Anne Maria Clarke

THE SELKIE BRIDE (YouTube version) adapted & narrated by Anne Maria Clarke

7/31/2017

THE SELKIE BRIDE (YouTube version)
adapted & narrated by ANNE MARIA CLARKE
music by CHRIS CHAMBERS
audio production DAVID JOHNSON
Illustration: Between Earth & Water - KAREN DAVIS

A Scottish Folktale

"Where ever the sea meets the shore - where ever the water is deep and cold enough for seals – the tale of the Selkie Bride is told...."

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http://www.archivepublishing.co.uk/Transpersonal Books - Transpersonal Psychology. Understanding the Soul - Expanding Consciousness
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SWAN LAKE MAGIC (YouTube version) Anne Maria Clarke @ the ballet

6/30/2017

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SWAN LAKE MAGIC - Anne Maria Clarke @ the ballet

Fairytales, myths and legends do not just concern the light but very much the darker aspects of the self - the shadow and the struggles one has with it and we are not always led to the condition of happily ever after.
And so it is with Swan Lake........

Written & Presented by Anne Maria Clarke
Music - Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake theme courtesy of www.pondmusic5.com
Audio production - voice recording - music edit - David Johnson

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A girl with three mothers & a mother with three daughters - A tale of gentle healing by Anne Maria Clarke

5/20/2017

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A tale of gentle healing
by Anne Maria Clarke

In his beautiful book of Celtic spiritual wisdom, Anam Cara, John O'Donohue explains: anam means 'soul' and cara is 'friend'. If we are to befriend the soul of one who is very hurt, we must be mindful of our approach. We must come upon the mystery of another gently, reverently and indirectly, with candlelight, not electric light, to illumine our way.

Once upon a time there was a daughter with three Mothers. One night, something terrible happened in the woods close to where they lived.
Well, the first mother, the youngest, collapsed into grief.
The second, a little older, flew into a rage.
But the third, the eldest, simply carried on as before. Yet in the evenings, when the sun hung low over the forest, she would light a candle in the window & ponder over the meaning of these things.

Now, the first & second mothers, though they did not intend it, drove their daughter away. For, you see, their sorrow & their rage caused them to loose themselves and, in such a state of loss, they could do nothing to help their daughter. Whereas the third remained calm and a little detached, as was fitting.

Well soon the lives of the first and second mothers fell apart, for their emotions were so overwhelming and so wearying that they quickly lost control of their affairs.They no longer knew the rhythm of day & night. For them all was night; all was dark. They could not eat, sleep, or indeed do anything required to create a bit of peace for their daughter, who was herself still attempting to recover from what had happened in the woods.

Now the trouble was that the poor girl never knew which of the mothers would be at home when she returned in the evenings. They kept on changing you see.

When the first mother was at home, the young girl couldn't get any rest, for her nights were disturbed by her mother's constant sobbing.

It was no better when the second mother was at home, for she, it seemed, knew nothing at all about being being a mother and would pace the floor from sunset till dawn, wringing her hands and muttering angrily to herself about everything that had gone on; which, as it happened, was the very thing her daughter couldn't bear.

Things were much better when the third mother was at home. There was food on the table, laughter in the air and each had restful nights at the end of the day.

Clearly the girl preferred the third mother and she showed her much appreciation. She couldn't talk about what had happened in the woods, so they talked sbout what they could, each knowing where the boundary had been set.

In these ways time passed.

During the day the daughter went about the business of her life. She did very well, but still it did not go easily for her when she returned to the house where the mothers were grieving & raging. And each evening as she made her way home, she longed to find the third mother waiting for her at the door.

Sometimes she was lucky.

More time passed. The girl's luck increased, For, you see, somehow it happened that the third mother was more and more at home and the others less & less.

Now one such evening much, much later, when the daughter sat together with the third mother, she decided to tell her about all the trouble she had had with the other two.

' Throughout the night,' she explained, 'one wept whilst the other raged. I could get no rest and was at my wits end. Whatever was the matter?'

' Ah,' the elder mother sighed softly. ' I was wondering when you would ask.' She sat back in her chair for, you see, she was by now quite an old woman.

' To sense your wound,' she began at last,' drove them practically insane, for it ripped open a place in them that was also wounded, a bleak, desolate place where every scrap of hope was turned to dust.'

The daughter did not reply at first but then said quite knowingly. 'Yes, I thought as much'.

But later the young woman said, ' One thing still puzzles me, though. I never did understand how some nights when I came home, I found you here, and not my weeping or raging mothers?'

' Oh,' replied the third mother, 'that's quite simple. For you see, we three are really one & the same, but I am the part that got through.'

The Mother with Three Daughters

Once upon a time, there was a mother who had three daughters. One night something terrible happened in the woods close by.

Well the first daughter, the youngest, withdrew into a deep silence, the second, a little older, became angry & defensive. But the third, the eldest, simply carried on as before. Yet in the evenings, when the sun hung low over the forest, she would light a candle in the window and ponder over the meaning of these things.

Now the first & second daughters, though they did not intend it, drove the mother away; for you see, their silence & defensiveness caused them to loose themselves and, in such a state of loss, they could do nothing to help their mother. Whereas the third remained calm & a little detached, as was fitting.

Well soon the lives of the first & second daughters fell apart, for their emotions were so overwhelming & so wearying that they quickly lost control
of their affairs. They no longer knew the rhythm of the day. For them all was night; all was dark. They could not eat, sleep, or indeed do anything required to create a bit of peace for their mother, who was herself still attempting to recover from what had happened in the woods.

Now the trouble was that the poor mother never knew which of the daughters was coming home in the evenings. They kept on changing you see. When the first daughter was at home, the mother could get no rest, for her nights were disturbed by the terrible silence.

It was no better when the second daughter was home. For she, it seemed did not understand anything about being a daughter; & she would stay out later & later & was even more defensive when she returned; which, as it happened, was the very thing the mother couldn't bear.

Things were much better when the third daughter was at home - as you might expect. There was food on the table, laughter in the air & each had restful nights at the end of the day.

They couldn't talk about what had happened in the woods. So they talked about what they could, each knowing where the boundary had been set.

In these ways time passed.

During the day, the mother went about the business of her life. She did very well, but still things did not go easily for her when the silent & defensive daughters returned. And each night as she waited at the door she longed to see the third daughter coming home.

Sometimes she was lucky.

More time passed. The mother's luck increased, for, you see, somehow it happened that the third daughter was more & more at home & the others less & less.

Now one such evening much, much later, as the elder mother sat together with her third daughter, she decided to tell her about all the trouble she had had with the other two.

' One was so silent & the other so defensive,' she explained, 'I was at my wits' end. Whatever was the matter?'

'Ah,' the third daughter sighed softly, 'I was wndering when you would ask.'

She then sat forward in her chair, for you see she was by now quite grown.

'To sense your wound,' she began at last, 'drove them practically insane, for it ripped open a place within them that was also wounded, a bleak, desolate place where every shred of hope had turned to dust.

The mother did not reply at first but then said quite knowingly,

'Yes, I thought as much. But one thing still puzzles me. I never did understand how some nights when I was waiting at the door I saw & not my silent or defensive daughters coming home? How?

'Oh,' relpied the third daughter, 'that's quite simple. For you see we three are really one & the same, but I am the part that got through.'

Much love

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

An extract from Anne Maria Clarke's book:

THE DARK MOON

available @

www.archivepublishing.com

(please leave a comment on the archive website)

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More fairy-stories, myths & legends by
Anne Maria Clarke
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Tolkien: on fairy-stories - Anne Maria Clarke

4/15/2017

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Anne Maria Clarke explores Tolkien's Master-class

The realm of fairy-story is wide & deep & high. In that land one may perhaps count oneself fortunate to have wandered but its very mystery & wealth make dumb the traveller who would report. The fairy gold too often turns to withered leaves when it is brought away. All that I can ask is that you – knowing all these things - will receive my withered leaves as a token at least that my hand once held a little of the gold.

J.R.R Tolkien – On Fairy -stories (draft manuscript)

Fairy-stories cannot be defined, says Tolkien. You cannot throw a net around them & capture their essence. They are not primarily about fairies – but rather concern the adventures of those who have travelled within what he calls the Perilous or Faërie Realm . He offers no definition of this mysterious dimension – makes no attempt to enclose it, as many have done with words & notions however vast like ‘the unconscious’ or even the ‘imagination’.

