Lady Janet Douglas' Diary
I remain Janet Douglas, Lady of Angus and Glamis.
I was, in life, the daughter of George Douglas, Master of Angus. My mother was Elizabeth Drummond, the daughter of John Drummond, the 1st Lord of Drummond.
I was, in life, the 4th great-granddaughter of Robert III, King of Scotland
Sir John Lyon, 6th Lord of Glamis was my husband
We had one son and led a peaceful life until my Lord John’s death in 1528.
I shall never forget that sad day.
But my story goes beyond that. In fact, beyond my death, but first things first.
My brother, Archibald Douglas, 6th Earl of Angus was the stepfather of King James the Fifth. In all fairness, Archibald imprisoned young James, which caused an intense hatred for not only my brother (his stepfather), but anyone who bore the Douglas name.
I became a target of his loathing. There were constant accusations against me, from conspiracies of treason along with my brothers and Archibald Campbell of Skipnish (my second husband, whom I wed after an appropriate time of mourning), even unto allegations of not only poisoning my dear Lord John, but of making deadly potions with which to murder the King, himself.
He confiscated Glamis Castle for the crown and accused me of witchcraft.
Everyone knew the charges placed against me were untrue, but my son and I were nonetheless, imprisoned.
I had been respected by all who knew me, my character was impeccable and without blemish.
That is the last I remember of it.
I do not know what became of myself, nor my dear son.
I now roam the empty halls of Castle Glamis searching for answers.
If I am ever to move on, I must remember how I came to be in this state.
I must know my ending, so that I might begin again.
This will be my diary, to keep myself occupied so my memories will not slip away.
It has been revealed to me that in this temporal ‘death’ to which I am bound, if one does not keep one’s memories alive, the spirit itself becomes apathetic.
One then becomes a shade without thought or feeling and eventually disperses completely into nothingness.
(Lady Janet Douglas was burned at the stake on the 17th of July in the year 1537 on the esplanade of Edinburgh Castle, Midlothian, Scotland. It was said she bore her sentence with dignity and strength. Her young son was forced to watch.
The above historical content is as accurate as possible.
The ‘diary entries’ that will follow, are not.)
~ ~ ~
The Diary
I do not know, for the death of me,
what day, nor e’en year it be?
Let alone a sunrise, as I can ne’er recognize eve.
Thus, I shall dispense with the notation of this until further ‘unveiled’ to me.
Certain events within, may be given a time, at least those I yet recall.
Glamis’ halls, where I now reside, are empty of life and as grey as I.
Although I am eternally weary, no longer have I need of sleep,
nor rest, yet plead for it in my evensongs.
There come lucid dreams or ’visions’.
Sights that bleed and blur into what once was, and what I now perceive.
I oft hear disembodied voices and catch phantom glimpses of others,
but it is so brief and seldom.
Many a time I have tried to communicate, but to no avail.
Verily, I have crossed from one world, into another. This holding place.
I grow restless now, so will continue this on the morrow.
Or shall I say another time,
howbeit, time hath no bearing here.
A day, a year, a century, all seem irrelevant now until I find the answers I seek.
I must find them.
The echo of my chapel prayers,
Haunt these halls with deep despair.
The Diary
I do not know, for the death of me,
what day, nor e’en year it be?
Let alone a sunrise, as I can ne’er recognize eve.
Thus, I shall dispense with the notation of this until further ‘unveiled’ to me.
Certain events within, may be given a time, at least those I yet recall.
Glamis’ halls, where I now reside, are empty of life and as grey as I.
Although I am eternally weary, no longer have I need of sleep,
nor rest, yet plead for it in my evensongs.
There come lucid dreams or ’visions’.
Sights that bleed and blur into what once was, and what I now perceive.
I oft hear disembodied voices and catch phantom glimpses of others,
but it is so brief and seldom.
Many a time I have tried to communicate, but to no avail.
Verily, I have crossed from one world, into another. This holding place.
I grow restless now, so will continue this on the morrow.
Or shall I say another time,
howbeit, time hath no bearing here.
A day, a year, a century, all seem irrelevant now until I find the answers I seek.
I must find them.
