The Night Circus

Enter the Labyrinth, leave your legacy

Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash

I have always been fascinated by Victorian times, especially London. There is something about the atmosphere that is conjured up by the dark alleyways, filthy streets, secret doorways and forbidden places that always seems to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I was definitely there in a past life, I sense a hard life lived down by the docks.

The street boys and girls scraping a living doing what they can. The rickety stairs up to a one bedroom place for a family of ten. Basically think of the film Oliver and you’ve probably got it.

Then on the other side of town there are gambling and whorehouses, out of control parties and the rich pouring coin after coin and blood red venison down their greedy throats.

The divide is stark. The divide between the rich and the poor that seemingly got smaller as we progressed, but did it really? A class divide over rides anything we have been able to do in the physical. The soot and the grime and the shame and the exhaustion still sits in our veins, our blood, our muscles, our DNA even when we have the latest gadgets, houses, cars. It’s just hidden better.

Until now the divide was impossible to bridge, the distribution of obscene wealth came from lineage after lineage, no matter if it was earned deceitfully, fraudulently or was stolen. There were very few genuinely happy, content people that moved their wealth in a healthy, truly sustainable way. Many of these were ground down by those that didn’t.

The tables are about to turn, the tides are bringing in the debris, the scum is rising to the surface. What we cleanse and heal, what we remember and purge, now benefits us all and we become equal. We are burning down the houses of greed, selfishness and theft.

We may be surprised that the rickety stairs and the one room remain, because they were always full of love and plenty, even when there was nothing to share.

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I infuse this word tapestry with love and magic with the intention that all who come into this space have a positive and uplifting experience. Together we are a mighty force of beings raising consciousness for the highest good of all. And so it is.

I used to have this recurring nightmare when I was a child. It was a night market or circus, probably a mixture of both and I was beckoned into it by a host of strange and unusual looking performers enticing me into an unknown world.

It was the dead of night, inky black. There were flamethrowers, jugglers and acrobats as wells as stall upon stall of wares that I couldn’t help but stare at, even when all I wanted to do was look away. Mechanical clanking toys that ran on their own, strange smelling pots of herbs and potions surrounded by swirling purple smoke that occasionally tried to grasp my arm or pull my hair.

Before I know it I am right at the centre of the market place and I am surrounded by jeering faces too close to mine. I can feel the stench of their breath and acrid smell of their sweat as they rub against me. IAt this point I would wake up with a shout, sweating and shaking under my brown flowered nylon duvet cover. It would take time for me to settle back into a restless, slightly panicky sleep.

They will not let me leave, is what I remember, but for the first time as I am retelling this there is something in them that also cannot bear for me to stay. For I see in them the truth, for I see in them their nakedness, I see in them their fear and this is what they fear.

It is all a charade and as I let out a primal scream, they are suddenly silent and they part respectfully as they open a doorway, a gateway, a passageway that has always been out of sight, out of my consciousness, too fearful to step towards, too frightening to enter.

There is a bright light that shines on what is in front of me, so bright that for a moment I cannot see it. As I adjust my eyes to the brightness, what is before me becomes clear.

It is a labyrinth, a shape shifting labyrinth that shimmers and shakes, sings and murmurs. As I stand at the entrance my whole body glows and hums with the energy and frequency of it. I take a step forward.

Are you coming with me?

Since I shared the soul note in my last post I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

Written words are the power of the future.

You will build new worlds and write history by what you pour on to the page.

The written word has always captivated me around the time that this nightmare occurred. I was probably around 10 or 11. I couldn’t devour enough books. Some of my favourites were Roald Dahl’s George’s Marvellous Medicine, Enid Blyton’s The Magic Faraway Tree series, Alice in Wonderland, The Wind in the Willows and The Secret Garden. Most of these are still firm favourites to this day.

My original copy of The Secret Garden published in 1977

There was also a book I remember called The Ordinary Princess. A charming story of a princess that is visited by fairies at her birth that pronounce that she will be ordinary, unlike her siblings. Not knowing what to do she escapes to live in the forest with the animals and birds and eventually takes a job in the castle as a maid. She gets the prince and the happy ever after, despite not having grown up as a princess.

It also had this charming verse in it, which is actually originates from a 17th century English folk song.

Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green,
When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen:
Who told you so, dilly dilly, who told you so?
'Twas mine own heart, dilly dilly, that told me so.

Imagine my delight when I realised that you can still get the original book. Think I might have to get myself a copy!

Those books and many others both captivated, soothed my sensitive soul and allowed me to escape from a place of anxiety and sadness.

Anyone who had books as their sanctuary knows that certain ones contain magic. You will return to them again and again well into adulthood and it’s truly amazing that they can continue to have this effect. They seem to come from some otherworldly place with a message that grows and changes in significance as we do.

I’ve know for some time that the words I write carry more than a message. They are more than me putting onto a page something that has come into my mind.

They often pour onto the page, without much effort and often they are infused with ancient wisdom that has a purpose of its own, that is not even revealed to me until later. They appear to be random in their order (like this one!) until the motive becomes clear, until the transmission occurs. I have learnt to trust that what comes through is on a living, breathing non-linear mission and I am the divine vessel for that.

I recently asked my soul what it had wanted at a particular point in my childhood, my inner child responded with “I wanted to be a writer”.

Not a healer or a light worker or a way shower or a leader, a writer. In those words contained the golden thread of wisdom that connected the power of the words that we speak with the ones that we write to share our story. To share from a place that existed long before we were aware, that gets ignited when we believe we are enough, when we call upon our true essence. When sometimes from those places where we have been hurt so much that there is a constant ache where the love should be, its easier to put it down with pen and paper.

What happened to that part of me that wanted to be a writer? So many things, life, trauma, betrayal, awakening, awareness, breakdown, transformation, breakthrough.

Each one teaching me something, each time one of them is healed I am connected with that writer within, the part of me that could not express myself out loud, but could find comfort in others words until I could carry my own. Through my own voice, through my essence.

Each writer of one of those books that have carried me through life, once sat at a desk and felt that electricity run through them. That inner knowing that one day, perhaps a 100 years or more from now their words would continue to be read, that they would create something extraordinary even though they considered themselves ordinary.

I know that’s me too. What about you?

Blessings of love and magic,

Louise x

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