within. Pulling her spear from her back, she has snuck toward the entryway, then burst into the bustling hall. The Aesir offered her food and drink and gold for the life of her father. She countered, demanding a husband and a laugh, for joy was beyond her. The laugh or was not so simple. No joke could buoy her heart. The trickster put down his light and picked up his shadow. Fishing for her darkness, he hooked it with his pain and drew it screeching from heart through lips. The husband came easily. Merrily the gods showed their feet. The huntress aimed for the sun, but landed the sea. The shore god married her that night. The silence of the ice shattered his thoughts, the crash of the waves shattered her dreams. She suffered the cold that crept into her as she hazarded the dangers of the warmth, together in the community. She returned to the comfort of the cold, alone in the woods. Betsy: Wow. That was beautiful. Sea: Thank you. It was very unlike yours, but they did fit together somewhat. Betsy: I think they dovetailed beautifully together. Yours is what went before. You showed a beautiful picture of who she was as a child. How one with the winter landscape she was, even as a young being. Sea: Yeah. I felt like she was raised by the woods themselves. Gabriela: That wilderness, I feel like, that grew and grew over time, was there from the beginning. And it's what shaped her. And it's what shaped the landscape that she, in many ways, becomes, and comes in and out of. I feel like so much of her in both of your stories is about going in and out of that landscape of self, and the outside, and that cold and how comforting that is for her, how it's the most intimate part of her. I think you even referenced that, is that how the cold, or the winter, knows her better than she knows herself. That cold knows her better than she knows herself. Betsy: I was really struck by, and I wonder if you have insight into it Sea, about what prompted her to want a husband after taking care of her father, the way you conveyed that, for so long. Sea: I have always wondered that as well. Perhaps it was just the sex, because they did remain married. They just didn't live together. Which I have got to say, at my age, sounds really appealing. Betsy: I will confess to having a moment of thinking about her husband and having her only reaction in it being, well, we both love water, but in such different forms, right? Sea: In my mind, Njord represents margins, like the margins of ecosystems. And so the shore is one of them, but so is the tree line. To me those are both part of his domain, so I can see where he himself would be torn between them. She is such a creature of the margins, as is he, and I feel like that's their commonality. They're the deities of the margins. The people on the edge who sort of hold the container for the rest in terms of ecosystem. Gabriela: They both create the danger and contain it. The natural danger, anyway. Sea: I think of Njord as creating Freyr and Freya. Gabriela: Certainly gives that another, whole other meaning, but yes, it's out of the, those extremes and out of that coming together of these profound forces of nature, that's something new can be born. And only out of that can something new be born. Well, and with Skadi, just that concept of the freezing, like Isa, the rune that brings everything into present moment, present time and to such focus. Sea: Yeah. I can really see them that way. So if I think of them both as on the margins, I can really see her as on the margins and slowing things to a close, and him on the margins and opening things from their deep sleep. Gabriela: That gives me chills. I love that. And the orgasm of the sky in Betsy's story. Once again, it's that bringing life into being, into form, as life longs for itself. Betsy: Yeah. And for us to consider what forces of nature are actually enlivening parts of us that we're not even aware of , you know, like the human in my story being drawn into it, but in her sleep, which is another, in a way, a metaphor for not really knowing what's going on, but going with it, giving her that. Gabriela: Right. So then that sleep for her becomes initiatory and she's tended to by the great goddess. Also contained. Betsy: Well, and I guess if it all comes down to sex, I mean, if you can have sex with the sky and the mountain... Gabriela: Sounds good to me Betsy: Or to no one's place as a generative deity, also. To be willing to be called to something, which she put effort into getting there for it, but not knowing, but just knowing it will become clear -er. Well, I think our stories dovetailed together so beautifully, really. Gabriela: They were perfectly, perfectly matched. They wove beautifully together. Betsy: Well, I found that my connection with her in that way really made me long for the snow and the night and... the aurora of course is always wonderful. Gabriela: There's nothing like the aurora borealis. It is completely unique in itself. Sea: I love the...…

