Selkie's Tithe

Selkie’s Tithe

Pure aquamarine light

Flows away and returns

At Bright Lady’s behest-

Liquid feeling fields.

Low ebb granite in

Fingering shelves protrudes

All kelp-draped with kin

Lying congregating.

No sun hours frame

Time's march past here

Nor rigid structures

Bind to ordered lives

Anima heart-held now

Swims freely bayward

Grey form homing to

Love’s clear toned call.

Yet sidhe fear most

The metal banded heart

Whose webless fingers

Clutch, asphyxiating

Cradle lightly carra.

Store away her skin

Guard well from vermin

but free-rein your selkie

Drawing From Life

Chapter 18 continued:

The weekend after their move Rhona and Gracie had a house warming. 

It was the first time Rhona had seen Philip since her weekend away. They had spoken a few times in the interim but neither had mentioned Bill. She told herself she was waiting for him to raise the subject, knowing full well he never would. He walked in with Charlie and Paul, which was a good thing. She thought it was less obvious that she had been waiting anxiously for him to arrive. 

She introduced all three men to Joe, who had come down especially for her party. He had Emma and his nephew Joey with him. He also brought his friend Niven Marsh, who was staying the weekend in Auckland with family.

That night Charlie returned to something like his old self, charming everyone as he circulated the room. His appearance there signified a détente between them, but Rhona was aware the old easy understanding with him had never returned. She saw him engaging Niven on some serious subject for quite some time, but they moved on to a lighter note eventually.

This Mr Marsh was an asset to a hostess. He mingled easily with everyone, telling stories and cracking jokes. He patiently answered all Rhona’s questions about the theatre sports project, but it was clear he had no time for her. Once or twice during the evening Rhona noticed he looked at her aggressively. The third time it happened she decided to ask him what was wrong. Drawing her aside from Anna and the others nearby he said in an undertone “Did Joe talk to you?”

“About what exactly?” 

Niven blew out his cheeks and looked at the ceiling. He had his hands in his pockets and started rocking backward and forwards on his heels. In an accusing tone he said “I was a friend of Jim Drago. Joe was too. He taught us art see. When he died recently I sorted out some of his stuff.”

Rhona looked away to her left thinking: Dear Jim. I didn’t know he died. 

When she looked back she made an effort to smile. “No. Joe never mentioned it, but then I never asked to see his school records.”

Niven snorted. “Right. Sure” and went to find a drink. She stood there a moment thinking how Jim Drago had tried to spare her from ignorant, prejudiced people. He had paid dearly for it too.

She looked up to see that Philip was watching her from only a pace away. She unclenched her hands and widened her eyes as she had learned to do at Easter. Poise Rhona, she thought.

She gave him her best camera worthy smile, cursing his uncanny way of materialising in her most vulnerable moments. She tried to put a bit of sparkle in her voice when she spoke to him. She nodded in the direction of Niven’s back. “There goes a man I never met before in my life who imagines he knows all about me. What do you make of that Philip?” He had come across to stand in front of her and handed her a glass of wine. She suspected that he had heard the whole stupid exchange.

He looked at his own glass a moment before he asked a question of his own. “Do you usually give credence to the uninformed opinions of strangers Rhona?” When she didn’t answer he said in a light hearted way “Lift your chin a little more”. When she obeyed he raised his glass to her. He understands me, she thought, but if he touches me now I shall make an exhibition of myself.

Philip showed he was in full command of the situation however. “Gracie tells me your new studio has two entrances. I am interested to see this thoroughfare. It is that way I believe.” He indicated the verandah to his right, where Paul and Joe were standing outside talking.

Rhona was certain he sensed her relief. She took her queue, leading the way to the door    “Yes come and see. I am so delighted with it.”

As Philip had forseen, there were others interested in seeing the part of the verandah that was now enclosed to form a narrow room. Rhona felt he watched to make sure she was steadier. As she opened the door Paul asked her about interruptions and she was back in control when she answered. “Once we get settled I will keep this entrance shut. The other access is from my bedroom at the end there, so it’s ideal really.” Philip had drifted away of course. She knew he would.

After they had settled the overnighters down, Joe and Rhona stood together in the kitchen stacking glasses and plates. She was thinking about her sharp exchange with Niven earlier. She knew full well that Joe’s dislike for conflict would have prevented him from mentioning that man’s opinions– especially if he now thought of her as some sort of tainted goods, like Bill seemed to have done. “Niven tells me Jim Drago taught you two drawing. Did you know he taught me too?”

Joe reached past her for a tea towel and said casually “Well I figured you must have known him.”

She tried to keep her tone light. “How come?”

Joe leaned against the oven. “I went to visit him – Jim was in the hospice at Whangarei- just before he died. He was sitting up sketching, just kind of playing around with a pencil as we talked. You probably do the same so you know what I mean.” He gave her a tired smile. “Well he started talking about things he had done in his life. How it was a matter of honour that had brought him up North. How he had lost a lot in terms of his marriage and his career, but he didn’t regret it.”

