The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Shadows

The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Shadows


It happened in a bone-dust, dry August, in the year of our Lord, 2020; that a secret was to be given in trust. A secret upon receiving that would come with a burdensome price.

I will never forget this particular August; it crept upon us like a veiled shadow on the perimeter of the sun’s last rays. The summer felt toilsome and arcane. It is as if, I had been holding my breath, silently, afraid I would not hear the story that was written for me.

It seemed like time had grown weary of counting the moments for us. The out-of-sync tics, sound lost within a vacuum of time, upon our deafening silent town; that forgot how to listen.

Milkweed and Cottonwood seed are suspended upon the aether; a floating drift, glowing like snow in the late afternoon sun.

My bare feet touch the cool, dirt path through the old canopy of ash and elm trees that loom over the dank ravine. Leading me out and away from our forgotten, Southern town.

I wear a gift, my Mother Dabria, left for me; a long moss green dress; it trails behind me stirring the dry leaves, like cracking whispers.

I have worn this path down through the seasons; so many moments gathered, like the wild plants and flowers for my remedies; the careful placing of memories stored tight and gently pressed, the way one puts precious things in a box.

I see crows gathering in numbers, like a secret coven, flying in swift over the rustling corn stalks; in the fields upon the path’s end.

I step out from the forested path, as I gaze out beyond the shadows before me. The silver light of dusk, shimmers upon the air making the abandoned, clapboard house seem like a distant mirage. Blurred and dreamy, like a child’s watercolor painting.

I have been coming here since I was a child. My Daddy hunted on this land, like his Father Rainer before him. My Grandmother, Orenda Rose, taught me the ways of healing potions and elixirs. Teaching me how to collect and dry, in their seasons Yarrow, Wolf bane, Samphire, Queen Anne’s Lace, Blackthorn, Gentian and so many roots and berries.

We would hang the thickets on black chain, iron hooks to gently sway with the autumn breeze in the dry cellar with fat jars of minced meat and bottles of apple shine.

I am here alone; only these memories fill the space where the silent moments dwell; or so I thought.

I have not been to the old house since last winter, when I stocked the cellar with roots and preserves.

I step onto the weathered porch. The sound of the swings rusting chains, move, as if someone has just left it, moments ago. I notice the wooden door is ajar. As I walk over the threshold, the light of dusk, casts its glow around the still objects that remain.

I see the staircase in front of me. Time’s fingerprint has silvered and scalloped the worn places on the steps. For years, I watched my Father climb these steps at night; his pipe smoke trailing behind him, leaving a thin fog. I am mesmerized as I watched the smoke descend, dimly aglow, taking shapes of a spirited presence, moving to a slow lullaby.

The memories of my time feel heavy here; a heaviness that clutches at the silence, before you notice the empty sound.

A sound of a man’s footsteps upon the floorboards above me makes my breath quicken. A shadow slowly spreads out from the doorway. I turn and look at the Grandfather clock, on the landing that stopped years ago, during the 11th hour.

The toothed gears, anchor and pendulum, a trinity of precise forces, to prevent friction, that would bring it to a standstill; now resounds a tick, as the anchor catches a gear tooth before releasing…

Then, a voice rings out deep and firm, to me. I know when I ascend the stairs I won’t be the same when I come back. I go to him in the one place I have always belonged.

At the top of the staircase, all rooms are abandoned except for mine, where his shadow waits with the days last light.

I enter unafraid, the way children trust the hand laid firmly upon them, is for an important lesson and not to harm.

Walking into the room, I notice my surprised reflection in the towering floor mirror. My body is no longer that of a child’s innocence. His shape, tall and silhouetted, stands nearby in the shadows. His presence is formidable.

I can feel his power as a Watcher, all those hours in time, to reach beyond the looking glass; to find me…to move me; beyond my dreams.

He speaks to me, like a resonance that smooths out waves upon a mighty storm at sea.

“My name resides in a place before your time was set. I am Einarr; a Watcher from the only Army that returns to the Light.”