1
Tomtes Pt 2 30:16

۴ years پیش30:16

30:16

1
Love Spells 32:15

۴ years پیش32:15

32:15

Sea: Welcome to Saga Kraft: myths, fairytales, legends, stories comfort us, inspire us and heal us. Please join us as we share stories both old and new. More than anything, we are open to the story and it's unfolding. At times it may be one story told by one person, at times it's the same story told through three different voices. In the end, we go where the story takes us and we invite you to follow. I'm Sea, a writer, artist, and storyteller. Betsy: I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. Gabriela: I'm Gabriella, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. Saga Kraft: We are magical fairy godmothers in training. . Gabriela: Today's stories will be about wanting love, longing for love, having love, losing love, and everything in between. And of course, about magic. We hope you enjoy them. Sea, we would love to hear your story. Sea: "I don't care!" I yelled down to my mom who asked what I wanted for breakfast. What I really wanted was to know if Abbey like liked me. I so wanted to kiss the beautiful full lips. We had been hanging out for about a year and we'd gone to the food truck together a couple of days ago. She wouldn't finish her stir fry because it touched by pork bun, but we had fun after we switched from a low budget sci-fi to a superhero movie anyway. But I was still afraid to ask her out, and she was starting to kind of like some other loser. It was time for me to make my move. My sister said I should ask her witchy friend Claire. I've known Claire since third grade and figured, at worst, I'd get a laugh out of it. My sister called her and then said it was really important that I show respect. Claire had a gift and couldn't give up her homework time to talk to an unbeliever. I should be there at three forty five with a gift for her. She suggested a bunch of shells I had on my window. So, Claire's mom answered the door, double taking because she forgot to put on the new-agey scarf she promised Claire she'd wear. She quickly pulled it around her head and bowed then offered me a cookie on the way to Claire's room. She knocked three times before opening the door and bowing. The place was a sea of loud fabric. Claire was on her bed, cross-legged in the middle of a jungle of curtains. I was overwhelmed by the colors and the incense. It felt like an herb garden went gaseous and flowed into my sinuses. Thank God I had my inhaler. After a whiff. I sat down where Claire's mom pointed, on a round pillow on the floor at the foot of the bed. There was a three inch string hanging from the blanket. Claire's mom left, closing the door behind her. Claire sat on the bed, not looking down on me. She had her eyes closed and hands together like a small child praying, but in front of her chest. She was fuller than I remembered. I nibbled the cookie. When I'd eaten the whole thing, one crumb at a time, I cleared my throat and she whipped one finger up in a wait sign. I sighed and started pulling at the dangling thread as she dropped her hands. An eternity later the string was about twelve yards long, and Claire startled me when she spoke in an unaturally deep tone that made her voice crack. "You have come for a spell." "Uuuh," I responded. She deployed her silencing finger. "It is a love spell. What is the name of your beloved?" she asked, dropping her hand to her lap. "Abbey." I frowned. I live in fairfield, not fairy tale. "Yes," she announced abruptly "you shall have it. Although," she continued "your guides want you to know that you, too, wield the power of altering destiny. Great, I thought, I had been approved to make choices. I considered altering destiny right then and there by getting up and leaving. But I'd never hear the end of it from my sister. "Abbey." she announced, squeezing her eyes shut and beginning to mutter under her breath. She held her hands like she was spinning an invisible soccer ball .Just then, Claire's mom snuck in, winked, and silently passed me another cookie before leaving again. I wondered if she'd been listening at the door. Claire got quieter and quieter until only her lips were moving, then she stood up making the bed bounce. She threw her arms wide, smacking the curtains. "You are bound by love." she pronounced. "So," I asked "that means she'll go out with me?" Claire opened her eyes and glared down at me. "Well, she will now. Put your gift on the altar and tell your friends good stuff about me." She pointed to the top of her radiator where a stone box and plate with half a cookie sat balanced in front of a wall hanging of a goddess. I crawled over and pulled the shells from my pocket. They would have fallen off the radiator, so I put them on the plate then crawled back to the foot of the bed. Claire stared at me serenely for a minute before saying "We are done." On the way out her mom thanked me and gave me another cookie. Just then Abbey called. She wanted to do something. I needed to balance out my sugar rush, so I thought we could get burritos for dinner. I got there first and ordered our usual, a chili Verde with extra sour cream for me and a vegan with black beans for her. I took the overflowing plates to a table by the front window. When she got there and she squeed. She ran up and hugged my arm. She never hugs my arm. She only hugged all of me before, and that was only when something really great or super sad happened. She didn't let go. She just kept clinging to my arm. I had to take her hand and put it on the table before her nails drew blood. And then she was in my face. She even spit a little when she told me excitedly between blinks and giggles about her day, and the night before, and the day before that. And she just kept touching me. Petting my shoulder, holding my hand even when it was covered with meaty burrito juice. After dinner, she really wanted to go to a movie so I asked if she wanted to come over and watch a low budget scifi, and she did! She even put on lipstick when she was in the bathroom. Her full lips were shining out at me like a beacon. It felt awesome. And she was doing exactly what I would want her to do, but I had a weird, awkward feeling. Still, it was great. We turned on a movie and sat on the couch. For the first time ever, she sat close. Her thigh was touching mine. It was warmed and soft. It didn't really see the movie at all. There was her thigh, and her arm which brushed up against mine, skin on skin every time she reached for her juice. And her breasts were close, really close, just inches away. Halfway through I got up to make popcorn just to cool down. Then, when we started again, she fully cuddled. She was so sexy, so warm, so exciting. And just as the film ended, she reached up and pulled me down. I came closer and closer to her beautiful full lips until she kissed me, softly at first, and then with a desperate chaos that felt like it was drawing the life out of me. "Well, I said, jumping up "thanks for coming over." She looked at me like I had just killed her puppy. I sat back down and took her hands. "I like like you." I said "I really like like you. There is no one I can imagine like liking as much as you, but I think we should go on a real date. Could we go to a movie tomorrow.?" "Sure." she said, happy but confused, "Okay." she followed up as the confusion stepped aside. I walked her home and we had the best hug anyone has ever had. I headed back feeling proud of my choice to not sort of rape her. My choice to not sort of rape her, I thought. What did Claire say? Something about me wielding the power of destiny? When I got home I tried searching the internet, but for what? Not love spells, not hate spells, not even anti love spells. Finally I plugged in "possible love but only with freewill" spells, but I only found new spells, or spells that broke relationships. Eventually I looked up how to write spells. I haven't slept yet, and I need to leave for school again in an hour, but I am finally ready. I'll have to cut class this afternoon to take a nap so I can make it to the movie later, but I'm really happy that we have a date and I've lit a birthday candle. So here it goes: "All of my love is wielded by me,and your love by you. I set us both free. We make our own choices. We still may succeed. All bindings be gone. So mote it be. I stomped my foot to end it. