Pythian Games

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Archive for the ‘Spirit Animals’ Category

The Elder Spirit of the Gwen Guin

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My first spirit animal was found at a very precocious ahe.

My first spirit animal was found at a very precocious ahe.

I was given my first Spirit Guide at the tender age of 1 month old.  To this day, over 49 years later, my Mum still swears up and down that I have awakened to the Tonight show, and gone to sleep when Sesame Street starts.
Hence, I was called “The Night Owl”, (is there any other kind?), and this particular owl really suits me!!
Even with my glasses on, I see the world through a soft fog, and view the world in a lopsided manner.  As far as standing on one leg, I am still a restless stander.  I may be able to sit still, but stand?  No way Jose!!
Anywhoo, I am still a creature of night, preferring to hibernate the days away in my dim and cushioned nestie.  The owl is also the symbol of ESP, wisdom, insight, and night-time, all of which are things I am interested in and study; or try to attain as in the case of wisdom.
Silent flier, creature of the night,
Sailing through beams of moonlight.
Is that a mouse, or perhaps larger prey?
What do your golden eyes see,
In such a shadowed world?
Things unseen, unknown to daylight?

Written by gwenguin1

July 18, 2008 at 10:01 am


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According to legend, the Pelican would prick herself and feed her blood to her hatchlings. For me, the pelican is the symbol of nurturance, a necessity for the creative soul who is constantly battered by outside forces and people.

L.Gloyd (c) 2008

Written by Pelican1

June 7, 2008 at 1:33 pm

Posted in Spirit Animals

In Defense of Insanity

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Wolfgang was more then a Cat to me.

He was my Muse- and under his watchful eyes I wrote some of my best stories- like the only about a Witch named Azalee and a story about the down side of Parenthood   and a little girl who finally gets a head in life.

Wolfie would sit next to me as I went over lines and ideas and when he didn’t get up and walk away I knew I had a winner.

Wolfgang’s nickname was Insanity Jones and eventually I got around to writing stories based on some of Wolfie’s very real characteristics…and few of my own.

 This was the last Insanity Story I wrote before he died.


from the continuing adventures of

Insanity Jones


When my Grandmother would write Insanity Jones, her cat, would sit on her shoulder and ” Inspire Her “.

Most of us hated it when she said told that story to the press because Insanity only inspired one thing in our family and that was loathing.

When he walked through a room the lights would flicker the air would turn cold and if  Insanity  looked up at you your first reaction would be to cry.

To be honest, it’s hard to love something that holds you in such low regard. I’m talking about our Grandmother, not the cat.

Or whatever it was.

As I started to tell you our Grandmother was a famous writer in her day and presently if you’ve ever been a student of literature you’ve probably stood in line somewhere buying a copy of ” Cliff’s Notes ” to one of her books.

In case you’re not familiar with them, my Grandmother’s books looked simple they sounded simple but they were far from being considered light reading.

Over the years there was lots of speculation about what inspired her to create her characters and what they really meant and of course she was famous for her ‘unique perspective’ about human nature and relationships.

People took this discussion very seriously.

There are College Classes dedicated to studying the works of Estrella Derrick. I’ve even heard that there are Estrella Derrick Societies and all they do is sit around and talk about the ‘true meaning’ of Grandmother’s stories and they even talk about how her life played a role in her writing.

I wonder then how these diligent students would feel if they were to find out that the reason for ‘unique perspective on human nature and relationships’ was coming from a cat.

It would explain a lot.

But it’s true- every book, every play every lecture ever written by Estrella Derrick- were all authored by a cat. When I started to put that idea to the rest of the family they said I was crazier then Insanity, but I was right all along.

I’ll prove it to you.

Our Grandmother threw Halloween Parties twice a year- one for the holiday itself and the other for her birthday which was actually in December.

Coming in from the outside you’d be impressed- Grandmother was an avid collector of skeletal remains- human skeletal remains and she even had two mummies- one from Egypt and the other from South America.

So along with the bones she had body parts in jars and lots of candles and lots of photographs of people all over her house.

Those photographs weren’t of us (of course). They were all dead people in coffins so I guess that looking back on it now it’s a relief that we weren’t in any of those pictures.

So anyway, Grandmother’s house was dark and moody and on the surface you’d think she went all out to welcome her guests.

