Tag Archive | elves

fairies – size continua

as a seer i see many different kinds of people smaller than we are, and they range in size from just about shoulder high to me (i’m 5’8″) to about a cm high (tiny mushroom fairies). i’ve also seen extra-dimensional human-like people ranging from about nine or ten feet tall all the way to too vast to measure. each type is embedded in its own reality just as we are in ours. no reality is more real than any other (except the ones that aren’t!!! – we’ll get to them later).

as you embark upon the path of seer, especially as you advance towards becoming adept, one important thing is to understand that there is a size continuum that includes us; that our reality is only a matter of a few strategic shifts of emphasis away from a whole array of others, and that we are their fairies, just as much as they are ours. they are just as truly people, committed to life-styles just as vital to gaia as ours are.

these do exist

these are real

norse elves talk of logical departures, where differences of perception are all that separate us though we live side by side in shared realities, and our lives intertwine in so many hidden ways.

gnomes are metaphysical shifts away from us, their reality hidden from us by our closed-mindedness as theirs is from us by theirs. our minds open as they become ready, like flower buds unfurling, and we perceive these new dimensions of the reality we share more and more.

the more congenial brownies create beautiful picture book pathways to these perceptions, and we find them in fiction and fable – they help us through a credibility shift as we help them, each as awed as each other.

the tall slender english-style elves (chest high, elaborate clothes, pride of lineage, courtly manners) reach us via fantasy. magic music brings the tall celtic gods in: nine feet or twenty feet, they smile sweetly down on us as we do on the little people we see. the dreamtime spirits and the hadean gods rise up out of myth and ritual, transcending matters of size and locus.

these are only a narrow selection of the fairies i myself see – every culture evolves within a reality interwoven with its own array of fairy worlds.  sometimes you get hints that there is real anxiety among some of them about humano-centric descriptions of the human world with its ‘peripheral’ worlds haunted by fairies who are less real than we are. not surprising when you consider how crass that is. they’re our ‘good neighbours’ and it helps if we’re ‘good neighbours’ to them too. humility is the key, and not all of them have learnt that yet. they’re often no better or worse than we are.

multi-fairie-ous fairies.

????????????????‘fairy’ is a general term. definitions are difficult to impossible. in my experience, most of the fairies i’ve seen are of four main varieties: little human-like people, plant-spirits and elementals; extraterrestrials, and fauns. fauns include some kinds of devils, which are true beings of earth, not just malevolent entities. these fairies are very close to us, living in worlds as solid and real as ours, which are accessible only occasionally by highly specialised humans of earth. fairy seers and voyagers to fairy realms are in great demand now, which is why gaia is giving so much love and such empowering blessings to her pagans at this time.