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I'm surprised that I really think this will fix stuff, but I do. Still, the box says that my tiny fire will take twenty minutes to burn out, and it's not like I have a miniature sconce. "Diann, what do you want for breakfast?" my mom calls from the kitchen "Oatmeal!" I shout down "Lots of it, thick enough to hold up a candle!" Betsy: I really liked it. I liked the conscience that was there too. What do you think sparked that? Sea: In my mind this is a teenage boy, it doesn't have to be, and it was also really weird that I felt like I was writing from the perspective of a teenage boy as I have not been one, but he was actually a pretty mature teenage boy. Internally, not externally. Gabriela: I really enjoyed the story, and I especially enjoyed the point of view from which it was written. It felt very, very real to me, and from what I remember of teenage boys, just that kind of excitement and also one sidedness when it came to a girl they like. Though, I feel like that is across genders in terms of teenagers. That is what happens on the hormonal level, on the emotional level. When you like someone, you like them so much that that is all you think about. They are threaded through everything in your day and night, and that was certainly clear here. But I also love that he, though, really appreciated being liked, had a feeling that something was not exactly as it should be. Betsy: I liked the witch, too. Sea: Yes, I did too. And I loved her mom, honestly. I loved her mom supporting her. Gabriela: Like a mom of a teenage model or child actor, playing her part. Yeah. Really what I love about that entire moment and the house is, setting the stage for magic or certain kinds of magic to take form or take space, or place rather. Certain conditions have to be met, and I like how those conditions were present in this story. And without those conditions, the spell wouldn't work. Betsy: And not just the conditions, but the, the boy's submitting to those conditions, too. Gabriela: What he was willing to do for love, or like like at least. Sea: Right, yeah. Gabriela: I also loved the reality of, during teenage years, how everybody's really involved, not just in the couples life once they're together, but before it even happens. There are so many moving stories, and possibilities, and your friend telling you, Oh yeah he totally likes you, I have no doubt about it. And you going forward and doing something stupid based on that information, which was a lie. Maybe I'm speaking from experience. Anyway, this whole story really brought up so many of those memories for me, it made me smile the whole time. Sea: So, shall we move on? To Gabriela's fabulous story this evening? Gabriela: Yes, we can move on. I really enjoyed your story. Mine is a little different, but maybe not, and it is called The Fox Wife. The day Kyoko's wedding was the happiest of her life. It was springtime. The cherry blossoms were blooming filling the air with the promise of sweetness Kyoko's wedding Komono was made of exquisite silk with painted sakura branches. It was the most beautiful and expensive piece of clothing she had ever owned. Shinji, her beloved, was a simple but hardworking and kind man. Most importantly, he adored Kyoko and was deeply devoted to her. The way he looked at her that day made her feel like the most beautiful woman in all of Japan. Even though Kyoko's family didn't entirely approved of the couple's engagement, over time they saw that the two were very much in love and allowed the union. People talked about the strange weather during the ceremony, for, even though it was sunny, it rained a little. Fox weather, they whispered, exchanging meaningful looks. But Kyoko didn't mind. She thought it was a magical and auspicious occurrence, a blessing for her and Shinji's lives together. The first few years of their marriage were very happy. Shinji got a job at a factory in town, and Kyoko sewed beautiful dolls from old kimonos to make a little extra money to save and have when they would be able to grow their family. Many years passed in this way and the couple built their lives together, but no children blessed their home. Disappointment and sadness slowly crept into their hearts, changing them and changing the love between them. For Kyoko it was mostly sadness that filled her, as she so longed to have children. Shinji's heart, however, grew bitter and cold, and every time he looked at Kyoko he saw her sorrow and couldn't help but blame himself for her unhappiness. He grew colder and more distanced towards his wife, and with time, cruel even. The man Kyoko married years ago was no longer recognizable to her, and this broke her heart more than anything else. He never even looked at her anymore. The day of their wedding, when his eyes were so full of admiration for her, seemed like a long gone dream of the past. Shinji spent more and more time away from home, drinking and gambling, spending what little money they had on his addictions. He even started to visit the beds of other women, those he would meet on his night adventures away from his wife. The only time he came home was to take what few items they had of value left to sell. Kyoko worked days, and sometimes long nights, sewing dolls she could sell at the market so she could buy food. She dreaded the times when Shinji would come home, for he yelled and swore at her as she tried to keep away from him the remaining of their household belongings. The last thing Shinji could sell was Kyoko's wedding kimono, which was her most prized possession. She hugged the fabric to herself, trying to protect it from his greedy grasp, but Shinji pulled and pulled so hard that she fell backwards against the wall and watched him storm out of the house with the fabric. Hot tears ran down her face and a bitter angry fire burned insider. She wished she had never met Shinji. She wished they never married. She wished that she would never have to see him again so she could forget him and the unhappiness he brought her. The next day, Kyoko headed for the market to sell more dolls she had made, hoping she would find more buyers than the day before. It was a long walk through the woods that led to town, and heavy snow had begun to fall, as it was a brisk winter day. She saw that a figure watched her from a few paces away. Due to the thick falling snow, she couldn't really make out who the figure was. All she could see was the color of cream, orange, and hints of red in the distance, human shaped. As she got closer she found that the snow blurred what she was seeing, for who she came upon was an old crouched woman, cloaked and a thick brown shawl, a piece of long silver white hair danced around the woman's small wrinkled face, while her black almond shaped eyes observed Kyoko curiously. "What is it that you carry?" the old woman asked, and Kyoko, who assumed she was referring to her basket, revealed what had held. "Dolls for sale. I hope I sell more today than yesterday." Kyoko said with a deep sigh. "That is not what I mean." the old woman replied, "what burdens do you carry? They must be heavy for I can feel their pull darken these woods." she said surprised, Kyoko took a closer look at the old woman, slowly realizing this was no ordinary meeting. She felt that she was given an opportunity to open up, to share and to unburden herself in the presence of this inquiring stranger. Tears filled Kyoko's eyes before she could speak. Her tale flowed out of her like an untamed river, each loss and pain she recalled swelled high like wild water around a rock, foaming and angry, or like a storm that has been hiding behind a mountain, now raging and free leaving no tree unturned. The snow whirled wildly around, responding to Kyoko's tale. The woman listened without much expression on her face, except for the strange fire that sparkled in her eyes. She stood quietly for some time, moving slightly against the wind that was whistling around them. "What is it that you want?" she asked plainly "I want to live in peace. I want to forget about the happiness I once felt, for it is tearing my heart to bits." Kyoko answered "Easy enough." the old woman said, "And what will you give me an exchange?" Without hesitation, Kyoko reached into her basket of dolls and pulled out the best one she had, one made of the remnants of Shinji's well worn silk shirt, which she was able to save in parts to sew with. The old woman stretched out one milky white, long, and ??? Looking hand, to take the doll, which she held to her nose and sniffed deeply. "This will do." she said, took one more look at Kyoko, turned around, and walked off the path and deep into the forest. Kyoko watched as the figure blurred with the snow and changed in the distance, glimpses of cream, orange, and red dancing through the trees and eventually disappearing. That day at the market kyoko sold more dolls than she had ever before. She was able to stock up on rice, dried fish, spices, and even tea. She walked home with her spirits renewed, even as the snow fell heavily on her path. When she got home she started a fire, heated up some tea, and with a full belly she slept better than she had in years. In the morning, she had forgotten all about Shinji, their wedding day, and everything thereafter. She spent her time sewing beautiful dolls, which became so popular that she sold out every time, and brought her enough income to afford good food, tea, and everything she needed to make a comfortable home. Days and months went by. Kyoko lived by herself happily and in peace. One day a factory worker came knocking on her door. He said he was worried about her husband who had gone missing months ago after he was seen departing...…

