The White Goddess

Aaaah, the creature of fabled myth visited me last night.
Its becoming a regular occurrence.
The moon goddess crept barefoot into the great library, guitar in one hand a small gift in the other.
I was dozing in the chair as usual, floating in a half-sleep, lost to this world of hard objects and harder minds.

The goddess sat on my old desk, feet dangling, guitar on her lap, her raven black hair and porcelain skin so striking in this familiar place.

The port I'd been consuming all night had infiltrated every cell of my being like a gorgeous warm friendly army, invading and pillaging every nook and cranny of my little defenseless castle. Take me you beggars, my battle for sensibility is lost...at least for today.

The goddess tossed an exquisitely wrapped package onto my lap, I started, mumbled and half sat up. A gift as usual, one of many that now lay dotted about this shambling house.

She said nothing. Gazing at me she half smiled, an imperceptible nod to proceed tickled her green eyes.
The parcel was about the size of a bag of sugar and about the same weight(the thought did briefly flicker to awareness,'maybe she's got a practical side?') and wrapped in some kind of grey/brown vellum, bound with corded plant stem or grass.
'Beautiful my dear' I whispered while fiddling with the knot.

After much fannying - and I swear an audible 'tut' from the goddess - I found myself confronted by the implacable eyes of a roughly hewn and definitely brooding wooden owl.

'Splendid!' I squealed...before spluttering into a prolonged bout of coughing.
When I had finally calmed down, I turned the owl around in my hands, feeling every surface and plane, my fingernail tracing the grooves of plumage, the snaking ear line and the vicious beak.

It was an ancient thing. Terrifying in its endurance across the aeons of time. I looked up and smiled at the goddess, she held my gaze and I knew that this object had been stroked and fondled by Odin himself - to Valhalla and back. Wow, what a trip!

Slowly the goddess began to finger ethereal and baroque arpeggio's on her ancient guitar. I am unable to adequately convey the sublime and eerie beauty of this sound. Imagine an angel on acid emanating infinite love and goodness, vast connectivity and understanding, then you might, just might dig it!

I am still unaware as to whether these 'visitations' are real or merely acid flashbacks from my well spent youth.

I began to narrate my experience of jamming with Keith Richards in Marrakesh in '69 or was it '70 with the goddess.
'Extraordinary experience my dear, Keith had a beautiful solid topped Martin acoustic and we were both getting the evil eye off Anita, that dreadful German harridan. Anyway...blah blah blah..."

The last thing I remember is the Goddess' eyes rolling heavenwards, and then oblivion curtailed and finally engulfed my inane ramblings.

This morning, the owl sits atop my mantelpiece, noble and timeless...and just there.