When The Moon Wouldnt Stop The Unicorns Came

When The Moon Wouldn't Stop The Unicorns Came.

Sudden large migrations of people always left Gloria's senses rocking about like a champagne cork in the wake of a speedboat. With the sounds of the skirt buffeting fireworks that closed the Edinburgh Festival still erupting in her memory, today was certainly one of those days.
On top of this, Gloria was having great difficulty resisting the Moons incessant call to go riding wild stallions. The urge to get well and truly laid throbbed within every fold of her, still turning heads, 35 year old, happily single and thankfully, for now anyway, childless body.
"Scorpio, it's in bloody Scorpio, sex and death just when I want it but can't face getting involved again. Thank you God, she steamed under her breath as she moseyed along Princes Street quite aware that she was leaving a trail of very nice piquant pheromones behind her. "Great! Venus is riding Taurus too! But who? When? Where? How? Who? When? Where?
Only the right sort of man would do. Certainly not the kind whose attention swung from breast to passing breast as they went about their business. Nothing rough, nothing old and smelly, a youngster? Hmm too needy, but then¦ Two more days in Edinburgh then back to Florida and real estate smiles. Celtic magic, romance, poetry; that's what she needed a true poet. A clean poet, well a recently showered poet anyway.

She paused in the process of pouring her tea
To ponder a vision, rolling in free.
It engulfed all her senses.
It showed her the way.
To make the most of this glorious day.

Leaving her tea, she swept on her gown,
Picked up her harp and off into town.
Her vision had shown a particular tree
Ready to teach her a melody.
She rode on the instinct,
Not giving a doubt
That the time was now ripe
To lift her harping to a magical height.

Gloria walked on, her passions whirling within her professional at all times exterior. She felt hungry male eyes trailing her, trailing her curves at least. Dangerous fantasies and realities fought for precedence within her being. Her last relationship had left her broken for months. No, she was not ready to be touched again.
"Get down Scorpio Moon!
All the men she passed seemed possessed by wolfish lusts. She walked in a waking dream knowing that all her own lusts needed were a certain smile or laughing eyes to tip her over the edge.
Gloria did not know, even after 35 years on planet earth how to feel comfy with this feeling. Oh of course she had been as wild as the best of us in her day, but today¦ today the bad memories of times which should have been sweeter, wrapped her sexual freedom in thorns. Where had the self-assured Gloria gone who readily gave her fleshly desires a happy avenue to tread? Where the happiness of shining her sexual truth with every bold step she took into the arms of charmers? Where was that goddess of a teacher she'd needed in youth who opened the class with "Today, young ladies were going to get down to the honey dripping truth of the good red road. Today we explore what to do when the Moon is making your hormones demand 'make this whore moan!'
" What am I doing shopping? demanded Gloria of herself. Too many people here, too many lecherous eyes, too many bad wolves. She needed sanctuary and no mistake.
Gloria turned right up Castle Street then left into George St and marched on. The millions of freshly departed festival revellers' auras still swirled invisibly against the Scottish stones. No screaming freedom for Gloria today, just the moon, a million conflicting answers and deep-seated fears she couldn't face today.
Entering Charlotte Square she stopped in her tracks. Edinburgh's New Town had many small, wooded gardens, yet frustratingly they were for key holders only. It cost a pretty penny to live in this part of town and the delights of having the privacy of ones own gardens, well it added to the snob value of the area. Gloria had longed to walk into their Georgian embrace but was always denied. Yet here right before her, the gates to Charlotte Square were open! Oh joy, they must have forgotten to lock them again after The Edinburgh Book Festival. The trees called out to her, promising her unhurried support and respite from the invisible threads that wouldn't leave her desires alone.
She hastened across the road, knelt to whip her shoes off, and stepped through the gates, barefoot onto Mother Earth. That open door was like a gift from an angel into a secret garden of delights. Tall Ash trees, sturdy Cherry trees and magical rowans ringed the grassy square. The sounds of the nearby traffic vanished from her mind as she entered the aura of the trees. She looked up and saw every leaf, saw the spaces between them and slipped into another world. The child who believes in magic sprang free within her. Gloria's confusion was utterly quelled, her heart refilled with poetic mystery. The spirit of the Book Festival still hung in the air. Weeks worth of eloquent words still wafted on the wind, uplifting her soul.
Gloria could breathe once more. Breathe the ancient, wise air, recycled through life, since comets brought water to Earth, eons ago. As she let her awareness expand to rejoice in the wonders of air, the wind came in swirls to play with her skirt, with her hair, with her heart.
She chose to sit down on a patch of long grass at the foot of a Cherry tree. She blinked her eyes slowly, and thanked the universe for providing for her need. "What a flit head I've been, forgetting it's all already here, right under my nose! As she entered this reverential sphere of thought the wind whisked her hair again, making her smile. She remembered that as a child she always believed that the wind listened to her moods. She would play games in the autumn, choosing a leaf and calling the wind to pick it up and dance it round. Sometimes it worked, usually when she'd asked without being bossy.
"Ah wind my old friend, carrier of all sounds and seeds and smells, wrap me with your magic, show me how to feel safe with myself, no matter what madness the moon stirs up within me!