1
Tomtes Pt. 1 42:52

۴ years پیش42:52

42:52

1
Imbolc 53:51

۴ years پیش53:51

53:51

1
Initiations 43:35

۴ years پیش43:35

43:35

Sea: Welcome to Saga Kraft. Myths, fairytales, legends, stories comfort us, inspire us and heal us. Please join us as we share stories both old and new. More than anything, we are open to the story and it's unfolding. At times it may be one story told by one person. At times it's the same story told through three different voices. In the end we go where the story takes us, and we invite you to follow. I'm Sea, a writer, artist, and storyteller. Betsy: I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. Gabriela: I'm Gabriela, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. Saga Kraft: We are magical in training. Gabriela: The stories that we are about to share with you today contain some intense descriptions and material, so, if you are feeling in any way sensitive, perhaps this may not be the stories to listen to at this time. Today, we are excited to share stories about initiation, and the forms they take. How they change us and our world. And we invite the blessing of Saga, the blessing of Story, and the blessing of change at the right time, and especially the blessing of a graceful change whenever possible. Betsy: I also want to honor the listener, because what is a story without a listener, and so, may our stories in this new season land with you in a way that interests you or amazes you, or intrigues you, or challenge you. Sea: And I also want to honor saga and all the helpers. Betsy: And I'd love to begin if that's all right with you two. Gabriela: That would be lovely, thank you Betsy. Betsy: So, my story is called Morvoren. The sea has always held mysteries and treasure. Though ocean and coastal currents may be habitual, how things move about in the sea and where they ended up cannot always be explained. Water carries emotion and sound. It can imprint with experience and intention. It's always subject to magic. I've always trusted the goddess Sirona, and that's why I'm now floating in the sea, nailed into a barrel, being carried away by the outgoing tide Goello, my betrayer, was watching me with beetled brows and smiling in an odious way as his men nailed me into the barrel with just enough of an opening for the sea to enter. Now his ship sails away from me. I suppose I should feel the shame that has been heaped onto me, but I'm furious. Not at the goddess, after all, she said I would be facing trials, but at my parents for being swayed by my betrothed to cast me off. Casting me off was their idea. He wanted me stoned. As if the stones of Brittany would even allow that. Instead I'm floating away in what everyone hopes will be the end of me. I am resolved to live. I don't quite know how that's going to happen, but I will not let them kill me and my baby. Time was, not so long ago, that my decision to consummate my love with Grannus would have been celebrated with a feast and gifts, not worries about what a foreign god would think about it. It's a confusing time when priests of the new god are trying to diminish the goddess and her place in my country. Confusing because my parents have to consider this god, because almost no country will trade with us while we are considered pagans. They planned on my marriage to a christian princeling Goello. I've always known marriage was my duty, but never to him. Sirona intervened. She merged my path with a man who was made for me as though he was my other half. Grannus of the black hair and white skin, whose breadth of shoulder is matched by the vastness of his heart. He's now locked away and won't be freed until I've been swept away. I hope he is praying and not despairing, for I need his prayers. Serona of the waters, send me a rescuer. Please deliver me from the ocean. Two days have passed and I've been becalmed in unseasonable heat. I feel I'm going nowhere, but still a current carries me far from land. Is this a reprieve from death? Or am I in the vestibule of death even now, and don't know? I dream of Grannus and how in his arms, Sirona's voice came into my head with light and love, saying through me to Grannus: my love, my heart, my husband. In that moment I melted into love, but now hungry, thirsting, and bobbing in a reaking barrel, I wonder what came over me. No. I cannot allow myself to think like this. Sirona, as your waters meet the sea, may it send prayers to the sea god to help me. The ocean swells are growing bigger and the sky darkens. My barrel, which I've named Indomitable, is tossed about. My prayer is now a plea straight from my soul, without words. I dose, too wretched to think or feel. There's a blinding light in the darkness. The voice of Sirona saying "Trust.", and soon, as if in a dream, I'm aware of slim white arms reaching through into the darkness where I sit huddled, and a soft and melodic voice saying "It's a lady in here." The arms withdraw, and then there's a sensation of the barrel steadying. I am somehow no longer at the mercy of the waves, bearing steadily in some direction. I sleep, and wake to this heavenly sound of voices singing. These voices sang of the beauty of the sea, of treasure, of love. Sometimes they sang in a language I've never heard, but will always long for. The voices are pure, melodic, eerie. I think we traveled like this for hours, maybe days. A cup of water was passed to me, and the most delicious fish. I ate and drank and slept again. The barrel was pushed onto land and strong arms lever the lid off. The male faces disappeared and a lovely female face, haloed with blonde hair and twined with pearls, peeked over the edge of the barrel. "We've brought you to Cornwall in Pendour Bay. Ahead is Zennor village. You and your baby will be safe here. We've put you into the hands of a trusted friend. Here, these are for any need you have." A necklace of priceless pearls was put into my hand. The trusted friend and his wife came and freed me from my barrel and took me to their home where they cared for me. The local priest came to me to discover more about my story, and all I could do is rave about the light around the golden head, the voice, the white arms. And before I knew it, I was declared a christian miracle. Saint Senara, saved for some purpose by an angel. It was most disconcerting, but I accepted it, for what else could I do? I sought Sirona's advice. In the village was one of the old stone monuments and a sacred well. There, Sirona and I spoke. "Trust." she said again. I was witnessed glowing with her light and trying to sing those enchanting songs that were sung to me while in my barrel. I cannot stop trying to sing them. I know they were full of love and protection, and that is what I imbue my songs with, though I can never quite get the melody right. Eventually word came to this village of the princess who was cast to her death in a barrel across the sea. Here, where I was washed ashore, in this most christian village of Zennor, I regained my status and eventually my love. Grannus found me. I was duly baptized, along with my son Budock and my husband, into the celtic church. I used my pearls to build a small castle and a church, which took my name later. I built a few more churches nearby, which were also dedicated to St. Senara, but to me, they were to Sirona. Here I lived out my life. Part Two The humans have no idea how strongly sound carries underwater. When I became of an age to have my own household, I looked around my family's domain of the Irish sea and the North Atlantic coastal region. I was always attracted to the sunken village Lyoness, with its great bells, but I settled on the nearby bay of Pendour in Cornwall. There used to be a princess, partly fairy but sadly mortal, who's singing lured me to build my home in the bay off shore, that I might hear her voice for as many years as she would be able to sing her spell songs. Her life passed and the castle felt to ruin, but the bay continued to be a home for me. When L. my father or M. my brother chided me about my choice, with a whole ocean open to me, I remain steadfast. But now for another reason. I stayed in my home in Pendour because I took up where the princess left off. Her songs were meant to support the lives of those who lived in her lands. She did not know that her domain was actually mine. No matter, I found myself inspired by her concern and have kept to her decision to infuse this region with magic for the betterment of all. The songs of the long dead princess were intended to foster protection, generosity, goodwill, and good behavior. I understand she had suffered from bad behavior. Easy enough to continue in that way. And so on many a night, I'm am to be heard singing my own songs. I've traveled up and down the coast, and I'm quite sure of the difference between a protected cove and one unprotected. You've only to hear the harsh words and the sounds of beatings and sobs of humans who are left to their own tendencies. Bear in mind, these are smuggler's waters, were French brandy comes to shore, stripping away