Sea of Stones – 5

4 12 2006

Silent Whispers

The Cabin of Duuran is a conflict of choices for visitors, but a resolution of demands for Trigor – and it should be so; as the tales I might tell will bring peace of spirit to some, while stirring the cauldron of mystery for others.  This log structure, built by my own hand, has no floor that I might sleep directly upon the earth – and listen to the silent whispers.  On the sunset side is the spirit mountain Triglav, claimed by some as the hiding place of the Divine Egg.  The sun rises above the valley called Logarska Dolina, which means ‘beautiful valley, but in ancient times was known as ‘Khamici’, the place of ‘shifting dreams’ – but also “here lies Chemmis” – sigh, I get ahead of myself.  The early Romans called it ‘
Pannonia’, the
land of
Pan – and those whispers are heard by all.
If you enchant up a travel-log by ether-magick, you might read, The peaks are steep, the valleys deep, and the streams full of clear water. The slopes are blanketed by thick forests and the meadows filled with wild flowers …one mountain visible from far around reigns supreme. Celebrated as
Mont Blanc, the
Matterhorn or
Triglav rules over a dream world and therefore has no equal. Majestic, dreamlike in its monumental and filigreed steepness and at times dangerous beauty, it is the true representative of the Slovene Alps. But Triglav is also the mountain where Slovenes touch the sky. Deep valleys, springs, waterfalls, rivers and lakes, romantic panoramas and countless picturesque details are along the trails.” 

Between the valley of ‘silent whispers’ and the ‘three headed god’ is an area of barren loneliness called the ‘Sea of Stones’ – a karst field where strange animals live but man cannot – when glacial waters flow underground to surface occasionally in seven lakes – each of a different color – footprints perhaps of the Seven Beasts, but that myth must wait.  So much to tell –

As a tutor I should be able to simply provide facts and information and allow you to form your own beliefs; but as a son of the Alan my blood course back eight thousand years – as a child of Varengian brigands Thor hammers upon the anvil of my soul – as I hear also the echo of Celtic Goddesses and Gypsy dancers and the Golden Eagle cry – I must tell of things that I know – beyond believing – of the spaces between the stones.  I did not choose to come here – it chose me.

But I will offer a few thoughts born more of fact than dreams –

when the Western world was small and mostly limited to the lands touching the ‘Middle
Sea’, and wandering more than a day or two from home was guaranteed of strangeness.  From the entrancing Adriatic beaches one might follow an emerald river up the a high pastures, enjoying twisted canyons and myriad waterfalls, and is called by many the most beautiful river in
Europe (the Saca).  From here would be seen mountains higher than any imagined – pristine white with limestone and the only glacier they would ever know.  They might stay a while to enjoy abundant berries and grapes, but would also find the chamois which could climb vertical rocks and the mufflon with angry horns, and the Linden Tree beneath which everyone fell asleep.  It would be easy for you then to imagine that this place not be part of the natural world, but from another – a place of dreams caught upon the claws of the forbidding peaks – and understand that here those truths called myths live a bit longer than by the shore.
There is room for you by my evening fire – a place to hear whispers; but you must do so as an innocent child, soul naked upon Mother Earth, or you might only hear the screams of man’s history.  But do not fear – for ‘Duuran’ also means Watcher, and I will be near.






4 responses

4 12 2006

Sleeping with my ear on the heartbeat of the great mother is restorative – your cabin sounds like just the place for a journey such as this.

4 12 2006

*curls up contentedly by the fire with a cup of cocoa, listening to the tale unfold*

4 12 2006

The sheer beauty and clarity of these images and your words, Duuran, is intoxicating.

5 12 2006
Heather Blakey

I did not choose to come here – it chose me.
And we are the richer because you WERE chosen.
The beauty of this place is of the Keatsian variety. Stunning images!

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