The Rose Petalled Path

The first time I met Marya Stark I was living at the Temple of Isis in 2008 and she was playing sweet guitar songs in the pavilion as I happened to walk past.

Her voice was penetrating and bounced from rafter to rafter as the audience enjoyed their afternoon refreshments.

From there I’d hear her crooning through the trees at west coast festivals and small gatherings in the hills of sonoma for years.

It seemed like wherever I went travelling, if the vibe was beautiful, there was Marya serenading us!

Little did I know then that a decade later I’d be her understudy for the production of ShatterSpell and that now I’d have the honor to walk the Rose Petalled Path with her for 9 months.

I’m grateful that she’s consistently insisted I’m a good fit for the RPP course. haha. I’ve been challenged from the moment I arrived, and I love it.

Anyways, here’s some poetry from our work together so far.

It’s called ‘The Next Step’.

A glimpse into the process.

Shoutout to the Rosey Bards and Temple of the Muse!

Blessed to be on the path.

.

.

.

THE NEXT STEP

At next step

Moss logs and leaves

Growing wet and cold beneath

Glowing the softest green

Echoes of frogs slow down

As tendrils of white light

Take form into silver glittering gold

That glimmer through the night

And there before the rosey bard a

A guardian appears

They heard about the whispers

Of the women and their fears

And so a helper comes knocking

Upon the Rose bard’s door

To share a secret elixir

So she will not weep anymore?

She asks the bard with a grin

Do you only seek pleasure that’s within?

Why waste time valuing only what’s this,

When in death also is sumptious bliss

Sinking her teeth into a strawberry bite

The glowing white guardian

DIssapears with delight

Leaving only a feather, a bone, and a quill

As the poet writes,

She remembers her still

As the poet speaks,

Her voice leads them close

To the home of this guardian

Deep in the oak.

The heartwood of the tree

Holds but a drop

But gathered in a chalice

Nothing will stop

From lifting the bards

from all that they’ve spoke

Of turning the wheel

And spinning the spoke

And returning to flow

All we intend to release

Accepting our Suffering

So we may be at peace

Sun and Moon as our guide

The Rose Bard bade it so

To give to the tree

To let that shit go

Shopping Cart
Scroll to Top