Fireworks in U.S.,Tropical Cyclones, as Brits swim into their Summer Hols thru Torrential Rain

FIREWORKS in U.S., TROPICAL CYCLONES, as BRITS SWIM into THEIR SUMMER HOLS thru TORRENTIAL RAIN

MIDSUMMER MADNESS on ALL CONTINENTS JUST 2 MAKE US CAVERN-DWELLING WRITERS COME UP for AIR & CHECK if REAL WORLD FIRST WEDNESDAY still EXISTS

Yellowstone Followers Disappointed by Kevin Costner Departure

July 4th weekend usually brings must-see shows to U.S. Television audiences; not least Peacock TV’s YELLOWSTONE 1883 prequel series with leading man Kevin Kostner enrapturing his fans. But following the lead star’s announcement last week that July 5th will be his last season-he won’t return November [13,20,27th]-viewers will be dying to get in4 his final performance—streaming all weekend+week 7/5-8.

In the REAL WORLD, outside the Dutton Ranch Paramount TV empire, Yellowstone National Monument is a fascinating Park to visit.

The hotsprings attract animals, insects, birds & other creatures into a unique geological setting.

Its multifaceted chert/gneiss-quartz-feldspar & biotite (black mica) mix reveals ancient creatures embedded within metals like gold & silver in stone polished to a high gloss by hot water over multiple centuries.

History Repeats Itself in Scotland’s Yellowstone Ancient Hotspring

A whole continent & another ocean farther East, within Scotland’s ancient Pictish kingdoms [Fib=Fife; Forgue; Fortriu=Strathearn & Moray=Lat.Moravia] & Regalities of Fidach & Cé [Aberdeenshire, with its famed mountains Bin na Cé/Bennachie and Tap o’Noth, [above pix top l.], lies the hidden village of Rhynie—original home to Pictish Class I carved stone ‘Rhynie Man’ [above bottom l.], presently housed in Aberdeen, but residents are working to have him returned to his companions in Market Square.

Rhynie has many secrets apart from its Pictish carvings, its proximity to ancient Wheedlemont RSC [recumbent stone circle, date approx 5000B.C., upslope SW] & its other claim to fame, the massive Pictish stronghold atop Tap o’Noth, second in size only to Pictish Burghead on the Moray coast 20 mi N. It lies in Dufftown heartland, home of Glenlivet, Glenfiddich & other Distilleries and Huntly, ABD 10mi E., roughly equidistant from Banffshire coast & Aberdeen. Top pic also shows famous Barflat Pictish Class I stone of Salmon & Dolphin [sometimes called Pictish ‘Beast’] on site of a thriving Pictish settlement, in part excavated recently by University of Aberdeen: finding many more treasures from the same era—A.D. 4th-9thC village, itself Rhynie’s precursor!

Barflat is currently farmed by a private owner, but he is a Rhynie fella & shares in their fellowship & supports the village in its having their “Rhynie Man” return “home”.

What the Romans wanted was Pictish gold.

They knew-as their legions stormed Pictish bastions from Normandykes in the Mearns, NE thru Aberdeen, to Fyvie & Huntly,then N wherever legions followed their military god Mithras in his bid to rout out Pictish bull symbols, that there was a secret cache at Rhynie in an ancient pre-Cambrian deposit.

Bathed by subterranean hotsprings, Rhynie chert sparkled with silver & gold, hidden by Picts from Roman eyes in a domestic camp

Rhynie on Important Royal Route S to Forteviot & Strathearn

Of 32 sacred Pictish Class-I carved bull stones which ringed the great Pictish fortalice of Burghead— [pic above bottom rt.] six have been found. They are thought to have guarded the huge fortress-largest in Scotland-until thrown into the harbour. One is kept in British Museum; another in its hometown, near sacred Doorie fire altar [pic above, lower centre], a burning tar barrel used every January for Burning the Clavie-only Northern town remaining to celebrate this fire festival, according to ancient tradition. Sacred bull was anathema to Mithras. whose beloved sacred beast was the Boar!

Second in size to Burghead, Pictish fort on Tap o’Noth with Barflat village below was an important A.D. 7th/8thC connection to Aberdeen [harbor traffic] & royal Fyvie [Nechtan Derilea/Darley] en route S to central Royal Fortriu/Forteviot=Strathearn.

Rhynie villagers had no intention of allowing Roman eyes to glimpse their deep hoard. It was guarded well. Legionary atrocities performed on the Druids’ Holy Road 1stC B.C-A.D.1stC between East Anglian Norfolk Iceni territory NE to Pictish neighbors in Druidic Ynys Mons=Anglesey were legend – after all, Queen Boudicca & her family were Celtic neighbours.

So, learning from her example, Rhynie kept their secret close to their chests.

Rhynie Pictish village covered most of Barflat & its dominions stretched inland up to Wheedlemont RSC but the villagers were wise enough to hide their most treasured secret from the invaders. Rhynie chert deposit remains today a site of Special Scientific Interest [SSI] guarded by deep layers of turf & is not open for public display.

