How to make a Fairy-tale Bed

Oh night thou was my guide

Oh night more loving than the rising sun

- The Dark Night of the Soul

The Princess at the Curtain, by H.J. Ford.

I have found that inspiration comes to me in most beguiling form at night. So it is that many of my most beautiful imaginings are night-visions - developed in the day - but engendered in the darkness and stillness of deep night. At those times - when no sound is heard throughout the house but my own breathing; when my family sleeps, and when I look out across the harbour and see the lights shining - and listen to the elements outside - at those times my inner self starts to speak, and in the stillness I hear. 

I've learned to listen to that night-voice. It tells me true. And thus my story begins. 

It happened last night, around midnight: I had been sitting up late, writing and listening to music. After I at length turned off my light, I opened my casement window and sat for a while just smelling the sweet scent of water falling in grey curtains onto the harbour, which could dimly be guessed at from the ferry moving like a point of light across the water. I could taste the freshness of the air, and from the dark tree beside my window, the dripping from the myriad shadowy leaves made percussive music that eased my heart. 

Rain on leaves is a musical and soothing sound.

I found myself wishing that I could sit by the window all night - that I didn't have to retreat to the stillness and silence of my bed... I imagined myself making a bed by the window out of cushions, and sleeping there all night. It's the sort of thing my child-self had often thought: "I'll do that one-day when I'm older". And I thought - yes! - I will do this. Is there any earthy reason why I should not try it? To be sure, I might sleep uncomfortably; my bed might collapse in the wee-small hours of the night; I might wake with pains and stiffness - but what are those risks beside the allure of breathing the breath of the wind all night?

What child does not dream of sleeping out under the sky?

So I turned on my lamp and set about constructing myself a bed. Actually, "nest" is perhaps a more appropriate word. 

Near the window my otherwise square bedroom bulges outwards into a semi-circular nook with leadlight casements all around. That's where I sit and write, and right now it contains an easy-chair, a folded-easel covered in artificial flowers and scarves, and over a dozen fairy-books, which I have been consulting in my writing. What better material to construct a magical nest, than fairytale books?

If someone sleeps in a bed made of fairytale books, the stories whisper in their ears all night and bring enchanted dreams... 

I arranged the books past the seat of my chair, like precious bricks to give my nest structure. Then I went to my bed and stripped it of its coverings - I folded my quilt and stuffed it, with one of my pillows, between the books, then bound them all together to the chair with a blanket. I then took my second blanket to sleep under (since the night air was cool) and covered it all with my Botticelli covering. I turned off the light, made sure my writing book was beside the nest, and snuggled down, looking out at the rainy night and the darkly luminous sky. I was lulled to sleep by the music of many waters - the sea, the rain, and divers other secret tricklings and patterings. 

I slept beneath a sky both glowing and dark.

This morning I awoke without an ache, and spent a long time gazing out meditatively at the overcast, azure-shadowed harbour, until in the distance I saw the grey sky and sea draw together - and the rain began again.

A harbour dawn - the borders between the sky and sea begin to blur.

Cast your eyes on the ocean

Cast your soul to the sea

When the dark night seems endless

Please remember me

- Dante's Prayer, Loreena McKennitt

Embracing the Rain

Late at night
I drift away
I can hear you calling,
and my name
is in the rain,
leaves on trees whispering,
deep blue sea's mysteries. - Enya It's in the Rain

Who can resist the call of the wind and rain?

As I have written before, I feel a wildness within me in moments of elemental potency. In a previous blogpost "Singing into the Wind", I spoke of the intensity and grandeur of the wind, and my urge to add my melody to its eternal song.  Last night the wind called me again - but this time its beguiling song was more tempestuous, with a martial rhythm provided by the primal drumming of the rain. How could I not go out and commune with it once more?

This time the hour was late - or rather early - 2am and I had not slept for eighteen hours. The rest of the house was utterly dark - my entire family slumbering peacefully. To them the sound of the rain was soothing; a lullaby. Not so for me. Despite the hour - the weather invigorated me and set my heart pounding. 

