House of Mystery

03/12/2021

And here we are::: into the winter months. Stories be a balm to the dark times.
House of Mystery do be presents the first story drop of a latest otherwordly series::: with the dreamy telling of the story of Dalhia Regalia. Take a listen.

https://soundcloud.com/crystal-kaleidascope/dahlia-regalia-in-the-beginning-part-i?si=00e4134f48f245d8ba93162b1fa007b9

Dahlia Regalia - a 12 part Story - Part 1 A Sense Driven exotic Plant Tracker, illicits the protection of a Time Goddess as she incarnates into a heavier Element.

23/01/2021

The Long Way Down goes on
:(( 2021 Poëticalls
https://darkwooddancers.wordpress.com/2021/01/23/the-place-that-could-reach-her-pleasure/

She didn’t know how it would turn out. The place that could reach her pleasure. The words that would blend a colour. Making everything new. Entirely New. Entirely New. New.   Never before, Da…

17/01/2021

|:Poëtix for 2021:|
reeeling it in }---> Archer sTyles
https://darkwooddancers.wordpress.com/2021/01/17/the-long-way-down/

Excited.  But in an anticipation. I looked upon and I looked within.    Simultaneously.    Was her mask. And her measurement.   She had built it so. And because of…

15/10/2020

Poems of Artemisia .:. 1:1:5

I could feel a softness come in.

Like I couldn’t trust myself to do none other then let myself sink in. To the gravity of your shoulder. To my own ways of knowing.

On the surface. It was patterns of lakes. Just before the wind picks up, and the ripples move in silky blackness unlike anything else. In ways of exquisite beauty that has accompanied our peoples in all of this time. And here I am, having forgotten. And being remade by these geometries in motion.

And there in my own motion, can I, feel my own longing, and let that sink , in. Be the deep beacon, the trust mixed with skill, mixed with fluke and mixed with all the things I missed when I was busy wondering. Busy with this or that.

And when the softness came, I made the space. In synapses, in midnight feet cold and torso’s heat. I made the leap. And took this time. I loved him.

I loved.

Like the water that had accompanied my people all throughout these times. Silky blackness, holding light, holding depth and reaching deep into my delight.

What was a lake?

And its ripples, that moved along my spine. What was the softness that let gravity melt away any thing other than the inclination of my desire.

Which was simple.

And when rocks were eaten by mushrooms, they’d fed the ancient Pine all of their mineral madness. And the Pine reaching to their heights, in turn fed the mushrooms what they had gathered from the sun. Thus the soil was able to grow, from that sharing, in places where there had only been rock. Rocks that had been moved by glaciers as their fingers slowly receded. It was a long time ago. And maybe just like I had forgotten the geometries of the lake, I was remembering what it would feel like when there was Big change.

22/05/2020

Friday Venus Poems 1:1:4:. House of Mystery .:.

Ciara Cara FlareHeart
mixed her finger into -
She was curious
as to the thickness, and
how the colours might come to
blend. If she had trusted
her impulse, she would have
reached to her tongue.
Her favourite way of knowing.
But Instead she let the
texture remind her
of ice cream, of swirling icicles
ever moving into a delightful dream cream.
She lent her wishes
for one moment.
That this moment
might make her kin
to the origin weaving
of a frothy Milky Way.
And with such greatness
bless the beginning
that she could feel
pulse in her chest.

He glanced aside.
Trying to hide,
the undercurrents
that any bump with sense
would pick up from a mile’s wide.

There was no thing greater
than the River’s divide.
No distance bigger
than to travel this frought with
terrain.
plenty and full with danger,
of things not as they seem.
Much stranger than death,
were these hostilities.

Sierra Clara FaerHeart
Even in the heart of a Storm
Holding you, I am the strength
of one thousand trees,
roots going deep.
Holding you, I am the beauty
that’s crystalline tension,
holds everything in perfect reflection.

We are made a knot, my arms over and under yours

Witnesses to the fabric that we are made from. And when flesh is of that resilient fleshy quality, for what is health to me and to my eyes that have been made for seeing, impressed with one thousand influences.