Rhona started to gnaw at her lip, but she didn’t interrupt. She was watching his face as he told her “He didn’t elaborate, just flicked to a fresh page of his pad and drew the head and shoulders of a girl. A quick likeness you know? Then he signed it and wrote “Rhona” along the bottom and gave it to me. I hung it in my upstairs hallway.”

She turned away to the stack of plates behind her and began to reload the dishwasher, asking the interior of the machine “Did you know what he meant?”

Joe came up beside her and handed more plates. “Not then. Later on I asked Niven and he told me.”

She stood up demanding “Why did you ask him and not me?”

 Joe looked so distressed but she couldn’t help him now. She waited for him to answer. After a couple of false starts he burst out “I had only just met you. Your name is unusual and I recognised you from the drawing see? It was Jim who said you were “Out of the ordinary” but he didn’t say anything more, not to me anyway. How could I ask you? You didn’t know me. Niven told me the rest anyway.”

Rhona wanted to say that the gospel according to Niven was hardly illuminating. It was pointless. All this obsession with past details had soured the present for both of them.  Joe shrugged apologetically when he finished with the statement “I guess I didn’t want it to get in the way.”

She sighed “But it did get in the way, didn’t it?  Something Niven said made you afraid.”

He nodded and touched her hair, watching his hand as he did so. “Yeah I guess it still does.” He left the kitchen then and stayed away from her for the rest of his visit.

Changing Subconscious Beliefs

There is an occult saying : by serving we are served. 

This is a simple statement of universal law and I was reminded of it this afternoon when a friend asked me to write about the subconscious mind. She had no idea I had been giving the matter a good deal of attention for the previous 24 hours!

The subconscious, with its rigid programme of set beliefs plays an essential part in the healthy functioning of every one of us. It is not, however, famous for flexibility and has no “reasoning” capacity. 

The only way to change a subconscious belief is by conscious re-programming.

In times of significant life change this aspect of mind perceives a threat to the System or Life it upholds. It then moves in to protection mode.

Fear manifests first, causing us to pull back from the intended course of action. If no remedy is applied at this point the subconscious has the power to drive us into “acting out” or creating dramas. Extreme tiredness is another favourite strategy, which may also manifest as feeling “ill” with no specific symptom.

Any or all of these may be employed, and can be highly effective in derailing our positive desire to improve because they are based on a deep seated and firmly held belief.

How can we deal with this sort of activity?

Affirmations are a popular method. They are sometimes helpful in identifying a false belief – primarily by the strength of reaction to the affirming statement. Useful for a small “threat” to the status quo, but what about the big ones?

Some time ago this powerfully simple technique was suggested to me: set aside a time to allow the subconscious voice to speak. 

This can be done in a matter of moments, provided we are reasonably relaxed and uninterrupted. Any authentic form of self expression will do: dance and movement for some of us; pen and paper for others. Song and sounding, paint or pencil – the point is to give permission for the subconscious mind to express its truth. Usually it speaks in symbols, metaphor and allusive imagery so be open to extra-ordinary results.

Once expressed and acknowledged, the limiting beliefs are gently and easily removed and replaced with more supporting ones. This is effectively achieved by means of visualisation and creative imagining, ideally using the imagery presented by the subconscious itself in the earlier exercise.

Be aware too that some limitations, particularly the most challenging ones, may arise from beliefs formed by circumstances encountered previous to this incarnation. The soul selects each form life for its potential field of experience. None of that experience is lost. 

So- when we encounter these kinds of limitation we can be sure we are on the Right Track. Personal growth triggers old fears. Once we become aware of the source belief for that fear we have an opportunity to move through it lovingly – to better things.

Drawing from Life Chapter 18

The week following the Waiheke trip Gracie and Rhona could have been living in a booth at the home show. On the Monday the bulk of their own belongings went into storage, to be replaced with a selection from a house dressing company. The land agent launched the house on the market with extensive advertising, yielding immediate results. Rhona couldn’t work and Gracie had to stay neat and tidy because of the constant stream of people viewing the property. Their original plan to stay until the contract completion date clearly had to be revised. 

By Thursday afternoon Rhona was on the phone to Anna explaining how she was about to be overwhelmed by her own marketing plan. Even though Anna had just taken a job managing a café for a friend of Philip’s, she was completely unfazed by a change in schedule. The apartment was standing ready. They could move in whenever was convenient.

There were more prospective buyers due to inspect Rhona’s house that evening.

She spoke to Joe who was in Auckland working for three days that week. He suggested an outing for Gracie before tempers frayed with all the upheaval. In fact he had already organised it, which delighted her until she found out what was in store.

