The Darkness within.

Many knew of their dalliances, those stories of coupling and her gifts of prophecy and favor. Many more of their rivalry, the clash of their Wills again and again as each worked for balance.

Few there were beyond the two that knew of their relationship.

She came to him out of the darkness, the quiet comfortable black that exists between all things of light. Unlooked for, uncalled for, she moved closer. She Knew.

Her bare feet took her on the ways, leading her to him unerringly, without falter. Past his rath, for home would not bring him comfort. Past his flock for he would not find peace being among them. Past his workshop for there was no focus left to him.

Her feet felt the grass, her nose took in the scent of the tree, and her ears the labored breathing from beneath its roots. As she approached the dark entrance to the earth beneath, the tree shuddered under her hand as if some great blow had impacted it.

As she stood one foot on the threshold of the hollow, her Will gathered to her, she could not escape a shiver of apprehension somewhere in the recesses of her mind.

Countless foes she had slain, fools she had humbled, heroes she had claimed. At her call stood a host of ruin fit to break the world. Change was her dominion in all its forms even onto the final change of utter destruction. All of the forces and strength gathered to her Will, all in her control.

Yet still in some primal spot she held a shudder just in check when she thought of Him.

He was here and He was in his darkness.

Slipping silently beneath the earth she felt the tree shudder again, a root deep shake as it absorbed the energy and dissipated it through its ancient feet and into the earth.

Shifting into the space she heard him first. Breathing labored and heavy. Each exhalation ending in a deep throated growl. Body moving in the confines of the space. Feet scraping the soil, shoulders rubbing against the inside of the tree, big broad strong hands gripping and scratching the wood.

Next her nose took up the scent of him, so similar to that of the earth itself it still had a distinct tone to his sweat which she could never mistake. Breathing deep she inhaled the scent of blood, rich and metallic. His blood.

Her heart pumping hard she was stirred in many ways. The heady coppery smell filling her and causing a different shudder she could not suppress. Her intent shifted slightly in response to that feeling.

In the darkness, the labored breathing stilled abruptly, and a heavy silence fell. Like some beast scenting prey she heard him snuffle the air. Letting her eyes adjust she saw his shape, broad and muscled, still and poised in the darkness, head up and to the side, to catch the smells around him.

That primal shudder skittered across the back of her mind again to see him so, yet this time her reply was a smile, all teeth and aggression.

Her moment was near. She would have to time it right, strike when she had her opening or leave him to his darkness. Her eyes, blacker than the dark about her, weighed him, mind flickering back and forth on every detail as she reached her moment.

With a second to tense and target her Will, she lept. Sailing out of the blackness she landed upon his back, arms locking around his bull thick neck, her strong legs wrapping tightly about his waist.

In the moment of contact she felt it all, the echo of which had brought her to this place. Rage mixed with pain roared its way into her awareness. A crashing wave of sensation that would drown anyone foolish enough to be unprepared for its wroth. The red and blackness of it all swirling about her mind as she sought deeper within him, searching for the cause.

His reaction was instantaneous, throwing his weight forward with a roar, frenzied and animalistic, trying to dislodge her. Thrashing his mighty shoulders back and forth. Her strength held and with a squeezing of her arms and thighs she denied him his breath.

His thrashing did not ease, only intensified with the loss of air. She felt her skin scrape against the the earth and tree roots around her, but the pain it caused was funneled by her Will adding strength of her grip.

With a gasped growl, he  finally slumped to one knee, big arms out and braced against the interior of the tree.

Loosing her arms she let him breath and clamped an iron grip with her hands upon the broad meat of his shoulder muscles. A hiss escaped him as her fingers pressed deep into the locked knotted flesh across his collar bones.

The words when they came were a hushed angry growl from a throat that had not uttered a clear word in hours.

“Don't. It’s mine. Mine to bear.”

Ignoring him, she drove her strong fingers against his flesh, working, kneading, releasing the pressure where she found it.

As her body worked his flesh, her senses searched his energy. The storm within him began to ease as the pain she caused him relieved the pain which he held to. The red rage began to fade in him as his great arms slumped low, the blood on his knuckles, dripping into the soil.

Still, she did not relax her muscles, legs tight to him, body pressed to his, her cold skin taking the heat out of him as his breathing steadied to a slow even pace.

Her eyebrows moved to a frown as the blackness did not stir, but deepened in its stillness within him, taking a hold.

Leaning in close, arms loose around his neck she placed her lips close and breathed huskily into his ear.

“What? All that fight gone from you now?”

So saying she sank her teeth into his scarred ear, biting hard and sending a spike of red back through him.

With an answer growl he moved, and she allowed him shirk her over his shoulders and into a crushing embrace. His mouth found hers and the pressure of his kiss crushed her lips to her teeth, the strength of his grip bruising her flesh, and the hunger of his need washing over her.