Yellowstone-Rhynie Connection aka PreCambrian Hotspring Earth

It may be difficult to imagine hotsprings in the middle of Rhynie, Aberdeenshire, when North winds blow or winter hailstones spatter the Village Green Market Square. But the secret stash of Rhynie gold tells a different tale: In preCambrian times—before Greenland & Eurasian continent Gondwanaland separated, huge volcanic outbursts thundered through the region, [pic top rt.]

No life forms existed in the earliest aeon/eon of preCambrian Earth—called Hadean, 4,500-4000million or 4.5billion years ago. It was a time of the ‘Big Splash’ or Theia Impact when the Moon was formed as a projectile from a collision with a giant Mars-size planet 4.5billion years ago.

The second aeon of the preCambrian—following the Hadean—was the Archaean aeon 3.5-3.7billion years ago, when crustal deposits began forming after volcanic & sedimentary rocks were impacted by increased oxygen in the atmosphere, creating iron-rich layers alternating with metamorphic greenstone & volcanic deposits. [pic above bottom l. Theia impact or “Big Splash” creating the Moon.

This is the famous aeon in which Rhynie chert—and Yellowstone “Y-sedimentary” boulders belong.

Third & last of three pre-Cambrian aeons is the oxygen-rich Proterozoic when the Columbian super- continent Nuna, formed 2.1–1.8 billion years ago and broke up about 1.3–1.2 billion years ago. Oxygen levels increased as creatures in ocean below began to reproduce, feeding into the atmosphere, with resulting oxidation of iron particles to form iron-rich rocks in boulder strata.

It was a time when Earth’s first land-based lifeforms—from bacteria to insects, to plants & creatures began 2appear [above far rt pix ocean plant life feed oxygen-nitrogen-CO2 atmosphere; 1st animals]

That’s when our beloved T-Rex, [above top l.], Tyrannosaurus Rex came into his own.

And the rest is history…<3

Midsummer Heralds Music Festivals in Both Global Hemispheres

With sounds of the British classic 5-day Glastonbury Midsummer Music Festival during solstice week still ringing in our ears, we leave sacred Glastonbury Tor in the Vale of Avalon with its mythic history of Arthur & Guinevere & Knights of the Round Table to another time & to a host of cleaners [& to grateful police officers who didn’t have2 respond to a single violent episode within the 210,000 crowd]—yeah thankU Brit public for showing the world how happy can be peaceful, too!

Glastonbury five-day music festival over summer solstice weekend last month—a precursor to U.S.July 4th fireworks-was a prime example of Brit understatement—or just a bunch of happy people partying together & enjoy a week of music in a sacred setting [Vale of Avalon, Somerset].

1000-acre site[size of 500football pitches] hadn’t asingle violent episode-happy police

As we bounce forward, as is our writerly wont from deep within our subterranean Creative Cave aka H.G.Wells’ 1895 Time Machine, [lower rt], July 2023 has resounding time-travel music festivals & performances on offer from many renowned ‘Sixties musicians us Oldies remember fondly.

From Creedence Clearwater Revival to The Band [John (Cameron)Fogerty b.May 28, 1945, below middle l. comes top of the list.

Now performing solo & by invitation since the breakup of CCR 1972, he heads the July line-up at Table Mtn Resort, Friant, CA. Inducted into 1993 Rock n Roll Hall of Fame, he’s produced nine Top-10 singles & eight gold albums. He now performs solo and by invitation.

Singer/songwriter Fogerty above mid-l. play July 21, 2023 at the Table Mountain Casino, Friant, CA, nr Fresno. Think ‘Bad Moon Rising’, [photo top rt lunar eclipse from UAE/Persian Gulf May 6, 2023] ‘Proud Mary’, ‘Up on Cripple Creek’; the sounds in your head are still coming out of his mouth & his guitar ❤ !

…And a little Napa Vino to go…

Other name musicians scheduled this month include topliners & resident jazz musicians Robert Glasper with Dave Chappelle at the Napa Valley Blue Note Jazz Festival at the Silverado Resort from 10a.m. Fri July28-Sun July30 3 pm. Located within wine country, resort has de luxe accommodation, serves beer & spirits in addition to wine-tasting from on-site vineyards. Blues rendering described as extraordinary.

Rohnert Park in Sonoma hosts many music festivals all summer long from classical, thru art&craft & dance. It is therefore great to see Booker T. Jones, Chris Smither, Steve Poltz performing live there at the Green Music Center August 6th, 2023 7p.m.-10p.m. on Rohnert Park’s Mountain Stage.

In Other Muse/News…

Time & music wait for no man, woman or child, we are told; so an in-depth on Hawai’i’s “Ninth Island”— an unprecedented 370,000 Hawai’ians live in Las Vegas, contra 310,000 residents in Honolulu-will have to wait for another blog. Clark County Hawai’ians celebrated their Holo Holo Music Festival for the first time in the Downtown Las Vegas Event Center in spring & plan for an autumn concert there. Holo Holo features Hawai’ian music stars like Kapena-a native band playing traditional ukelele music & ‘slack key’ [open tuning] guitar. We’ll catch that one later this year.

Back2 the drawing board—or, rather, heads down the volcanic sinkhole into our writing cave for us scribbling-obsessives, devoted followers of our Muse; with an occasional glance upwards into that world of make-believe they call the ‘present day’.