the human-like fairies are often called ‘little people’. they come into being just as we do. when the planet is formed, and the moons arrive to fertilise it, dropping one after another over aeons of cosmic time into her voluptuously tectonic embrace. (this is how it is described by fairies themselves, which is very different from our text-book theory, but textbooks are always having to adjust because they proceed by theorising. the true story is still not known.) at that time, the devas were not incarnate, but over time they shape gaia’s biota to form the myriad species we know today. but we usually know only the ones within our sensory range, within which we interpret only a limited range of radiances as perception. outside the sensory range of most humans, the other feenwelts, or fairy worlds, are just as real, solid, and self-important as our own.
our planet’s human deva’s male and female forms are incarnated as evolving beings. they are currently incarnate on the earth sphere we live on – as us, the humans of the earth. they are also incarnate equally truly and solidly on many other planes, the many surfaces of the same holographic multi-surfaced sphere that earth is a surface of. as well as that, human forms derived from them are incarnating between the worlds, and in the peripheries of worlds like ours.
this idea of a holographic planet sees gaia, the moon, planets, and stars as beings whose centres of awareness (or ‘logoses’ or logoi) generate their material beings as they evolve. but just as a white beam of light may be split into many colours, depending on frequency of vibration, so does the planetary logos express itself on many different wavelengths.
corresponding to magenta and replete with the nature of our first moon, Gaia’s first, smallest, most concentrated plane or sphere is deep within from where we are. i call it tartarus, because in greek mythology, tartarus is the deepest place imaginable. cosmic elves, gigantic titans and the major devas are found there. they do not use light, but perceive by interpreting other forms of energy, constructing visions something like ours but very vast in scope.
hades is next: it is dark, but flashing with colour, and filled with life. it is replete with the nature of our second moon, which united with gaia miillions of years ago. it’s concerned with generating the psycho-dramas that drive much of the action of our planet. hadean beings often incarnate here, as we often go to afterlives there, and some people are simultaneously incarnate on both earth and hades – and some even in tartarus, especially the deva witches (of which there are thirteen).
between these and earth a couple of others are coming into being. below us are some of the human-like fairies such as elves and brownies, leprechauns and the like. earth is the one we know best but it is no more important to gaia than any of the others. as well as material, visible, humans, there are many ‘fairy’ beings native to the earth plane – as indeed there are on every plane. some of these are ghosts, plant spirits, tuckonies and of many kinds.
the astral plane is very interactive with us – and we have many astral beings incarnate here as we often have our after-lives there. all the spheres have our troubles, wars and diseases. the astral planet uses seance and ritual to reach us. their fairies are among the peripherals of our world, as we may appear as peripherals in the inner spheres, hades and tartarus.
above that are the aerial sphere, home to the aerial beings, and there are more spheres beyond. the largest is the home of the angel forms, the male witches, the wizards and the devas of extraterrestrials dwelling on or visiting gaia.
these spheres resonate with and so share some subtle characteristics with the spectra of light, the musical scale, and the numbers one to twelve, although there are not yet twelve of them.
this is a start towards making a kind of map of gaia’s body that includes all her invisible parts as well as those visible to non-seers. it will help whan i come to describe the various kinds of fairies in more detail if we have a clearish idea of what gaia and the moon are.

needlework

needlework
with a whoop of joy, moondragon snapped the last thread, plunged the needle with its remnant of thread into the pincushion along with the last of the pins and stood up, flinging the finished cloak into the air like a roustie throwing a fleece, so that it spread itself in the air and fell to the floor almost fully expanded, exhibiting its intricacies and subtleties to full view. she swept away the wrinkles and stood, arms akimbo, smiling widely, waiting for praise.

well, there was no denying its richness of shape and texture and colour. pieces of all shapes and sizes had been painstakingly hand-stitched together to create the thing. there was no counting them – it could only have been a few hundred, but they were arranged so seemingly haphazardly, with the colours so screaming at each other, the shapes jagged and chunky like shards of something shattered, forming such weird twists and turns, spiralling inwards like a staircase here, and juddering off into crazy visual cacophonies over there, each strenuous writhe of shape and shade vying with the others for focus and form. but could you call it beautiful?
but then, as its maker had said, aesthetics weren’t the point so much, although once you understood the functionality, the beauty of the metaphysics became apparent, and you’d look upon it with the eyes of love and see at last its adorableness.

janvas was willing enough to take her word for that. he was wiccan enough to know not to enquire too deeply into another path’s mysteries if you’re only casually interested. he kept a respectful distance and circled it slowly, his hands spread palms out before him for protection. it was a jumbled tumble of shattered patterns of glow and glitter, smooth shine and texture, and among the melee of mostly deep, jewel colours there was a lot of black, silver and gold. light flashed and sparkled from strings of diamantes, beads glinted and glimmered and mother of pearl glowed mysteriously, tiny skulls grinned and goggled and doodahs and geegaws dazzled and danced amid the glancing glitter of tiny mirrors stitched in firmly with gold threads and hair-thin silver wires. in the slow shift of light as janvas circled, symbols and signs, zodiacs strange and wild, chimeras and serpents and magical devices of all kinds seemed to appear slowly, blaze brightly for a moment and then vanish gently in the general dazzle.
seemingly haphazard, yes, but replete with a kind of keen cunning, of purposeful attention to detail, of magical savvy – supplied by the needle, at least in part, because moondragon had enchanted it and charmed it, and invoked its dreaming soul; and if the darned thing has winked a lot, is winking, will be winking, will have been winking, and wills to be winking still, in candlelight and firelight and oil lamplight and firefly light and daylight and electric light and by the light of the seeing fingers of those who’ve sewn on into the dark of night, and of the memories of blind seamsters, over so many generations that its sense of humour can scarcely be doubted, so too did moondragon’s. for it’s true, even the well-defended janvas suddenly caught himself viewing this newborn cloak through the magic needle’s eye. he shook it away with a laugh. such are the hazards of having a druid wife.

