Mary Greer Collecting Stories for Possible Publication

The Wild World of Intuition

kard2c said:

I will tell you my truth - I will attempt to be polite - I really do not care what you do, or who you are. Do what you want. Be who you are. Just NOT here and NOT with me!

So you'll have to knock on the door(because I know you're comin!) I'll turn on the recorder and let you in. I'll invite you to sit and offer you coffee...I know you don"t like it...I do. Then we will have a conversation like no other. You will say little because I won't allow it.
Life changing it will be. No wonder I have been so weired out trying to hide and blend into your environment.
I will thank you for the gift of sabatoge for it awakened me. I will remind you of when I told you about the wheel your were starting to spin for me..what was that...1month before your gift....I remember do you? Today your visit will be the last. Thank you for the lessons you've taught this year.
class dismissed!

talk about therapy
debbie

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Debbie:

I like these stories "because" they are a bit difficult to follow. I like them "because" they represent some of life's shadows - and the High Priestess can certainly be someone who deals with shadows, as well as wisdom.

Blessings,
Bonnie

kard2c said:

Daily 1 card draw 9cups Llewellyn deck


Once upon a time getting around from place to place was different than it is today. I had just finished dressing when I heard a buzzing sound.
Well hello, yes I'm ready....buzzzz...thank you Mr. Buzzbie for the ride...(buzz, buzz) yes it was a very smooth landing. I knew this place was here. I saw it in my dream and have looking for it ever since! I have been trying to get here for some time now. When you offered the ride I felt sure that I would get here safely.

Look at how the water gently falls from the rocks and flows around the bend.
I love the way it sparkles when the sun reflects off its surface.
Oh look at all of the beatiful goblets! Which one shall I use to taste this golden stream? I wonder if it taste as refreshing as it looks? Buzz.BuZZ! what? I didn't quite hear you Mr. Buzzbie.

BUZZ..now be careful Honey, he warned! That sweetness will turn very bitter if ever touched by human hands, the faeries of this land protect it with magic. That is why you were flown in by me, they trust you here. There is plenty and its here for your pleasure. You have a cup and you may fill it as often as you like but, do not reach for another. The risk of slipping so close to the edge is great.

I must leave you and look in on the hive. When you have had your fill, just BUZZ and I'll return to take you where you want to go next.
Thank you Mr Buzzbie.
uumm its even better tasting than I thought it was......
Was I just talking to a Bumble Bee?

Llewelyn deck...What card is this?
debbie

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Debbie:

I am assuming that the card is the Nine of Cups. Interesting that the Bee involved was a male ... one would think that it would be a female. Yes, these lovely creatures can indeed take us into another realm.

Blessings,
Bonnie

The Rider Waite Smith deck:The Empress

Once upon a time there was a group of travellers who came upon a house, where they found shelter and comfort offered by a young woman. For the better telling of the story, let a traveller tell this tale.
"She was very pretty, and quite young, with fair hair and pale blue eyes and rosy skin. As she moved about between the kitchen and the garden her step would spring from foot to foot and her body seemed to be carried on a current of air. It was hard to tell if she was still a girl or now a young woman. The kettle boiled and so she put down her chores to cut us some bread. Now you must understand that there were thirty of us sat out by the kitchen window, and yet, from just one loaf of bread she cut thirty pieces. Picture this; the first is cut, from the end. Then she cuts the second and third piece and so on along the loaf, each slice maybe half an inch thick. But when she gets to the middle...well, she never reached the middle. She just kept cutting. There was still half a loaf sitting on the table with all of us served. As she cut it she commented on the bread.
“This is the finest bread that I could bake. I baked it from nothing. I put the finest flour in it that came from my own crops, which I grew from nothing. And the Cows that made the butter ate nothing but what I fed them, and they have the finest milk to churn. The eggs were from my own hens, and they lay such good eggs because I give them good seed, and they always lay. I give my bread to every one and every one says how good it is.”
There was no self promotion. She spoke earnestly and reverently as though she were Jesus breaking bread at the last supper. Then she poured from the kettle. The kettle was small black iron, heavy to lift, and she held it with a paisley patterned oven glove. Each person held up their cup, one to five, and she filled each of them almost to the top. Each person thanked her cheerfully. Then, she approached me, holding out her kettle to pour, and began to speak. I wasn’t convinced I’d get a full cup, but she didn’t stop at me; each cup after that was filled until all thirty had drank. “I made this tea with herbs from my own garden and I grew them all from seed, from out there.”
She looked out into the woods.
“The water is from my well which comes from a deep spring and I haul the water up every day”. There was no trace of complaint about the efforts and lengths she went to achieve anything. It was like listening to a ritual being performed, and yet nothing she said was contrived. After watching her work tirelessly for the rest of the evening, finding bedding for us to sleep, and looking after the children in the house she seemed neither tired nor bothered by the work. If working was what she felt she was doing."