And If they were to ask me which I prefer, I’d have to stick by my Oldie-but-goodie roots & say H.G.Wells, 1895 ‘Time Machine’ & ‘Star Trek IV: the Voyage Home’ have the best take on this Muse-related question.

LLAP Live long and prosper, as Mr Spock would say.

So next time you see something strange skim past the moon, or weird alien footprints in sand under the garden wheelbarrow, remember to thank the Universe for its continuing support—and surprises—and let’s keep on keeping on with this writing gift, cos it comes from that same blessed heart ❤ space. ©2023MarianCameronYoungblood

The Scythian Connection—Eastern Scotland & Ireland Share Famous Firbolg Ancestors: Create First Scythian/Scots Race

THE SCYTHIAN CONNECTION—EASTERN SCOTLAND & IRELAND SHARE FAMOUS FIRBOLG ANCESTORS who SAILED BALTIC from THRACE to GAUL— CREATED FIRST SCYTHIAN/SCOTS RACE

RECENT FORENSIC/DIGITAL IMAGERY REVEALS CELTIC GENETIC ARCHETYPE

Sailing the Baltic from Ancient Thrace, Scythian Genes reach Belgic Gaul, Eire and Caledonia

According to Irish writers, the Picts, in their first progress to Ireland from Thrace, settled a colony in Gaul, and the tribes called Pictones, Pictavi in that country are descended from them. They also gave their name to Pictavia, Poitiers and the province of Poitou. From these Picts are descended the Vendeans of France.

It would appear that the Picts were Celtic-Scythian or a mixture of Celts and other branches of the Scythian family from the Caucasus, and spoke a dialect of the Celtic language.

The Caucasus mountains synchronously create the Euro-Asian mountain divide. How revealing.

Rosemarkie Man 5thC NE Pictland

Manannán mac Lyr sea god

Broighter boat 100B.C. courtesy @NMIreland

Discovered 1997 in a cave in the Black Isle, Rosemarkie Man, above left—reconstruction based on forensic digital imagery and carbon dated A.D.430-630—shows remarkable “Caucasian” Nordic &/or Hispanic features. Perhaps he arrived in a boat of skins and wood like the Broighter, right, found in a gold hoard on a Kerry beach, at the entrance to Lough Foyle. Long journey from the Baltic. Even longer from ancient homelands on the Black Sea.

The original boat would have had nine benches for the rowers, with 18 oars/rowlocks, a long oar for steering at the stern, three forked barge poles, and a grappling iron or anchor and a mast. This is the kind of boat which traded in prehistoric seas between the Channel, North Sea, Mediterranean, Baltic and west mainland Europe—Celto-Belgic, Gaulish, Brittany decor share similarities. Scythian influence had them bringing back not only goods but also ideas, technologies and fashions.

Focus of the Broighter hoard, the gold boat has ancient symbolic meaning. As centre of a rich offering to sea god Manannán macLyr, it was placed by the sea shore on a raised beach leading to Lough Foyle.

The sea was, as it still is today, an unpredictable force.

Mythical Manannán ruled his otherworldly kingdom, riding out over the waves on his chariot. He is ultimate master mariner, impervious to the sea’s deadly turbulence. Early sailors were as superstitious as their descendants! Easy to understand why open boats like this would seek his help and protection.

Along with the delight of the boat itself, the gold objects found alongside were mostly imported from the Mediterranean, including two gold neck chains from the east—possibly Roman Egypt.

Setting out from above the Arctic Circle, Scythian Celts sailed south through the Baltic in ships like the (sacred gold) Broighter Boat, above right, navigating from Archangel or St Petersburg, Lübeck, Bergen, through the North Sea, via the English Channel, Guernsey to Brittany and N. Gaul; and from the Cornish coast to W. Ireland and North to Pictland.

𒆳𒄀𒂇𒊏𒀀𒀀

Caledonian chiefs were provided with wives from among widows of slain Tuatha de Danaan by Milesian monarch Eremon, so Cruithneans became “possessed of North Britain & there founded the kingdom of the Picts which continued for many centuries until 9thC when conquered by Kinneth MacAlpin, king of Dalriadic Scots-Irish colony in Scotland.” Psalter of Cashel 10thC

Class-II Pictish carved stone Monymusk, Aberdeenshire left, late cross, stylized cauldron; Reliquary original home

Akkadian Indo-Euro script, over: Akkadian Cimmerians were culturally caucasian, similar to Scythians 1000B.C.

Big Guys with Quivers of Arrows, Renowned Harpists

Belgians were called in the Gaulish-Celtic language Bolg and Bolgach, hence Firbolgs, and Firvolgians; and by Roman writers Belgae, Belgii. Celtic Bolg means ‘quiver of arrows’—apparently they were great archers, although bolgach also signifies ‘corpulent’. So, visualize large men of stout size; celebrated for their bravery. they fought with great valour against the Romans, and were called Fortissimi Gallorum by Julius Caesar, ‘most valiant of the Gauls’.

Bolgs owned a huge landmass. (Roman) Gallia Belgica covered extensive territory stretching through Gaul and northern France, including present country of Belgium. They were divided into separate tribes or nations: Parisii, Rheni, Belovaci, Atrebates, Nervii, Morini, Menapii.