“I have come here for you child; I have come before but you chose to not recognize me; until now…

The light that fills your vessel has been stored within your coded essence, to reflect out and upon every moment beyond time; every thought is recorded upon a flowing current, of what is to come…

Look into this mirror, past the reflection of your eyes that blind you. Do you not feel me, completing you, in the darkness?

Child, do you not desire to pull away the cocooned veil that spreads shadows upon your Light?

Feel your heart flutter an electric rhythm, like a pulse wave expanding upon the silken aether, you touch all that is and that will ever be.

The Time is upon you to accept your gift of awareness and come into your full presence. The very Light that has sent you here, at this specific point in time, is with you.

Time, my child, is like a connected web that branches out into the different memories of the past; leading you into different present and future moments of experience.

These moments you have marked by time and memory, exist simultaneously. The past and future appear upon different corners of the same map. It is the one you focus your attention upon, that you will see.

It is the Choice and not the Timepiece that determines your future; setting into forward motion the untangling of the skeins, that are the essence of your story’s mystery, to fully embrace beyond fear.

The mystery that was given as a gift to you was done in secret, in the Light; to create your way out of the Darkness…forever”


By ~ (c.) 2020 Tommie Flannery Baskis  I> (=


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Tommie Flannery Baskis Interview~ Part One of a Three Part Series; Featuring her Energy and Drive Behind the Patented Technologies, Writings, Science and Art!


Part 1 of a 3-part series with Tommie Flannery Baskis~

Tommie Flannery Baskis ~ Director/ CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies LLC, President of Synfuels Assets Management LLC and Atlas Energy Technologies Inc. and Vice President of Draconis Digester Technology LLC

This week I, Matt Wilson, had the chance to sit down with the talented, multi-faceted and well-rounded CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies, Tommie Flannery Baskis. I took this time to ask and explore about her varied background and current projects within the technology world, especially the Patented Wastewater and Waste to Energy Technology companies she has with her husband Paul Baskis.

Her base of operation is located in beautiful Kentucky where I was able to take time out of her busy schedule to dig deeper into what drives her and Paul, to develop and market this state-of-the-art equipment. Tommie is very knowledgeable in both the arts and science and technology world. In part 1, of this 3-part interview series, we delve into Tommie’s background and what led her in her career to the point where she is now.

(Matt Wilson) Tommie, first off, thank you for taking this time to tell us a bit about yourself, your background and the multiple companies you own and run. So give me a little background on you and your interests.

(Tommie) Let me start off by saying, I’m really excited about the current contracts and future projects that we are rolling out here soon. But I’ll save that for later and talk a little about my ventures I am currently handling. I grew up in Jeffersonville, Indiana by the Falls of the Ohio River. Very cool place to visit! As a child and all through my adult life I have always had a love for the arts. Ever since I was young, I have been writing and painting and then eventually developed an interest in photography also. All these creative skills gave me an outlet to market and share my creations which led me into starting Duskflyer Vision Art and Production. I have had many art exhibits of paintings and photography throughout Nevada, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, Tennessee and California.”

(Matt) I hear you are also a published writer, tell me about that.

(Tommie) Yes, I am. I have published a book consisting of three volumes titled ‘The Abandoned Story’ that reflect upon abandoned places and historical accounts. These include my documented photographs and writings of historic cemeteries, old forest roads, rural haunts and abandoned structures that are found in the Mid-west river towns and countryside. Some of my creative writings were selected to appear on Rutger Hauer’s official website and were published in my book.

(Matt) Tell me about another company you own and run, a perfume company correct? How did you develop an interest in that and did you teach yourself about the science behind it or were you educated in it? You have your own lab where you make the perfumes don’t you?