I just read everyone's stories, i wanted to post before reading them, it seemed a good idea. They are really, really fab!

BTW i think i might have got it wrong; no one has a majors story; i guess 'pictoral' card doesn't just mean one with a picture on it then? but a minor?

Firebird

Once upon a time a young girl named Ilta stood crying beside her bed. Ilta was so very tired and wanted nothing more than to lay down upon her bed and go to sleep. She had been working for many many hours, and just when she thought she could not do another thing her father had appeared, a worried expression on his noble face and asked Ilta ever so gently to hang his cloak before she retired.

Suddenly Ilta felt herself falling. She reached out blindly, grabbing for the bedpost, and was caught just before she fell onto the quilt by her father’s strong arm.

“Ilta! Do not lie down until we have had tea and one of those beautiful tarts mother made. Come Ilta, come with me to the dining room and have a snack!” Pulling his daughter close to him the old man began to walk to the door.

Ilta pulled away from her father, brushing her hand across her tear stained cheeks. “Pappa, I cannot! I must rest now. Now please Pappa, please let me sleep or I think I shall go mad.” The young girl threw herself down and closed her eyes.

“NO! Ilta, No….” yelled the old man, but as he reached out for Ilta’s face a bird of orange flames burst into form over his daughter’s forehead and burned there, hot and bright like a strange fiery angel that didn’t consume her flesh, but allowed no physical contact with her, so hot were the flames.

The old man crumpled into a heap on the floor next to his daughter’s bed. After a while he stopped crying and he looked down at the beautiful face adorned with fire, blew Ilta a kiss, and walked to the door.

Carved into the door was a circle of ten wands and beneath the wands a perfect replica of the firebird that burned over Ilta’s face. In the hallway an old woman sat rocking upon a chair, a haunting melody coming from her lips.

“Burn the firebird in the night.
Sleep my child till morning’s light.
Dream of daylight, don’t despair!
Sun will rise, fire fades in air.

Curse will lift and child awake.
Memory of dreams will fade.
One will come who breaks this curse.
Speed his journey, bless his birth.”

As he passed his wife in the hall the old man stopped for a moment, and touched her shoulder. There was nothing to say, and so he moved past her and headed to the kitchen.

A few miles away in the village a young man had just made a bargain with the blacksmith. He would work for the smith in whatever capacity the smith required. In return the smith would teach him his trade, and provide food and shelter.

The young man was bedding down in an empty stall in the barn. He laid out his cloak, smoothing the fine wool over the hay. Woven into the gray wool of the cloak was a circle of ten wands. Beneath the wands a bird….



Vertigo Tarot
10 of Wands

rebecca-smiles said:

BTW i think i might have got it wrong; no one has a majors story; i guess 'pictoral' card doesn't just mean one with a picture on it then? but a minor?

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It can be a major or minor arcana card. The only restriction is that most people can't get a story using card details out of the Marseilles Minors - which is why I stressed "pictorial cards".

Mary