Belgians were a mixed race of Cimmerians and Germans, or a Gaul-Teuton mix like Cimbrians. Having adopted neighbour Germanic language, they were sometimes considered a Gothic or Teutonic race. They were chiefly Celts or Gaels, and spoke a dialect of the Celtic language in German/Teutonic.

Every Bolg Town a Firbolg Market Town

Wealth & status were shown (above) as desirable in prehistoric and early-medieval cultural art. Mithras, god of Rome’s fascination with war and sacrifice, top left Phrygian helmet worn by honored legionaries; sacred pinnacle of Roman foot soldier’s devotion and belief. Caledonians’ sacred symbols, middle, began long before Pictish (Class I & II) incised & relief stones, with fields of Buchan littered with granite carved stone balls-all designs-c.3000B.C. In pre-Christian Scotland, early Class-I boundary stone at Drimmies, Inverurie ABD rt. in situ missing top symbol, but flowing symbol, l.below, may indicate river Don—important waterway—stone’s throw away with feet of lost ‘arch’, mirror & comb c.f. Pictish Class-I symbol chart where symbols are locally identified, e.g. horse Inverurie; bull Burghead. Last pic: Bullion Class-II relief slab Angus, approx. same vintage as battle of Nechtansmere, c.685, example of late Pictish (royal) artisan-craft smithworking community attached to a large cultural centre. Old man on horse drinking unsteadily—classic Class-II relief, no symbols but great realism, both rider & horse.

Many centuries before the Christian era, the Belgians (Bolgs) of Gaul sent colonies to Britannia. When Caesar invaded Britain, 55B.C., they were a powerful people already possessing the southern part of England from Suffolk to Devonshire. Belgic tribes in South Britain included: Cantii in Kent, Trinobantes in Essex and Middlesex; Regini and Atrebates in Surrey, Sussex, Hampshire, Berkshire, Wiltshire and Somerset; the Durotriges in Dorsetshire, and the Damnonii in Devonshire and Cornwall. Their capital city was Venta Belgarum, (trans. Bolgs’ Market; Winchester).

The Caledonians, (Picts, or Cruithneans), according to 9thC Psalter of Cashel and other ancient annals, were an Indo-European race from Scythia on borders of Europe and Asia. According to Venerable Bede, writing in 7thC Ecclesiastical History of the English People, on their flight from Thrace/Scythia through the Baltic, via Finland, they made their way over the North Sea to S.Ireland—present Bay of Wexford. Not being permitted to settle at Inver Slainge, they sailed for Albain, Scotia, “that part of North Britain now called Scotland”.

While Scotland’s Caledonia is strewn with burgh markets, fairs and summertime food festivals celebrating local specialties, equivalent Welsh, Cornish, Brittonic (Saxon-English) market towns retain their Roman character (and in places, name Venta) around which Brit agriculture and livelihood was focused: e.g. Winchester Hampshire above, Gwent-on-Wye ‘Venta’ major market S.Wales.

In an historical context, Chepstow’s Welsh name, Caes Gwent, castle of Venta, Roman ‘market place’, shows how ancient are its roots and significant its position on the confluence of the river Wye (over which the 11thC Castle of Gwent still towers) with the Severn’s great tidal estuary which eventually flows into the Bristol Channel and the Atlantic Ocean. This is southern heartland of ancient (pre-Celtic) Brythonic kingdom, where ancient Britons spoke a dialect understood by other Britons of Prydein–Roman Britannia. Their language was understood over the water-bridge in Brittany, throughout Cornwall, Isle of Man, Rheged (ancient Cumbria), Dumbarton and Strathclyde (Dun-Britton), Brigantia (Yorkshire and Northumberland) and northern Pictland (Prydein). Their ancient monuments, aligned with the movements of the heavens and dedicated to their ancestral dead, were generations older than Stonehenge. Avebury’s great circle is their nearest relative in design and in time. As are the stone balls.

Nation of Shopkeepers Come Thru with Aid when Chips are Down

Pre-Celtic waterways like great tidal Severn estuary, left, combine ancient travel route, with Roman market town, and modern shipping canal. CaerGwent=Chepstow from Roman Venta & Gaulish Brythonic Caer castle holds ancient custodianship over River Wye, Wales, & Atlantic waters

Weren’t you wondering when the Scythian connection would penetrate?

Yes, the blue&yellow flag flying over valleys between the Caucasus and the Black Sea—Ukraine. That’s where our Scythian gene comes from. That’s the cross-Caucasus Asian-Euro mix that confounds any division, brings a HUGE international so-called Caucasian alliance to front & center. You thought DNA & ancestral genealogy research were dominated by Viking-Norse? Re-think: Caucasus wins hands down.

The French—never great buddies with the English [contra the Cruithne aka 16thC Auld Alliance MQS, French court language insinuating its way into Scots]*—are reputed to be origin of uncomplimentary Brit shopkeeper comments—more likely attribution to Napoleon who really didn’t like them. Mixing metaphors here, shopping seems to have unforeseen cultural advantages in breaking barriers—like big personally-driven overseas deliveries from Bradford, Liverpool with the Euro-consortium Médecins sans frontières, and Poland and Finland loaning military equipment normally used for rescue. Shopkeepers adding groceries to growing international rescue mission for refugees score top marks for volunteering.

