***copied from my latest blog entry***
Once Upon a Mossy Oak: A Faerie Tale
I have already revealed that my forthcoming second novel, "Nine Kinds of Naked," is about sex, synchronicity, and tornadoes. I trust it will not severely violate anyone’s sense of expectation when I also reveal that there are gnomes in "Nine Kinds of Naked." And nymphs. And dryads. And wild boars.
I bring this up because when I was researching elemental creatures some time ago, I happened across a marvelous essay online. It impressed me, and I forwarded it to a few friends only to soon discover that it was actually written by a very good friend of mine, Mat, writing under the pseudonym, Buck Young. Since I was writing a novel themed with synchronicity, it couldn’t be any other way, of course, and I invite you to read his essay, "An Historical Overview of the Whereabouts of Gnomes and Elves, Fauns and Faeries, Goblins, Ogres, Trolls and Bogies, Nymphs, Sprites and Dryads, Past and Present." I've provided a link to it at the end of this post.
And now I want to tell you something:
I once napped atop the trunk of a fallen and mossy oak in a mighty forest misting with mystery and I dreamed I discovered how to soar through the treetops not flying but vaulting and it was merely a matter of trusting and believing and only fear could make me fall and when I drifted awake I blinked open my eyes and there in the sky above the wall of the gorge were dozens maybe a hundred vultures soaring and circling descending for of course I must have looked exactly like a fresh corpse to avian eyes and I considered hollering “I’m not dead yet!” for indeed it was true I was actually alive but I was fascinated with the meditative hush of their flight and I resolved to commune that I was fully alive and without moving muscle nor making sound I expanded my soul my spirit my spark and their every next circle was wider and higher as I watched the entire flock disperse and I breathed at last tremendous and my eyes caught the sparkle of a shimmering pulsing bead of water dripping from the top of the gorge, a crystal ball hurling toward me and I could hear it cut the air as it plummeted and as it drew close I saw the forest entire including myself contained within its surface before it shattered upon my forehead into a thousand chiming beads of water each still containing a universe their own, anointing me with waters most holy and I heard myself exclaim that I can’t believe how beautiful but that’s not true because I do believe yes I believe that beauty has no superlative and that the only gratitude we can ever offer is our joy and our thrill as the sun kisses our face and the breeze cools our skin and we really have no idea how deeply we are immersed in miracle how thoroughly we are saturated in relentless unpremeditated overflowing fountains of wild beautitude and I want you know that your dreams are all true, satyrs and nymphs cavort in midsummer, elves are vaulting through the highest peaks of moss, faeries are cleaning their wings under showers of godbegotten rainbows, and there is nothing else to do anywhere ever but perpetuate the pleasures of eternity.
With compliments to the muse,
Tony Vigorito
www.tonyvigorito.com
© 2007 Tony Vigorito... feel free to forward as far as you see fit...
PS: Here's Mat's essay: www.southerncrossreview.org/34/gnomes.htm .
Once Upon a Mossy Oak: A Faerie Tale
I have already revealed that my forthcoming second novel, "Nine Kinds of Naked," is about sex, synchronicity, and tornadoes. I trust it will not severely violate anyone’s sense of expectation when I also reveal that there are gnomes in "Nine Kinds of Naked." And nymphs. And dryads. And wild boars.
I bring this up because when I was researching elemental creatures some time ago, I happened across a marvelous essay online. It impressed me, and I forwarded it to a few friends only to soon discover that it was actually written by a very good friend of mine, Mat, writing under the pseudonym, Buck Young. Since I was writing a novel themed with synchronicity, it couldn’t be any other way, of course, and I invite you to read his essay, "An Historical Overview of the Whereabouts of Gnomes and Elves, Fauns and Faeries, Goblins, Ogres, Trolls and Bogies, Nymphs, Sprites and Dryads, Past and Present." I've provided a link to it at the end of this post.
And now I want to tell you something:
I once napped atop the trunk of a fallen and mossy oak in a mighty forest misting with mystery and I dreamed I discovered how to soar through the treetops not flying but vaulting and it was merely a matter of trusting and believing and only fear could make me fall and when I drifted awake I blinked open my eyes and there in the sky above the wall of the gorge were dozens maybe a hundred vultures soaring and circling descending for of course I must have looked exactly like a fresh corpse to avian eyes and I considered hollering “I’m not dead yet!” for indeed it was true I was actually alive but I was fascinated with the meditative hush of their flight and I resolved to commune that I was fully alive and without moving muscle nor making sound I expanded my soul my spirit my spark and their every next circle was wider and higher as I watched the entire flock disperse and I breathed at last tremendous and my eyes caught the sparkle of a shimmering pulsing bead of water dripping from the top of the gorge, a crystal ball hurling toward me and I could hear it cut the air as it plummeted and as it drew close I saw the forest entire including myself contained within its surface before it shattered upon my forehead into a thousand chiming beads of water each still containing a universe their own, anointing me with waters most holy and I heard myself exclaim that I can’t believe how beautiful but that’s not true because I do believe yes I believe that beauty has no superlative and that the only gratitude we can ever offer is our joy and our thrill as the sun kisses our face and the breeze cools our skin and we really have no idea how deeply we are immersed in miracle how thoroughly we are saturated in relentless unpremeditated overflowing fountains of wild beautitude and I want you know that your dreams are all true, satyrs and nymphs cavort in midsummer, elves are vaulting through the highest peaks of moss, faeries are cleaning their wings under showers of godbegotten rainbows, and there is nothing else to do anywhere ever but perpetuate the pleasures of eternity.
With compliments to the muse,
Tony Vigorito
www.tonyvigorito.com
© 2007 Tony Vigorito... feel free to forward as far as you see fit...
PS: Here's Mat's essay: www.southerncrossreview.org/34/gnomes.htm .
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Austin
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