Tiaras & Simple Things

The pristine writer’s desk

“When I Was a Queen in My Own Country…”

I woke up with those words in my head a couple of days ago. No dream memories, no context — just those words. And I’ve been puzzling about them ever since.

Quite awhile back, I bought a tiara, a simple, cheap one (but it does sparkle brightly). In fact, I bought three — the first one wasn’t the one I liked best after all, and the third one was for my granddaughter. The idea, which I got from writerly friends that I admire, is to wear it when doing creative writing. Donning the tiara marks off the time and space and acknowledges it (and oneself) as creative, special, magical. This is an excellent idea!

I wore it once.

Then I wove ribbons into it, but it still wasn’t right.

I’m certain that pretty, clean, precise, sparkling tiaras are right for other more princessly and queenly women, but that just isn’t me. I’m realizing that being ill for so long has made me sort of “civilized” — tame or timid or with too much inertia. But I was never meant to be tame; it isn’t in my genes. Sure, “civilized” is okay for a masquerade — can you imagine me nicely dressed, make-up and stylish hair, disguised as a citified business person? I’ve done that, and done it well enough to pass, but it was never me . Such women probably don’t have flyaway hair like dandelion clocks. Or “gardening fingernails”. Or bare feet. Or cat hair all over their velvet skirts. Velvet skirts? Well, yes — silk and velvet are for me. Especially once they get a little worn and have picked up some stains from the flowers and berries and leaves. And glitter is sticking to them in surprising places. You see what I mean?

A tiara is for writing. O yes, definitely for writing, but not just sitting at my desk with the computer. I’ve put a half a picnic table on the back porch with the intention of sometimes writing or doing art work there. Scribbling in a notebook. Messing about with paints. So far, the table is pristine. Unused. No ink spills or paint spatters! Perhaps I should just go out and dribble paint on it and break it in that way? The inertia of illness is a terrible thing.

Now I understand that a different kind of tiara is needed. Most likely it would be made of things that grow in the woods and bits of ribbon and perhaps fragments of faery lace — and, yes, things that sparkle. It wants to have faery faces peering out of it. If I put red sparkly things on it, do you suppose it would attract hummingbirds? Or only mosquitos? I now understand that it must be for much more than writing. Certainly for art. Definitely for gardening as well — grubby hands and radiant crown and dirty knees. Perhaps a tiara could also be for meditating outside where I can smell the flowers and the trees and hear the birds. Or just for sitting there, sipping a tisane. Magic… my magic is in the humble, simple, beautiful things. It’s natural magic — my favorite form of enchantment where the world of the fae intersects with ours.

To be a Queen In My Own Country… This is about being totally oneself, no? And wearing a crown to celebrate this, a crown born from My Own Country? I’d better start gathering the pieces. And I wonder, I just wonder — what kind of a crown or tiara or circlet would you wear to be a King or a Queen in your Own Country?

Foundations of the Universe, Part I: The Faery Version

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about nonlocal consciousness and how it ties in with the Faery version of the creation of the Universe, with what mystics and various magical people (like healers and psychics and all those) experience, and some considerations about consciousness as propounded by neurologists and psychologists. But, as I wrote, it got too long for a blog, so I’m going to give it to you in three parts over the next few days.

This is what the faeries say (not me, this is all their knackerty knotion):

In the beginning there were uncountable bits of faery consciousness floating, undifferentiated, through Space/Time. In fact, that consciousness is what Space/Time is. Just that. Nothing else.

When Time began gathering momentum in it’s spin (because it was conscious and consciousness moves) the bits of faery consciousness began swirling around faster. Bits and bytes bumped into each other. They bounced off each other. Sometimes they came together so gently that they rested against each other and stayed together. O Universe became like a 33+ dimension billiard table with infinitesimal balls of faery consciousness bouncing, rolling, hurtling through Space and Time. Knowing the fae, I’d guess they were all making a sound like, “WHEEEEE!” Lumps of consciousness formed, and the bigger the lumps became, the more consciousness they had.

One of the things that consciousness does is to spontaneously generate concepts and ideas — this is its natural function. Its other natural functions are to store and to play with those concepts. At first, they were fairly simple: bits of consciousness gathered into elementary particles. Humans have named some of them things like quarks (up, down, bottom, top, strange, and charm), leptons (electron, electron neutrino, muon, muon neutrino, tau, tau neutrino), bosons (the photon of electromagnetism, the three W and Z bosons of the weak force, and the eight gluons of the strong force) and others. Many more are hypothesized by humans, including the fabled graviton and, of course, all the realm of antiparticles and dark matter. The ones that human have named correctly so far are Strange, Charm, and Tau, who are all kindly folk.

(It is a natural principle that knowing the proper names of things gives one a certain power over them — not much, but some — so it behooves humans to get better at discovering the real and proper names as quickly as they can.)

From the elementary particles came the ideas of composite particles, and suitable weddings were arranged, forming the composite particles and the elegant atoms, and then — the great triumph of the scintillating dance of molecules! Fast and faster, more conscious concepts were generated — and in a stroke of genius, the transcendent idea of Fire — of expansion, of radiation, of light. Then the newly conceived particles, atoms, and molecules discovered how to dawdle slowly enough to be gases, to become slower still and be liquids, and even to become so ponderous as to be solids. And all of this happened in the sea of faery consciousness for far longer than consciousness had expected.

Balls of fiery faery consciousness grew into stars, which lived and died, leaving behind the idea of ash — dust. The dust gathered to become stone, and stone gathered to become large masses, which gathered the lighter dust like hydrogen and oxygen, nitrogen and other things, from heavy to light, from least radiant to most luminous. There seems to be no end to the possibilities — and all of it is one consciousness, dancing at many levels of awareness — loving, holy, erotic, passionate, and reverential. That is what the fae tell me, and they seem quite pleased about it all — mostly.

(Next in this series is The Foundations of the Universe, II: The Mystic, the Medium, and Weird Things that Happen)

Photo © Copyright 2005 by Jessica Macbeth. All rights reserved.
Text © Copyright 2013 by Jessica Macbeth. All rights reserved.