he said cautiously at last, ‘good needlework,’ and so it was, nine stitches to the inch, three good tight little stitches one on top of the other at the start and finish of every thread. every seam straight as a die. best work she’d ever done. he was still regarding it critically, a strange smile on his lips, so she waited to hear more. eagerly, gazing attentively into his face so as not to miss a single nuance of his reaction, which is why she saw the ever so slight startle that was almost a twitch although he remained expressionless, perhaps his muscular tension increased a little, and his hand slowly rose to stroke his beard. she saw him shift the focus his gaze, soften the energy of the radiance of his eyes, soft-gaze for a moment and then bow his head ever so slightly, and though she couldn’t now see them, she guessed he was in conversation with the elves who had helped her with the design.

she was not wrong. there were three, the tallest a little man about nine or ten inches high, thinnish, bearded, not yet middle-aged, wearing a tall hat and a soft dark cloak which sometimes lapped open a little to reveal much bright clothing underneath, and high boots wrinkled at the ankles and buckled over the instep. he had nodded and smiled and presented the tallish elf woman who was on his left, who wore a skirt of busy patchwork almost as vibrant and glitzy as moondragon’s and a dark cape that covered her arms to the elbows. she waved a huge needle, the size of the one moondragon had used, trailing several times her own length of thread thick as a rope at him. that was where moondragon had seen janvas smile.

the elf had danced excitedly around a two foot section of the hem of the cloak, pointing out the superlative features with the tip of her needle, the acmes and epitomes, fancies and exquisitudes, so pleased and proud it was bursting out of her in gloriously radiant smiles and giggles of glad mirth. the third was to the right, and presumably too doubled up with the excitement of it all to be included in the introductions, rolling about on his back on the cloak’s broad hem, waving feet and fists in the air, shaking and rocking and rolling about with tears of laughter streaming from his eyes. he was smaller, and so perhaps younger than the other two and the thought occurred to janvas that that elf was probably best ignored. the tallest elf’s eyes flickered briefly towards him, amused, and janvar nodded again, and even forgot himself so far as to smile back. the merest glimmer of a smile it was, but moondragon saw it and smiled too.

‘very nice,’ he said, pulling himself back to his own centre of self with an effort, because the elves’ enchantments are seductive, and anyway, he wanted to see more. ‘put it on.’
‘i will,’ said moondragon, swooping forward and snatching it up. ‘i’m going to the lugnasadh festival in the hills grove this evening. oops, i’m running late. gunna do big magic for planet earth, you know, the way we do. kiss me, my love. i must fly.’

in a single movement she landed a kiss on janvar’s lips and, flinging the cloak over her shoulders, spun off into a wild pirouette. the cloak, a-jangle with its bells and beads flew out in a full circle around her like saturn’s rings and then as she stopped, it speedily wrapped her in many tightening spirals like tentacles, and POOOF!
she vanished.
and how she flew, and how she flew, and the elves flew with her, clinging to the fringes of her cloak . . .

elves: or pigs might fly

elves.

i heard a bonny cow low, over the lea,

 and it was an elf-call calling unto me

and the little elf-king said unto me…

for about twenty years i’ve enjoyed the company of an elf.  there are several kinds of elves; the one i’ve befriended is about two inches high, blackish but with a dusting of indigo in the shadows of his face, which is not at all a human one, having tiny beetle eyes and stiff, clubbed feelers.

it’s amazing to me that when you start confessing to consorting with this kind of elf, all sorts of people respond spontaneously with remarkably consistent accounts of their own or some friend’s or relation’s friendship with just such a tiny being, or something very similar.

this kind of elf comes out of darkness and returns to it when it leaves, zapping off suddenly in mid-sentence to return in an explosive burst of energy when you’re least expecting it, full of excitement over some event somewhere beyond our ken, blasting into your mind a tumult of intelligible telepathy that you cannot deny.

so when i decided to take this elf at his word and take down from his dictation an account of his existence, in order to write it up into a book, having announced it to the astral and ethereal communities at large, i was dismayed to discover that instead of enhanced telepathy and improved focus, i was losing touch completely with my friendly little elf.