*Local Scots understand French imports like golf caddy (cadet, young boy), and colloquial ‘loo’ (‘gardez l’eau’) as maid throws bucket of water into Edinburgh street below—16thC—no plumbing.

Writing our Way Out of A Situation is Good (Insecure) Writers’ Cave Advice

In Ukraine, the horse is a symbol of loyalty, devotion and freedom. They still have wolf and auroch (exist in wild) symbols of fertility and strength. Crane symbolizes sadness for their native land. And they tell ancient stories of angels and dragons, like other border communities. They share mythical gods of ocean and mountains with other cultures like Brythonic Bride. Shakespeare even wrote King Lear to satisfy his craving for mythical tales of ancestral gods. Rashly, Scythians calculate Gregorian calendar now along with Western world countries celebrating Easter a month late, a dislocated Ramadan and dislodged Carnival, with a slew of social media reels to cover their trail.

A Doric Northeast Scotland (Cruithne) calendar calculation rhyme for Easter should keep us on local track with the ‘fit like’ dialect. Spoken to me at the Back o’ Bennachie, by a born-‘n’-bred Insch quine with full intonation—Picts, Scots Irish & adoptive Brit-Scythian-Thracians might like to try it.

Fit like?

‘First come Candlemas
Syne the New Meen
The niest Tiseday efter ‘at
Is aye Festern’s E’en.
That Meen oot
An’ anither at its hicht
The niest Sunday efter ‘at
Is aye Pasche richt.’
Ancient Scots Easter calculation. Anon

We in our Writer’s Cave send what we can: support comes in many guises. Gotta get out the Scythian dictionary. Or maybe, like the Doric of N.E.Scotland above Pictish throwback medieval Cruithne dialect (fit like translates as how are you); or Edinburgh’s insider French from a Parisian courtly ‘close’ [passageway], we will probably keep on keeping on.

©2022 Marian Youngblood

2011 Crop Circle season: Royal Fever or Beltane Ghosts?

NaNo makes one bold: my WIP

The setting was superb. Nothing would spoil the wedding breakfast.

NaNo: November being writing month, all stops are out, all bets are off. I’m writing again. I can say that with a feeling of relief, a feeling of awe that the Muse is still sitting somewhere in my corner and that some days She is actually enjoying coming and whispering in my ear.

One of the rules of NaNo is that one writes and DOES NOT EDIT until the required minimum wordcount of 50,000 words (or end of novel, if that adds up to more) is reached. But for your sake, dear Reader, I have edited a little. Corrected spelling and typos. Otherwise it is open to revision and redoing in December

This, therefore, for good or for ill, is an excerpt from my work-in-progress: or NaNo WIP.
I hope you enjoy. It’s a miracle to witness the continuing flow, I can tell you.

All had been made ready for the guests. The bride waited at the head of the stairs

‘Be Still in the Candlelight’

Horses and carriages stood at the gates, a long line of opulence and conspicuous wealth, each waiting its turn to process down the shady lime avenue which heralded the last mile of approach to the house.

Not a family in Aberdeenshire had been ignored. Invitations sent in January by messenger, hand delivered to Clubs and castles throughout the shire ensured that the assembled gathering would be the greatest affair in the social calendar for a generation. John Ramsay Irvine was going to make sure his daughter’s marriage was witnessed by them all. Grooms and stablehands were lined up at the curved façade to help ladies down awkward steps as consorts and cousins and brothers assisted with the finery, petticoats and layers of taffeta and veils billowing in the slight breeze.

The day was glorious: mid June brilliance with a scent of abundance in the air.

A phalanx of footmen ushered ladies into the house to powder noses, while gentlemen were escorted to the gigantic marquée set on the lawn, hands charged with a glass of champagne immediately they stepped under the awning. Butlers and footmen manfully shouldered silver trays groaning under the weight of crystal brimming with bubbles. Chatter was loud but festive. The ladies would join them in a moment. For now the tent was dominated by menfolk catching up with colleagues, discussing the week’s affairs, arrangements for the shooting season in late summer, and whose house-party already had its quota of family and summertime guests.

When the first of the ladies emerged from downstairs boudoirs and stepped into the light of the terrace, a hush descended on the crowd. Every one of them, matron, maid, young miss was adorned in finery, as if they individually were to be the bride: tiaras appeared glinting in the sun: getting a summer airing from safes and velvet boxes they’d nestled in since Christmas or for parties at Hogmanay. Pearls and rubies shone and sapphire necklaces extracted from bank vaults for this special occasion reflected blue light from the lake.

Brother Hugh stood alone, apart from the jostling crowd, waiting for a signal from his mother’s window that Catherine would soon be ready to take his arm; for him to proceed with her to the little chapel across the lawn to the glade of trees down by the lake. But carriages were still appearing, stopping at the great entrance to unload more adorned maidens with doting brothers or fiancés, and trundling slowly off to the Home Farm where grooms and drivers would wait to be summoned again after it was all over. A long procession still stretched down the lime avenue as far as Hugh could see. There was no rush yet to summon Catherine and her maids.

