Templo de Diana ~ SeguntoSynchronicity abounds at such an astounding rate in our lives. On two separate occasions, two people suggested we should visit Sagunto here in Valencia. Both spontaneously, without reference to each other and completely out of the blue, without being prompted by any previous conversation of good places to go etc. The timing of us finally going on this Full Moon couldnt be more perfect. Needless to say from the moment we arrived magic poured forth as bright as the spanish sunshine. Following our intuition we found ourselves at an ancient Temple dedicated to the Goddess Diana, with the original wall and ritual baths still intact. As well was a wonderful small exhibition on the creation and inspiration of the origins of Theater and how the original performances were always ritualistic and had an alter built to honor the god Dionysious... We are in the process of creating our own Ceremonial Theater and the relevance of this day and its direct message straight from the heart of Diana's Temple was not lost on us. Click on images below to enlarge POMBA GIRA 'With her shadows embraced she becomes Queen upon her Throne'   POMBA GIRA We made offerings of sweet red wine and sung to her sensuality To take that which was broken, defiled, dismantled and heal her She came in a dream her red dress flowing like blood across your body Cleansing the unclean, nurturing your power, your life force, your sexuality Finally returning home to yourself. Pomba Gira guide us, lament for us, for the down trodden, the ladies of the night Now made Queens with splendor and magic That bought them from the gutter To the golden throne’s on which they sit Now made from loves powerful potions of seduction.    The ‘MagickalChild’ is birthed whenever ‘The Other’ is communed with through those who combine their Souls creatively and with magickal intent .
Invocando a los Muertos MAGIKALCHILD SERIES Model; Mark Azito Imagery; Y.Zsigo What is Magic.The clearest and most concise understanding of what magic is from a modern perspective would be hard to find. In fact most of what Alan Moore has stated in the short video i would take as a Magical Manifesto and encourage all artists to engage consciously in their creations Dying swans They are gasping for air retching their last breath They had gathered to be with us to bring wisdom Yet you took their beautiful necks and strangled them Looked into their loving eyes and poisoned them With twisting hands you stole the golden promise Choked life from their broken hearts and beaten bodies I thought you were different not one of them not like all the others But you became far worse than the innocence killers More murderous than the greedy simpletons of yesterday You dressed as a queen in a gown of white feathers Spoke tongues of angels and whispered togetherness Forever was the promise you spoke so delicately They had gathered around us under the willow weeping Two young girls smiled sweetly as you held me A naked boy stood as silent as a statue before us Naivete perfumed the floral setting of our dreams We were beyond space entwined within time Together finally like two birds flying into eternity Your beautiful hand reached out to beckon them closer As the feathered flock encircled us like priests and priestess You smiled and they came nearer their fear falling behind them Come closer come into me i will never hurt you i promise They believed you in that moment they trusted us Then you took their necks and shook them violently One by one they lay jerking and shaking before me Their divine bodies in spasms like snakes burning The young cygnets dark eyes pleading with me Why did you do this why would she lie to us I turned to you in disbelief but you had disappeared And all that was left was green grass soaked in black tears  Wordz by ‘ Y ‘ MagickalChild A ‘MagickalChild’ is birthed whenever ‘The Other’ is communed with through the combined soul of creativity and intention. The Powerhouse of Potential'If the Gods and Spirits are anything at all they are creative potential. Offering vision and power to those with the integrity to wield it, but make no mistake it is our truth that create's from this powerhouse and it is our lies and games that destroy it !  Fallen Angel We came from heaven, falling from the sky Like angels tumbling through the night The seraphim’s scream their wrenching cry Forgetfulness now claiming its delight Oh how we wandered shaken and forlorn Our senses shattered from what was done The golden mantle now tattered and torn Our withered wings singed from the sun And how we yearned to sing the songs That sung the celestial realms awake Yet silence gripped our tethered tongues Like dying swans on poisoned lakes What of prayer and gods covenant to man When so much suffering upon the earth Our arms spread wide to touch the land Our hearts entwined to her rebirth This pain was caused by us after the fall The gaping wound not well disguised As we wait for harp songs budding dawn The woe within her darkened eyes And now we know the plight of every man Of how it feels when praying to the wind It’s only God that knows and understands How angels cry for every hand that’s sinned For every breath of life and love we take An angel watches dreaming of the day When we would raise our eyes and hearts again And kneel on bended knee to pray We would never want to see your likes again So far fallen from the firmament Your tears of love that washed our guilt away Returned at last to those that were heaven sent  Fallen Angel: Jolinde Nijland Photographer: Carlos diaz Poet: Y.Zsigo 'MagickalChild''The series of images and poetry entitled 'MagickalChild' is an exploration into revealing the essence of the people involved through imagery / art / poetry, creating an invocation through Magickal intention to birth an aspect of themselves into the world'
Click on 'MagickalChild' link on blog to see more Dreamweaver I 'What if i told you i had a dream and in that dream i found myself dreaming and in that dream i found myself dreaming and in that dream i found myself dreaming.
Until finally i awoke only to find myself dreaming !' * * * * Ode to Herne Oh, to dream of Herne and the pleasures there in, Lies a selkies dream of oak trees daubed in golden mistletoe. Tales tell of sweet honey nectar, Drawn from parasitic roots leaves and berries. Mabon be the child, That on the day of its kindling, Be bathed thrice in the sacred pools of Annwn. Harpies call to those such as these, That ponder plant life and poetic in their searching, Seek the gift of the Golden tongue. Taliesin’s tempered telling, told of tales, Twinkling in twilights tasting. Amergin quelled with rosemary rhymes, Of gifts to be taken, With those who dare to dawdle down dingily dells, Of dew drops dripping from the lips of the Queen of Fay. You my Queen of all hearts seeking, Who’s bed of pettaled pou porri pours pleasures on my thick skin. You the Queen of summers game , Wild huntress of the morning. Rise up from your Fairie fort and shower me in blessings. Wide eyed wandering wonderers of willow trees winding their spindling vines, Through nooks and crannies of old wives tales telling. Deep into this sodden earth and boulders of basilled breads burnt backing, Betrothing of their making. Worms of wooded wild wilderness, Intent on investigating. Baal and Bacchus,Dionysius dreaming, Arianrod, Hecate ,Demeter’s distant calling. Lead us through this Devic dance onwards towards your dwelling And there beside the Queen of Fay, My bed lies for the making. 
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