(Tommie) Yes, another passion of mine is creating and designing holistic and natural crafted perfumes and colognes for men and women. I am the CEO/Artisan Perfumer of Angel Blue Perfume LLC, which gives everyone natural alternatives to our perfume and cologne designs. I am self-taught by studying the Shaker-style apothecaries with herbs and the medicinal healings. I Utilize our Patented Polar Solvent Extraction Process that helps me to create holistic, ‘Victorian Inspired’ artisan perfumes. I am proud of Angel Blue Perfume to offer our clients some of the finest choices made from wild crafted essences and oils without the petrochemicals, synthetic dyes, mineral oils, sulfates, parabens and phthalates.

(Matt) And if that weren’t enough to keep a person busy, you hold several positions with the Baskis line of companies you and your husband own. Tell me what positions you hold with these companies.

(Tommie) I hold several positions within our Baskis Companies which develop a line of technology for CBD extraction and Waste to Energy conversion. I am CEO of Draconis Extraction Technologies and President of Atlas Energy Technologies, Inc. and Synfuels Assets Management, LLC. I am also Vice President of Draconis Digester Technology, LLC.

(Matt Wilson) Wow, ok, so we will discuss those companies and their technology in detail at a later date in Part 2 and 3 of this interview. But for now, I am thinking that’s quite a bit to handle! How and where do find the time to stay on top of all these businesses and projects? What drives you day in and day out?

(Tommie) Great question! I’m super organized and believe in balancing everything. I stay laser focused by wanting to be the best in each area of expertise for each company. I used my marketing skills I have learned through my art and photography to promote the Baskis Companies. I don’t think of all of it as work, it is a passion, so I love doing what I do every day.

We at Baskis Technologies have a deep passion to be stewards of society. We are building and creating fully automated facilities to use recyclable waste and turning it into renewable energy. I love how efficient our technologies are and mimics the naturally occurring biological designs found in nature. We are creating sustainable and circular economies which puts more power and wealth back into the communities.

But I must say in addition to all of that, I really look forward to my afternoon coffee, always on my agenda, (Tommie says with a smile and laugh). And getting outside to enjoy nature and clear my head, helps me keep my sanity. I like to bring my camera along, also, just in case I stumble across an old building or cemetery, which are my favorites to photograph and write about.

Please stay tuned and follow part 2 and 3 of our 3-part series of interviews from Tommie Flannery Baskis. Part 2 will post (21 May 2020 and Baskis Companies) Part 3 will post (28 May 2020 and Patented Technology).

Part Two: Draconis Extraction Technologies, LLC, Atlas Energy Technologies Inc. and Synfuels Assets Management, LLC, Draconis Digester Technology, LLC.


Part Three: Baskis Patented Technology and the newest Wastewater Patent from Draconis Digester Technology LLC.



~We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light~


She always collected flowers in the forest for her potions, in late afternoon~

Wild plants, with burning hues that glow in the dusty hollow, where the wingless live and have been silent for so long.

I see the wild things fly around her like moths attracted to flame.

I watched her from a hidden place on high as the wind played about her hair; gently shining like gold threaded gossamer~

She held flowers the way lovers embrace. She moved through the forest like an enchanting lullaby~

Moving into the light, as shadows danced behind her; I watched as her thoughts formed all that she could not speak…

I felt her watching me from a hidden place on high; my house had grown dark through the hours. The evening scents of sharp lilac and warm pipe ashes awake me from my dreams, as the last rays of sunlight melted a reflection upon my eyes.

I eagerly await her passing my cottage, returning to her Father.

Her silk gown flows slowly like a damp mist upon the forest floor; before disappearing into the dark trees.

I think ~ “We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light.
The manifested thought is our creation alone. Guide it; nurture it from a place of true wonderment. A place of true desire~


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~ All Warriors, Seers, Executors of the Forgotten Promise ~

~ He, the One who has given me everything, walks before me; in light that hides in dark places of the forest ~ TFB

~Do not be afraid of them, for there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known…what I tell you in the dark speak in the daylight…~  Matthew 10:26

~ The Forgotten Promise ~)

The sun casts his shadow, a forging of smoke patterns that are winged and amaranthine.

It is in his eyes, the vigilant watching of a believer; one who willfully ensnares a moment for you to behold.