Rhona was sitting at the dining table explaining the latest developments to Gracie when they heard Joe’s car arrive.

 “Hi Gannet”, he called as he came in, giving Rhona a playful kiss.

He told Gracie they were going out for compulsory fun in Orakei. She had only ever been there for healthy walks with her mother. Her blank face accurately portrayed the level of her excitement.

 Joe told her not to fret adding “We can borrow the helmet.”

“What?” Gracie was beginning to look panicky. “Is it go-karts or something?”

Rhona shook her head. “No-worse in my opinion.”

Joe leaned across the table and whispered “I’m getting you up on that horse. We’re not coming home until I do.”

As they drove in at the Pony Club there was squealing in the back seat. Rhona was laughing at the noise level and the way Joe tried to bury his ears in his jacket collar. “Pipe down.You’ll scare the livestock. Come on, my niece will be here somewhere.”

Joe’s niece Emma was a tall brown haired seventeen year old, with a flawless heart shaped face. She was shy meeting them, but gave Joe a big kiss. “Kia ora Little Joe.” Gracie started to giggle. The uncle was looking sheepish and had to explain Emma’s nineteen year old brother was also called Joe and happened to be taller by an infinitesimal amount. He shepherded the girls away from the car. “It gets dark at six so are you ladies going to get moving or what?”

Emma passed Gracie the helmet she was holding and led her away while Rhona and Joe stayed leaning on the car.

“I wish you could see your face.” Joe said, looking down at her “Gracie will be fine.”

Rhona shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. “I know, but I won’t be.” Joe moved her so he could get behind. Leaning on the bonnet of the car he wrapped her up in his arms, both of them facing the paddock.

“Love your fears Rhona.” His voice was gentle now. “My grandma used to call them signposts to greatness.”

“Mmm”, she clung on to his folded arms. “That’s no comfort for cowards.”

They stood there twenty minutes or so, long enough for Rhona to rehearse all manner of disastrous scenarios in her head. Eventually the girls came into sight. Gracie was concentrating hard as Emma brought her around towards them. Joe pushed Rhona forwards a little and grabbed her hand. “You can’t beat that look on a kid’s face when they first get up there. It’s pure wonder.” Dragging her to the fence, he lifted her bodily over it before she could resist. After joining her in the paddock he half tugged and half bullied her over to where Emma had brought her little party to a halt. Taking the mare’s chin in his hand, and caressing the flare on her nose, he looked up at Gracie. “Listen to Emma now, she’ll tell you how to get off. Come over here Rhona.”

A deathly white Rhona took two very small steps towards him. He started talking softly. She couldn’t hear him properly and she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to the horse, but she found herself face to face with the animal sooner than she had wished for.

Joe reached out and took her left fist and prised open the fingers, smiling and murmuring all the while. With her hand under his he began to gently rub the white and tan nose.

Rhona stood looking at the long lashes and the dark brown eyes in front of her. Joe turned away to talk to Emma and Gracie, removing the saddle as he chatted. Emma took it from him and motioned to Gracie to follow her off to the shed. Rhona looked around in a flutter of panic to find Joe was still behind her.

“Oh. There you are.” She sounded so relieved Joe struggled to keep a straight face. He stood with her and waited a bit in silence.

“Joe?” Rhona looked up at him.  “Could I, you know, sit on her. Just for a minute, just to see what it feels like?”

“Sure.” He swung her up off her feet at the same time as he spoke and Rhona found herself deposited in a terrifyingly high place. The next thing he was up behind her and they were moving off across the grass. She was rigid at first. There was an awful jarring sensation but she found it lessened when she unclenched her teeth and took bigger breaths. It seemed a long time before she heard Joe’s voice from above and behind her say “All right girl?”

Rhona nodded and said “yes”, in a strangled fashion.

“Not you Rhona. I know you’re all right.”

There was nothing she could say to that.

They collected takeaways afterwards and ate them in the car at Mission Bay. When Gracie went off to get herself a deluxe ice cream Rhona thanked Joe for the adventure. “You enjoy doing things with young people around don’t you?”

He was looking straight ahead, watching a tanker leaving the port. “Yeah I do.”

She looked at his profile, wondering why it was so hard to say what had to be said. It didn’t come out as well as she hoped either. “Really it’s the mother and child package that attracts you to us isn’t it? It’s not an attraction to me personally.”

He looked at her with a shocked expression. “What makes you say that? I think you’re gorgeous.”

She knew then her hunch was partly right. He had made no move to touch her. He was looking out the window again. “It’s probably just the move and everything upsetting you. Unless something happened while you were away- did it?”

Rhona shrugged. “Well I had time to think about it. Couldn’t we just leave it as fond friends and enjoy that for its own sake?”

He took her hand and kissed her fingers where they curled around his own. “You have decided already.” It was a statement and it was true.

