MARAH TAYLOR May 15, 1941--May 28, 2004 Wing into the place of Wings!

If you were to trip a silent switch you would remember the time parallel when the world was only a vacation, a place with meadows and streams. A place to project into form -- a becoming of meadows and streams or even strange creatures with flesh and passions; or to stalk void-night with battles against the dark Firbolg who had fallen so far. Our kind would not stay on Terra long for soon would come a weariness of form. Off again we would soar into the stars in tease of other worlds or to leap beyond substance into planes where flow rivers of light. But even with our many distant wingings Terra would call the return, and She became for unspoken eons our favorite island, our "Homeworld."

Upon one solar day a strange vessel of beings appeared on the central island. Declaring to be of creation with beginning and end, they were of our likeness -- as though brothers and sister -- a puzzle to us of the flame-trussed DÆDanaan who knew ourselves to be of the Unborn. Oddly, we could mingle with these like-beings that declared themselves,"Celt," and at first we confided our secrets and showed to them our castles, mounds and secret groves. So kin we were to them that we bonded as mates to even bear children -- strange little wise beings they were half-mortal and half free. These children we taught the ancient arts and flew with them to deep ports in the heavens. It was most puzzling when before our DÆDanaan gaze the fragile halflings wrinkled -- and died -- and winged away to places that even we of the Unborn could never go.

Eventually these mortals spoke claim to the Terra Land, and demanded of the ancient DÆDanaan a departure forever -- still this is beyond understanding. They banned us and made war against us w hen we would project into our favorite nooks in solid form. With knowledge that we once gave freely, these Celts built barriers, both physical and spiritual. These mortals that were born and were to exist only temporarily claimed stewardship over the form world: perhaps gleaning such authority from some source beyond that barrier that they called "the grave."

So we made the departure for an "interval" and allowed the mortal-sway over Homeworld. These cousin Celts yielded to an immense pressure they called, "time," but DÆDanaan understood that soon this bizarre "time" would inevitably stretch like the drawstring of the bow to snap and allow again the Return.

We showed you our Firstborn spells and secret retreats, and you bartered your denser passions and polarities from those who were of creation of spoke of Creator. We puzzled at this creation, we who had never been born. Nevertheless we entered in our own way into this birthing for we were of starseed and found a manner to join with your persons. Ultimately we witnessed our own first offspring delivered from the mortal wombs. Many of us wished to project fully into this creation-state because of these children-halflings, and also because we witnessed these children eventually die and wing away into a realm forbidden to our kind. This realm beyond this "death state" we likewise wished to enter and to witness. Our knowledge allowed the realization that there is no "ceasing to be." Where did these mortal-seedlings go? How could such a veil be obscure to us that could flash away to distant stars or even to beyond stars into the rivers of light...

From mortals we received the knowledge of a deeper passion, even an excitement in love that was new to our kind. --Kent Steadman, in sadness/joy and profound inspiration: Mary Taylor (Steadman)