He leaves the whole thing utterly open ended aside from the following provisos: first that though the Perilous Realm contains familiar aspects derived from what he calls our primary, everyday reality – this secondary realm – in order ‘to work’ or to be ‘believable’ - must be totally consistent within itself – & that the magic therein must never ever be belittled or made fun of.

In 1939, based upon the immense success of The Hobbit which had been published in 1937 Tolkien was asked to give a lecture for the Andrew Lang society at the University of St Andrews, for which the article On Fairy-stories was written & first presented. There were numerous drafts – as was Tolkien's way -& the opening quote referencing the fairy gold was omitted from his final version possibly on the grounds of it being thought too presumptuous a revelation to make about himself - & yet it so perfectly elucidates the nature of his travels within the Faërie Realm that it seems pertinent to re-instate it – for you see – this is where he spent so much of his time – after attending Mass, which he did several times a week, after his job was done, his dinner enjoyed with his family, his children read to and put to bed in his ordinary, everyday Oxfordshire home – this is where he would go, puffing on his evening pipe, deep into the great beyond - often not returning until the early hours of the morning.
So when we read his wondrous tales, or contemplate the words he wrote On Fairy-stories we would do well to remember that what we are really reading or listening to are the words of an incredibly seasoned traveller – someone who has walked wherever his heroes and heroines have walked – all the way out of the Shire, if you like, right through Middle Earth to Mordor & back again, bringing not just faded, withered leaves as he so humbly acknowledges - but real fairy gold, bright & true and radiant as
the sun.

DEFINITIONS

On Fairy-stories poses a series of questions which Tolkien considers in turn, teasing out the elements of what for him constitutes an authentic tale within the genre.
He begins by setting forth the Oxford Dictionary definition (a publication he worked for briefly as a Philologist after recovering from trench fever following his return from France in 1916) yet he disagrees vehemently with every word set down. ….. Fairies he asserts are not diminutive in size as is commonly assumed – it is us who are small compared to them! Nor, surprisingly for some, did he consider the tales as being primarily for children – the association he regarded as being an unfortunate consequence of the so called 'Enlightenment.' His own taste for such tales was not a characteristic of his childhood he says but was awakened through his study of Philology and quickened to life by war.
What then constitutes an authentic tale in this genre? Certainly not those stories he claims, that whilst fantastical in themselves are presented as dreams, or time – travel adventures or journeys to far flung destinations in the primary world. Neither does he consider allegory or tales of moral guidance set within a once upon a time frame authentically of the genre.
They are not delusions, illusions or manifestations of mental pathology in any way.
No! Faërie is an altogether different realm with an ontology all of its own.

In that world a tree is a Tree, and its roots may run throughout the earth, and its fall affect the stars. It is enchanted ..... as we are when we cross its borders.
J.R.R Tolkien – On Fairy -stories

ORIGINS

The origin he tells us, is simply the dimension of Faërie itself and the stories, as indicated – of those writers, artists, bards, shamans, healers and plain ordinary folk who have ventured forth.
Such realms are not simply made up as is commonly assumed but rather possess their being-ness independently – of this he is quite clear.

They arose in my mind as 'given' things, he wrote to his son Christopher,and as they came, separately, so too the links grew. An absorbing, though continually interrupted labour. Yet always I had the sense of recording what was already 'there', somewhere: not of inventing.

He goes on to describe the unexpected arrival of the character Boromir – during the writing of Lord of the Rings which was published in 1954, a full 17 years after The Hobbit.

A new character has come on the scene, he explains, I am sure I did not invent him, nor even want him? though I like him – but there he came, walking out the woods - he is so talkative - if he keeps on in this way I will have to put him in the appendices.
J.R.R.Tolkien: Letters

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MADONNAS & MIRACLES: The Holy Home In Renaissance Italy

3/11/2017

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Anne Maria Clarke @ the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge

Last week I had the delightful experience of attending the opening day of the new exhibition at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge. It ticked quite a few boxes for me - Italy - the Madonna - the Renaissance - all of which have special places in my heart, yet the aspect that particularly fascinated me and why I decided to attend back in January when I first heard about it was its unique focus upon devotional practices within the home. It's a subject we hear little about whilst at the same time knowing such devotions to have been a central part of daily life for centuries - pre-dating Christianity in fact and reaching back through time to the days of Goddess worship in ancient Rome, Greece, Egypt and beyond.

What we see in the Renaissance are the last days so to speak of this incredibly ancient tradition. The rise of Secularism within the Renaissance period, the Protestant Reformation then Counter Reformation in Italy would all curb its practice significantly and dampen what was deemed its most florid excesses and yet still - though much tempered – the remnants these practices have persisted through to this day in Catholic homes across the world - one has only to look at the paraphernalia on sale in church book shops to see it has not gone away. It thrives too, uninterrupted in other traditions, in Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism and so on. Every home where such faiths are practised has its own alter decorated with flowers, prayer beads, incense and candles in much the same way, although with different iconography as home alters would have been decorated in Renaissance Italy. And yet to northern, more sober Protestant or secular born souls - such expressions of devotion can seem rather remote, archaic even. The exhibition therefore is an opportunity to revisit a time when such practices flourished and to see some of the objects and works of art from that period.

From birth to death, from waking to retiring and everything in-between, daily life in the Renaissance home would have been interspersed with prayer and devotion. Holy water, flickering candle-light, whispered verses read by those who were able from treasured hand-made books passed down the generations of La famiglia - sacred songs and graces intoned before every meal would have all created ambiances conducive to devotion.

Beginning with childbirth the exhibition features several precious heirloom paintings of the Birth of the Virgin, a popular theme of the times depicting Saint Ann, the Virgin's mother – a mature woman thought to have been too old to have become pregnant – resting in her bed after successfully giving birth attended by several young women whilst the anxious menfolk wait outside the room.

There is a beautiful blue and white ceramic Nativity on show used to both celebrate and to tell the story of Christ's own birth. Young children we are told, would have been taught in such ways through storytelling and imaginative play before progressing to more serious and probably less delightful forms of instruction.

And yet those taught to read together with those who were not would have no doubt all been enchanted by the precious illuminated manuscripts and popular Books of Hours that some families possessed. These exquisite volumes, of which the exhibition features several were primarily created for women and often given to brides as wedding presents by their husbands. Not everyone could afford them of course and they varied considerably with more wealthy families being able to commission the most lavish illuminations sometimes featuring their loved ones in acts of prayer and devotion - yet even the most modest volumes owned by the evolving merchant classes were beautifully inscribed and most elaborately decorated and painted with rare pigments like the highly prized ultramarine created from lapis lazuli and expensive gold leaf designed to gleam on the page creating a palpable luminosity greatly accentuated when viewed in candle light. These were the kinds of books whose lavish pages were designed to draw the observer in and in – like mandalas in a way – each page a meditation and a mystery to be poured over for hours at a time and returned to repeatedly over the course of a life-time.

The exhibition features a beautifully bound miniature volume from Rome dated 1585 called Giordinetto – Little Garden of Spiritual things which includes prayers for different times of the day, psalms and sonnets to be learned and recited. There is a lovely book dated 1478 entitled Vitae Christi le Devote Meditazioni Sopra la Passione del Nostro Signore – Devotional Meditations upon the Passion of our Saviour - once owned by two nuns and complete with their neat margin notes – testament, the exhibition notes point out as to how carefully and thoroughly it had been read.
The Sacred Music that was part of daily life is represented too and to give a flavour of what might have been heard five short pieces were recorded at St Katharine's College Cambridge by an early music vocal ensemble The Clerks including a beautiful lauda venerating the Virgin and a meditation on the Passion which can be heard on head phones provided.

Various bodily adornments are on display too - amulets and rings inscribed with the sacred symbol of the Angus Die ( Lamb of God). There are pendants and crucifixes, blessed and worn close to the heart and rosary beads (introduced in the 15th century) created with precious and semi-precious stones. Nothing it seems was left outside the sphere of the sacred.

Particularly lovely are some of the minature triptychs on display. These are alter pieces composed of three panels depicting a series of related religious images. During the day when not in use the outer wings would have been closed and indeed it was quite normal for all religious paintings to have been turned from away from view when not in use. Whilst travelling, we are told it would have been quite common to take these objects along and to open them for prayer as required.