any semblance of good intentions. It's said that not only is Pendour Cove and the village of Zennor home to good people, but also to the sweetest singers. I expect they learned to sing from me, singing for generations near them., but perhaps it's also a side effect of the spells of the princess saint. In any case, one villager surpasses them all. This lad can be heard singing in the church of an evening after a long day's work. I'm mesmerized by his voice and his heart, which can be heard as he sings his hymns. I can hear him less well when he sings at his chores, but it's the sweetest sound nonetheless. I'm not sure when the idea came to me, but once it did it stayed until I began to transform myself to human girl and slip into the back of the church of Saint Senara on most evenings to see him, as well as hear him up close. The old ladies of the village saw me right off, for I am inhumanly lovely and quite well dressed. I knew I was taking a risk showing up like this, but my village people are good people and I don't fear them. I didn't reckon their curiosity, for apparently young well dressed women don't simply go where they want to. Oh well. I also didn't reckon on seeing a lad whose personal beauty matched that of his almost unearthly voice. I made a stir with my own voice as well, so much so that he eventually came to meet me, though I forestalled him on this because I made it a habit to slip away first thing. I came back year after year, until he was a fine man. One day my longing to see him even closer, made me a little slow and he caught up with me. I gave him the gift of my name, M.M. He was not to know what a gift it was for quite some time. His name is Matthew Penwalla. Masquerading as humans slowed things down for us, but added spice to it. After all, I do have more time than he does. After spending many hours together, it was clear that it was love. The villagers saw us together, deeply engrossed in one another. He was warned that nothing good could come of being with a woman who never ages. He didn't fear it. Time came when he left the land and entered the sea with me. I let his people know he was not drowned, but alive with me and our children. When a ship anchored in front of the door to my home, I surfaced and stood on the water and called out to the ship captain " Kind, sir, please lift your anchor and move. I can not get home to my husband, Matthew Penwalla, with your anchor in front of my door, please, my children are hungry and I must feed them." I made sure that his people on land prospered. If ever danger came to this coast, together we would ring warning bells in the under sea church of drowned Lyonesse. Gabriela: Thank you for that. I'm really moved by the songs, and the power of song in these stories, both of them. And really there are so many things here to nibble beautifully. They were both so wonderfully written and so rich. I think what strikes me more than anything is the beauty of magic and the beauty of hope. Especially in the first story, since I really connected with the princess and her gnosis, her awareness, and her commitment to life more than anything. That she was so committed to life that no matter what happened, she would be found. And she was. It was absolutely lovely. Both stories were absolutely lovely. Betsy: Thank you. Sea: Yes, they were very beautiful, and I love all the details and the richness. And the bells. I love the bells, and of course the water. And I have to admit that simultaneously, that I was so pulled into them. Like I felt like I was just in the story itself and swept away with the tide of the story. And so it was quite beautiful. And I wasn't following the structure as much as I was following the feeling. Does that make sense? So, I felt completely, not consumed by, but as if I was floating in it, which is a very, very beautiful thing for me. Thank you. Betsy: Well, thank you. Gabriela: I absolutely have to agree with Sea. The first one for me, especially, had the swept away feeling. I felt so swept away by it and really in it, in it in every aspect, every detail and, yeah, I'm still in it. I'm quite taken by all the magic of it and the water. Love the water. Betsy: Thank you. For myself, I was just struck how one story initiated another story. And it gave me a different perspective on initiation than I previously had. So, for that I'm super grateful. Sea: I mean this in the nicest way, so this is a good thing, I feel I have to say up front, but I felt like I was seeing two aspects or two perspectives on initiation that on one hand filled me with a sense of wonder and power, and on the other hand made me feel a little bit cross-eyed because I was trying to hold two visions as one. So, the feeling of it was very complete and very whole and very beautiful, and simultaneously the details became, not irrelevant... because they were so beautiful, so they were contributing to my lived experience, but they were not static or concrete in the way that details in a story usually are for me, because they were more contributing to my holistic experience, which held the two. I am one who loves to be lost in things and I often can't get into things in the way that I wish I could, and so I felt completely held by this double vision. Gabriela: I feel that that's the power of the story, and the power of initiation. That we really don't know what's happening, sometimes for a long time. And the parallel and the connection, and even the changing of front or the changing of name, of this becomes that. The power of a place or the power of something, or someone, doesn't disappear, but can be absorbed into something else. And sometimes it's unknown what the underlying light or power is, but it remains and it's sustainable and it's eternal. So that's how I felt. Both these stories held that. They fed each other. One came from another, or maybe not. It was this eternal binding, this eternal flow, this eternal truth of something beautiful that would carry you forever. Did you enjoy these stories, Betsy? Did you enjoy being with these beautiful magical beings? Betsy: Oh yes. They felt so different and yet they felt so entwined together too. I was really quite taken with the princess saints and, and just that single word from her goddess of "trust" and just go with it. Now she's a christian miracle and a christian saint in her lifetime Gabriela: Which really did happen. Betsy: And which apparently really did happen to her too. Yeah. I loved her discipline in her trust, also. Of how the mind can wander in a direction, but her discipline kept bringing it back. And that, especially that place she was in of praying without words, just praying straight from the soul that really touched me. Gabriela: Those are probably the most powerful prayers because they reach gods of different languages, and spirits that maybe do not speak as we would speak. Betsy: I think also, one of the other aspects of initiation that I loved was how the singing initiated her in some way and inspired her in the ways that were described, but also, that left her with that longing to be able to create that music that she heard. And and my sense of it was her devoting her life, not only to the intentions of her songs , but in trying to re- not even so much recapture, but to sing in that way, I find very moving and inspirational, also. Gabriela: Honoring her lifeline. Betsy: Yeah, well thank you. Sea: Thank you. Gabriela: Thank you for that story. Thank you. I suppose that means I should go next. Sea: And Gabriela Gabriela: my story of initiation is called Night Hound. Every death is terrifying. But the birth is just as so, if not more. With birth you have to keep going. You have to emerge, while death can be a gift, the solution, like the last drop of sweet honey wine that lingers on your lips. I am walking through complete darkness, unable to see a thing, feeling around me for pathways, my feet determining the firmness of ground underneath. Serpent like roots seem to be moving against my bare feet, tangling them and making it difficult to walk, but I must keep walking because this darkness is full of hunger, insatiable, terrible, and wanting my blood. I can hear and smell it's predatory longing reaching for my face. The sky is empty of moon or stars. Perhaps it's not a sky at all. But a vast sea, a thick black matter, moving like a beast inside a beast, somewhere in the distance. I sense a change, a thinning of this black veil, and when I focus my eyes, I see a glimmer of the faintest light and head towards it as fast as the serpent roots beneath will allow, it is urgent that I get to the light. I do not know why, but I lean on what my deep heart is pushing me towards, or rather, out of. Finally I arrive at an entrance into a mountain with steps leading underground and I slowly follow them down as the light that brought me here grows brighter, illuminating the stone walls, and I can make out the reddish stains and symbols, some still wet, as my hand glides on them to steady my descent down. I know I'm not alone. On these...…