He speaks words that have the sound of deepness; thoughts that flow like an old story; a forgotten promise-

He speaks to me as we walk the moments. Lucid and crystalline, are the sound of his thoughts;

I hear faraway cathedral bells, breaking through mist, on waves of light.
His name is beyond our time, at the seat of origination~

I will always remember, the message given –

‘In Spirit, tempered by holy fire, it was given to all, my child.
The Covenant, made for us, has always been near you; even while you chose to sleep’

~The Promise, has been seeded, by the Four Corners of Power~

The Sea, that carves its path, clean and sharp, to the soul of man, in order to see.
The Aether, which possesses all energy and binds the holy fire; slowly burning in the Children of the Light; as it waits for the door of the final crossing to appear-

-The Gathering has Begun-

The Earthen vessels of all creation know that they resonate, in this time, for pure purpose; to carry the message which was from the Beginning.

The Fire, of holy essence, has always guarded the promise of the great Covenant.
The Watchers have assembled, from the Four Corners of Light, in the presence of all-

Each one of you, bound by special blood, are here at your time of knowing, from the Promise that was executed and sealed; to not remember the origin of your presence.

Victorious, is your place in the storm to come and in the storm that has passed-
The great fire essence, stands without fear, burning the new path; finding its way back home~

The space beyond the Veil, is Watching and Protecting what it owns;

Never to be destroyed~

All Warriors, Seers, Executors of the Forgotten Promise ~ I> 137 1221 555 (=

By- Tommie Flannery Baskis – (c.) 2019 Duskflyer Vision

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Dreams from the Wood Porch


A stirring of rust colored leaves rise ethereal with clay dust, as the girl child dances under the hazy sun of the afternoon heat.

Not yet an Angel gold dipped in sin and prayer; her tinkling laughter is matched by the cicada drone that beats with hypnotic fervor.
He rocks back and forth, ceremoniously on the old porch, with solemn and careful watching.

The evening damp, strangles and descends, the smoke clouded mist from the old man’s pipe; as a whippoorwill hurriedly cuts through the last lazy moment of heat from the celestial terrace.

He waits in the gathering dark for her to come in as she moves steadfast and barefoot toward the tall blistered wood porch.

Laced with secrets and smiling, she will lay with thought dreams bathed clean, in star shine.

Her secrets, like fine webs, carefully woven and promising not to break; silently move out upon the aether; soft as silk, the thoughts press down upon her lover.


~Children Running our Shadows Down, the Long Roads of Forever~

I recall a time that we drove underneath a winter moon, with fire in our souls;  Lucinda, the Men and me, Michaele Ruby, sharing Christmas whiskey in the backseat of Grandad’s beat up truck.

The luminous elixir shook and shone, in moon lit glass, upon our cotton print dresses set in motion by the wind; as we teased our men with promises…

They drove us down every dark forest road, to give us the stars.

We were young, when the belief of dreams could be seen in our eyes.

We didn’t know where we were going back then or why; we just knew it felt good to drive that old truck, down every moment we shared together.

We were chasing secrets in the dark, we were never meant to find…

So we laughed and sang songs upon a silent field, dancing by a warmth, radiating from the truck’s hood; our dresses looked like lit fireflies, legs silhouetted, swaying in front of the lights.

The Men, stood in shadows as the mist rolled in over the fields.

I could not hear their spoken words; I could only see breath escaping, like spirits, on the winter air…

I stood still, within a silence that pressed upon me, knowing I had been here before~

At that moment, I knew we were like children running our shadows down, the long roads of forever.

All the words that were never spoken, have become lost to us.

Fearful of the strange shadow inside, until the final moments of Twilight, offers us a glimpse of the last door within our hearts, which we have kept tightly guarded.

Beyond this door is a place from which we began, so long ago. Here resides, the essence of each story, our being, within the mystery.