As well as the collections of domestic iconography the exhibition also featuresa rare Fra Angelico painting entitled The Dead Christ and the famous Botticelli, Madonna and Child - a prize possession of the Fitzwilliam and the image chosen as the exhibitions poster.

The exhibitions title Madonnas & Miracles benefits hugely from the clarification of the sub-heading which more specifically describes its content - this being said - the Madonna was the undoubted the focus of much domestic devotion and it was to her it seems that the penitent most often appealed during childbirth, illness and death, times when women have historically been in close attendance.

Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women & blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now & at the hour of our death.

It is easy to romanticise about the nature of life in such times without being cognisant of the actual realities and yet it does seem that the woman within the Italian Renaissance home, particularly if the household was wealthy, was in possession of a certain autonomy vis a vis religious devotions, allowing her – we might speculate - to approach the numinous somewhat directly – as once in ancient times she might have done. Private prayer, the creation of personal, household alters, the recitations of the rosary, the sprinkling of holy water and singing of sacred refrains - independently – and without direct instruction surely facilitated some measure of spiritual freedom.

As for the exhibitions theme of miracles, there are numerous panel paintings called ex-votos which would have been left at local shrines giving thanks for wondrous healings from all manner of diseases and miraculous survivals during fires and natural disasters like earthquakes, still to this day an ever-present danger in regions like La Marche. There is an antique baby Christ Child doll, pulled intact from the rubble of the 5.5 earthquake which entirely destroyed the ancient Franciscan nunnery of the Poor Clares of Santa Chiara in Camerino just last year- leaving only this iconic figure untouched by the devastation. Interestingly this doll – and not just because of the earthquake – is venerated on the Feast of the Epiphany by local folk who annually queue to kiss its feet – in just the same way no doubt as previous generations have done since its creation at the height of the Renaissance.

Many attending this exhibition will have been brought up in a world where even if they went to church, their walls would have long since been white-washed and their colourful iconography obliterated, destroyed or confiscated. Images of the Madonna in particular have long since disappeared along with beloved saints to whom the people prayed in church and in their homes. Such practices had no place in the new more rationally inclined world of the post – Reformation period.

And yet as we have seen such practices persist and not just within Catholicism. There is something primal about alter making - about making sacred space - even if it is merely lighting a tea light and placing it next to a pot of wild flowers or leaving a bouquet on the roadside where someone has tragically died. Those performing such acts may no longer regard themselves as religious – but are still drawn towards this kind of expression – profound gestures indeed - and pointers maybe toward what spiritual practice in a post – patriarchal, post- religious future might look like. For there seems no doubt that even in such a scenario where the church as we know it today is no more - the spiritual nature of human kind will endure.

The Fitzwilliam Museum has created a stunning exhibition – a veritable time-capsule if you like capable of transporting the willing participant to the very heart of the Italian Renaissance home - and in so doing it has inspired contemplation upon the notion of what it might be within the human soul that is drawn to express itself in such ways - is it simply to garner favour in the next world so to speak - or is there something more profound being responded to within the psyche - and that in creating sacred space, our ancestors sought as maybe we still seek - in our own unique ways - to remember, to honour and to connect with the divine root of our being in the midst of earthly life.

much love

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

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Anne Maria Clarke
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La Maschera - Venetian Poetry for Carnevale: Anne Maria Clarke with Chris Chambers

2/17/2017

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La Maschera
Anonymous Venecian poetry for CARNEVALE
music: composed & performed by Chris Chambers
Audio Production: David Johnson
Video Production: Anne Maria Clarke

The Mask Maker: English Translation
How beautiful are these masks!
How ugly are these masks!
Yes they are me. I create them.
They call me the mask maker.
I place tiny pieces of paper.
I begin at the border.
After the eyebrows, then the nose and the mouth.

One day I make a mask that laughs.
One day I make a mask that cries.
One day I make a beautiful mask.
One day I make an ugly mask.

How easy it is to make a face with different expressions.
But what a pity they have no heart.
They have no circulation of blood.
They feel neither cold nor heat.?
They cannot say why they laugh or cry.

But with me they are different.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on their eyes,
They see me and give me their feelings.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on their mouths,
They speak to me and tell me many things.
When I put tiny pieces of paper on the nose –
I see that they breathe!
That they live!
But then, maybe they are real and we are masks!

My husband Pat and I discovered this poem a few years ago in a little Mask- Makers shop tucked away in the Castello area of Venice. Our daughter who was studying in the city at the time had gifted us with money to buy masks for the upcoming Carnevale and we had spent a delightfully playful hour trying on and choosing. When we finally made up our minds, the old mask-maker popped this printed poem into the package with our purchases. We never knew who wrote it - for it bore no name - yet we are grateful to the author – whoever it is!

Much love
Anne Maria Clarke
x x x

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More fairy-stories, myths & legends by
Anne Maria Clarke
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Anne Maria Clarke - 2016 A Magical Aventure

1/7/2017

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Anne Maria Clarke - 2016 A Magical Adventure

Anne Maria Clarke looking back in gratitude at some of the stories, music and articles featured during the last year.

Music - CELTIC PARADISE by David Johnson

Join us as we continue the adventure into 2017

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SWAN LAKE MAGIC - Anne Maria Clarke @ the Ballet

12/30/2016

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SWAN LAKE MAGIC Anne Maria Clarke @ the Ballet

We are separated from the divine – the transcendental - the bridge, so the ancients said, which we may build over this abyss of separation is constructed by our passionate longing for the greater and by the passionate longing of the greater for in us – this is the fundamental reason, the fundamental background for all the great love stories – all the great lyrical Romeo and Juliet type myths of the world. That there are two, ourselves and the ineffable greatness from which we have come – who are longing for each other with a desperate, painful, suffering passion. And we have within us that vestige of memory – of what it was – what it felt like – what it can be.
Stephen Hollier: The Creative Imagination

It is practically impossible to imagine the story of Swan Lake without seeing the ballet in one's minds eye and without also recollecting Tchaikovsky's heart rendingly passionate music, specially commissioned by the Bolshoi Ballet for their groundbreaking 1877 Moscow production.

Thereafter it seemed that Swan Lake defined the Bolshoi – becoming its great signature piece and in time it has almost come to define the genre of classical ballet itself. It is certainly the most well known and perhaps the most well loved. Who then can now unpick the parts and is it even useful to do so? Far better it seems to accept their inseparability - the alchemy of their union.

When a particular retelling of a story grips the collective imagination – when it can stand to be endlessly told and retold – we can be sure it touches upon something profound. Swan Lake might have had its stars over the years, prima ballerina's like Anna Pavlova – and legendary pairings like Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev who have inhabited the story, and perhaps even claimed it for a while – yet Swan Lake the myth is bigger than any flesh and blood star that pirouettes across its worldly stage – bigger than any inspired choreographer – any ballet company - even the Bolshoi.

So let us then make haste to the theatre and take our seats before the house lights dim down low and the great enchantment begins. The conductor clears his throat and waves his baton imperiously. Tchaikovsky's iconic music strikes up! Hold on to your seats and hearts for that matter - for you are about to be transported to the very heart of myth. The music swells to a peak then fades - only to rise again, sweeping our emotions along with it - Tchaikovsky is setting the scene, the tone, a foreshadowing of what is to come and in so doing he powerfully brings about the suspension of our collective dis-belief before ever the heavy red velvet drapes draw back and the first dancers appear on the stage.

The Prologue

Long before our tale begins, Odette a beautiful princess, has fallen under the spell of von Rothbart, a wicked sorcerer and must live as a swan by day and girl by night, during which time she is imprisoned in a dark tower. The spell that binds her can only be broken by a man who has never loved before and who will vow to love her forever. Odette represents everything that is pure and simple and lovely - yet is possessed of such niavety that it seems unlikely she will ever find her way free from the wicked curse that entraps her - yet still she hopes.

Act One - the Grand Hall

At last the curtains part to reveal Prince Siegfried's 21st birhday celebrationin the Grand Hall of the palace where his mother the Queen tells him he must choose a bride at a ball to be held in his honour the following evening - yet the Prince is over-awed and loath to marry for duty alone. He makes his excuses and withdraws to the forest on a moonlit hunting expedition with his friends.