Presently, in through the gates to the square came a beautiful Celtic woman. She wore a long magenta gown, her wild auburn hair spilling down to he waist. Across her shoulder she carried a black wedge shape bag.
The Celtic lady glided silently towards the Ash tree which companioned Gloria's Cherry tree. She paused five feet from its' trunk and stood in silence for a long, long while. Then she bowed, stepped forward and sat down with her back to its trunk. She drew her Clarsach from its case and set it upon her thigh; it's sound box resting against her chest and shoulder. She began to stroke the wood of the instrument with her delicate hands as if rousing it gently from sleep, whispering words in Gaelic. Then she let her hands rest without moving and, for three long minutes just breathed in and out in silent meditation.
A magical calm suffused the square. Gloria found herself sinking deeper into tranquillity. The wind became still, the trees balanced in time, waiting for the enchantment of music to begin.
Skilful hands began to caress the strings of the harp. Slowly, ever so slowly they danced from tinkling high notes to thrumming bass notes. As the mysterious woman opened up her memory to the full range of her instruments power, a gentle wisp of wind curled around Gloria's cheekbones then slowly up and down across her eyelids, closing them with the tenderness of a grandmothers hand. Tucked snugly up against the tree, bathed in sunshine, Gloria felt the music slip under her skin and ferry her into the exquisite land of a lucid dream.
Her breathing moved with the ebb and flow of the harps glissando. Then, as if responding to a pulsing call from Gaia herself, the harpist began to pluck a chord here, a chord there in her leisurely sweeps. At first they appeared randomly, following no rhyme or reason. Their hypnotic beauty drew Gloria ever deeper into sleep. She felt her heart beating pleasantly in the souls of her feet upon the ground. The river of music flowed on, the chords linked hands and the dance began.
A kind voice, neither male nor female, spoke softly to Gloria within her dream. Every word the voice spoke created tantalising images. It was as if the very essence of the words themselves liquefied into frescoes, fragrances and textures. The words wove their spell, slipping into whispers floating on a lullaby wind. She surrendered to the voice, letting it guide her wherever it willed.

"Come sister, feel the luscious water meadow all around you. See the willow trees swaying gracefully, there by the soft streams edge. Smell the wild lavender, the thyme and water lilies. Revel in the message of the waters. curling around the roots, and hear the heart song of the birds as the sun retires, transforming the sky with colours to welcome the haven of night.
Feel at home with the sight of the stars, for your body is made of their work. Ah! The full moon rises, do not be afraid, see how her silver light fills the meadow with numinous mystery. She knows all secrets. Trust her.
Ahaa! You are not alone, look; a messenger has come to you. Yes, it is a Unicorn! There beneath the willow trees, silver white with the slightest shade of life fire blue. The Unicorn is watching you; its presence illuminates the whole meadow with unbridled power.
A Unicorn! You hardly dare breathe. So beautiful. So dangerous. So elusive.
Your heart beats wild with excitement. The Unicorn walks majestically towards you. Here it comes, stepping with the power of elemental alertness. You arise, slowly without fear, knowing the Unicorn will not harm you. You open your arms in friendship. The Unicorn comes closer, you breathe in its musty otherworldliness, gaze in wonder at its magical horn. The Unicorn lifts its head high and blinks its great dark eyes. You are beautiful and need not be afraid of your beauty's power.
Ah, you are accepted. The Unicorn nestles down onto the grass and invites you to mount. You get on and instantly feel like a princess. A tiara of diamonds and sapphires appears upon your head and a gown of deepest scarlet falls around your body. It is made of light itself, weighted at its sleeves and hem with golden threads and pearls.
The unicorn stands. You look around and see the most wonderful sight. Seven Unicorns are walking towards you across the water meadow in a perfect arc. Upon their backs are seven women, each a Queen from different lands, each the most beautiful in their own way.
' Come sister, let us ride together,' they say as one.

You're off.
Racing through the meadow,
Leaping over trees
Speeding through starlight,
Dancing on the breeze.

Over fields, and over hills
The eight of you do fly.
Hooves pounding just as well
Upon the ground as in the sky.

Up and away you sisters race,
Eyes shining bright with glee,
Powerful hearts singing songs,
Natures' grace flows free.