The Seasons will come to pass to the tune of the Great Unknowing, as time unfurls upon all, leading us to the winter years…

To the last door, on the threshold of sight; there is no lock upon it~

We step through to become, what we always feared we could be…





~ Broken Winged Child ~

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~ Broken Winged Child~

Daddy smiled and called me his ‘Broken Winged Child’…

I hear his smile from a distance as I let go of his strong hand.

Eyes, looking back on him, reflecting what he wanted to see…and what I was to be; a Broken Winged Child.

He tells me I live in a place that people left a long time ago, with sun faded moments and timeless spells.

He tells me I love from a place of fathomless longing; knowing I will reach for a man who hides in shadow and storm, just to watch me shine…

He tells me I hear dreams of angels, as they whisper to us to find our way home.

He says I speak a sibylline story where our golden light engraves the secrets of our being upon the ancient mountains, forests and deep seas; so we may never lose course, on our watch…

He tells me I feel beyond fear, as I reach for those who slumber at the gates of darkness, tethered by the very wings that will release them…

I am a Broken Winged Child; the seed from a union forged by fires within a secret place.

For a short time, my shadow walks towards the lingering light that will soon be a memory, among this space…

Merry Christmas Everyone~ Keep your Blessings close, forever~

By~ Tommie Flannery Baskis ~  I> (= 1221


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~Children of the Shadows~

~ A child of the shadows dwells between two places; in the ‘Age of Man’ and ‘Beyond the Veil’ ~  

This child is born unto a time where Angels cast their light upon the path that must be taken~

During the Winter Solstice, snow falls soft, melting upon the songs of the Dark-eyed Junco and Nuthatch; that carry the secrets of the forest upon their moonlit wings.

This child of the shadows, found in the darkest corners, is not hiding. This child’s gift is that of a watcher…

Knowing it is weaving a radiant skein; the Story for the ‘birthing of moments’ that will find us all~

Unfurled, ‘Beyond the Veil’ of time.

Down in the Forest of a dark December, a bird song is heard upon high; as it watches the child in the silver light, breathe forth a lullaby for the ‘Age of Man’.

The child of the shadows, from the dust of man, resounds its Story among the winter trees.

The last ray of light finds a path ‘Beyond the Veil’ where the soft whispering of Angels rejoicing, sound like the distant fluttering wings among flames of fire…

Ashes appear and drape the heavens as snow descends upon the child of the shadows; as winter birds carry the secrets of our becoming ~ I> (=


Copyright (c) 2019- November, 29th – Tommie Flannery Baskis

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Autumn People and Halloween in the Country

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~ She walks upon ground, ancient loam with secret life buried, returning unto her.
Her thought lullaby moves and dances to form;
What she cannot speak.
The forest will hold this sacred alliance until flame fire untie.
An eve as sweet as clove, bathed in moon and silent wind-
She will go before me, through the dark forest, with the guardians of night… ~

Anyone who knows me, knows that autumn is my favorite season. I love hiking through the forest and the crackling sound that dry leaves make as you walk upon them. I even love the rich scent emanating from the leaves on the damp paths; earthen, spicy and dark.

I remember the fires my Father would start every season as My brother Ben and I would rake tall mounds of damp leaves to jump into from a tree. My Father also taught me to carve my first Jack-O-Lantern with his sharp fishing knife.

When the evening sky started to look like melted colors of purple, gray and gold, we would come into a warm house to sit by our fireplace and have hot chocolate in our pajamas.

Ben and I eagerly looked forward to dressing up for Halloween and I will never forget the year that I wore an authentic Dutch girl dress, braided hair and real (Hard) Dutch wooden shoes from my Grandmother Virginia Rose.

I have grown and those special times I speak of are distant memories, but very dear and fresh in my heart; as a photographer and writer I still enjoy telling my stories from my favorite season. I love to explore the rural haunts and Mid – west towns of America during the autumn season. I have collected many special photographs and stories that I try and share with you all when I can.

Below is an excerpt from a writing of mine about the historical origins of Halloween.

