A large convenient stone, rising from the shimmering sand, bathed in a metallic rosy glow from the rays of late afternoon sunshine, offered me a seat for comfortable strumming, and sitting down upon it, I let my voice flow into the words of the Mingulay Boat Song. Then the most amazing thing happened, as though the music had pushed a door open, sending me into a mythical landscape of music and magic. Several grey seals basking on a large rock in the sea began sliding into the water, bobbing up and down in the waves, throwing their heads back to sing to the sky, in high pitched voices, ethereal as mermaids, a haunting, lilting song of the wild world. I wanted to leap into the water and swim beside them, but the voice of common sense inherited from my mother intervened, advising me that since I was alone and knew nothing of these waters, then there would be no one to help me if I got into trouble. Did I play too safe or not? I will never know, but what I do understand is how in that moment of enchantment, my heart awakened to the mysteries of the unconscious, to the deep feeling dreamscapes of my wild self, and the wisdom of the feminine, at a young time of life, when the moon was still in its first quarter. Here was a rite of passage, the beginning of a quest which has shaped my path of life right into the creative elder years I am enjoying today... Excerpt from the Summer 2023 edition of Pagan Ireland.
Janet Maika’i Rudolph from Feminism and Religion reviews To Sing with Bards and Angels
The moon has cast a path of light Across the water straight and true From shores of Wales to Somerset In silver streams of peaceful dreams. Taken from introductory poem to chapter 1, page 4, To Sing with Bards and Angels, Iona Jenkins, O-Books 2022 Step into the magic of a creative spiritual journey As a child, playing on my maternal grandparents’ smallholding, or exploring woods and fields around my home, I felt comforted, and protected by a benign presence in nature. Today, as a writer, on the south coast of Wales, that presence still forms a conscious, integral part of my life and inspiration. One full moon winter’s night, I lit a candle lantern by the door of my balcony, facing the sea and English shore. Soon, an otherworldly being formed in my mind’s eye, evoked by the landscape outside, and the moon painting a path of gold, that gradually widened to silver on the night rippling sea. I called this being an angel, my benign presence had assumed a form of light, in the magic of creativity. Upon the luminous path, he appeared serene, tall as a tree, and pearly white with a halo of soft, colour flecked silver. I say he was male, though he exhibited a soft feminine quality, speaking through my heart, like a musical stream, flowing into words from my descriptive Bard’s voice, through pen on to paper. “I am your Creative Wisdom,” the angel said, floating in a circle of candle glow, and pale rainbows. When wisdom is added to the ingredients of any potion of inspiration, be it great or small, so will that potion flow into projects that enhance life on this planet.” The angel’s name was Astariel, and having accepted his offer, to step into the magic of a creative spiritual journey, my life became a poem, a song, a story, as his gentle wisdom lit up the pages of my book.
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Iona Jenkins
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