A rain-drenched, roofed balcony, similar to my own except mine stands alone save for a tree beside it... 

My bedroom has two doors - the first a portal to the rest of my safe and carpeted home. The second (less used but more romantic) opens onto a roofed balcony overlooking the harbour. Barefoot and wearing a sleeveless summer dress, I closed the one and stepped out of the other - onto the wooden floor of the balcony, now glassed by the rain to become a mirror of the sky.

Instantly I was caught in the soft, coiling embrace of the wind. I was surprised to discover it felt almost warm, despite the storm. The lancing drops of rain blown into the balcony however felt chill against my arms and back. Within seconds I felt my dress grow heavy with moisture, and briefly worried about it becoming soaked if I did not go back indoors immediately. Then I laughed. Throwing my arms wide to the wind and rain, I walked forward to the edge of the balcony and rejoiced in letting myself get drenched and buffeted by the storm.

I fling my arms out to the rain...

In the midst of my joy, a small part of myself questioned what I had done. Am I going to regret  this? I could catch a cold. I could get my bed wet if my hair stays like this and then it might get moldy. If I get wet I might not be able to sleep at all tonight and then won't function tomorrow... What am I doing really? What's the reward? A part of me feared: Have I been a fool?

My elated, couragous self laughed again and replied: This is my life and this is who I am: a mortal being who responds to the call of the storm and acts upon it - a woman unafraid to join the wind in song - a woman who embraces the rain. The timid voice was silenced. I smiled fiercely.

Storm Witch by merriya on Deviantart

Suddenly I felt like a weather witch. Leaning out on the balcony railing I smelled the magical, elusive scent of petrichor. Within moments I was gauntleted by the rain. In my hands I held a notebook - for I knew this would be a time of many thoughts and strange feelings - spells that could be quickly caught and written down. My pencil was my witch-wand, and I wielded it sightlessly (for there was not enough light to read my words) on paper that became quickly bubbled with the rain.

A hazy harbour in the mist and rain.

Water roared from the gutters and all the windows were rattled by the wind. Beyond the balcony the air was mist-laden and further curtained with rain. Everytthing was partially obscured by the haze of moisture - which strangely dimmed all lights while making the darkness less dense and more nebulous.

At times like these, the borders of reality become blurred...

I felt like I stood at the merging of reality and possibility - the "otherlands" I dream of seemed at once almost close enough to touch. My head was light and my thoughts swirled as though taken by the wind, out onto the bay. Out there - water and air became indistinguishable and the far-lights of the towns across the harbour seemed to float like hazy stars in a grey sky, or a faery shore unreachable by mortal boat... 

The shores of Valinor, Ultima Thule or the island at the world's end? 

I don't know how long I stood there on the balcony. Inevitably I knew I must return to my room and sleep like the rest of the city, enveloped by the rain. But I wished I could do more - to wander free all night and alone in the wet streets, until every part on me was drenched in glorious rain...

When I did go back inside I sat for a while beside my window. On dry nights I sometimes keep it open, and the wind enters my room and haunts my dreams. But tonight the humidity would ruin the paint and breed mold on my shoes and clothes. So the window was shut and so I sat behind the barred leadlight glass, and the wind battered vainly against the panes. I felt a bit bereft.

But I looked down at myself and saw the sheen of water on my skin, and laid my notebook with my slippery pencil on my darkened desk. Although I had left the storm outside - I carried some of it with me, on my skin and in my book in the form of words imperishable. And part of my spirit - my wild and gleeful spirit - remains outside, cavorting in the wind and rain. 

Slowly I changed out of my wet dress into pyjamas - but I did not dry my skin completely. In the depths of the night I lay in bed and yet - my spirit wandered with the wind on waves lanced by the rain -  towards the lights glimmering faintly on the unseen shore.

Communing with the rain and wind...