It has been a week of making and enhancing connections between people. From first quarter to first quarter this theme has streamed, underpinning all activity. 

It is no surprise that Family has featured strongly. As our primary relationship- learning environment it is naturally the field where we experience both heart rending challenge and profound, joyous peace. Yet new experience is pushing towards a wider definition than "family" usually suggests.

Now I see the new development, floating buoyant as a mangrove seed with root and shoot already visible. 

We are being gently led into the Dance. 

Life is drawing us all into closer, more enriching engagement with each other.

It is time to move rhythmically with those around us and to let go of those divisive fears and boundaries- public/private, related/unrelated, and the rest.

Step into the circle now. Your unique contribution is a vital part of this Great Design– and only you can give it.

Drawing from Life continues:

Rhona stayed with Louise for most of the afternoon. After walking back to Grace’s she let herself in, had a shower and changed. Following a well established routine from previous visits, she went down to the kitchen. A casserole was reheating. A local Riesling stood chilling in the fridge. She took that and charged two glasses, taking them on a tray to the lounge.

Grace looked up defensively as she entered. “Do you know I haven’t managed a jot of work today Rhona?”

“Well you had your mind on other things. Here.” Rhona passed her a glass with a half smile. “Good health” 

Grace inclined her head in acknowledgement. After a small silence she said “Rhona…”

“Forget it Grace.” The tone was firm but kind. “Let’s just enjoy the weekend.”

Grace was arranged on her favourite Regency style sofa. Rhona curled herself into the huge leather wing chair across from the sofa, near the fire. A second wing chair faced her from the opposite side of the fire place.

The space above the kauri mantel piece had been home to one of Grace’s own works on the last occasion Rhona visited. A new acquisition was hanging there now. She sat admiring it a moment before commenting that it was a superb addition to the room. Grace revealed she had acquired it through Philip Kerby, who had spotted it with Messums and arranged the purchase. “I had asked him to keep an eye out for me. Roger and I visited Devon a couple of times when we lived in London so the subject appealed. I have found myself thinking of passed times more often lately.”

“Did he organise the sale next door as well?” Rhona smiled as she said it and kept her voice as light as possible.

Grace frowned. “I am so sorry, I didn’t realise you knew him.”

“Forget it.”, Rhona waved it away. “As you say, it’s a small town – but did he?”

“Well yes in a way.”

“I see. So Bill has been here since last November then?”

“Early December as I recall. He did a lot of building work himself. I honestly assumed he was on a shoe string, but he has a place in town he tells me.” She frowned again “Put that eyebrow away. He seems to live very quietly if that’s what you want to know.”

Rhona smiled and unfurled herself from the chair. “I’m not sure what I want to know. Shall we eat in here?”

Rhona slept until late the next morning and lay reading until after eleven. She told herself she was resting, not avoiding anything. When she emerged she found Grace was entertaining Bill by the fire in the lounge. His long ranging form was comfortably disposed in the deep chair which she had occupied the preceding evening. His hair was loose, tucked behind one ear as he leaned a little forward, telling Grace an amusing tale.

Rhona hesitated in the doorway. When he looked up at her- in just the old way- it was only strength of will that kept her from going to him. He knew it too. She could see it in the way his eyes swept over her figure and back to her face.

Grace saved the situation. “Ah Rhona, you are just in time. Bill was telling me his badminton class was sadly depleted yesterday. All the males decided to abandon their coaching in favour of watching the netball.”

Rhona leaned on the back of the sofa. He shot her a look that held a humorous note of challenge in it. “I’m a real community junkie these days, aren’t I Grace?”

Grace was amused. “A veritable village lad. One of Casey’s nephews managed to talk him into reviving the club you see Rhona. You’ve organised some crafts guild too haven’t you Bill?”

He had been watching Rhona closely. Now both ladies' eyes were on him again he quickly turned his attention back to Grace. “Well, the term Guild is a little anachronistic”, he said with pretended humility on his face. “Probably Co-operative would be a better term.”

Rhona smiled. She couldn’t imagine Bill’s management style being any more cooperative than director.  She excused herself and stood in the kitchen listening to the rise and fall of voices and intermittent laughter coming from the lounge. 

It was tasteless to make comparisons but it occurred to her that Philip had once looked at her in the proprietary way she had just seen. They had been at a pre-auction viewing and she had her back to him. It was a pure fluke that she had turned to see him standing there- looking. She had known at the time what it meant. She also knew that for Philip the thought and the action were two different things.

Rhona found she was regarding herself critically in the darkened kitchen window.  The fingers on the wine glass were buffed smooth, tipped by French-polished nails. Chic wool pants hugged to her figure, which was further emphasised by a fitted cashmere jersey. Her shoulder length curls were held away from her face with a silk scarf tied as a band. Correcting her posture, she lifted her glass of water in a private toast, before returning to the lounge.