1
Dragons 51:06

۴ years پیش51:06

51:06

Sea: Welcome to Saga Kraft. Myths, fairytales, legends, stories comfort us, inspire us, and heal us. Please join us as we share stories both old and new. More than anything, we are open to the story and it's unfolding. At times it may be one story told by one person, at times it's the same story told through three different voices. In the end, we go where the story takes us, and we invite you to follow. I'm Sea, a writer, artist, and storyteller. Betsy: I'm Betsy, a medium and teacher of mystery traditions. Gabriela: I'm Gabriella, an artist and practitioner of folk magic. Saga Kraft: We are magical berries in training. Sea: Welcome to the world of dragons. Betsy: My story is the dragon of Provence. Different worlds were created at the same time by the creator. No one world was more important or better than another. These worlds were not nesting one within another like Russian dolls, but were each equal to one another with one right next to the other. Between worlds were thin places where inhabitants from one world might find their way to cross through and enter another world, for their own reasons. There are many reasons to cross and all are dependent on what sort of person is entering into another world. This state of affairs was not obvious to most inhabitants of the worlds. These inhabitants were in pursuit of their daily life, trying to make a living and succeeding at it, or not. Where once they may have lived in smaller groups or bands, over time each prominent species found their way, whether it was to live in a town or a city, or to become a single hunter. Drak the Hunter was a sorcerer dragon in the dragon world, who considered himself to be at the top of the top. He had lived a very long time and realized that, though he never really needed to fear any greater predator because there wasn't one, his chief and only enemy was boredom. At first he became a collector, as dragons are prone to do, and then he developed into a philosopher. Philosophy became his chief pursuit and he delved into the mysteries of every world he could enter, and they were many. He learned many languages and hoarded rare texts and artifacts. Without realizing it, he became a bit of an intellectual aesthete. It may have transmitted to him partially through osmosis., because the thin place that allowed him to enter the human realm was located in a very beautiful part of France. Here, castles abounded, built on top of mountains and the Rhône river flowed fast and deep. He found a cave under the river in the bottom of a mountain valley, and here he learned this river was the home of sorceress water fairies who claimed alliance with him and who felt themselves to be immune from his hunting. They convinced him that they were not to be eaten. He respected their wishes, not because their logic compelled him, but because they were the closest thing to being interesting that he had found for a long while. He focused on hunting humans who were alone, and for more pleasure, he hunted in the marketplaces of various towns, where he concealed himself in visibility and waited for a strange child or a man relieving himself in an alley after a big meal and a lot of ale. He had something of a soft spot for human women. In this region, the fairies made many amorous conquest, and he did not want to eat a hybrid fairy and human woman. When it was necessary from time to time to consort with his own kind, a mercifully rare event, he found himself becoming quickly irritated and desiring retreat. Not in defeat, but because of boredom. Over time he could think of no great reason to connect with another dragon because they were so tedious. He lived this way for a long while growing, ever more precise and opinionated. In the spring of his world and those closest to his, a longing grew in him that was so unexpected. It made no sense to him for quite some time. Eventually the thought came to him in full clarity. I want a child now. To sire offspring required consorting with a lady dragon. Like any well set up intellectual bachelor, he began to make lists of the dragon Queens. He knew, and of their principle characteristics, which might be passed to their offspring. With this unromantic list in hand, he narrowed his choices and began his round of investigation designed as courtship. The Balkan queen was rejected for her extremely robust, but very dark, humor. The English queen seemed very dull and without conversation. The Danish queen was too recently widowed to be interested. The Scottish queen was strong and fiery and steeped in Highland magic. He chose her. She let him know that she had her own domain and would not be joining him in his, though a visit in a great while might be possible. He agreed, with relief and together they waited until the autumn to join each other and to mate. Two eggs came from this union. One was taken back to Scotland by the queen. He took his egg to his cave under the river Rhône, where he would be a brood father, close to good hunting. Months passed in this way. The dragon, Drak, studied, hunted, and meditated on what his offspring would be like. He hoped that it would have the invisibility powers that were part of his magical traits. The Highland magic was yet a mystery in how it would manifest. In due course the egg showed signs that hatching time was near. Drak began a different kind of hunt. He went invisible and watched in the marketplace of the sunny village of B????. He saw a few women that met his needs. He stalked them all. One felt his presence and was very afraid. Another felt him nearby but, though she looked over her shoulder, she did not scuttle home like the others. He decided on her. He drank in her scent so that he could find her anywhere and watch, waiting for his moment. It came. She went to the river to wash clothes on the banks of the fast running Rhône. Her new baby, a tast, looking morsel, was in a basket on the bank, well away from the water's edge. Unseen, Drak was in the water, and he held a golden goblet glinting with gems, just out of her reach. The water fairies watched with interest. The bank was steep and a little treacherous. She reached out towards the shining cup. It seemed to move a little farther away. She braced herself and stretched her arm even farther and overbalanced and went right