In reality, all she really did was to bring in a cleaning staff to dust and polish and she brought  caterers in to do the food and  the serving because domestic things had never been Grandmother’s ‘thing’. I mean her house always looked like Halloween anyway so it wasn’t a lot of work on her part.

But it certainly was on everybody else’s.

Just last Halloween it became pretty obvious that Grandmother and Insanity Jones were getting along in years. They both slept a lot and they both seemed too quiet and when they walked that Pirate Swagger they both had was gone.

I figured this conversation had to happen now because time was obviously working against us. So that evening I waited for Grandmother to go into her study and when I heard her chair slide up to her desk I went in without knocking.

She was reaching down for Insanity and she carefully put him up on her shoulder. When she saw me standing there and realized I had seen her lift Insanity up they both looked like the cat that had eaten the Canary.

Or the Eagle as it was in their case- neither one of those two ever did anything small.

” He’s the writer here, isn’t he? “

” Excuse me? ” my Grandmother snapped- and I do mean snapped I could hear her teeth click together and no- she did not where false ones.

” Don’t be an idiot, he can’t write, for Pete’s sake Akela he can’t even read.”

” So that line about him being your inspiration…”

” That is true. Insanity if very inspiring, or haven’t you noticed that yet?”

“So he didn’t tell you what to write.”

” He most certainly did not…the idea”

I guess I should have known better, my Grandmother who loved herself way more then anybody else ever did simply because she thought no one else could do that as well as she could was not exactly a candidate for the role of being a Ghost Writer.

” So a cat didn’t write your books…” I said as my face turned hot.

Suddenly I could see how foolish I must have looked to everyone I’d been talking to. On top of that my dear Grandmother would probably find a way to work my idea into one of her stories and now the rest of the world would know how crazy I was.

I figured on my way home tonight I’d take that Bridge, the badly lit one home and the next day they’d find me…

My Grandmother turned around in her chair and looked up at me with the perpetual smile that she always seemed to have on her face, even when she was angry. Then she turned around and went back to her writing and she said with that smile in her voice:

” I never said that Akela.”


Written by Anita Marie

June 7, 2008 at 3:30 am

Spirit Animals – Gail’s Wild Horse

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Horses have always been part of my life – one of the first things I learned to draw was a horse. Through my growing years they were my solace, my exercise, my best friends, my freedom. In my dreams, horses would come and gallop me away from my troubles. To all outward appearances, I was just another pony mad little girl, collecting pony stories, small china horses and big picture books of horses from around the world. But in my heart I knew better. The horse was more than a fad for me – it was an expression of my spirit.

The horse, in the language of spirit animals, represents freedom – and the strength of the herd, the family, roaming together wherever the grass calls. Horses used to be indispensible to a traveller, before the advent of the internal combustion engine. My father used to enthrall me with stories of the horses he knew as a child, for he had a natural affinity with them too (although his spirit animal was the Eagle) and was often delegated to round them up in the morning and hitch them to the wagons.

There were few horses pulling wagons when I was a child, but still I grew up with horses as part of my normal experience. Their proud, magnificent beauty was one of the joys of my life.

Today it is impossible for me to keep a live horse, but horses stay with me, through books, movies and art. Two of my favorite horse movies are Hidalgo and Spirit of the Cimarron. Brian Adam’s songs for the latter – especially “You can’t take, I’m free” capture everything I love about the spirit of the horse.

When I was a child, a dear friend (the very human inspiration for the Cat Lady in one of my stories on Pythian Games) gave me Black Beauty and I have loved it ever since – another favourite literary horse is Shadowfax. The painting above was done with paint Shop pro. I still love to draw and paint horses, and I have found that the Smudge tool in PSP gives a lovely sense of movement and life.

In another favourite movie, Young Guns II, the Apache Kid speaks of the horse that comes to take you away from this life. Crazy Horse saw a painted horse in the vision that gave him his name. The horse is a talisman and balm to those souls who never quite `fit’ into this world. Our freedom may be in name only these days, but on the back of a horse, or in the painstakingly wonderful work of capturing its beauty in art, the horse is still the path to true spiritual freedom for those who can catch a strand of the flying mane as they rush by.

Written by Gail Kavanagh

June 7, 2008 at 1:28 am

Posted in Spirit Animals

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