She was spared a long ordeal. Grace considerately kept to light amusing topics. All her years of experience in the art of conversation meant there were no awkward silences or comments of an unduly personal nature. Bill left ten minutes later. He was not mentioned over lunch.

Rhona said her goodbyes to Grace shortly afterward. Casey drove her up to the camp where she helped out until four in the afternoon, when she was ready with her party of girls for the return trip to the wharf.

On the way she asked Casey about the badminton. He described Bill’s voluntary contribution in fulsome terms. Some masochistic tendency demanded she ask him about the crafts cooperative too. As he put it “Bill’s already linked up with some of the big winery and tourist operators here. That’ll pull them in from the mainland. Art and booze! It’s a brilliant plan.”

It crossed her mind that Philip would be interested in that proposal, until she realised that he had probably planted the seed for it in the first place. The art cooperative was just one of several issues arising from her trip that she wished she could discuss with Mr Kerby- at his earliest convenience.

Archtypes at Work

image with thanks to omegaman

The last two days have been full of synchronicity: chance meetings and apparently random co-incidences. The Magician is at work, as he often is in this last phase of a Lunar cycle.

The Balsamic Moon naturally shifts our focus to future possibilities. The seeds of that future have been planted and now it is time to abandon control - to surrender and wait for the new theme to sprout with a New moon, due in two days.

I admire the work of Jana Riley. She describes the Magician archtype as"continuous creation and perpetual motion." All things are contained within all things.

In my tradition this is a time to be particularly alert to these subtle signs because there is always guidance hidden within them. The Magician is the messenger of the Gods and the ulterior motive behind his apparantly random arrangement of the Seen world is to show us a fresh point of view of the Unseen. 

In my case the wand of the Magus points to a completely new direction in my creative life. 

The tricky part comes next: letting go of doubt and preoccupation with the small details. Only then can inspiration flow through us to birth something new. I am working on that part.

What are the "coincidences" in life showing you?

Drawing from Life Chapter 17 begins:

The tide was out on Oneroa Beach. Rhona padded down the firm sand in her ankle boots to stand near the line of slack water. Taking in the wide view of blue on blue she was reminded of Eric Bates. This morning’s shock at seeing Bill again had ebbed a little, leaving a dirty brown line of anger behind - a kelp twisted accumulation. She had heard them discussing her as if she was some set of case notes.

She began pacing slowly and deliberately along the firm clean sand, following the arc where the water traced a flat curve against the land. It was calm down here though the town-side breeze from behind her was steady in open places. The shore was almost deserted. As she turned, she saw a dog rush onto the sand at the far end of the beach, clearly in pursuit of a stick . She was heading in that direction now and recognised the fully extended gait of border collie in the return run. The owner was identifiable by his shape before she could distinguish any features. It was Casey pacing along with a hiker’s cane, tossing for the dog and striding out with bow legs and barrel tummy. He saw her and gestured with his cane.

Rhona made her way up to join him in the middle of the beach. As he threw the stick again  he asked if she had managed to get a rest.

She nodded. “Yes.  I appreciated your help this morning.”

“Ah no worries. Does Herself know where you are?”

Rhona told him Grace and Bill were busy tete a tete when she had seen them last.

“That right? Take a turn down the beach with me eh?”

Casey got along with his rolling stride interspersed with prods in the sand from his cane. He seemed to carry it more for effect than support, swinging it forward in rhythm with his step. The dog trotted calmly at his heel now and appeared to be listening to the conversation with her head slightly angled to see his expression.

“So you’re not in a hurry to get back then?”

“No.” Rhona managed a wan smile “No I’m enjoying the space. I love the sunlight on the low water.”

“You talk like a painter as well. My brother used to talk like that. He was one of Grace’s crowd. I was only a nipper then but I would trail around after him. He’s dead now of course.”

They paced on in silence. After they had turned again and were making their way back Casey suddenly gestured forward with his stick. “Look here”, he said loudly. She thought he wanted to point something out to her but he was stabbing at the sand now to emphasise his words “My Lou would like to meet you. Come up with me to the house.” He gestured again at the beach front properties, seeming anxious she might refuse. 

“I’d love to,” she agreed. “That is if you’re sure your wife wouldn’t mind me coming.”

“Oh, no worries there. Besides she’d be spitting tacks if she thought you’d gone off without popping in. She keeps her eye on the beach from the kitchen you know. She’s probably up there this minute trying to figure out who this lovely girl is I’ve got in tow.”

Rhona laughed. “Well I’d better come up and explain. We don’t want any domestics on my account.”

“Good girl. Well come on, latch onto my arm there and we’ll trot home in style. Mollie get along home.” He hadn’t altered the pitch of his voice but the dog was off immediately, making a line to a weatherboard house near the beach access track.

Casey leaned in conversationally, “Mollie always goes first so Lou knows to put the tea in the pot.”