Act two - the lovers meet

This is where the drama really begins - for it is here, deep in the wood beside a shimmering lake that we are introduced to the lovely Odette with whom Seigfried falls instantly and hopelessly in love - but wait: I run ahead, let me tell it from the start - for Seigfried first encounters her as a magnificent swan in full flight coming into land over the lake.

He takes aim with his bow but as he does so she alights at the waters edge and magically transforms into the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. Amazed, he steps forward to greet her and at first she is startled but he gently reassures her and begs her tell him of the marvel he has just witnessed. Odette then tells him of her royal origins and of the terrible spell that entraps her unless she can find a suiter whereupon Siegfried pledges his undying alliegence and implores her to attend the great ball where he is to choose a wife next day. Odette promises to find a way to escape her tower and together they dance falling more and more in love with every passing moment.

But as you might imagine in stories of this sort - all does not go well for the new lovers - for the sorcerer's wicked daughter Odile secretly comes to know of their plans. She sets her own sights on the eligible Prince and begs her father to give her the outward appearence of Odette so that she might take her place at the ball.

And so the theft, the wicked illusion is concocted - and very soon - for the dark magic is strong - it is as if the socerer's daughter is hersef the beautiful princess - and the only reason we the audience will know who is who - for the two parts are very often played by the same dancer - is that Odile - when next we encounter her will be completely robed in black.

And so the curtain falls - the house lights return and exhausted yet full of anticipation as to what may now occur we withdraw to the theatre foyer to briefly collect our wits.

Act three - the arrival of the Black Swan

Trumpets herald the commencement of the Grand Ball. Siegfried struts about on tenterhooks – unsure if his beloved will appear. The Great Hall is full of lovely girls all willing and eager to catch his eye – and his mother is keen for him to choose - but Siegfried has only one girl in his heart. Trumpets sound again - his heart leaps. The ballroom doors swing open and Von Rothbart appears, swathed in black, with the girl of the Prince's dreams on his arm – or so he is led to believe.

Everyone stops in their tracks to admire Odile for she is truely magnificent. Seifired bows down low to greet her and together they take to the floor.

Oblivious of the deception he is utterly enthralled and before he can check himself and come to his senses - he promises his undying love to the dark imposter and announces his intention to marry her to the enitire court.

What we see here – writ large so to speak – is the gullibility of men who fall prey to the seductive charms of the negative anima – to use Jung's term – an aspect of the feminine psyche – deviod of all warmth and sensitivity - embodied in classical myth as the Siren. So dangerously attractive are these creatures that sailors who pass by the island where they dwell must be chained to the ships masts and have their ears stuffed with wax to prevent them surcoming to their deadly charms.

Such is the nature of the imposter here. Her dance is sassy and powerfully accomplished – incorporating as it does the impressive 30 turn finale – a feat for any ballerina - and what man could resist - but then the Prince looks into her eyes and then suddenly he knows – what we already know - a coldness strikes his heart – but it is much, much too late.

The music swells and swells again - and we too are held captive.

Odile dances on without care or kind thought, overshadowing all.

She is utterly triumphant.

The lights dim – the scene is at an end – save for the silouette at the window of a weeping Odette who has somehow escaped her tower in order to warn of the deception.

Fairytales, myths and legends do not just concern ' the light' but very much the darker aspects of the self - the shadow and the struggles one has with it and we are not always led to the condition of happily ever after - although in a full rendition of a tale in this genre - the promise or hope of redemption is never completely dashed.

And so it is with Swan Lake.

But first - there are dark forces to contend with - for our storybook characters - yet sometimes also for the dancers themselves, the choreographers and those involved in such productions. There is something so powerful about Swan Lake you see - that even in it's re-enactment - one may become caught up so to speak - or even overshadowed by the archetypes at play in a way which can mirror the themes within the story.

For the prima ballerina - who must often play both white and black swan - the idea that they are really one and the same struggling for ascendency within the self is at the root of the tale and brilliantly portrayed in the 2010 film Black Swan - where the story, the myth, the fairtytale darkly bleeds through into the everyday taking hold of those who seek to tell it.

Pondering these themes one finds resonances with the dark fairytale of The Red Shoes - where there is great beauty it seems there is great shadow too – and each of these ballets express this most powerfully. There is a flavour of the myth of Icarus here too – of he who flies too close to the sun and scorches his beautiful wings.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, in her classic book Women who Run with the Wolves elucidates and develops these themes in her own dramatic re-telling of the Red Shoes and in so doing hints at the nature of the powerful archetypes at play.

At the dark end of the spectrum of passion there is a kind of madness - where desire overtakes or is indeed overtaken by the drive for that which is sought or what itself seeks to be expressed. Here the road to psychosis lies - where one becomes over-identified with the archetype and can no longer step back - like the girl in the Red Shoes - who at first just longs for the pretty new things – but soon her longing mutates into an addition, as Estes makes clear – then the girl is no longer just dancing but is rather being danced in an incredibly heartless and inhuman way that if not checked by some miraculous intervention - will lead without doubt to her death.

The problem illuminated here - the trap if you like – of which we may all fall victim - is greatly exacerbated by this over -identification - the temptation to claim the genius as one's own - as part of one's worldly self. Then we may become inflated. The ancient Greeks called it hubris and it is a dangerous affliction indeed - for then instead of ecstasy - there is agony - instead of transcendence - there is psychic collapse and instead of becoming one of God's Athletes - as the ballet dancer first innocently dreams - she is danced to death by the devil.

Humility is the safe guard in such matters of course as is the ritualistic necessity of stepping down and out of role - of grounding oneself and returning to the everyday. The house lights need to come on so to speak - for dancers and audiences alike - for the magic spell must be intermittently broken lest we forget ourselves in the worldly realm.

Act Four - The Lakeside

A great storm rages. Siegfried, bursting into the glade, finds Odette and begs for her forgiveness. She tells him she must kill herself, or she will forever be a swan. Siegfried, understanding that his destiny is forever changed, declares he will die with her, thus breaking von Rothbart’s power over her.

As dawn approaches, von Rothbart appears. The lovers respond to his threat by throwing themselves into the lake. At last Von Rothbart is vanquished and his power ended.

The Apotheosis - the lovers are reunited in death

Of the Apotheosis Joseph Campbell has said ......after ones foe has finally been defeated the hero and heroine experience a great expansion of consciousness.

Those who know, that what they and all things really are - is the Everlasting - dwell in the groves of the wish fulfilling trees, drink the brew of immortality, and listen everywhere to the unheard music of eternal concord.

I have a beautiful friend (pictured here) who many moons ago was a ballerina with the English National Ballet. Through her own choice she left the ballet world completely even though she could have easily stayed on.
She has never looked back – nor attended a single performance since and has had a whole new career or incarnation if you like as an aqupuncturist far away from the bright lights.

Through her I have come to understand much about this very particular art that I could never otherwise have known. She has taken me behind the scenes as it were and allowed me to see some of the pain and sometimes some of the heartlessness that can reside there – but one day – thankfully – in her mid twenties something inside her decided to shatter the enchantment, the spell of that which held her and in so doing she experienced her own kind of apotheosis - the death of what was – the indentured self if you like – and the rebirth of someone entirely new and entirely free.

Yet though she said her goodbyes, hung up her blood stained dancing shoes and placed her feet fully and comfortably on the earth – she will never forget the peaks – the highs – the soaring practically out of this world - that maybe – in ballet at least – cannot be attained in any other way.

The artist takes a risk – like the shaman - she must come close to the edge one might say – of what may be reasonably endured – physically – emotionally – mentally and spiritually. YET - if one is to touch what is sublime – one must allow oneself to be touched by the associated archetypes and all the dangers and perils inherent in doing so. In order to live more fully – in order to glimpse what maybe once the mystics glimpsed – the cost is high - but not to understand why these things might happen or why they might seem justified - like the only thing to do – is to profoundly misunderstand our collective yearning for that which transcends the seeming blandness and even futility of life lived too safely.

Through the power of its core myth, the genius of Tchaikovsky's music and the sheer beauty of the ballet and it's dancers we are vicariously transported, swept away in the moment – in utter suspension of disbelief - to a place within ourselves where we too experience the apotheosis that redeems the tragic tale and we too are lifted up and out of the illusion of our third dimensional everyday existence to glimpse – to touch – to feel - the promise of the beyond.