so i turned my mind to other things, notably gardening, and looked instead for the small winged flower faeries i’m used to working with there.  but notwithstanding one dramatic interlude with some plant spirits, during which i witnessed a fight between an unexpectedly savage comfrey plant and the kikuyu grass that was threatening to invade its root zone, i could not retrieve my accustomed rapport with those faeries either.  instead i fell into a kind of apathetic lethargy for almost a year, going through the ordinary processes of living in a daze.  it was sad.  i felt betrayed, deserted.

but on one of my lunar sabbaths, having attended to all my faerie, ghost and god shrines, i felt compelled to lie down and give myself up to the lethargy, and to the magnetic pull i felt drawing me into a deep meditation.

slowly i became aware that my psychic eyes were open and gazing comfortably upon a meadowy scene filled with pale sunlight.  in the rocky foreground stood a small man about the size of a man’s fist and with him were four or five others.  short and broad, they had long beards and were dressed in pointed hoods or caps, short jackets and bulky trousers tucked into boots. elves of a different sort. the spokesman fixed me with keen, piercing eyes.  he said, “i am angry.”

i was devastated, but feeling that he was not unreasoning but  had issues he wanted resolved in mind, i tried to keep him in focus, but a younger elf intervened.  he then began to show me many things about his people in the kindliest possible way.

he explained that the reality shift between his world and ours is directly related to a systematic logistical shift that can be accomplished by pure reasoning from sound, accessible premises – carried further than our culture normally permits us to carry it.  in some parts of the world, and perhaps he meant iceland from the scenery he showed me, the local indigenous culture inclines itself to the kind of logic that once made diverge, and will eventually make converge again a single broad continuum of our two realities.

he gave me an image of two people walking together on one stretch of meadowland, one forming thoughts around elvish logic and the other around mainstream western thinking.  at a critical point in logical divergence[1], each will seem to the other to disappear.  in effect, he asserted that by a sequence of logical shifts it is theoretically possible to reach “elfland” quite prosaically on foot![i]

later he introduced me to a little round woman who, judging by their evident mutual affection seemed to be his wife.  their bodies are much foreshortened and their heads very large in proportion – about the same size as their thoraxes, and about a third of their over-all height.  this geometrical change also reflects the altered logic of their orientation that makes their stretch of reality different from, but just as full and rich as our own.

“pigs might fly!” was the obvious thought to flit though my mind, along with, “am i supposed to expect anyone to believe this?”  that thought broke the spell and it all vanished.

one of my shrines is a flat altar-stone on which i occasionally place a beaker of hot black coffee and a small portion of anything nice i might be cooking for myself, and sometimes flowers.  none of our animals or hens has ever been ill as a result of eating this food after the faeries have had the chance to take their astral or ethereal portion (an hour or so)[ii].

at this shrine, dedicated rather vaguely to all the ‘other’ ones i haven’t honoured specifically, i began to look for these elves, and asked again and again about the anger, but to no avail.  instead of any explanation i was told to make a cobblestone path in my herb and vegetable patch, which i at once began to do.

as i worked i began to see movement among the herbs, and small colourful forms began to emerge, vague and elusive at first but becoming firmer and clearer and lasting longer.  these elves were always smiling and their thoughts streamed into my mind just as if i were hearing their physical voices, which were however still just fleeting impressions of sound, or at best, tiny, frail echoes too slight yet to be heard – yet the content was clear.

a young one told me one morning how the elves recruited people to be born as elves from the human race. people we might consider normal, but with amiable eccentricities of a certain kind – a love of complex puns, figures of speech or fantastic or funny metaphors for example, or with habits of thought that predispose them to elvish thought patterns, may take several simultaneous paths from their bodies at death.  i was referred to a delightful old man who’d lived next-door when i was a child.  he had died suddenly one christmas eve, and his soul had yielded up to the elf kingdom that of itself which was by virtue of his mindset elvish; and that had entered a transitional state between human and elf, a kind of larval,  form, while the rest of his soul went to its similarly predestined after-lives.