She accepted it and gave equally, her hunger in return.

Their coupling was fierce. All flame and power coursing one against the other. Muscles pressing and straining. Skin sweating against skin. His weight crushed down upon her as he moved within her. Their pace frantic as they pressed themselves together each simply feeding their need with the others flesh.

Their labored breathing intermingled with gasps and grunts could lead to only one ending and in that moment of explosive release, they roared as one.

As  he drew deep on his next breath, his arms gave and he lay forward onto her. Her arms came up and around his wide shoulders as she held him against her, each working to steady their breath.

Deep within him, the blackness had shifted, the red of the anger having burned it back. In its center she found a whiteness. The space where peace and calm ruled. With that she found her smile, warm and genuine this time.

Moving her hands she lightly scraped the skin across his broad back , tickling the hairs there.

The hiss that escaped him this time was one of happy pleasure, and he raised himself up to meet her gaze.

“ I have told you lass, no one touches my shoulders.”

Mischief sparkled in her eyes and her smile broadened.

“Its lucky that I’m definitely a someone to you then, otherwise you would be lost and I would have no one to play with. No one decent anyway.”

His chuckle rumbled up from his broad chest and she felt his normal warmth enfold her, comforting and close.

She didn't ask because she already knew, and he didn't thank because no words would ever be big enough.

When next their lips met it was soft and gentle, intimate and caring. Their bodies began to move again, but this time with a slowness to match their kissing.

Three words were all that followed.

“I love you.”

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The Spaces Between

The spaces in between.

The brief moment that falls between the thinking and the doing. 

When all the thoughts have been had, words have been said, and decisions made, the transfer from thought to deed occurs.

Not always is it a long deliberation nor yet an epic feat. 

Sometimes it's as simple as deciding to get up from one's bed, getting one's feet upon the floor, one's legs to take the lift of the body shape, and then do something with the potential of the new day.

At other times it is the big choice, the point of greatest change and the manifestation of that change into a new world order, even if that is your own personal world. 

What is often lost on many is that space in between. Like the twilight of predawn or the day's dusk, the waxing or waning of the moon, the turn of the tides, or the shift of the season.

That sliver of time, the fractional space, that liminal moment, where what was has come to an end, what will be is yet to begin and all of the energy and ability of the person is gathered in a totality of their potential.

That space is our greatest moment and, on occasion, our hardest challenge.

In that space, all that we are hangs in a state that could almost be considered divine for its energy and possibility. All the knowledge and experience, all that power and passion, held right there on the threshold of change. 

There, is power.

Few there are that can pause for more than a heart's beat upon that threshold and overcome the challenge.

Most folk step up and across the space without even the smallest awareness of its existence.

Action follows thought in a seamless process, like stepping from one room to the next, changing from one state to the next, chasing into the next moment and then the one after that and again after that until they have used all of their moments and their story ends. 

These are those people that do. Rightly or wrongly, rashly or carefully there is no gap between thought and deed.

Some there are that never reach the threshold. The deliberation, the thoughts, the emotions, the consideration, the words, the process, the plan.

This becomes their endless world and they too use their allocated moments. These folk are those of thought and no action.

For even though they do not chase or indeed act, their moments do not stop and wait, and again all in time, their story also ends. 

Then there is the challenge of the threshold itself.

Here you can find those who are able to see the threshold and stop for its offering of respite bathed in their own potential. 

There are people with awareness who chase this space, choosing to stay and not move on, calling it things like enlightenment. A place of clarity and completeness where all things are finished and no new things start. 

As they work to remain upon the line between what was and what will be, full of that personal energetic potential, the world can slip by, its moments moving ever on without the benefit or detriment of that individuals action. Neither thinking nor doing, they are neutral to the process and remain separate, for good or ill.

The test, is of oneself when confronted by that potential. That near divine state where anything can change beyond the point of action. All of the power of potential entwined with all the responsibility.

Come the moment, gathering the potential to you, and then completing some action, any action.

Manifesting the Change and owning its power and ripples....but difficult it can be to face one's total potential, to face that awareness of self that comes in the moment in between.

To accept all that is yours from the good to the bad, the strong to the weak and still act. 

Doubt, of self or of others, is a human condition. The concern that there are variables that haven't been considered, possibilities that could ripple outside of ones ability to control, or just pain and failure as that which is manifest does not match that which could have been.

All of these things are true, and none of them, suspended in that moment between.

The threshold gives a lot, but it also takes a lot to comprehend the gift of that moment in between, even those gifts of pain and darkened weakness. 

He was at home in that In between.

His deeds and accomplishments flowing for the total potential of giving all to the threshold, building it there to a singular purpose, then releasing ones hold to the thought and creating the manifestation of the Will. 

In the predawn half light the Dagda looked once more at the floor of his room.
That small space beside his bed.