I must admit to being personally taken aback by my own responses to the production I attended recently by the Russian State Ballet – tears - uncontrollable tears streamed unbidden down my face during the finale and continued even after the curtain came down and the house lights came on.

Thank God for the theatre!
And thank God for all those brave souls who tread its boards!
Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

references:
Joseph Campbell – The Hero with a Thousand Faces
Clarissa Pinkola Estes – Women who run with the Wolves

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More fairy-stories, myths & legends by
Anne Maria Clarke
http://www.archivepublishing.co.uk

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PIPER at the GATES of DAWN - read by Anne Maria Clarke - from Kenneth Grahame's classic - WIND in the WILLOWS

12/21/2016

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read by Anne Maria Clarke audio production David Johnson

The darkest and shortest days of winter are upon us once again - the farthest we ever get from mid-summer and the Solstice at the other end of the year, when the sun appears so early and departs late at night. I have always associated the Piper at the Gates of Dawn with this time of year - when nature is in it's fullest, lushest, scented bloom as the author so evocatively describes - so it somehow seems fitting, as the Winter Solstice heralds the return of the light, that we curl up around the fire, much as our ancient ancestors might have done - and re -call the high summer.

With this in mind and to celebrate this Winter Solstice we decided to record a chapter from Kenneth Grahame's classic Wind in the Willows remembered so fondly from our childhoods - which although not from the collective lore of Wonder Tales as such, draws so deeply and sweetly upon it that, as with all good tales it succeeds in returning us simultaneously to both the innocence of childhood and to the threshold of the mythological and numinous.

It was read to me recently on a course I was attending and I found it utterly enchanting. I read it to my husband on his birthday this year which he adored almost as much as I had adored it being read to me.

This chapter The Piper at the Gates of Dawn has sadly been abridged from many children's versions in spite of the fact that the author himself regarded it as quite central. It has certainly been the inspiration for countless other artists over the years who have paid it rightful homage in their derivative outpourings. We are privileged in its retelling to bow down low to it too.

Solstice Greetings

much love

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

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More fairy-stories, myths & legends by
Anne Maria Clarke
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When Tinker Bell Lay Dying - Anne Maria Clarke Cautionary Tales: The Highs & Lows of the Festive Season

12/14/2016

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When Tinker Bell Lay Dying
Cautionary Tales - The Highs & Lows of the Festive Season
Anne Maria Clarke

Last year on Christmas Eve I uploaded a little piece entitled
I Believe in Fairies - the charming phrase from Peter Pan that children cry out all over the country at Christmas performances of the J M Barrie classic. This year I want to reference the phrase again - in a slightly different way - as a means of gaining some insight into the emotional complexities of the festive season and to explore some of what can go wrong for us at our eagerly awaited family gatherings.

I attended such a party over the weekend and it has caused me to ponder. This morning I woke with the image of Tinker Bell on my mind - you know the part where she gets into an awful fix over Wendy - fearing Peter loves her more than her - and in a fit of jealousy she betrays him to Captain Hook who tricks and tries to poison him - but then Tink realises what she has done and in order to save him - she drinks the poison herself and practically dies - and she surely would have died were it not for the kindly and timely intervention of the audience ..... phew!!! That's a lot to say all in one breath.

Christmas can be the most magical time of the year - a time for decorating our homes with masses of festive twinkling lights - buying and wrapping gifts, preparing sumptuous feasts for family and friends and dressing up in our very best party clothes.

Honoured guests arrive on the big day. There are hugs and kisses and greetings - sparkling wine is served - gifts are exchanged - the fire glows - the music plays, hearts are open and full of seasonal expectation of all the loveliness to come.

But!

Oh no - does there have to be a but I hear you sigh ...even though I know you know it is often how it goes. The hours pass - the magic slips away - hearts close up a little - to protect themselves - as the familiar and yet utterly unconscious family patterns somehow creep in, uninvited from the shadows.

We each have our own historical woundings don't we, sore spots, long scabbed over but which can very easily get poked and prodded at such times. Then they can begin to bleed again - as if it were all just yesterday and before we know it our own lovely light just like Tinker Bell's, begins to fade - then - instead of holding onto our own adult selves, we are plunged into the morphic field of the past and completely over - shadowed by the same energy sapping poison that sucked the life force out of us long, long ago. Then the scene around us turns to black and white as every drop of colour is drained away.

We all have our own internal Hook's to reckon with so to speak that trip us up and bring us down and yet in many ways we are the same - all able for example to understand Tinker Bell and the trouble she gets into over Peter and her near fatal attempts to put things right.

One universal theme - is about not having felt fully seen and heard as a child. Somehow our parents, bless them - failed to attune to our own unique vibrational frequency which left us feeling somehow 'out in the cold.'

When there is good enough parenting to use Winnicott's term, the baby is held sufficiently securely so that the process of en -soulment can occur - meaning simply that the parental environment is experienced as good enough for the soul to risk entering in. But this does not mean it is perfect - parents are only human afterall - which is why even when things have been good enough - we can still be terribly hurt.

This of course is a bit like what happens to Tinker Bell - even though it is clear to see - from our point of view in the audience - that she is actually full of light - as all children are in a way - before they are wounded and that part of the self is put away - either for good - where there has been severe trauma or temporarily - where the inner child is still accessible and amenable to being drawn out again where there is kindness and empathy.

A few months ago I heard a lecture given by Sharon Martin at the Jung Society of Atlanta entitled the Archetype of the Inner Child. By way of setting the scene she told a story about a young family whose 3 year old daughter had asked them - shortly after their return home from hospital with her new baby brother if she might be allowed to spend some time alone with him. Slightly reluctantly yet not wishing to upset their daughter at such a delicate time they agreed - knowing of course that they had an intercom system installed which would allow them to observe and intervene swiftly if necessary. The young child entered the room - the parents held their collective breath as she walked over to the crib and peered in.

"Tell me about Heaven?' she whispered simply.

'I've almost forgotten!'

When I wrote the piece about Peter Pan last Christmas - it was inspired by a dear departed friend who always remembered and honoured this part of the self - this magical, innocent, light filled inner child that resides within us all. As a girl she had been taken up to London every year to Peter Pan and every year - when Tinker Bell lay dying she would stamp her feet and clap her hands as requested and cry out as loud as she could:

I Believe in Fairies! I Believe in Fairies!

It was her favourite part - for she knew well from the story that this was the only possible way to bring Tinker Bell back to life - and somehow she managed to carry this gem with her through to adulthood and into her ordinary life where she demonstrated the most uncanny knack of being able to see right through all our muddles and imperfections to the magical child within us all and in so doing she raised us up and out of the grip of the various family poisons we might have ingested and gave us courage to carry on.

We all need people in our lives like my friend - our own personal audience if you like - even if it is composed of only one other person - someone who resides beyond the sway of the afflicted pattern or at least is not swamped by it - someone who remembers, affirms and attunes to our own unique light.

But in the end and in order to grow up fully we need more than a helpful audience - we need to move beyond the realm of the infant child altogether.

There is a very real sense in which we all come from heaven - and in falling to earth we must inevitably make the difficult transition from innocence to experience. We must put away childish things as the bible says - and come fully into the third dimension - but this does not imply that the divine child within has to die. Far from it!

We must stand alone as it were - knowing our seprateness and yet always remembering our eternal home.

Then all our Tinker Bells can come back to life again - we can dust ourselves down and start afresh, strengthened and transformed not weakened or diminished by our tricky ordeals - then all can proceed toward a happy ending and a good enough Merry Christmas after all.

much love

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

In memory of Jane Riddles

Reference:
The Archetype of the Inner Child - Sharon Martin
https://youtu.be/jRZ9s-RNbFc

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COLOUR The Art & Science of Illuminated Manuscripts - Anne Maria Clarke @ the Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge UK

11/27/2016

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COLOUR The Art & Science of Illuminated Manuscripts Anne Maria Clarke @ The Fitzwilliam Museum Cambridge UK

Whilst in Cambridge yesterday I had the unexpected pleasure of both discovering and attending this beautiful exhibition at the Fitzwilliam Museum. Someone told me about it a couple of months ago but it slipped my mind - then, upon arriving in the city my attention was immediately grabbed by the exquisite exhibition poster displayed on the railings opposite Kings College.

