And now - the puppet show

It's no secret I live

 in an imaginary world. 

As a child it was survival, 

and now it's a choice.

Others are rarely invited, 

as by necessity one's imaginary world

 is a sacred place.

To get there, you have to follow

 the yellow brick road,

 or eat through a doorway

 made of porridge, or say, "open sesame".

Deb Obilby's studio assistant.

How delightful to be invited

 into Julie Arkell's enchanted world,

 and discover others

 with their magical friends. 

Some are born into this world

 with one foot in the other,

with a kind of permeability

allowing them to glide between.

Julie's brooch summed it up

As most magical people know,

 the test is to remain functional. 

Some have such delicate fragile skins,

 the world simply is too much.

 The volume is too high, 

and intensity shatters the soul.

 In some places the sensitive ones are shamans,

 revered for the gift of permeability. 

Others are not so recognised.

 The trick is to return from

 the other place with the magic;

with the golden egg, or fleece, or ring

 and plant the enchanted beans.

One by one, 

we were invited to each other's special place,

and introduced to the friends residing there.

Barbara's world was rich in color and frivolity.

Clare's world was full of song and chaotic, 

but held great charm.

 Colleen Darling is the mastermind 

behind Michael De Meng's famous workshops

 in Mexico for the Day of the Dead. 

Her world was rich in deeper meaning.

 We were safe in Julie's world

creating puppets and bunting.

Our child selves came out to play. 

Mary Alice's puppet had magical hair

 and a wonderful dress.

Sarah's face lit up

 as her bunny told the story.

Anna's puppet reflected

 her own good taste in clothes.

  Phillipe Filloppe

 was the centre of his own world,

 dressed to the nines.

 Of them all, Vera was my favourite.

An undertaker by trade, 

a widow with a broad accent 

and even broader heart.

Her tomcat puppet said the most

 outrageous things and argued with her.

Susan Halme is a baker. 

Her delicious world was full of pastry and iced delights. 

Not satisfied with making a puppet, 

she created an entire wedding cake as well.

Deb invited us to her world,

 welcoming in the Shabbat

on Friday night.

More magic.

If you dig deep enough

into our western faith,

 most of our rituals are patch worked 

from the Jewish faith

and parts of

 for the Lord's prayer

gain their protective power

from Jewish provenance.

Then there was the reclusive

Monsieur Rodruigez.

Named after the Catholic patron saint 

of my birthday.

Monsieur Rodruigez, 

 lives high on a mountain,

 overlooking a small village and all it's goings on.

A fall from the nest as a baby raven

 left a bald patch on his head,

 which he disguises with an old kid glove.

It's best to ignore that whenever invited to his

hermit like retreat for afternoon tea.

 Monsieur Rodruigez has sharp senses

 and knows much.

Many come for advice which he rarely gives.

Instead he pours them French Earl Grey tea

 from the Maraige Freres

 and serves macaroons with buttercup jam.

It was a privilege to

be invited into Julie's world,

 held strong for us

by her own faith in

buttercup jam and

the sketching of shipwrecks on the beach.

brooch by Julie Arkell

From Julie Arkell's workshop

I returned with the magic beans.

Faith restored, re affirming that

living in my own world is not only

  necessary, it's where I function best.

brooch by Julie Arkell

I am blessed with many dear friends

 who totally get this. Those who don't

  will discover their special world

somewhere else.

Next time you meet a person

who might live in other worlds, be kind.

Walk a mile in their bunny slippers

before you judge.

They probably know things.