It was right there, so close. He had lingered long on the threshold, allowing his thoughts to delay the potential of the day should he but put his feet upon the earth.

Rolling on his side, he pulled the covers up around himself and lay there in silence and apathy. 

Today he did not choose the challenge.
 Yet as the saying goes, tomorrow was always another day.


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A Grey Day

The rain fell in sheets as was its manner in the green isle.

 

The heavy clouds pressing themselves close to the land, speeding the waters' fall to the earth with their nearness. 

The storm had rolled in during the night and commenced its deluge.

It was a day for big coats, warm hats or hoods, and a sturdy umbrella.

He enjoyed the rain.

As he donned his heavy long coat and turned the collar up around his thick neck he smiled ,remembering a line from a movie.  The character's mother had told her that “god was in the rain”.

This idea always tickled him, because on one level the mother was correct in that some people view the elements as a source of worship, but the smile always got that little bit wider when he stepped outside and felt the first drops hit his face.

Opening the broad golf umbrella, he set off down the road in his usual rolling gait, his trim frame leaning slightly forward into the rain. He’d had no need for big work of late, so a big appetite and big shape was not required.

The smile slipped to a thoughtful frown as he passed the election posters. Politicians. The elected leaders set to govern in the interests of the people. 

That same movie provided a new line from his memory, one which he could not help but feel saddened by : "People should not fear their government, governments should fear their people."

These elected officials seem most concerned with their status and personal benefits, with their back talk and 'policy' discussion. 

Where was the leadership?  Where the sacrifice to do what was best for the people?

The People, so caring and understanding and welcoming as a nation, but are they too understanding? Where is the anger and fight?

He has seen a lot of change in his time upon this island, and looked forward to a lot more.

It was needed.

His eyes moved back to the water falling abundantly from the sky. Water, given freely by the process of the world’s cycles. 

They expected the people to pay for that which falls freely from the sky? Sure, there are processes that are important to manage disease and health to make it consumable for people these days.

All of that science must have worked, as humans these days lived a lot longer, or should he say, their life extended a lot longer than some he could recall. 

The sadness began to settle upon him; so many gone who never had as many years as people these days. So many, who sang and fought ,who loved and lost. 

So many whose greatness echoed even onto this very day.

They may have had shorter lives back then, but they definitely lived them to the full. 

In an effort to wash away the sadness, he stopped in the street, and moving the umbrella aside he tilted his head back and set his face to the rain’s fall. 

The water was cold as it splashed on his skin. In seconds the rain had soaked his broad features and was running in little rivulets through the care worn lines of his forehead, and those around his eyes.

If there had been tears shed then they would fall with the rest of the water to wet the earth. 

Heaving a sigh he shook himself, and caused a cascade of water to shift off of him and hammer into the ground.

Looking down he saw the waters flow to the side of the concrete pathway and into the drains and away. 

Flowing, always flowing.

His face softened and a small smile returned as the umbrella once again covered him from the falling water. 

 

There will always be change, it cannot be stopped.

Like the waters which flow it will always find a way. There will be those that try fighting it but eventually they will be worn down or worked around. 

Change is a power that all people possess. From the small to the large, the change starts with each person, and it starts with a choice.

He recalled the news of communities coming together. Neighbour standing with neighbour in peaceful opposition to the government forcing its agenda against the will of the people.

His smile became that bit bigger as he considered the wider world impact his little island had when its people raised their voice and collectively declared that the union of two people, one to the other, should not be restricted based on their gender. 

Change, a power every person possesses, and it starts with a choice. 

 Putting one foot in front of the other, he moved on through the grey wet gloom until he reached his destination.

The pub was warm and dry, a fire crackled merrily over in the hearth. A few patrons sat about the space chatting and enjoying companionship.

Tapping off his umbrella he placed in the stand. Shirking off his big coat he hung it by the door and strolled up to his stool at the bar. 

Shaking out his paper he let his mind drift as his eyes moved, waiting for the barman to finish serving the woman down the way.

“What’ll it be Big D?”

“Pint of the usual, please Derek. Got any tips on the horses today?”

“No way D. I lost more than enough on that last run yesterday. I wouldn’t want to give you my bad luck.”

As the barman moved away to pull the pint, the woman he had just served slipped in to the seat beside him.

“Warmaiden in the fourth might suit. I hear she is feisty and likes to bite, but they say she is one amazing ride, if you like to gamble.” 

His eyes left the paper and roamed up her small frame to a face of fine sharp features and smiling pink lips.

It was always her eyes though. Every time, they seemed to stop his heart and steal his breath. Those eyes roamed about his shape in return, from his broad shoulders to his slim waist.

“If it’s not too improper to ask, I’m curious, why did he call you 'Big' D?”

The Dagda’s eyes took on a mischievous twinkle as his dimples came out to match his broad smile.

“Well….”


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