Created to coincide with the museum's 200th anniversary - this free exhibition features 150 treasures - some never displayed to the public before - from the coveted collection of illuminated manuscripts said to be the most extensive in the entire world.

The exhibition opened on the 30th July and has just been extended - due to popular demand - until the 21st January 2017 so there is still chance to see it if this is your cup of tea.

From these precious pages - and not withstanding the oral tradition - some of the greatest wisdoms and sacred teachings of the past have been brought down to us - without them - says Professor John Lowden of the Coutauld Institute of Art,

'..we would know nothing of Socrates or Aristotle, nothing of Jesus or Mohammed...'

The first illuminated Christian manuscripts were brought to England in 597 by Benedictine monks from Italy charged with converting the population to the new religion. The lavishly decorated images, depicting scenes from the gospels easily conveyed the stories to the vast majority of people who couldn't read.

They are things of great beauty too - whose content Germaine Greer tells us, not only decorated but venerated and 'added weight to the word of God.'

The science of this unique decorative style is a theme of the exhibition which tells the story of the manuscripts construction from the creation of the different parchments utilising various animal skins - through to the sourcing of pigments and their different preparations.

Many years ago I read the novel - The Colour of Heaven - by James Runcie which tells an imaginative tale of a young adventurer - slightly reminiscent of Paolo Coelho's Alchemist - setting off from Venice in the Middle Ages in quest of the rare Lapis Lazuli - only to be found in distant Afghanistan. It is this precious blue stone - more costly even than gold that became the colour of heaven in medieval art - and the colour most often chosen to adorn the Virgin Mary as we see in the exhibition's main poster. There is much gold too on display and silver leaf creating the highly prized illuminations which were said to glow and shimmer in the candle light as Mass was being said and sung.

Such images - as the exhibition audio guide explains - were not just meant to viewed once or indeed viewed quickly - they were intended more as meditations to be contemplated slowly and repeatedly - their aim being to draw the observer in and beyond themselves - toward that which is sacred and transcendent.

Alongside the illuminations from the bible there are pages from various versions of the devotional Book of Hours as well as other sacred texts from around the world including an exquisite Byzantine Gospel book, an Ottoman Qur'an and huge alchemical scroll depicting the transformation of 'base' metals into 'noble' ones.

In the later middle ages of course, illuminated manuscripts were commissioned by wealthy merchants and the like who set their artists to the creation of books with more secular themes and some of these are featured in the exhibition too. It was an art that flourished between c. 600 – 1600 but it would not withstand the coming of Gutenburg and the printing press in the mid 15th together with the impending rise of Protestantism in northern Europe and its disdain for the excesses of Catholic art - of which the heavily embossed hand made illuminations were seen as indicative.

Pondering this vast collection one can't help wondering how the Fitzwilliam museum came to be in possession of it? Part of the answer seems to be that after the reformation which in England involved the destruction and pillaging of monasteries and churches throughout the land, many of the most treasured manuscripts mysteriously fell into the hands of the Protestant universities and particularly the University of Cambridge. Whatever we may feel about this historic appropriation - the good news is that under the universities care these fragile pages have been painstakingly preserved and restored for posterity as part of our collective heritage and although the majority must now be viewed in a secular setting, through protective glass and in semi- darkened conditions - they are still thankfully in existence - still wonders for us all to behold!

much love

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

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The Wooing of Crythor - adapted and narrated by Anne Maria Clarke

11/3/2016

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The Wooing of Crythor adapted & narrated by Anne Maria Clarke Featuring AN SPEIC SEOIGHEACH arranged & performed by Matt Francis with Chris Chambers. Produced by David Johnson

This short tale belongs to a cluster of magical stories from around the world concerning the adventures of ordinary mortals who somehow cross over into the land of Faerie - where everything is different and time as it is known to us here, ceases to have any meaning. J.R.Tolkien, who himself wrote several short tales on this theme, most notably Smith of Wootton Major has called it the Perilous Realm where one can become irretrievably lost - like Tam Lin in the famous Scottish ballad, who is captured by the Fairy Queen or Thomas the Rhymer who falls willingly under her spell and disappears for seven years.

And see not ye that bonnie road, Which winds about the fernie brae?
That is the road to fair Elfland, Whe[re] you and I this night maun gae.
But Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,Whatever you may hear or see,
For gin ae word you should chance to speak, You will neer get back to your ain countrie.

The Irish tell of another world too called Tir Nag Nog - land of Eternal Youth, located beneath the hills - where the Tuatha de Dannon, the old gods of Ireland have their ancient home - and where Oisin went to live with his beloved Niamh for three hundred years, not realising so much time was passing by until he returned homesick only to discover that the great race of the Fianna was lost and gone and the once proud people had fallen into forgetfulness. Niamh, his beloved wife had warned him that if he stepped down from his horse – and placed his feet upon mortal ground he would never be able to return to Tir Na Nog– but he does he heed her caution and steps onto the beach – where upon the full weight of time falls down upon him and in a few short moments his youth is lost and he is transformed into an old, old man.

The Welsh have their own version of the other-world called Annwn - where the Cauldren of inspiration may be found.Taliesin the great Welsh bard and seven of his brave men are said to have journeyed there on a great quest. After many days and nights of searching they came at last into the enchanted realm.

And there they were without stint and joyful. And not withstanding all the sorrows they had seen before their eyes and not withstanding that they themselves had suffered there came to to them no remembrance of this, or of any other sorrow in the world - and the sweet birds of goddess Rhiannan sang to them throughout and each song they heard - it was more lovely than before and very soon they no longer noticed the passing of time, nor could any tell of his fellow that he had grown older during that period.
But at the end of this wonderous span one of the seven is tempted to look through a forbidden door that leads back into the world - Oh and when he looked - he was conscious of every loss he had ever sustained and of every friend and kinsman he had missed and so were the remaining seven also. And straight away they made haste fom that place – which faded swiftly from view like a dream of the soul.

In the tale feautured here Crythor, a plain and ordinary Welsh man is drawn close to the faerie realm by his great love of music and finds himself suddenly in the company of a great troupe of fairy folk and their illustrious Queen who accompanies him on her golden fiddle and with whom he falls hopelessly in love and abandoning himself utterly... he leaps into her magic dancing ring ....

Some say such stories are cautionary tales - and the truth is that they are often fraught with danger ...and we should keep our wits about us.

But who in truth would resist the call of Faerie if it came - and who amongst us would really wish to do so? For then we would be living only half a life wouldn't we - impervious to the great beauty of those magical realms that sing to us from beyond our everyday?

much love

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

References:
Thomas the Rhymer - extract
Taliesin - The Mabinigion - extract

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Heavenly Creations - Anne Maria Clarke explores the secrets of the Alhambra Palace - Granada

9/24/2016

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Heavenly Creations - Anne Maria Clarke explores the secrets of the Alhambra Palace

Sublime architecture and heavenly gardens cooled by fountains and streams from the mountains of the Sierra Nevada

There is a pattern in the heavens, where those who want to can see it and establish it in their own minds. Socrates

Once the undisputed jewel of the 700 year long Moorish presence in southern Spain - the fairytale palaces & lush gardens of the Nasrid Dynasty at the Alhambra represent the full & fragrant flowering of Islamic wisdom and learning during the Medieval period - created in praise of the divine for the upliftment of all who enter in.

Built with a devotional energy rarely seen in any architecture. The Alhambra is a staggering outpouring of immense beauty and heavenly geometries seamlessly interlocking - covering every surface with flaming prayers cascading into pools of crystalline architectural wonder. Alex Gray

It is no surprise therefore that visitors to the Alhambra commonly employ the same set of phrases to express their delight.

An earthly Paradise!
Like stepping into a Persian fairytale!

Yet for several centuries all this lay in ruins after being abandoned by the catholic kings who captured it from the Moors in 1492. For a while it became a royal palace...but was deserted in the mid - 17th century after which it quickly fell into disuse and lay forlorn, inhabited only by a handful of local folk who found shelter there for themselves and their animals.