I hope you all are having a wonderful autumn and making special memories of your own…

Love and Hugs ~  Tommie

Halloween Eve Historical Origins

Halloween Eve, of which is also known to many as “All Hallows Evening” and “All Saints’ Eve” is celebrated by many countries on October 31st. The three day observance includes remembering our dear departed loved ones, saints and martyrs by placing candles on the graves of the dead.
The Halloween traditions of gathering with loved ones and friends, eating delicious foods and candies, dressing in costumes (called Guising) and playing tricks on others, are steeped in deep rooted pagan ideology.
It is believed by many that the Celtic harvest festivals like the Gaelic festival Samhain is the precursor and history of our Halloween Eve today. The Celtic festival of Samhain is derived from the Old Irish for a “summer’s end” It happened to be the most important of the four quarter days in the medieval Gaelic calendar of which was celebrated on October 31st to November 1st in Scotland, Ireland and Isle of Man.
The word “Hallowe’en” means “holy evening” or “hallowed eve”. It dates to around 1745 and is Christian in origin.
The end of the harvest season was celebrated and anticipated by the villages and people. The Samhain marked the end of a harvest season and the beginning of the “darker half” or winter. Many people believed this time was essential and spiritual. They believed the “veil was thinner” so spirits and fairies, known as Aos Si, could enter this world more easy during this time.
Many of the things we do today such as dressing up, telling stories of hauntings and spirits, imbibing and enjoying sweets and baked goods, special bonfires and bobbing for apples were embraced by the people of the past.
In Ireland during the 1800’s candles were lit and good tidings offered to the departed loved ones and souls of the dead. Bonfires and fire in general were positioned around fields and homes to protect them. The flame mimicked the power of the sun, of which meant healing and growth and to keep at bay the darkness of winter days and decay.
The custom of wearing a costume or disguise and traveling from home to home reciting verses and songs in exchange for food can be traced back to the 16th century. Many people would dress like the Aos Si, souls of the dead and such thinking that it would protect oneself from the departed spirits.
The fun carved jack- o -lanterns we know of today started many years ago. In Ireland and the Scottish Highlands they would carve grotesque grimaces and faces on hollowed out turnips and wurzels. They would make lanterns out of these to ward off any evil spirits.



Dreams From The Wood Porch

A stirring of rust colored leaves rise ethereal with clay dust, as the girl child dances under the hazy sun of the afternoon heat.
Not yet an Angel gold dipped in sin and prayer; her tinkling laughter is matched by the cicada drone that beats with hypnotic fervor.
He rocks back and forth, ceremoniously on the old porch, with solemn and careful watching.
The evening damp, strangles and descends, the smoke clouded mist from the old man’s pipe; as a whippoorwill hurriedly cuts through the last lazy moment of heat from the celestial terrace.
He waits in the gathering dark for her to come in as she moves steadfast and barefoot toward the tall blistered wood porch.
Laced with secrets and smiling, she will lay with thought dreams bathed clean, in star shine.
Her secrets, like fine webs, carefully woven and promising not to break; silently move out upon the aether; soft as silk, the thoughts press down upon her lover.

By ~ Tommie Flannery Baskis (c) 2019



Do we keep some of the sweetest things hidden in a dark place, for fear of losing the rich memory of intimacy; or are we just afraid…

The moments I speak of now are carved deep within the child I once was. The breath of my soul, fearless in the path of the great mystery, I stood proud, in the place of my time; in the place of my knowing.