into the water. Her last image in her mind before she fainted in fright was of her crying baby and the family's clothes left on the river bank. The Rhône engulfed her. She woke to find herself dripping wet and in a crystal cave, with a pair of large emerald eyes watching her. Shuddering and fright, she saw they belonged to an enormous scaly bronze colored dragon. The glimmering cup was there between them. Her panic increased, and she nearly fainted again. A palpable energy emanated from those emerald eyes and she found her panic subsiding. She watched as her memories of her family, her sun splashed village, and her whitewashed house began to fade and disappear like scattered dreams in the light of dawn. She heard the voice of Drak in her head, humming and soothing her. He just turned to an egg, enthroned on a pile of velvet cushions. His humming song, his emerald eyes, and the glinting watery light of the crystal cave all were lulling her into a sense of calmness, and somehow of purpose. He wove the emotions and love that he found within her for her baby, and drew them to the egg with his intentions. With his voice and eyes and the heat spiraling from his body he wove a spell that touched her heart and mind and bound her to the egg.,the leathery looking oblong egg, which was rocking back and forth, back and forth, hatching. When the little and fragile dragon emerged from the broken shell, Drak felt the most enormous love. The dragonling was iridescent and mewling. Drak gestured to the woman and she obeyed his unspoken command to pick up and cuddle the dragon. The voice of the dragonling had its own power over her. She bared her breast and began to nurse her new child. Gabriela: Betsy, that was absolutely lovely. Thank you so much. Sea: Yeah, that was very fun. Betsy: Thank you. A very well-known dragon in his region of Provence. Sometimes shows up as a female. Gabriela: See, would you like to share your story? Your dragon story? Sea: Sure, thank you. I just really need to pee. I'm curled up, guarding my hoard for nigh on to an eon without a scheduled potty break. Gerdy, my compliment, is held up on the other side. Some liminals are exhibiting bad behavior in an attempt to protest the passing of time, just as some carnates are protesting the agreements that deter them from tearing down our magical forest to build a community of mud houses. I know she'll be here as soon as she can, but I am getting a little anxious. It's several miles to the protected glacier nearby. Exhibitionism is not my thing, as it were. I usually enjoy my incarnate shifts, after all I just lay about and watch for requesters then administer the appropriate tests. Are they courageous? Are they cunning? Are they chivalrous? Then I set up a scenario in which their failings are teachings, and they get another chance, up to a point.Some succeed and are called heroes. A few, as few as I can manage, need a little bit more time. They're called bad examples, a kind of martyr, if you will. After their failed tests, they go through a magical initiation process, much like an enchanted version of your baptism, and spend a millennia or so in a liminal form, taking on challenges and lessons to ensure their successful completion of the questing process. It was not permanent of course. Nothing is,hence all the protesting. Eventually the initiates are returned to their current forms, though, by that time they find themselves many generations further up the branches of their family trees. So here I am, legs crossed thinking dry thoughts and hoping for a swift, peaceful resolution on the other side. I'm asking the wind to let Gerdy know that I'd really like to see her sooner rather than later, when the knight comes crashing through the trees. He is wearing silver armor and jewels and stands with a dignity he could not possibly have earned. He thinks he's here to prove something. I know he's here to learn something. No one approaches like this and goes away the same. He leaps from his horse, loosens his spear, and charges at me without so much as a hello. Clearly, he is an eldest son, and I am in no mood. I don't want to get up until I can make it to the glacier. So I tightened my thighs and bat him away with my wings, sending him flying into his horse. This is intentional. Horses are soft compared to rocks and trees, which are his other options. The horse turns to offer a soft belly, then neighs. The knight bounces to a stop before leaping up and charging at me again. I find the faster they charg, the slower they learn. I spit a little well-named fire at him, just enough to melt the sword and scorched the beautiful sheen off his armor. I'm hoping it will distract him and he'll spend a moment or two buffing it out, but no. He attempts to bellow "Die, you beast!" Even he knows the effect is lessened by his coughing as he fans away the smoke. He puffs himself up to almost a sisteenth of my size and strikes a dramatic pose. I look around searching for a beast. "Me?" I asked pointedly, trying to feign my usual easygoing nature while the pressure rises in my bladder and I put out another, more urgent, call to Gerdy. At that he looks around, suspecting that it came from elsewhere. On second thought he may be a middle son. "Me?" I say again, more assertively this time, pointing at my chest to help him reconcile. "Did you call me a beast after you eschewed all social niceties and greeted me with a charge?" "AAAAAAAAAAH!" he thoughtfully replied, retrieving a spear from his horse and heaving it at me. I like the horse. Maybe she'll help with the training. I deflect again, this time with my tail, but the movement threatens leakage. Thankfully, I feel Gerdy just on the other side of the scribe. "One moment" I say "I believe we can come to an arrangement. I invite you to look at my hoard. Window shop for your future boon, while I excuse myself for a moment. My colleague will arrive promptly to assist you. Agreed?" "I shall reign down upon you as an eternal blight, foul demon!" he passionately replies. My brain reels. So many places to go. By foul, is he making a speciesist reference to my wings? To the domesticated airborne lines of my extended family? And demon? Is the rustic youth honoring me as the inter realm creature that I am, or inferring the vilified representation of the christian god shadow? Is