It was not until the 19th century that the Alhambra found its way back into the collective imagination. The Romantics of the day were particularly drawn to its faded, dreamlike charm. Artists began to congregate and even take up residence. One in particular, the American Washington Irvin lived there for several years composing his now famous Tales of the Alhambra which were published in 1829. So popular were these fanciful stories in Europe and the United States that the Alhambra soon became a popular place to visit and eventually it was even included as a last stop on the prestigious Grand Tour.

These were times when the ideas of the enlightenment – and the relentless march of science were beginning to be being challenged, particularly by the Romantics who yearned for the restoration of the ideals of the pre-scientific revolution – where beauty and the soul had seemingly mattered more. As interest and popularity in the old palaces increased – plans for a grand restoration began to emerge - and today – painstakingly restored to its former glory – the Alhambra is one of the most visited sites in Europe and is protected by UNESCO as an international heritage treasure.

Elements of conception - reflections of an ideal

Yet how did such a wonder come to be created in the first place - at a time when so much learning had been lost after the collapse of ancient Greece and Rome, and Europe had fallen into what has become known as The Dark Ages?
The story goes that many of the secrets of the classical world were somehow acquired by Islamic scholars who studied, improved upon and incorporated them into their own systems of learning which were passed down until the time of the Alhambra's construction in the mid-thirteenth century.

Within the Islamic paradigm the Divine is believed to express itself in three dimensions - in the universe - in nature and in humanity and the architects of the Alhambra are said to have attempted to bring these core elements together.

The sacred geometry reflects the order and architecture of the universe, the lush gardens and water features revere nature and the numerous verses of prayer and poetry carved into the walls speak directly to all.

Sacred Geometry

Architecture is frozen music - J W von Goethe

I remember the first time I heard this quotation and how so much seemed to fall into place – for where beauty is rendered it seems the soul is soothed - as if by a heavenly song. The tone of the Alhambra is palpably that of tranquillity - and - if we could put aside the vanities and human frailties of those powerful Sultans who first commissioned it - and focus merely upon the outcome of the creative endeavours of the artists who brought it into being - we would see the embodiment of a profound and sacred prayer - a hymn for the soul.

In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.

All form we are told proceeds from the void - from the unity or singularity of the first dimension - into vibration – waves of potential - of consciousness - that mysteriously morph into particles of matter as we see demonstrated in the realm of quantum physics - a whole new paradigm - with a non materialist base - gradually emerging into our understanding and yet clearly understood by the creators of the Alhambra and their predecessors in the ancient world.

It is said that in order to know himself God moved beyond oneness - and sang the universe into being. In sacred geometry this first movement beyond the incorporeal realm of infinite potentiality is represented as the progression from the single point or dot at the core of the circle outwards to the creation of it's radius and onward through a sequence of increasingly complex tessellations and magnifications.

This first geometric progression however is the most significant - for in drawing a circle around itself - spirit, it seems - reaches out into the third dimensional world in its first move toward becoming matter.

As Lao Tzu explained:

The Tao begot one. One begot two. Two begot three. And three begot
Ten Thousand Things.

It is said that the contemplation of these patterns was an important preoccupation of the ancient mystery schools - for in understanding the progressions and magnifications through the dimensional sequences one could come to understand the manifest stages of becoming.

Throughout the Alhambra we see these sacred geometries reflected in both the architectural design of the palaces and in the intricate patterns decorating and embellishing walls, floors, pavements and ceilings - incorporating squares - stars - rectangles - triangles - pentagons - hexagons - octagons - and so on, all beautifully combined to express the progression through a multiplicity of mathematically and poetically precise magnifications that include geometric references to the Fibonacci sequence, the five platonic solids, the golden mean proportion and the exquisite sacred flower of life - all of which if contemplated closely can be imagined as fractels spinning outwards and inwards to infinity.

And the reason all this appeals, the reason people are routinely stopped in their tracks - in awe at the absolute beauty of the Alhambra - is because the sacred geometry and heavenly propotions of its construction mirror the geometric forms from which our entire universe is created and re-created in nature.

For sacred geometry is the blue print of creation and the genesis of all form - from the molecules of our DNA to the cornea of our eye, snow flakes, pine cones – flower petals – the branching of trees - a nautilus shell - the star we spin around – the galaxy we spiral within. wwwspiraloflight.com

From the moment of creation - big bang or divine inception - from the void or oneness at the heart of the mandala - all form is created thus.

Ten thousand reflections - multiple dimensions - and yet for all this, nothing is changed. The divine still resides in oneness - in the unity of infinite potential and matter it appears is the great illusion. Maya if you like - as is believed in Hinduism. For when from our outer world we look back inwardly - we see clearly - with the aid of quantum physics - that in each atom the proportion of mass is infinitesimal. Our world of form is truly illusory - we are more like holographic energy bodies - animate and seemingly inanimate alike - resonating at multiple frequencies - and yet having the appearance of solidity - whilst in truth all is but the dream of the divine.

It is the forgetting of these things - that is at the root of our feelings of separation and disconnection - and conversely - it is the re -membering that brings us home.

Poetry & prayer

Innumerable sacred prayers and poetic verses adorn the Alhambra's walls - mostly in praise of Allah - carved in exquisite, cursive Arab calligraphy. A male voice speaks the prayers it seems.

There is no victor but Allah

His Throne doth extend over the heavens and the earth, and he feeleth no fatique in guarding and preserving them for he is the Most High, the Supreme (in glory)

Elsewhere walls, domes, fountains and gardens speak to us directly and intimately in a softer female voice charmingly inviting us to enjoy her beauty and to be changed in the process.

I am the garden appearing every morning with adorned beauty; contemplate my beauty and you will be penetrated with understanding.

There is something quite delightful about being addressed in such a way - and it is of course utterly inkeeping, philosophically speaking - for if the whole of creation is imbued with spirit - if there is nothing that does not emanate from the divine - then all is - in a sense - sentient. How beautifully imaginative then to give these architectural elements lyrical presences of their own.

You know round the time of the Alhambra's construction, the great tradition of Alchemy thrived in Europe and Islamic Spain. Cordoba close by was the epicenter of such study and I couldn't help wondering - looking on at these poetic animations whether they were not infact oblique references to the first great goal of the alchemical journey - the rescue of spirit trapped within matter.

Below one of the numerous arched tacas or water niches that would have contained jugs of water announces herself and her desire to quench the thirsts of those in need of refreshment.

I resemble a wedding throne even surpassing it...
I bestow good fortune on the bridal couple or to anyone who comes to me complaining of thirst....my spring gives him fresh water - clear and pure ...I am like the rainbow when it appears in the sun of our master ...

The exquisite Court of Lions below (with its classical golden mean proportions) addresses us directly too it seems - drawing our attention to its sparkling central fountain and the interplay of the cool water flowing over its marble surfaces.

For, are there not in this garden wonders that God has made incomparable in their beauty,
a sculpture of pearls with a transparent light, the borders of which are trimmed with seed pearl?
Melted silver flows through the pearls, which it resembles in its pure dawn beauty.
Apparently, water and marble seem to be one, without letting us know which of them is flowing.

Nature - Gardens of Paradise

Sacred art is heaven descended to earth – rather than earth reaching towards heaven. Emma Clarke lecture on Islamic Gardens

The symbolism of the Garden of Paradise is achetypally pre-figured in the soul & reflected in myth & sacred text throughout the world. For many it is where we began – where we came from & where we hope to return at the end of our lives.

The Islamic garden of which those of the Alhambra are widely regarded as the most exquisitely preserved examples in the world is intended to reflect this divine ideal – to re -present it in the outer world of form & in so doing create a bridge, whereby through reflection, contemplation & prayer within its sheltered confines – one may be led to the inner realms of the soul, to the incorporeal garden of paradise within.

Interestingly the old Persian word for paradise - paridayda - refers to a walled enclosure - a quiet sanctuary where one may be sheltered from the harshness of life beyond its enclaves. The dust & heat of the day are kept at bay & one is refreshed by the shade & cooling effects of sparkling fountains & glimmering pools. In myth the paradise garden is beyond time – a place where one is completely removed from the concerns of worldly life – where even the memory of sorrow & loss is said – for the duration - to be forgotten – & one is utterly embraced in the love of the divine.