I am Lucinda Mae. I was born and raised in Dusty Spirit Springs; an old mining town encroached upon the forest like some large, dead shadow of a place. A large forest, abandoned places, old stone graves crumbled, dusty and sun melted in too many Midwest summers.
Ole’ Grandpier Primitive Baptist church once was congregation in praise and forgiveness.
Now, spider and dust and the darkness vibrate the aether.
I live with my Father, Magnus. Like his Father before him, he is a miner, woodsman, master hunter and my protector; always watching but has a suffering allowance for my independent and curious nature.
Father, lighting his pipe, sits with me on our large, southern wood porch every evening I can recall, since I was a girl child. His stories weave a magic spell; lucid, hypnotic and sensual are his words that speak of the ancient gifts shared by the light and dark beings.
He speaks of the love he has for my departed Mother. Her name meant something to him I will never know deeply nor could I speak of with the finest words. I knew her as Aislinn; He called her, Angell.
I wear her dresses she made by hand, now. My favorite is the antique white slip she kept in her cedar box, wrapped in a satchel of cinnamon and coriander.
Magnus, after slowly exhaling the dark scented pipe smoke, tells me “daughter, you walk in the light of your passing Mother; you favor her in the good ways I can’t be for you. Lucinda, you will find your way just fine, girl. Gentleman Caedmon sees you running tall in his fields, choosing the ripest herbs and plants for your mixin’s. He has a mighty strong fondness for you child. He might come callin’ soon for you.”
I just stare dreamy into the dusk, listening to the deep sound of Magnus and the vibrational drone of the cicada; feeling a sweet desire for the way Jupiter touches me, not the kind of ‘touchin’ you can tell Magnus about.
Do we keep some of the sweetest things hidden in a dark place, for fear of losing the rich memory of intimacy; or are we just afraid…


Excerpt from ~ (The moments that align) ‘Lucinda Mae, Jupiter and a Pig Named Pearl in Dusty Spirit Springs’

(c) 2018 Duskflyer Vision Art & Productions



Marrowbone Town’s Secrets



Marrowbone town is as ancient and orphic as the memory is intimate with secrets.
Light is the same at Marrowbone in the morning as it is at dusk, when the sun and star shine, upon silver sheen fog, reach the eyes.

One will find many treasures and visions among the souls of townsfolk here. You will find them waiting for you among the thorned Honey Locust trees, the sun dusted fields of thistle and vines, the river ferry whose secrets are told slowly and the abandoned places of Marrowbone town. These are the truest places when the moon is still and dreams are carried by dark wings of starlings.

Each season bears the weight of a dark sleep and rebirth called the Great Turning.
This is when the sibylline story is shared with spirit among Marrowbone townsfolk.
The story was carved deep, inside, from the dawning by the hand of the alpha light and the first warrior.

All men, women and children have the “knowing” in Marrowbone.
Old man Caedmon says to me “it was never taken from us, just forgotten”
This story is best shared through the eyes and thoughts of two special young souls in Marrowbone, Angel Blue and Einar.

All townsfolk in Marrowbone live in joyful light and storm, doing what they do best; creating thought for the highest good of all.

This gift was the beginning.
The gift could never be destroyed or taken. It could only be hidden…
Angel Blue loved to form thoughts in the forests, creeks, winter moon autumns and abandoned houses.

Angel Blue was from the one before the beginning. She is silver light, deepest fire and the most potent thought creator Einar has ever known.
The dark-eyed Junco tinkles a silvery song from a high loft as it watches her presence slowly move close to old man Caedmon’s barn.
Einar is waiting, with silence, shadow clad and cedar smoke.
The shadows that envelop Einar are primal, fierce and protective.
Einar is a watcher and grand seer from the first warrior. His lineage was boldly carved in a secret storm; a watcher in the dark was his seal.
His gift as a seer was to protect Angel Blue in her time of Vision.
This bond was silent but forceful between them.

Even when she lay upon the feathered mattress, listening to the metallic whistle of the midnight train through a dreaming Marrowbone, did she feel Einar’s watching.
He is always the protector of the dream vision, like an invisible silk web shrouding her moonlit flesh.

Angel Blue and Einar walk together with moments bathed in charcoal star skies, smoke scented woodlands, and abandoned places in the season of knowing.
A Loggerhead shrike glides swift through the aether of falling dusk, capturing a field mouse in its talons.

Angel Blue and Einar watch the dance with death as the Loggerhead shrike impales the mouse on a long Honey locust thorn.
Einar tells Angel Blue, “The Watcher knows the mystery in the living, dances close, to what we promised to not remember…”
The vision will be dreamed through the season of knowing.
The vision will be passed on to you and me…

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