Rhona had been expecting Casey’s wife to be a birdlike, fragile looking person. She realised her mistake as soon as they stepped on to the porch. A commanding voice carried down the hall to the open door. “Is that you Casey?”

Casey was pulling his boots off and stacking them neatly on the boot rack, gesturing to Rhona to do the same. “Just leave them here if you would”, he whispered. “She’s particular about her floors Lou is, very particular.” He raised his voice to hail back through the door “All right Lou it’s only me.” He muttered under his breath “Who else would it be, bloody Omar Sharif?”

Once she was done with the boots he took Rhona by the elbow and ushered her in. “Come on in girl. Come down to the kitchen, she’ll be there. Ah, here she is”, he remarked as his wife came into the passage.

Louise was a strong seeming woman, at least 5’8” in her mauve velvet house shoes. She was a big boned upright person, wearing a lavender long sleeved wool dress buttoned at the collar. The sleeves were rolled up over sturdy forearms and large, capable hands. She had the high cheek bones and colouring of Highland Scots ancestry, which contrasted with her hair, rinsed blue-grey and permed into a tight coiled helmet. She had a cotton tea towel in one hand. The other hand was smoothing her bib front floral apron where it tied about her ample figure. Rhona noticed the sash was knotted precisely at the centre front.

“Here’s Rhona Lou.” Casey propelled his guest forward up the hall. Rhona held out her hand. “Hello Mrs Millar.” Her hand was engulfed in a warm dry clasp, surprisingly gentle. She realised that some part of her remembered that hand, and a reassuring voice talking to her as she lay in the dark-years ago.

“Louise will do me dear.”

Casey piped up again. “Grace’s niece- on the run from her Auntie. Have mercy and give her a cuppa eh -one for me while you’re about it.”

Louise smiled serenely at Rhona. “Come into the kitchen dear”, she said, leading the way. “You take this seat here. That’s Casey’s down the fire end by Mollie.”

The table was set on the far side with an embroidered linen cloth and a place setting for one. Mollie already lay relaxed in a cane basket near the chair. The other end of the long wooden table was clearly the site of large scale food preparation. Caterers’ trays were stacked on one side. Two huge mixing bowls held the makings of a green salad and a rice dish respectively.

Louise was talking. “Grace’s niece you say. Now there’s a funny thing.” Rhona watched her moving about at the sink bench, collecting a silver teapot covered with a pink and blue crocheted cosy. The tea cosy formed a skirt for a painted porcelain figure of a Georgian lady.

“I was helping up at the camp this morning”, Louise continued, “Susan need a hand with the lunches you see and…”

Casey butted in from his end of the table where he had established himself. “Young Susan is the wife of Lou’s nephew. She took over the catering aft…”

Louise continued her sentence without appearing to notice the interruption. “Susan was telling me one of the young girls staying was a niece of Grace’s and I was saying to Susan well she couldn’t be a niece because Grace only had the one brother and he’s gone over a good many years now of course…”

Casey piped up again, reaching for the teapot. “A grand niece Lou. Rhona here’s her Mum.”

Lou went on as before. “Of course Susan meant to say a grand-niece didn’t she?” She smiled kindly at her visitor but was evidently not expecting a reply.

Louise handed Rhona a china tea cup, saucer and plate. The set had gilded edges with large pink cabbage roses spread liberally over their generous proportions. Casey had removed his plate cover and was tucking into bacon, scrambled eggs and sausages with single minded concentration.

“Take some tea there Rhona, you know how you like it. We’ll have a slice of this Madeira,” She brought a faded square cake tin to the table and began slicing the contents with a large bone handled cake knife. She gestured to the food on the table near Rhona. “This lot is for the girl’s dinner tonight. There are two vegetarians and one girl with allergies to more things than I can count. So I told Susan I would do their food here and bring it up to her. It’s safer that way. I suppose you know them all?” She took a seat opposite Rhona, moving a mixing bowl a little to the left for a clearer view of the guest.

“Yes I do.” Rhona was watching the huge slices of cake arrange themselves on a cake plate that matched the tea service.

They chatted on a while longer about the camp and the netball and the health of the local Association until Casey had finished his lunch and was folding away his embroidered serviette. Rhona was saying “You have a busy weekend ahead Louise.”

Casey pushed back his chair and stood up. “She’s always busy aren’t you Lou? Always up to something. Excuse me girls. I’ll just be out the back.” He kissed his wife on the cheek as he went past. “Beautiful.” Rhona wasn’t sure if he meant his wife or his late lunch. Probably both, she thought, as she watched them exchange a loving glance and a light touch.

Louise leaned forward to say in an undertone “He’s just off to his bit of tobacco dear, but we won’t mention it.” She cleared away the tea things and brought a huge bowl of recently picked peas to the table. “So you’ve met Grace’s new neighbour?”