To make sense of what health in the arms of community might be. She made a realm within her arms. And there he could surrender and pay heed. Could dive into the deep, and follow wherever this thread and impression might show the depths of it all.

Oh Oh the depth of this fall.
Oh Oh the end of it all.

Elisabeth Shipman .:.word.:.

15/05/2020

Friday Venus Poem || 1:1:3:. House of Mystery .:.

Burning with a desire to know you.

When knowing came in every sense.
Lifting a rock, and gentle to touch.
wet earth, underneath.
shifting weight, with curiosity

Or it came plain, with a lean,
that is // my sails filling, billowing.
And it is this race across a dream.
Of water glistening.
Of light listening.

travelling a time
that if only I looked
deep enough,
could last and make
an imprint I could return to.

I may be a pillar,
And yet,
the strength in my bones.
Is one I find on my own.

This extra weight and heaviness.
It sits on my chest.
And I can hardly see what is in front of me.

I am finding it again and again.
When I feel myself loving
you.
It is then that I am filled with the distance.
With the dread of unattainable desire.

With the fear of putting my toe into a river,
that may or may not
lead me to you.
Your domain, is a mystery.
A land, whose rocks hold a density
that is still only imaginary.
Of which, I may long,
but longing can be twisted with so many things.
The fibres that are in my sphere.
In the intersection of being.

I could be learning this distance.
I could be learning the strength that is
in my bones,

I could be like a wild fire.
I could be, like a seed on the wind.
I could be, all of me,
and
the lightning of my feet.
touching sand,
touching land
touching
with electricity.

and
the lightning of my feet.
touching sand,
touching land
touching
with electricity.

~~~~~~~~~~) Full Moon Eclipse July 2019
~~~~~~~~~) Elisabeth Shipman

09/05/2020

Friday Venus Poem 1:1:2

From the Vaults. One of my favourites~
The Blanket Spell

Now that you know of this place.
You will also need to know
how to find me again.

Gather dust & places where
pennies collect.

Let it all come together
as if in some heaping mess.

But really
it comes
with a hat’s calculation.
And an avid stare,

tall as a mast
and bent as a square.

With all of this
You tidy yourself real good

cuz you’re about to go
under cover.
And it is no ordinary cover.
It is
a special-lea
crafted
cover

The kind that’s real cozy
as if it’s everything
wet outside

and all the noise
is coming down
like a inappropriate
house guest

saying all the wrong things
at all the wrong times.

And this
cozy cover of a blanket
is both soft & thick.

& just the right kind of
heavy & just the
Right kind of bounce

that your more tender
tendrils can move.

It’s more like a fort.
that you’re hands hold up.

and some secret business
is what you are setting
up to be busy with.

It is everything
focus. & everything
private. And you’re doing it for everyone
cuz these are the places.

Where portals are
made.

And it is a place you can
return to.

Where things are called into the world.

Like Love and Really the mysteries
that are tip of the Heart
kind of courage & Art.

ART of Trusting.
ART of Resource.
FULLY STRONG & EMBODIED.

These are
the places
you dream

And where your
dreams lean into
you.

01/05/2020

Friday Venus Poem || 1.1.1
.:. House of Mystery .:.

Distinct Capacity
A temple.

Awakening
A birth.

A different quality.
of thickness.

Because I prayed.

Why had I brought so many things that needed my tending, to be contained. Impeding my capacity to move quickly. To react to change. To get off at a stop I had already missed. To cover the tracks of my most secret desires.

And only beauty can behold us.

Can behold there,
The deep aware.

There
The lady’s lake
The lady’s lake
The lake of our Lady’s tears.

That could be, entirely endless.

And that, beyond belief, there may
only be one way to find out. A shape of Grief.

And only beauty can behold me.
As I disrobe
The armours of pain. The lines that were woven by a longing that may also never end.

I disrobe
Those
Layers
Upon
Layers

Upon my chest,
And on my neck.
That really, hold me away
From the water’s ease, to take me further.
To cycles great and small.
To the respiration
of the earth

I call to the witness
To The grace of big strong arms

-Elisabet Shipman

21/04/2020