he didn’t enter an elf’s womb, at least not straight away, and i don’t know whether any souls ever do or not.  the elf indicated that such souls wait in larval form like tadpoles at the rim of elvish experience, and are nurtured and formed consciously by many elf minds as they slowly change their attributes from those of human beings to those of elves.  after this it still takes a long time for them to learn to stand, walk and function as young elves, and decades more of maturation before they have full adult autonomy.

their clothing is what we’d call old-fashioned. perhaps the first elves i saw wore caps, jackets and boots of leather, and trousers woven of soft woollen cloth, while the elf-wife wore a lightweight cotton-like fabric which she’d made of plant-fibres.  here, nettles make a coarse but serviceable hardwearing linen-like cloth, but when you’re only six inches or so tall, you can work it much more minutely to a soft fine flax for spinning.  they have other plant fibres and fur, too, too fiddly for our use.

they have other handcrafts but not hi-tech commercialism.  instead they have evolved as philosophers and metaphysicians, learning the magical arts of gaia our planet mother via plant spirits and devas and other beings including humans, that gaia might send their way – or their logical perambulations might take them to.  they can charm and enchant and cast spells to heal, control, delude, reveal or repel with great power and with responsibility in proportion, being playful, even mischievous, in the small things, and reverential and circumspect in the great.

the elf-wife once showed me a rather awkward-looking dance with a complex rollicking rhythm such as you might dance best with clogs on – perhaps she was wearing some.  laughing, she clattered out a rapid rhythm like little hammers on boot-lasts, or on anvils – weavers’ rhythms too. it reminded me of certain folksongs, for example “i know my love (by his way of walking)”, which are hard to sing until you get the hang of them.

throughout these conversations, sometimes with one elf, sometimes with another, we were often inconvenienced by sudden upsurges of energy stirred up by the emotional and mental impacts we were having on each other as we emerged into, faded from and re-emerged into each other’s view as if through swirling mists of foggy thought.

this turbulence only sent my thoughts into a flurry and disturbed my meditation, but the little elves were picked up bodily by it, as if by a watery wave, and tumbled about in the air, head over heels, doing at the worst times several quick, helpless somersaults backwards or forwards in mid-air, gradually slowing to a gentle rocking and bobbing about until they could get a foot to the ground and stand steady once again.  this they said was only inconvenient, not painful, and they were content to find it funny.

tumbling is a measure of their attunement to their reality, which they sacrifice in some tolerable degree in order to reach us.  new elves, still partly under the enchantment of realities they’ve come from, tumble constantly before they achieve a sense of their new piece of reality sufficient to attune themselves to it.

they like to stress that they don’t inhabit a separate reality, another dimension, or a parallel universe, as many beings in contact with our reality might be said to do, but a reality continuous with ours, bridgeable by the solid fabric of logical argument of which they claim all realities are made.

hearing them talk of these things led me logically to where, while still in our normal reality, i was also in another, seeing a rocky hollow where on an outdoor throne carved from the rock sat a little elf king, complete with a crown on his head and a cape over his shoulders.  he looked like the king of spades in a standard playing card pack.  he had a beautiful smile and was very excited and happy to see me, his face lit up with pleasure.  the crowd of elves surrounding him evidently adored him, smiling with great pride and delight from him to me.

delightful as it was, it was a shock, and to compose myself i went in and made coffee.  i dedicated some on the little shrine and on my way back in i found myself walking beside the younger spokes-elf, who appeared to be shrinking and growing between about waist high and shoulder high to me.  for several moments he smiled a smile of sweet, happy radiance into my face, and then suddenly seemed to shrink back down to his tiny size again.

but suddenly i saw that i was the one changing size, and my shape too was wavering grotesquely, and it wasn’t his shrinking but my return to normal that had made him seem to shrink.  and then suddenly i was back in my backyard.  but then at the same time, i’d never left it – just been in an altered relation to it.

when i got back inside, there was the tiny dark cosmic elf i was accustomed to, swaggering about on my desk just as of old.

and meanwhile, i’ve still got another couple of yards of that path to do…[iii]


[1] By a logistical divergence I mean, for example, a shift in reasoning such that from the premises you have available to you, you can reason flawlessly to an inevitable conclusion which within its contexts nevertheless implies utterly other premises and utterly other contexts more potently, through more direct logical sequences of thought than the premises and contexts you started from. Thus you effect a logistical ‘handshake’.   For a human, 2+2=4 every time, but for an elf, without any logical flaw or error, 2+2 may sometimes equal 5.  In pure maths I believe it is possible or considered to be possible to reason in this way, though I don’t know of any references to give you on this.  For a reality shift to occur this would accompany a whole range of parallel logical pathways affecting everything from physiology to language, music and aesthetics. Folksongs that play with weird logic, e.g., ‘I saw a cheese eat a rat’, are referring us to the kinds of playful logical shifts that lead us to other realities of this sort.