blight meant as an allusion to the magical forest creeping invasion of suburbia? But the word that wraps my attention, breaking through the confusion, is rain. I leap from my seated position directly into the air, desperately clenching my pelvic muscles as I begin not so subtly spewing a torrent of bodily fluids directly into the misguided and inadvertent initiates. I shall not share the details of this unfortunate event again, suffice to say that now Gerdy and I have a new charge. He is doing well in that he lives and breathes, but he is not yet what one would call teachable. He will be in time. They all are. Look for him in about two thousand years. Betsy: I love the Dragon's point of view, thank you. Gabriela: I would love to be friends with this dragon. I believe I would be friends with this dragon. Betsy: And now, your dragon story, Gabriela. Gabriela: I'd be delighted to share it. Some people will claim that the sharing of the story I am about to tell you is forbidden. I am breaking all kinds of oaths by speaking some of the names and secrets that were kept for so long. Knowing all this, I must tell the story, for it as a story of where I came from, of my people and of a great power that still binds many destinies together to this day. My name is Darisi and I was born in a small fishing village on the coast of the Black Sea, in a land which was then called Thracia. I never knew my mother, for she died bringing me into this world and my father never forgave me for it. He was a blacksmith. The best in the village, from what I was told, but that was long before I was born. He had lost all hope for work and life after my mother's death and was in no condition to care for a child. I was raised by my grandmother who was a stern and superstitious woman, but did her duty and raising me the best she could. She, just like my father, never spoke of my mother. Only to say when I grew a little older that I looked just like her and that my eyes shined with the same strange golden fire. When she spoke of this it was not with admiration, but with a sense of dread. I could tell she did not care for my mother or for my amber colored eyes. Some people said that my mother was a sorceress from a far away land, who'd be witched my father so she could become pregnant and have a child. Other say that when she came to our village she was already with child, seduced my father and made him believe that I was his. I still don't know which was true, but I always felt deep in my bones that my mother came with a great magical power. This great power and magic also lived in me and what I dreamed at night. I could hear a voice calling me from across the land. Comforting me, telling me to wait, telling me that somebody was coming for me, somebody great. A few days before my ninth birthday, a strange traveling woman came to our village. I knew the moment I saw her that my life was about to be forever changed. She demanded to speak to my family, and after a short deliberation, my grandmother shared with me the news of my fate. She seemed relieved to tell me that I would go away to live with my mother's people, far from here. I didn't resist or cry, even though I was leaving the only home I've ever known. I heard my father's heavy sobs in the next room as the strange woman wrapped her cloak over me and led me out. He didn't come out to say goodbye. And I have not thought about this until just now, remembering that day. The woman who came to claim me was Zaskia. And she was the oldest of the dragon priestesses, sacred fire keepers from S.,as my people called it, or middle mountain. My mother was also a fire keeper of this order. Her name was Kaya and she was the first oathbreaker of our sacred ways, but her reasons for doing it were more important than the oath itself. Zaskia shared with me the story of and the nine fires. The story was the most forbidden to share because it's also the one that is true. For thousands of years are people worship the night skies and the stars, long before they knew that some of those stars were dragons. They built blazing fires on top of mountains and on sea shores, to announce to the great ones above that they were paying attention, looking for signs, and interpreting them accordingly. One day, one of the younger star dragons felt a great curiosity for the earth and dove down to meet the ground for the first time. This dragon was the youngest daughter of an ancient and powerful dragon who came into being long before people did. The dragon child was found by a young peasant woman who was sleeping at the edge of the forest nearby when she heard a strange piercing scream. She came upon the dragon in the field by the forest, and knew right away that she was destined to either die in that moment or become somebody new altogether, somebody great. She cared for the dragon child and fed her, even though her arms would blister from the fire the dragon breathed and her lungs would be thick with smoke. She knew she had to do it, for the dragon child was not able to care for itself on earth and would perish in this unknown world. She also knew that she had to hide the dragon, for if found, it would be bound and enslaved for its great power, so she led it to a cave to keep her safe. Azdaha, the young ones mother, watched from above. She was surprised to see a human risk her life to care for one of her own, and she decided she would reward the human in gratitude. She offered the peasant woman the gift of the nine fires. This was no small gift, and even though it was a great blessing never before offered to a human, there had to be an exchange in order to contain the gift without destroying the receiver. The nine fires needed nine hosts. Nine women who would commit to this honor entirely for as long as they lived. These fires also came with other gifts and strengths, like a very long life, health, abundance, and great luck, and as long as they were used for good and shared with others in balance, they could keep them. The peasant woman, and first carrier of the fire, was the same woman who has come for me, and the woman who initiated my mother into the priesthood. By the time she came to find me, she was over one thousand years old. As the first, she held the fire of lineage and had the power to find and...…

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