“Yes,” Rhona took the empty pottery bowl that was handed to her, thinking: Early peas. Lovely.

Louise set a larger bowl on the table for herself and sat down across from her guest. They began the shelling as they talked. Rhona’s thumb found the right spot on her first pod and it split open neatly but she had crushed the first pea in the row. It irritated her. Louise said nothing more for the moment and the only sound was the gentle popping of pods and the rattle of peas into bowls.

At last Louise said gently, without looking up “He’s a fine man I think. Mr Egan.”

Rhona concentrated on feeling the crisp pods under her hand. “I knew him before.” Louise nodded silently and, shelling efficiently, sat regarding her calmly. Rhona went on “I thought…well anyway it didn’t work out.” She shrugged, gave Louise a crooked smile and returned to her task.

The peas fell rhythmically into the bowls for a space. “When things are meant to be” Louise said, “they fall into place like these peas are now. It comes without undue effort.”

Rhona had filled her bowl.  She got up to take them to the colander that was standing in the sink and stood at the bench looking out, wondering where Casey had disappeared to, how Gracie was, what she would say to her aunt. Behind her Louise had finished her bowlful too.

She joined her at the bench. Rhona saw the tide had turned and the arc of the beach was flattening. Louise began to rinse the peas.  “That friend of his is another fine man, that Mr Kerby. You would know him too I expect.”

Rhona took up the tea towel from its hook and began to dry the dishes standing in the rack. She found she was colouring a little under Louise’s observation. “Yes. I know Philip better than I know Bill I suppose.”

Louise reached for the fresh mint standing in a glass beside her and stood ripping the leaves from the stalks with capable fingers. She smiled, more to herself than to Rhona. “He enjoyed his stay here at Christmas time I think.” She laughed quietly “He’s locked himself in a very civilised tower that one.” Abruptly she laid a strong hand on Rhona’s arm. “Look out when lightning strikes it.” She rinsed her fingers under the tap, her soft laugh coming again. “But you understand that don’t you dear. You’d be much the same.”

Peace is a Process

Glass ceiling in the former K Rd entrance to the Pitt St Theatre

I had planned to write this evening - only I find my mind empty of words except for one: peace.

There was a time when I thought I knew the meaning of it - then yesterday came. I stood on the beach, listening to water sounds as I watched a shag fishing. Incrementally the rich quietude that word really conveys crept in.

It appears that peace too is a process. It arrives in the flow of one aware moment into the next  - gold in blue, warm and clear: a surrender-sea of love light.

Peace be with you friend

Drawing from Life Chapter  16 continues

About an hour later Grace was interrupted by tapping. Her studio was entered from the garden through one of two sets of French doors set into the eastern side of the villa. She opened one of these doors and saw Bill standing out on the garden path. With his hair falling over his shoulders he reminded her of a Native American she had met in Toronto during the war. He apologized for interrupting her and asked if he could have a word. She knew why he had come, of course, and directed him to walk around her easel and take a stool at one of the large work tables set in the centre of the room. She returned to mixing paints while she waited for him to state his business.

 “I happened to notice Casey’s van outside this afternoon. He gave me a lift from the ferry earlier.”

Grace nodded, concentrating on diluting her colour. “So he told me,” she said in a disinterested way.

Bill coughed self consciously, watching her work. “He had someone with him.”

Grace looked up suddenly, catching him off guard. He was fiddling with a plaster on his finger and seemed uncharacteristically uncertain of himself. She stated firmly “My niece is resting- if it was her you came to see.”

Bill pushed off his stool and strode over to stand at the French doors with his arms folded and his back to her. “I didn’t know you were related.”

She smiled to herself and muttered “Evidently.” Out loud she stated “Rhona comes here to recuperate. She always has done. I understand her you see.” She was watching his reaction closely but his next question surprised her.

“So it was you she came to after the trouble at Elam was it?”

Grace wiped her brush carefully. “You seem to know a good deal of her history. Why do you ask?”

Bill turned around and came over to stand beside her. “Because I never understood.”

Grace studied his face closely.  He had always seemed a rather self sufficient person but it was obvious that seeing Rhona here had unsettled him badly. She gestured to the table. Once they were settled she said “The whole business was my fault from the start.”

Bill learned that Grace had studied art in Canterbury as a girl, where she met her husband Don Fielding. He was a Canadian and the young couple travelled to meet his family there, going on to London shortly afterwards where they were caught by the outbreak of the War. After Don was killed in France she carried on driving vehicles in and around the London area, medical transport mostly. It was there that she met Roger Burgess, who was hospitalized.” She glanced up at Bill. “You know who he was?”

Bill nodded. “Later Dean at Elam. Go on.”

Grace shifted on her stool and took up the story again. Being both from Auckland and both artists, she and Roger struck up a friendship.  They stayed in England after the war, both working and learning despite the chaos. Rationing and the rest made things soon made things seem very grim and so they came home. 