[ii] In Celtic faerie lore, you must never eat food put out for faeries or let pets eat is as it will make them ill. This does happen with some kinds of Celtic faeries, but not with these elves.

[iii] Since these experiences i have come to understand the ‘anger’ expressed by the first elf.  For him, ‘hacking in’ to my awareness was via a series of ploys designed to obviate my defences and get past my inner censors. At that time, dealing with hostility was ‘important’ to me, while meeting elves was ‘self indulgence and so relegated to my ‘not now’ basket.  Hence his ‘gambit’ was to become the thing to which I would give highest priority, i.e., angry.  Or in other words, he wasn’t really angry.

lord of the insects

lord of the insects

gaia speaks all languages, understands all cultures, listens to all conversations on earth. her/his mind is the super-context within which all her/his component minds make sense.  according to animistic models, s/he is the combined mentality of myriad beings, visible and invisible – and not just human, but of all species and entities, exchanging vital information through networks within networks within complexes of networks which constitute the planetary awareness, which is then networked into the greater galactic awareness’s complex of contexts, which is networked into the greater cosmic contexts and so on outward and ever outward (and of course also inward and ever inward). despite apparent conflict and error and misunderstanding, all mentality is unified within these greater contexts.

within all this i, a gardener, push aside motherwort, looking for meadowsweet, and suddenly something makes me glance to one side and there among the lavender catnip still battling on amid the encroaching school-cap suddenly i see a being, ten inches high, shimmering in and out of vision; and i become aware that the shrill trilling bursts of whirring i’ve been not-quite-hearing until now, yet to which i am suddenly aware i have been responding for some time, are made by this being; as if between his tongue and his teeth he were whistling to me and begging me to see.  but he has no teeth and tongue, only an insect’s head and mouthparts.  half-man, half-insect, standing among the plant stems he is calling me.

insect man

half human, half insect

what can i do but stare, frozen to stillness, knowing that my least reaction might break the spell and he’d be gone? and i notice that he looks like a shaman in one of those a big elaborate ceremonial mask made of wood, painted and stained and decorated with long, stiff tufts of dried grass, pipeclay and feathers and rendered bizarre and potent with magical tricks of colour and line such as might thrill sculptors and their critics.

at which point i find that i’ve been pulled into his trance, “entranced” so that the word “entranced” suddenly leaps to full vivacity for me, replete with its true meaning; and i find am staring at the painted frayed-bark beard of just such a mask of normal size, held in the being’s hand; and when i look up sharply into his face, for size relations have dissolved into something quite paradoxical between him and me, he is a normal-sized black man with very dark, deep-set laughing eyes, though barely smiling, he is richly enjoying the encounter.

and then, sharing his mental field in a vivid revelation i am made aware of this process within this unity of the planetary mind. i see rituals being performed amid leaping flames in jungle clearings and in deep, primaeval caves, games and dances in kindergarten playgroups by unknowing children and in classical dance by dedicated professional performers with  focused yet subconscious intention, in the covert collective shamanisms of genre fantasy fiction and in the solitary play of small children, almost all entirely unaware of the contribution of the others, none knowing the whole of the work, nobody planning it, but all of us doing it, building it, according to a unifying will not our own, like ants building their underground cities, or bees making honey.

this is a deva fighting its way into manifestation in this form thus lovingly built over thousands of years by the will of the parent planet; to catch, as a dream-catcher might, who knows what cosmic soul, what “dreaming” from the infinitude of the dreaming that is all existence, that manifests here on earth as that whole order of mystical, magical beings called insects.

and then he is gone, and i am left alone, my hands still holding the motherwort stems, while i hear in my mind his name silently repeated: lord of the insects . . . lord of the insects . . . and i have the impression that he had been talking to me just beyond my range of hearing, in french.

vyvyan ogma wyverne