sometimes there are windows. one of the discouraging things about maintaining fairy shrines is the way you suddenly discover that you’ve forgotten one, or you just find yourself not servicing a particular shrine, with a guilty ‘i’ll get around to it later’ feeling as you rush through the morning’s activities, only to find it slipping right out of your routine, and falling into neglect. you send abject apologies to the beings concerned, but still you keep forgetting them or not having time.
that was where i stood with one of my most active fairy shrines, a little altar of bare rock not far from a cluster of wild, twisted bare wood on a sandy mound dotted with rocks, like an island between a goat track and my own pathway to the chook yard. this hill had been built by the wind within the branches of an old man salt bush, now long dead but still beautiful, its branches making a big gunyah for the aborigine fairies, the tiny tuckonies, magical people with a lot to say and delightful ways of saying it. i used to pour honey on the stone every full moon, and honey and molasses every half moon, and molasses every dark moon, and when i licked it off my fingers i shared it with them, and that brought me to their wave-length and i could see several of them, very tiny, only six to eight inches high, running up and putting their hands to the honey rock and licking it off in great joy and pleasure.
then suddenly small changes happened in my life and i forgot them. they went right out of my memory. years passed – maybe three or four – and then just once a year ago, i found myself in the area again and saw the ring of stones around the altar and stood still staring at it. i remembered how very active it had been, and felt now the aborigine spirits gathering around me, and ‘heard’ them explain in voiceless telepathy that the times are not now permitting. there are these cycles.
some of them are astrological – during the planetary alignment of the 1980s many seers experienced a wide range of easy communion with extra-dimensional beings such as angels, space people and fairies of many kinds. i as an individual have my own cycles, not just the biorhythms and menstrual and diurnal cycles that we all know about from experience or scientific observation, but also longer deeper wavelengths beyond our current ability to measure. and earth too has cycles and fluxes of power and energy, a kind of communications climate which is sometimes fair and conducive to good contact and sometimes too rowdy, too much static on the line or just too far away on some scale of measurement not necessarily known to us in our earthly experience. i could just relax, not feel so guilty, and live longer. and that would make all life easier all around.
new things are happening to me now, allowing me to pick up on old threads of perception, retrieving old windowsand opening new ones to permit better communication than ever before between me and the extradimensionals i live my life to serve. i often glance at the tuckony gunyah as i go past and i see them there again. last week, cleaning up after the flood, i found the old dancing ring and the honey altar again, and although i haven’t yet returned to it, i believe i can just trust what’s happening, and i will know when it will be possible to share the sabbath feast with the tuckonies again.