There! Far below an island, ringed with pearl white sand. An enigmatic, forested mountain stands proud in the centre, its ancient ridges curving sharp and true. You feel its heartbeat strengthening your own.
The Unicorns descend from on high. Thunder and lightning boom and flicker flash from their hooves. Down you fly, you lead the way onto the once -seashells 'sand. You gallop proud into the shallows of the azure waters. Your Unicorn tosses its head with glee as your hands grip its mane tighter.
A gorgeous African Queen draws along side you on her Unicorn. She wears a leather thong, several layers of seashell necklaces, a crown of gold and that's it. She is laughing with the joy of life itself. You smile at each other and as your eyes meet the silent question " How can I be as relaxed about my body as you are? enters your mind. The Queen burst into more laughter and with a sigh says "Oh Sister, we are all born with what we've got. We come from where we come from. You cannot be like me. I am the most beautiful woman in the world! She swings closer and beckons you to come hear a secret. You lean over and she places her soft hand at the back of your heart and whispers into your ear. "So are you. The only difference is that I believe it, with every cell of my body and know that it feels good sharing it! Let go of pretending you don't like the thrill of taking men to heaven. It's only through you that they can find their way in! With a shriek of laughter she is off, charging ahead upon her milk white stead, kicking up a happy spray. Their splashes of cool seawater wash away your self-doubts.
You hear a second messenger approaching. She is older, your mothers age, tall and of astounding elfin beauty. She is dressed in a mantle of green with a crown of Rowanberries upon her head. Her chestnut eyes smile warmly, and she signals you to slow down with her delicate hand. Together you trot along in the shallows.
"How may I feel free to radiate my full beauty and not feel in danger from the lies and lusts of men?
The Elfin Queen purses her lips, tilts her head to the side slightly and says. "You know, for me it's all about cultivating a crystal clear awareness of the cycle of moments. No matter what it is that concerns you, being free to accept the changing of moments opens the door to standing in your divine power and authority. When this happens, all around you know it and are brought into their power too. Grace, my dear, will protect you.
The Elfin Queen reaches within her robes and draws forth a gift for you. It is a rosy red apple. You accept it graciously and the Elfin Queen rides off along the beach.
You slow to a steady walk and eat the apple. With each crunch your concerns of all times past fade away and you savour the flavour of now.
A third Queen approaches and rides beside you. She is a Celtic Queen, dressed for battle.
"Tell me, she says, "Why have you forgotten the pleasures of the moons?
Startled by her directness you merely stare at her wild, loving face, entranced by her strength of character.
"Do you not honour your Moontimes in your world anymore? Are your men no longer ritually anointed with your blood? How can they lead, how can they gain the sight without it? The choice is yours sister, men may rule the world you live in but they are blind without what we women know. The choice is yours. Do as you please. She rides away; a sea mist arises and engulfs her.
Puzzled by her words you walk on. The apple is so delicious you eat it core and all. An ancient power arises within you, the power of the feminine, the changing moments within you strong enough to birth the moments themselves.

Up ahead you see the fourth Queen is waiting for you where the forest primeval comes down to the sea. She is Polynesian, with welcoming almond eyes. She greets you by placing a lay of flowers about your neck. She wears a simple sarong of purple and gold silk. Her breasts are small and delicate; she is entirely unashamed of her softness, fearless of the power of the forest behind her. "Sister you say you are afraid of being yourself when the sexual hunger of men is so very dark. Follow me. She says and wheels around to head off into the forest.

The trees are festooned with moss.
Creepers twist, tangle, climb.
Insects creep and call.
Recoiling at those you see.
Fearing those you don't.
The path curls on,
Deeper into shade.
All senses tingling
You follow the Polynesian Queen.

Together you enter a spacious glade in the forest. There, standing still as stone are a forest of statues, all of them male, hundreds of them, from all walks of life, from all periods of time. They all hold poses expressing the essence of their roles. They are finely carved and dressed from rags to riches. Many of them are set against each other in fighting poses, some in the very act of killing.
"Take a wander Sister, says the Polynesian Queen. Your Unicorn takes you forwards to weave slowly in and out of the forest of men. You marvel at their beauty and strength, recoil at their brutality. One of the statues draws your attention. You walk over and dismount.
He is made of marble, a quill in his hand, sat on a rock, looking slightly skyward waiting for inspiration. A broad book lays open in his lap. He has a face you would never get tired of looking at; such a gentle strength. His eyes show that he smiles a lot despite the trials of life. Your Unicorn touches him with its' horn and the statue comes to life.
"Tell me poet, how may I feel safe in the world when there is so much power to harm me? He smiles and lets his gaze rest upon your heart for a while. Then he brings his quill to his book and writes.

Here, sister is an answer to consider.

You are the creator of your own thoughts.
Choose them well and all shall be so.
In truth we create the world
By our very act of living.

