Jet the Shapeshifter

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Jet the Shape Shifter

Samhain at midnight I shape shifted to seek the Raven’s Trove. Only then would I gaze upon the mysteries of the Dark Lady Herself. I flew to the base of the Black-oak into the murder amassing to take flight.

“What is thy epithet?” croaked an ancient Raven. My ultra violet vision showed the crone in brilliant iridescent colors, I spoke with reverence to her etheric beauty:

“I am she who is carbon; I am coal and the hard caress of the earth, I am the blackness who is Jet.”

“What is thy quest?” a youngling with sapphire eyes inquired.

“It is you my Sister and you Grandmother and HERSELF.”

We flew past the moon; to the Mother of all trees from the beginning of time.

The Trove: surrounded by a thousand raven fore crones. Their wealth of knowledge: past present and future; the slow secrets of trees.

“Gather my words,” the grandmother chanted:

             

            “Listen to the Raven’s call, one to one and all to all, in the Black-oak acorns   fall, hear the Raven’s call”

           

We circled:

           

            “Red Madrone far and high; black of wing and bright of eye.

            Soar like midnight in the sky, see the Ravens fly.”

           

All was revealed, I beheld a crystal orb.

           

            “Nestled close in Cedar’s breast is hidden deep a treasure chest.

            Shiny magic is where they rest; seek the Raven’s nest.”

 

Midnight, the Goddess was afoot.

           

            “Rowan wand weaves enchantments, cast and spin and spell and craft

            In a circle in a trance; dance to the Ravens dance”

           

I circled in the center of the altar among a thousand and one ravens.

“You are revealed,” the ancient one pronounced and my glamour vanished. I, now a plain girl without flight or the gift of bird speak, lost in the woods. “Behold,” said Grandmother only her words were left to me. “Behold…” Grandmother’s words echoed in my soul as I gazed into the orb, in my reflection the face of She who is all Lightness and Dark.

Initiated, I found my treasure. I am Jet; I will never be just a plain girl again.

 

 

Image

Murder of crows bursting forth from the orange orchard at midnight in the fog…

An illustration from the Charman Chronicles: the Book of Fire.”  Driving through the Haunted Dairy.

 

I’m re-posting this for Halloween, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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About lisasstories2013

Lisa Noble is a published writer and artist. Her stories, poems and art work have appeared in the following: Poet's West Journal, The Sound, Sage Woman, The Beltane Papers, Mixed Metaphors by the Seattle Art Museum, Voices of Choice, 33 Angel Times, Metro's Paint me a Poem: as part of Metro's 1999 Poetry on Buses Lisa's poem: "Low on the North West Food Chain: was featured on several Metro Buses. Since 2006 Lisa has been a regular contributor to We'Moon publications. Lisa is a graduate of the Institute of Children's Literature and is the author of the 3-part Charman Chronicles series. Book one: "The Charman Chronicles: The Book of Fire" Is available on Amazon.com in book and Kindle form. (See Frieda Cramer's book review on the Kindle display!) Lisa's motto is: Support Literacy, Read to a Kid" thus the theme of this blog which will feature her favorite children's stories. Lisa has also self published two chapbooks and is the creator of the "Halfway to Babylon" project slated to come out in 2014. Lisa has shown her art work in group and solo exhibitions. Most recently being a part of the "Artful Henna" exhibition at the Art Not Terminal Gallery curated by Kree Arvanitas and Jeannie Lewis. View Lisa's work on her on-line shop: www.cafepress.com/lisanoble and on this blog.

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