In the upstairs chamber with its four-poster usually reserved for her mother, Catherine stood radiant. She was to wear Great-grandfather’s South Seas pearls and the ruby necklace brought with him from Russia when he was a successful merchant plying Baltic waters to Danzig. It was now family tradition that these, the first glittering evidence of John Ramsay’s fortune, should be worn by every bride since 1758, the year that the adventurer purchased the Straloch estate from the famous cartographer, Robert Gordon of Straloch. It had been Ramsay’s fortune which built the grand mansion in its grounds.

Today Catherine felt like a swan gazing in her mother’s long dress-mirror at the sparkling jewels round her white neck. There was something about these new continental gowns, the low ’empire’ line made fashionable by the ladies of Napoleon’s court . The British may have defeated the dictator, but his ladies’ fashion sense lingered on. The high bosom and low neckline made her feel dizzy in the shafts of sunlight glancing through the gauze curtains. It danced and shifted, casting a pool of light at her feet. She allowed herself to peer over her sudden perky breasts at the pompom slippers of maroon silk which peeped out below the vanilla silk hem of her gown. Mother was right. This new line may be a little too daring for such a backwater as Aberdeenshire, but it was just the most beautiful creation she had ever seen and she was standing in it, allowing its long pointed sleeves to hug her delicate wrists, the tight waistband to nip her small frame even more closely than she ever would have dared at a normal party.

‘Everything is allowed for a wedding, my dear. Even daring narrow waists and low necklines.’ If her mother’s voice had a hint of disapproval, it was covered by laughter. Tones tinkled in pride at the sight of her daughter’s surprise.

“We may be of merchant stock, but Grandfather knew a jewel or two. And I must say they do add a je ne sais quoi to your already fabulous beauty.’ Her mother laughed again. ‘I may not be the one to say, but it does run in the family.’

She reached out her own silk-gloved hand to caress the folds at the rear of her daughter’s gown, smoothing an imaginary crease.

Bridesmaids in the ante room behind the pillar giggled and, seeing Catherine’s mother smile and beckon, fell into the room in a huddle of lace and satin and pink pumps.

‘Careful, girls. We don’t want any accidents.’

All four glanced at each other and then at their hostess and giggled again.

‘I wish it were all over. No, of course I don’t but Hugh said he’d start the procession at least by two. It must be close to three.’ Catherine’s small face crinkled in a fleeting frown, scanning her mother’s profile. One of the house maids popped her head round the door.

‘Carriages still coming, m’lady,’ she said, bobbing a hasty curtsey. ‘Master Hugh says another glass of champagne should settle the gentlemen. He wants to know if you would like some up here.’

‘Most certainly not. Thank you, Rose. Tell the Master we shall wait for his signal.’ The maid’s head disappeared again.

‘I can see the end of the carriages.’ A tiny gloved hand holding its regulation posy of roses dropped the long curtain at the window and one of the Burnett girls burst into a fit of giggles. Another grabbed the curtain and then she too dropped it with a guilty look. She turned to the other bridesmaids and whispered
‘It’ll be the bridegroom in the very last carriage.’

‘I heard that.’

Catherine was nervous as a kitten. The last thing she wanted to know was news that that her darling, handsome husband-to-be was the last to arrive. She swept the thought aside. Henry was like her brother Hugh: so strong and brave. Such a pity Father was no longer well enough to sit up, far less be wheeled to the ceremony. But until she became Henry’s, Hugh would be her rock. He would more than make up for her father’s infirmity.

Hugh had turned out like his grandfather: he’d continued the work begun by Great-grandfather in the 244 acre estate after he built the palladian mansion, just as father and grandfather had done. Nowadays there was talk in Society of how rash a move it had been, in the time of King George III, to pull down a 13th century building and put up a Georgian palace. But Great-grandfather was an innovator. He knew all the tricks and turns used by wealthy European royalty in his day and his palace was built to the scale and proportions of the great Italian architect, Palladio, whose style thereafter became the fashion.

Straloch had been revolutionary for its time. Now in the early 19th century, It was considered ‘all the rage.’ For a wedding ceremony and breakfast attended by all the County’s best families, its size and style were totally inkeeping. It had precisely the required number of public rooms, a grand ballroom, drawing room, morning room and a dining salon that none could rival. It had outlived its ‘foreignness’ and become a style which other families copied. Burnetts and Forbeses and Irvines all had since pulled down ancient towers and put up a palladian edifice in its place: at Colpy and Keig and Pittodrie, palaces were erected where cramped medieval towers had been. The Ramsay fashion had become the norm. And in Aberdeenshire, a county renowned for its conservatism, that was saying something.

Hugh was more like father in the way he cared for and tended the trees of the avenue, the stately park specimens getting most of his love and attention. And he had recently started a programme of planting the new fashion in trees: beech.

If you listened to Hugh on the endless variety of beeches one could plant… he could bore anyone to tears. It was enough to make her yawn just to think of it. Some day, of course all this would be Hugh’s. Catherine was just fortunate to be able to have such a beautiful backdrop for her Big Day. And as for father’s being an invalid and not really able to know what was going on, was something one just had to be philosophical about. He seemed more himself when she’d spoken to him this morning, wanting to share with him the excitement to come, the huge numbers who would attend. He looked at her through watery eyes, propped himself up on one elbow from the cushions on his daybed and whispered:

‘Be still in the candlelight, Darling.’