All worlds exist.
You are where you focus.
Alone you may be where you please.
Together, relationships create anew.

Choose the relationships
Which create safety in friendship.
Dream the world as a happier place.
In time it will be there, ever truer
The more you awaken
So.

The man reaches up and takes one of your hands in his. They are rough, you sense he must also work with wood; he has known his fair share of hard work and cuts. He looks deep into your eyes and smiles. A healing warmth seeps through your whole body. An energy that comes from the root knowledge of all men, the power to set life in motion. You feel a change sweep though your body and know that you have the power to complete and perfect life.

"Sister, follow me.
The fifth Queen awaits you at the edge of the glade. She is the Midwife Queen. Her hands are stronger than her face. Her heart blessed by all she has seen and heard. She is dressed in a regal gown of white, yet she also wears a simple apron. Her crown is a nurse's hat. You release the poets' hands and he freezes in a pose of adoration, marble once more. You remount your Unicorn and follow the Queen out of the glade in the direction of the lone mountain.
The path has widened and together you run through the trees. The ground begins to rise and soon you see the mountain ahead of you. Rock potency replaces that of wood.
The Queen guides you up a path that curls around the crags. Up ahead a mighty cave! The Unicorns take you into it. Leaving the sunlight, a gentle light shines out from the Unicorns and you see the passageway has walls enriched with crystals of amethyst and quartz. You process deeper into the cave and descend into the womb of the mountain.
You hear a river flowing up ahead and soon behold a deep ravine cutting across your path. Looking down you see a crimson red river running swiftly along.
"Tell me sister how may I rejoice in my sexuality?
"The answer to that lies down there in the river of your blood command, replies the Midwife Queen.
Your Unicorn leaps forward and bears you down into the river. Its' bright red light is all around you, pulsing you, penetrating you with a rhythm you cannot deny. A rhythm you can only ride wherever it takes you, through threshold after threshold of sensation until blissful exhaustion sweeps through you as a healing balm of softness. You are different than you were before. Much more relaxed to your own nature.

The Unicorn whinnies. It has brought you, back from beyond, to the path. Before you the sixth Unicorn stands proudly bearing the sixth Queen. She looks at you and sees your wild beauty unfettered now. You look at her and see that her face shape shifts from maiden to mother to crone and back again as you watch. The transition is natural and her righteousness fills the passageway with archetypal power.
"I know what you need, she says in a multifaceted voice. "Come.
You travel into the heart of the mountain, to a mighty cavern whose ceiling is as high as a great cathedral. The Queen who is maiden, mother and crone brings out a drum from her black robes and begins to beat it firmly. Its' sound echoes off all the walls and the Unicorn takes you to the centre of the chamber, where a golden treasure chest sits. It opens it with its horn and within you see silver, mercurial, mirror like waters. Gazing in, you behold your own face begin to shape shift. Maiden. Mother. Crone.

There's nothing to fear
Love changes not within.
An eternal stillness anchors you to the source.
Only the external mask changes,
Shifting its' power of expression,
Varying your allure.

The drumbeat quickens. The seventh Queen materialises in the air above you, dressed in starlight, her face as pale and mysterious as the moon. You rise up and follow the Queens magical stead. The chamber vanishes and you are beneath the night sky, racing into the heavens. You feel ageless, timeless. Present since the beginning of time through the eternal feminine.

The stars,
Your eggs.
The Galaxies
The sisterhoods.

Seven Queens,
Seven Unicorns
In a circle stand.

The South East is free.
You enter, an equal.
In the circle you stand.

The Unicorns bow,
Touching their horns.
You remember all you have seen.

The world wags on about its' business as Gloria sleeps on beneath her Cherry tree.

She paused in the process of plucking a string.
The song was complete, no need to bring
Anything more than a contented sigh,
A tip of the head, a tear from the eye.

She picked up her harp, packed it away
Smiled at the woman, snoring away
There to her side, propped up by a tree
So feminine, so reckless, so very carefree.

Feeling the need of this song to set down
She strolled out of the garden and into the town,
Unaware of the changes her music had wrought
The solutions it gave and all that it taught.

The familiar feeling of having a solid form once more began to grow within Gloria's consciousness. Her ears shifted from paying attention to the inner world to a delicacy outside herself. Guitar music and an earnest, golden male voice sang.

"Far away there's a woman dreaming,
Dreaming of her man.
She knows if she listens clearly
Soon she'll hold his hand
And he'll hold true to the promise,
To love and hold her oh so dear
Come what may, as seasons change
Slowly through the years¦..

Gloria awoke; the harpist had gone. In her place sat the gorgeous poet she had chosen in the forest. Their eyes met, the wind danced leaves, Celtic magic smiled.

The End