The Tell-Me Triplets weren’t even related. Tell Me Why, Tell Me More and Tell Me Again were three sprites raised in a single bubble until they were three human years old. For a fairy, that’s about the time puberty sets in.
They were named Melody, Harmony and Aria, but “Aria” became so popular in Storyland that she now answers to “Sonata”.
Beloved was a human who had always existed in one world or another. Elara the potion maker had always known him. It was Elara who created the potion which gave birth to the Tell-Me triplets, specifically to create lines of communication, both subtle and bold – because Elara and Beloved were twin flames and soulmates and karmic partners all at the same time.
By the power of the full moon, Melody and Harmony and Sonata traveled to Beloved and back, providing Elara the answers she desired. Upon every return at dawn, Elara would say,
Tell me why he struggles. Tell me more about his health. Tell me again that he is happy.
In response, the trio makes such beautiful music. Melody and Harmony and Sonata deliver the lullaby that allows Elara to sleep soundly until the next full moon. There are no nightmares; no dragons. No pain. No tears.
Here is a story that three people know and three witches know and three fairies know, but one of the fairies is Echo the Gossip…
On the Full Cold Moon of 2017, I called down the moon in Figment. I only wanted it for the following morning, Friday the 13th, which was also most definitely in Figment. On that early morning I was hand-fasted.
I knew very little about witches and fairies at the time, but this was the first occasion I was inviting someone into my fantasy life, and there were very few rational or logical terms that could explain what was happening. There was nothing rational or logical about this relationship either, other than a reconnection every three years; sometimes in person but often not.
In April of 2013 I cut off my hair again, and with motorcycle weather coming up, I realized the tail I left in the back could be dangerous….and he was in my head again. I started saving an item in a mail order catalog. It was a ring inscribed with:
HOW LUCKY I AM TO HAVE KNOWN SOMEONE WHO WAS SO HARD TO SAY GOODBYE TO.
I started wondering if my special friend was alive or dead, and I wondered if he’d like to know that whenever I was desiring a hug I couldn’t find, I would wrap myself in one of his.
Alas, the joyous vacation in both worlds lasted only 33 days. Now three years have gone by and the reunion will not occur in this life on this plane or in this dimension ever again.
But Echo and her friends sit around their campfire on every full moon, and the witches brew up another batch of mystery, telling the story of something that was bigger than the moon.
It started with innocence and ended in a bonfire. A non-countable number of hands, all with beautiful nail polish and rings, danced across Youtube for nine days. All sorts of accented narrators described the same story, lending credence to their collective validity. The sounds of reshuffling decks, the shiny crystals, even the intrusions of ordinary life all told a story of remarkable similarity.
Two water signs are heading back to each other. The female energy has completed her inner work. The male energy is in conflict. He misses her. She intuitively knows this. There are unfinished lessons for them to teach each other. They are twin flames. Neither sucks the air out of the other. The communication will begin in November. But the conflict is coming from a family matter on the male side. It is Virgo energy. It is a third party. A wife or an ex. This is a third party situation.
At the end of the nine days the story shifted. The planets shifted. Suddenly Pisces energy was focused on financial increases. Romance was no longer in the cards, at least not on Youtube.
The veil is thin. The military uniforms are displayed. I had a visitor this morning in my dreams, in white just like Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman. He was at first a statue on the campus at Penn, and then he jumped off his pedestal with the ease of a panther, placed his cap upon his head, and fairly oozed through the campus of young and naive students.
I knew him. However briefly we shared the same space, I learned more from him than most of the men I ever thought to love. This man was worldly and only 20. He had the gentle white glow of someone who was very close to Heaven.
He was engaged to be married.
Early this morning he entered my dreams, gentle and confident. He didn’t speak, but compelled me to follow him with a tilt of his head.
Alas I may never know where he was leading me, because I woke up to pee….
Early on in my adventure into testing the boundaries of reality, a wise woman explained that our efforts to change look like a pendulum. Your first try is a bit over-the-top, but you eventually settle into a balance. For me, I liked to visualize Newton’s Cradle, but I’m far enough along the road to Figment now to notice the various nuanced little adjustments that allow me to flow as smoothly as the sand under the waves between Reality and Figment.
The reality is that my bucket list was empty. I was stealing things from other peoples’ buckets just for something to do. Then I went to my dreams for inspiration and couldn’t settle on a choice between three things. An Indian Scout. A Harley trike. A Polaris Slingshot.
The reality is that I miss driving a stick. I want to be forced to pay attention to my driving. But the recurring dream is that I am downshifting in a left turn and can’t remember if I am on an old Triumph or a new Honda. And I am riding with Heartbreaker, whose opinions have always inflenced me more than anyone else’s. I do not want to fail this turn and bruise my ego. Forget about bones and guts. In real life I have flown over the driver, who flew over the handlebars of a borrowed bike. I landed on my borrowed helmet. He was turning left in front of a NH memorial to their war dead. I got my permit. I let it expire. For forty years I have downshifted into that curve.
So for now I think my balloon motorcycle best represents the indecision. I can hold all options as viable…..until I renew my permit, at least.
Here in Pennsylvania, where most of the year’s full moons have been hiding behind the clouds, it is understood that the bubble riders sometimes lose their way. Such is the case with Wanda, who has been found nibbling on all the wrong mushrooms.
Wanda, we have discovered, needs a mental health vacation. Having been sent to a playground in the park, she became sidetracked by the sight of an alpha male in the parking lot. This sort of challenge is several levels above her pay grade, and she ought to have remembered her training and left him alone in his truck. Instead, she was smacked down by Goliath and fell off her bubble.
Wanda landed in a meadow somewhere between the swing set and the corner of the truck’s bumper. It took a week to find her way home to recover. The skinned elbow and the torn wing healed quickly after that, but but she will be in therapy for months. Thankfully, no bubble rider sprite is down for long before others fly to her aid.
Someday she will laugh about her latest misadventure. Others have done so already.
O well done! I commend your pains; and every one shall share i’ your gains; And now about the cauldron sing. Live elves and fairies in a ring; Enchanting all that you put in. – the Bard
Last night there was a dark moon, and I usually stay indoors because I am not a witch, and I am especially not a black magick witch. But a couple of cauldron owners I know who were unfamiliar with such things noticed that they’d need eye of newt for their love potion, and I am a Newton with several eyes to spare. Their potion included CBD water, and we were ultimately confused about how to transport the bubble riders under the circumstances. The bubbles produced by their secret recipe were far less effervescent than Potion 17, so we spent the day trying to find a method that could lift the bubble riders higher and faster than this potion seemed to allow.
We started at a shooting range for women. We tried handguns, revolvers and a fancy bow and arrow. No luck.
We tried rusty train tracks and leaky kayaks. No luck.
We tried non-GMO corn cob sabers. No luck.
We tried beer. No luck.
We tried nuclear power. No luck.
We tried sunflower stalks. No luck.
In the end, we came upon an unusual method that worked. We “Cruze”d to a street-side basketball hoop and made a couple of three-pointers. We got caught playing in the road by Beloved himself, the RoyL Viking, but we were in disguise and prefer to think that we got away safely.