Grace bought her place at Waiheke, an isolated location in those days, where she carried on pretty much the life style she had become used to in Europe. She valued her independence and was committed to her painting. She and Roger continued to move in the same small circles of art connections. He and his wife stayed with Grace often, sometimes for extended periods to work.

Auckland in the 50’s was socially gothic, according to Grace. She described how alarmed her parents were at the reported “goings on” amongst her set.  Bill understood when she explained there was little acceptance in this country for the type of work she wished to do. He could imagine her use of young male models would have excited a great deal of feeling on the main land.

He was utterly absorbed in her story for its own sake, as well as the context it gave him of Rhona’s family background. He sensed there was much she was leaving out for the sake of brevity. 

They shared a wry smile when she described her young brother taking it upon himself to make regular sorties over to the Island- to benefit her with his advice and guidance. As time went on his attention became objectionable and there was the inevitable breach between them.

After the parents died in 1958 this brother eventually married – a rather passive young lady whom Grace suspected he bullied. They had only one child, who was Rhona. By this time she had nothing to do with him, but she read the papers and was aware of the child’s existence.

Her brother did well, establishing himself in a number of commercial interests. His driven approach to his work did not prevent him expending a good deal of his energy in attempting to stymie his sister’s successes though. Bill realized that was one of the main reasons she had never exhibited much here. Rhona’s father was a member of various influential organizations, which meant he was quite capable of stirring the puritan element to indignation over her work.

By the time Rhona was leaving school her father was a business magnate and a very influential man. He gave his daughter the best of everything and expected- probably received- instantaneous acceptance of his wishes in every regard. Grace was successful herself, financially and socially independent, and in every way anathema to him. At least Bill assumed that was the case by her remark “He had never ceased his obsessive desire to ruin me.”

“I’m surprised Rhona was allowed to go to Uni’ by the sound of him” Bill commented.

“Oh she wasn’t.” Grace explained how Rhona left home abruptly and went flatting. She applied for a scholarship under her mother’s maiden name and won it, so there was nothing her father could do about that in the public arena. Grace did not know her then but she was told he did the next obvious thing, which was to cut off her money.

“Hence sitting as a model?” Bill asked.

“Yes. Roger had been in charge at Elam a while before Rhona went there. I had been teaching there myself for three years- despite strenuous opposition in some quarters to my appointment. It was her circumstances as well as her talent which drew his attention to her in the first place. Once the twelve month scholarship ran out she was obviously struggling financially. He guessed at her situation and was particularly careful because of it. He pointed her out to me and we agreed it would be best if we could coach her to get overseas. That wasn’t to be of course.”

“Rhona had a great natural talent Bill, however unfashionable that expression may be today. She also had a huge capacity for hard work. Her success was actually her downfall – our downfall. She excelled in her second year and won a prize in her third, in my paper as a matter of fact. She didn’t know me then of course as anything other than a tutor and supporter, but it gave my brother the very scenario he had been hoping for. It allowed him to provoke and manipulate the scandal in which Roger lost his job.

Bill was afraid she would stop there so he asked what happened after Roger died, admitting he was aware of the media coverage. Her voice became less assured as she related how she had brought Rhona to Waiheke.  “As a friend, you understand- but I told her of our connection and who had been responsible for it all. It was a terrible error of judgment.”

“So she did have a breakdown – she wouldn’t say.”

Grace ignored him. “Before she was fully recovered my brother died suddenly. Her mother’s family took her from here before she was well enough Bill.”

She had taken his hand, as if willing him to understand this last detail. She wanted Bill to understand how they wanted the whole business hushed up, how the family closed ranks to ensure that Miss Chalmer’s future excluded both her aunt and any contact with art. Grace stated categorically that Rhona never drew again, or even doodled, so far as she knew.

Bill retrieved his hand with great gentleness before he got up, stretching. “Well”, he ran a hand over the back of his head. He smiled down at her, pushing his hair back behind one ear. “Thank you. It mattered to me you see.” He began to tell her how he had come to meet Rhona. He skirted around the issue of why they were no longer in touch, only emphasizing how much he admired her absolute refusal to be a victim to him, or anyone else. Grace’s story had shown him why she was that way.

He saw she was about to comment, but the inside door to the studio opened slowly and Rhona came in to the room. She had a rigid set to her body as she stood in the doorway. Her face was an expressionless mask of composure.

 “Bravo Bill.” She spoke quietly, in a level tone, as she moved across the room to hug her aunt -without really looking at her at all. “He is right you know Grace. I can manage just fine. This old stuff is irrelevant now.”

She flicked a glance at Bill “I’m sorry you were dragged into our little family saga. It must be of minimal interest to you.” She turned and walked automaton fashion to the door remarking that she was going to the beach. “I will see you later Grace.” 

He had seen her hard like that once before.