Fantasy Art Women and Debates About Enlightenment, A Tale About Stealing Saturn

“A Tale About Stealing Saturn”

The wind swept past her, stood fast in her way, “Stealing Saturn, are you?” he chuckled, “However do you think you are going to help your inner child grow if you go around robbing the Universe of it’s planets?”

“Now is not a time for debates about enlightenment”, I cried. ” I have painted whimsical angel pictures and keep them in a locket to remind me of what fantasy art women dream of. I keep them and know that the power that you dear Wind always understood was yours… is mine as well. I must have it! Saturn is mine! In my heart I take the secrets of magic, all the fairy tales untold and gather them in my arms. They are an energy of mystery. Saturn is mine!”

And the Wind grew yet ceased his objections because he enjoyed the game as well. .

If you can paint it then fantasy becomes real. I am an art fairy, a fantasy art women and I long for the planets and stars to flourish in their dance into the sky. Let me ride the wind and whisper recipes for chocolate eclairs and well clad gingerbread men to every fairy I see. Alas we will gather together for high tea, right on the moons surface; the Wind; the earth goddess; whimsical angels and me. I blush and mingle all the colors together and feel their melody. There are no debates about enlightenment once one learns the code, it is to open your wings and heart, stop that ever ticking chatter in your head, rest and feel joy. After a lovely afternoon I gathered my whimsical angel pictures any leftover chocolate I could find and put them in my satchel, I was on to another journey. And yes indeed! I did gather Saturn with one arm, pondered a bit , then I stole all the stars as well!

I have posted my poem “Sunsets” before under poetry but feel it is also so fitting for my story about “Stealing Saturn”.

“Sunsets”

She travels with magic on a mystical ride.
She walks in the moonlight
and covers my mind.
She travels the road down past the pines,
where the mist meets the morning
‘fore the river turns ice.

We gather up petals
from the flowers that have died.
She travels with magic
on a mystical ride,
pointing out sunsets
and ponies to ride.
So just see how it goes
how the magic unfolds
how the children you’ve known
lend out sea covered rhymes
still fasting
but no longer cold.

——————–



Source by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

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