She had not the faintest idea what he meant, but she nodded her head and kissed him on the forehead.

Suddenly Annie Farquharson jumped up and down at the window, her pink slippers doing ballet turns.

‘It’s Hugh. He’s signalling to be ready. He’s pulling out his fob watch and pointing. I think he means it’s time.’

‘All right, all right, girls. No need to lose our heads. Now, we all remember the order. When Hugh comes to the door, you four go first. Ahead of him. Follow Catherine’s cousin Jamie to the head of the stairs and wait. Do you hear me? Wait until I get there.’

There came a chorus of ‘yes’.

‘He’s coming. He’s coming,’ Annie bobbed up and down more frantic than ever.

‘All right, Annie. Now into your special order, please girls. We do this as we practiced it. All right?’

Catherine felt remarkably calm. If Hugh was ready, it meant her dear beautiful wonderful sweet loving kind fiancé Henry was already down in the woodland glade by the lake; at this very moment entering the little chapel and waiting for her. The thought made her faint with pleasure. Annie’s sister June had the presence-of-mind to prop her up. She tut-tutted her support.

There was a knock at the door and Hugh was ushered in by a dressing maid. He whispered something in Mother’s ear and looked over at his sister:

‘Ready my sweet princess? I’ve never seen you more glorious than today. Really. And I’m not being brotherly. I really mean it. You could not look more perfect. I think you are right about these new styles. It’s going to be the wedding of the century.

That’s pretty bold, she thought. This is only 1822. Surely newer fashions will one day make all this seem out of date and from a different world. Again, she brushed the unruly thought aside like a wisp of stray hair in her eye, took a step towards him and grasped his outstretched hand.

‘Thank you my darling Hugh. I would not be able to do this without you.’
He smiled and led her to the door.

Each waited her turn to descend the Great Staircase

As instructed, the bridesmaids already stood in a clump on the landing next to Jamie, flouncing their skirts, waiting for the signal to descend the great staircase. Mother caught up with them, and took her place ahead on the top step.

On cue, the piper at the front door thrummed up his bagpipes and began a low drone. Catherine could see outside sunlit faces turn from the awning towards the front door.

It was beginning.

She held Hugh’s arm in a tight grasp.

‘You’ll be wonderful,’ he whispered.

She smiled up at him, wishing she could say something in return, but her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed instead.

Six pages rushed past carrying golden candelabra from the drawing room to stand in two rows down the great staircase. As one of them came abreast of her and Hugh, he tripped and looked at her wildly as if to apologize for his clumsy nervousness. His companion bent over to help him fix one of the candles which was beginning to work itself loose from its holder, its flame still alight, but shaking. As one page righted himself, the other’s grasp on his own candlestick slipped.

Catherine and Hugh could only stand and watch. In slow motion, the triple glow of golden light wrapped in cherubs and foiled bacchanalian wreaths, began a downward curve towards the staircase. Hugh grabbed his sister tightly, starting to swing her torso out of the way of the falling light. For a moment all Catherine saw was light: a small flame, so tiny it could do no harm, its glow wanting so much to add to the perfection of her day. Its fall was broken by the solid mahogany ball-and-claw knob of the bannister at the head of the stairs. Instead of cascading flame-first down the stairwell into the abyss below stairs, the dislodged candle bounced back and – oh so excruciatingly slowly – turned its menacing beam on Catherine.

Bridesmaids leapt to left and right, each trying to avoid what must happen: the staircase was in disarray. Other candles started to shake and falter.

‘Hold your lights, there’. It was Hugh’s voice, so close to her ear, but it sounded a million miles away.

Her eyes were glued to the falling candle. Why was it taking so long? It should have landed by now. By now she should be able to jump sideways and out of harm’s way. But Hugh’s arm held her tight. She was immobilized. All she could do was watch, frozen in time as the dislodged candle made a soft thump – such a simple sound – and hit the top of the staircase. Candle wax spilled in all directions, some of it sparking with a flame. One tiny spark of wax fell on the hem of her gown and she stared – her eyes wide now, her mouth open in a silent scream of terror – as flames engulfed her vanilla silk underskirts.

One of the butlers held a tray. He stood crouching back by the open door of the room they had left a moment ago. Hugh let go her arm, made a couple of strides across the landing and grabbed two champagne glasses, throwing the contents at her. He missed and the liquid splashed her arm.

‘Bring me a carafe,’ he ordered, his voice sounding more like a general in Napoleon’s army than her own gentle brother.

He grabbed another two glasses and threw. This time they hit their mark, but in the few seconds’ delay, the fire had caught hold. It was burning her silk stockings. She felt heat sear her legs. It seemed to penetrate right through to the bone. Her tears couldn’t help her. Her brother’s champagne rescue was doing a little but not enough. The candle, so small and innocent a flame, was doing its worst.

Fire raged up the front of her skirt, smoke engulfing her face, her neck, the pearl and ruby necklace. A page stumbled towards Hugh carrying a bedroom ewer, its enormous weight of water slowing him down. Hugh grabbed the jug and poured its contents down her uncomplaining front. His left hand held her steady, in case she fell from the sudden mass of water. Nobody spoke. The other pages stood motionless, still in position lining the staircase. Of four bridesmaids, two were crying and two were holding gloved hands in anguish over their open mouths. Mother had stopped rigid in her tracks halfway down the staircase. She and the pages created a flimsy barrier between Catherine and the jostling crowd of onlookers beginning to push into the main entrance hall.