In hot arid landscapes & particularly for desert peoples for whom the oasis with its date palms and fresh water springs is the only possible source of replenishment, the symbolism of the Paradise Garden takes on an even greater significance. In colder, wetter climes the preciousness of its elements – of which water and shade are paramount - is perhaps not so keenly understood & yet the notion of water as both a reflection of the soul and symbol of God's mercy is universal.

It is impossible to imagine the Alhambra without the soothing sounds of water – it is essential to its tone, its song, its very being in the corporeal world. It is the supreme element & inhabits the heart of Islamic garden design.

In her beautifully evocative book Underneath which Rivers Flow -the Symbolism of the Islamic Garden – Emma Clark shows us how the many charming courtyard gardens of the Alhambra unfold around this central element. In the heavenly archetype she explains, four rivers are said to flow forth from from a central source - represented as a fountain - creating and irrigating gardens of a fourfold geometric structure.

The uniquely Islamic flat-rimmed stone fountains at the heart of the Alhambra gardens sit close to the ground. The sounds of such fountains are always - as was brought to our attention – barely audible, tranquil murmurings, more conducive to meditation and prayer than the high pressure renaissance fountains with their high plinths and louder pronouncements of presence.

The four quarters of the classically Islamic garden known as Chahar-bagh are often bordered with clipped box hedges and set with date, fig, pomegranate & olive trees and planted with bulbs, scented flowers and herbs. Tulips are of course a favourite and roses too as well as violets, saffron, iris, jasmin and narcissus in their seasons. When we visited last deep blue agapanthus were in glorious, elegant bloom. The surrounding buildings too provide additional shade and aspect and the covered arcades enable the gardens to be enjoyed even in the heat of the day.

In the Qur’an the Four gardens of Paradise are said to be divided into two pairs. The lowest pair are the Garden of the Soul & the Garden of the Heart & the higher pair - the Garden of the Spirit & Garden of the Essence.

The symbolism of the four is deeply significant too - mirroring the earth with its four cardinal directions which combined with the circle at the center – reflects the marriage of heaven & earth.

The gardens of the Alhambra with their fragrant flower blooms and heady scented tree blossom are blissfully harmonious fusions of each of the elements of Islamic garden design - both in relation to one another and to the architectural complex as a whole.

It is said that the only words spoken in the heavenly garden are those of peace - and certainly, as the hours pass and one is drawn more and more deeply into the mysteries of the Alhambra - it gradually weaves its potent spell - and we are en-chant-ed - we are brought into harmony with it's sacred song – so that like our heavenly prototypes who have somehow glimpsed the paradise beyond, we too may forget our sorrow and pain – and for the duration – we may rest in the serene embrace of the divine.

We owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the architects and artists who created the wonder that is the Alhambra - and yet for all their immense skill, dedication and devotion - no personal acclaim is accorded within the Islamic tradition.The role of the artist is to not to render personal imaginings but rather to reflect to bring down if you like to attune to what is greater and beyond themselves - to that which is archetypally pre-figured in the pattern and structure of the cosmos itself.

And in so doing they have enabled us all to glimpse a divinity at its very heart - a sacred consciousness - a soul if you like - to which we are all eternally connected.

Whoever shall make the hidden manifest - say the alchemists - knoweth the whole work.

For those of you who have yet to visit
you have such a treat in store.

Inshallah

( God Willing )

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

Much love & gratitude to our special guide

Martín González Mata

Refrences:
A dscourse on the various aspects of the Sacred Geometry Archetype known as The Golden Mean
www.charlesgilhurst.com

Nassim Haramein -
Sacred Geometry and the Unified Field
www.resonance.is

www.spiraloflight.com

Beneath which Rivers Flow - the Symbolism of the Islamic Garden
www.emma-clarke.com

Ann Baring
The Great Work of Alchemy - the process of the soul's transformation
www.annbaring.com

Lothar Schafer
Quantum Reality and the Spiritual Mind
www.lotharschafer.com

Nick Marchmont
An introduction to Sacred Geometry
https://youtu.be/3jAJQsY7YHY

Subscribe to Anne Maria Clarke's YouTube channel
http://www.youtube.com/c/annemariaclarke

Fairy-stories, myths & legends by
Anne Maria Clarke
http://www.archivepublishing.co.uk

www.annemariaclarke.net

4 Comments

Anne Maria Clarke introduces MIFFY RYAN's recitation of the Medieval Tale - Who Was The Most Generous

7/20/2016

5 Comments

Recited by MIFFY RYAN aged 10
music by DAVID JOHNSON - produced by ANNE MARIA CLARKE

What a delight it is to feature this charming recitation by Miffy Ryan. It has been sitting in the archives for many years and Miffy is now quite grown - soon to be Dr Ryan I believe - and with two daughters of her own.

Miffy first recited the tale for me when I visited her family home. I was and remain a friend of her parents, both artists themselves. I was so impressed by what I heard I arranged for Miffy to record the story professionally.

I will never forget the day of the recording - watching this young girl in the sound booth without notes or any anxiety that I could detect, calmly reciting her tale - whose content is actually quite grown up - in such a matter of fact sort of way that the sound engineer and I could have been forgiven for thinking she did this sort of thing every day. We were so charmed by the result - which she acheived in practically a single take - that we embellished it with one of our favourite harp compositions - thereafter known as Miffy's Harp.

I hope very much you will enjoy the tale as much as we did.

much love
Anne Maria Clarke
x x x

Coming soon
Anne Maria Clarke explores the Medieval phenomenon of
Courtly Love

Subscribe to Anne Maria Clarke's YouTube channel
http://www.youtube.com/c/annemariaclarke

More fairy-stories, myths & legends by
Anne Maria Clarke
http://www.archivepublishing.co.uk

www.annemariaclarke.net

5 Comments

Anne Maria Clarke - Knocking on Heaven's Door

7/3/2016

1 Comment

Anne Maria Clarke - Knocking on Heaven's Door

This is a rather unexpected and unplanned blog post - and yet I would very much like to share a lovely experience. It happened just a few days ago in the most mundane place - the local supermarket. I am not a fan of such shops and I often find the music played there hard to tolerate. Yet on this particular morning a cover of Bob Dylans's classic Knockin on Heaven's Door was being played which I love. I can't quite explain what happened next only that quite out of the blue - my heart somehow opened up and I found myself looking and feeling deeply into the presenses of others around me, all going about their daily business ... a pregnant young woman, a small boy, possibly her son, hopefully eyeing the rows of chocolate bars, a frail elderly couple holding hands, an middle-aged man clearly an alcoholic, a bored, tatooed, teenage shop assistant - and - where normally I would have remained in my own bubble, so to speak, only peripherally aware of others, or possibly even being a bit judgemental of this and that about them - instead I was suddenly overcome with absolute love and compassion for all of these different souls, all endeavouring in their own ways to find a way through the day, with all their fears, joys and uncertainties with them, rich and poor, young and old, healthy and sick, the folk with their secret loveless marriages, those recently or about to be bereaved, those without jobs or money enough for the week - all making their way through the day - doing the best they could.
Mama put my guns in the ground!
- the song counselled - just in case I might be tempted to judge anyone.
I can't shoot them anymore!
The lyric continues - and in letting go - in opening my heart - or rather having it opened - curtesy of the song...I felt I knocked on Heaven's Door ...and that fleetingly it opened slightly and I peeped through to the infinite love & compasssion beyond.

Knockin on Heaven's Door - cover by Connor Zwetsch

Anne Maria Clarke

x x x

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Anne Maria Clarke - Knocking on Heaven's Door

Anne Maria Clarke is a writer and storyteller of myths, legends and fairy - stories.

Archives

THE SELKIE BRIDE (YouTube version)
adapted & narrated by ANNE MARIA CLARKE
music by CHRIS CHAMBERS
audio production DAVID JOHNSON
Illustration: Between Earth & Water - KAREN DAVIS

A tale of gentle healing
by Anne Maria Clarke

La Maschera
Anonymous Venecian poetry for CARNEVALE
music: composed & performed by Chris Chambers
Audio Production: David Johnson
Video Production: Anne Maria Clarke

When Tinker Bell Lay Dying
Cautionary Tales - The Highs & Lows of the Festive Season
Anne Maria Clarke

Recited by MIFFY RYAN aged 10
music by DAVID JOHNSON - produced by ANNE MARIA CLARKE