All could see now: she was the centre of attention: this tragic apparition, her faultless coiffure still crowning a face ravaged by tears, sleeves and gloved hands soaking wet but intact.

Rubies glittered as if they knew red was not only a colour but a flame.

And below the waist – nothing – it was all gone. She was naked except for two charred shivering legs, a vestige of maroon slippers looking like something from the Black Death. She collapsed to the floor just as Annie rushed to cover her nakedness with her vanilla stole. The last thing she heard was her mother’s voice:

‘Give her some air. Let her breathe.’

But it was father’s words which she heard in her mind:

‘Be still in the candlelight, Darling. Be still.’

Starship 999: Critical Mass is here NOW

The crystalline core

Critical Mass is the point reached when more than the square root of 1% of the population come together in mind, in overmind, in consciousness, for a brief moment in time.

Time is considered to be the Fourth Dimension and it is into the concept of Time that we are ascending.  For nine minutes we are being asked to leave our bodies behind and step into an awareness of the Divine.

The Divine Starship.

The Divine within, around and surrounding us.  For a brief moment of time we absorb ourselves in the flow of Divine Love washing over us, renewing us and making us again whole.  At One.  

Tomorrow, 09 September 2009 at 9:09 PM – or today, if you are in the Orient –  we are collectively being asked to spare nine minutes of our time to embed in the fabric of the Cosmic Consciousness an intent to heal and love ourselves and the planet Earth.

We are, as aware humans, being requested to unite in sending waves of ‘awakening and ascension’ intent throughout the globe.

Wherever you are and whoever you think you may be, it is no matter. Your intent and nine minutes of your time is all that is needed.

 

Meditation is a glorious thing.  It allows us, whatever way we do it, to enter into our inner Spirit and rest.  

We lay our burden down.

When we emerge, we have the power of creation and it is then we can move into our physical space:  Create the dream we have always longed to do; be the best we can be.   Spread our Light.  Share our creative abilities. 

No time like the present.

It helps to light a candle .

If you are awake at 9a.m. do the same. If not, 9 p.m. is O.K.

It’s all good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

Focus on your Soul, your Inner-Self… 09:00 am till 09:09 am …

Focus on breathing; allow thinking to fall away

Your 9 minute experience of Peace…

 

• 1   Breathe in and out few times around 08:59 and light the candle 
• 2   Stay still and focus your attention inwards – let go all thoughts while breathing in and out 
•  3 For next few minutes, focus on peace, you as peaceful human BEING; think about you as LOVE and PEACE 
•  4 Open your eyes after 9 minutes and say….
• Thank you, Universe for giving me this life, ability to walk, talk, see, eat, breathe… 

Repeat the same at 09:00 PM till 09:10 PM

It is already 9/9/9 in the Orient.

Candles

Candles have been used for hundreds of years to ask and obtain wishes. If you would like to focus on specific intents, you can use different candles to help you, depending on the intent.

• 1 – Silver: re-enforces any wishes supported by the power of prayer and family unity. 
• 2 – White: Purity, Sincerity, Truth 
• 3 – Pale/Light Blue: For exams, financial enterprises, protection. 
• 4 – Dark Blue: To win a case, succeed in administrative matters, success in businesses, grab luck, increase strength 
• 5 – Grey: Stops and neutralizes anything negative (against bad luck) 
• 6 – Yellow: To bring or increase Faith, glory, strentgh of the thinking process, healing acceleration
•  7 – Light Brown: Attract Prosperity, Financial Gain, Money (in whatever activity you are involved in or from external sources when in need) 
• 8 – Dark Brown: To find a lost one (someone) or something lost. 
• 9 – Black: Absorbes Evil and Dissolves it (Reverses anything Negative and vanishes it) 
• 10 – Gold: Universal protection Candle. This one can replace all others (This is the one I am going to be using) 
• 11 – Orange: Luck, Success, Esteem, Popularity, Fame (Good for Performing Artists) 
• 12 – Parma or Lilas: Favours and accelerates results. Often used in Exorcisms 


focus awareness on inner core; allow the love to enter

• 13 – Purple or Burgundy: Power &amp; Stength. Shatters all adverse situations in our immediate entourage. 
• 14 – Red: Passion, Courage, Sexuality, Strength/Force, defense against enemies 
• 15 – Old Pink: Awakens tenderness and passionate Love. 
• 16 – Pale/Light Pink: Love, Marriage related tenderness, affection, stable relationships, romantic aspects of Love. 
• 17 – Bright Pink: To solve affection problems/issues. consolidates Love. 
• 18 – Salmon: Increases Physical Strength, preserves great health. 
• 19 – Violet: Favours all undertakings, physical and spiritual healing 
• 20 – Dark or Bright Green: Smooth running of a commercial enterprise. 
• 21 – Light Green: Commercial Success in any field.

  Every little helps.

  Emerald is the color of the heart chakra which is being activated at this time

See many posts or google Mt. Magazine, Arkansas.