The echo of my chapel prayers,
Haunt these halls with deep despair.
~ ~ ~
This day, I went to stroll the grounds,
for which I further shall expound.
As I wandered, owing no specific destination, came I upon a coney, feasting
peacefully in a patch of clover.
I knew not if it beheld me, as I, it, or if ‘twas merely my presence it perceived.
I reached out most gently to stroke the soft fur. The doe recoiled as my hand passed through her.
Forthwith she bolted, off ‘cross the fields.
Tho’ all things to me espied,
of other senses am denied.
The sun holds no warmth. The breeze that so tenderly stirs the heather
shall ne’er again caress my cheek,
ergo, I bend to take in it’s fragrance but alas, ‘twas but the memory of scent
Whence first came I to be in such a state, I could do naught but weep and bemoan my
existence as such.
Now comes the time of self reflection,
hence my path to resurrection.
The sky darkens.
It will soon be time for evening vespers.
I shall kneel in supplication and prayer, which is closet to rest that I may come.
Until the dawn-
This day, I went to stroll the grounds,
for which I further shall expound.
As I wandered, owing no specific destination, came I upon a coney, feasting
peacefully in a patch of clover.
I knew not if it beheld me, as I, it, or if ‘twas merely my presence it perceived.
I reached out most gently to stroke the soft fur. The doe recoiled as my hand passed through her.
Forthwith she bolted, off ‘cross the fields.
Tho’ all things to me espied,
of other senses am denied.
The sun holds no warmth. The breeze that so tenderly stirs the heather
shall ne’er again caress my cheek,
ergo, I bend to take in it’s fragrance but alas, ‘twas but the memory of scent
Whence first came I to be in such a state, I could do naught but weep and bemoan my
existence as such.
Now comes the time of self reflection,
hence my path to resurrection.
The sky darkens.
It will soon be time for evening vespers.
I shall kneel in supplication and prayer, which is closet to rest that I may come.
Until the dawn-
~ ~ ~
A memory-
In honour of his day of birth,
we celebrate with feast and mirth.
It was on such a day in the Year of Our Lord 1521,
my darling son John, was born, not but eight years past.
His birth day.
I prepared a surprise banquet in recognition of this most blessed occasion.
Always so many courses, I shall name but a few and without order.
To begin there were roast pheasant and peacock beautifully dressed with feathers overlaid,
appearing much as they did in life; roasted roebuck; suckling pigs, mutton, fish and other fowl of many sort, steamed, boiled or baked in pies; haggeis; fried dough in many shapes and smothered in honey and rose water; oat cakes and breads; apples, pears and plums from our own orchards, as well as woodland strawberries, all cooked as syrups and pies; rich puddings and sweetmeats, an extraordinaire of gilded marzipan in the shape of the castle itself; shortbreads and a most magnificent cake of spices and dried fruits. It was wondrous to both eye and palate.
The thought of it causes my tongue to long for taste again.
Young John was spoiled with many gifts given. His father gave to him a young falcon of his own, thus to train for the hunt.
My gifts, a gold signet ring, and a new saffron léine and grey brat.
Court musicians played for the dance
and minstril’s sang their songs of romance.
There was much merrymaking by all,
not least, myself.
The joyous revelry poured over into the courtyard and grounds,
where sporting and games were played ‘til sun gave way to twilight.
Such a day of splendour it was!
‘Twas a pleasant recollection
of a day’s complete perfection.
A memory-
In honour of his day of birth,
we celebrate with feast and mirth.
It was on such a day in the Year of Our Lord 1521,
my darling son John, was born, not but eight years past.
His birth day.
I prepared a surprise banquet in recognition of this most blessed occasion.
Always so many courses, I shall name but a few and without order.
To begin there were roast pheasant and peacock beautifully dressed with feathers overlaid,
appearing much as they did in life; roasted roebuck; suckling pigs, mutton, fish and other fowl of many sort, steamed, boiled or baked in pies; haggeis; fried dough in many shapes and smothered in honey and rose water; oat cakes and breads; apples, pears and plums from our own orchards, as well as woodland strawberries, all cooked as syrups and pies; rich puddings and sweetmeats, an extraordinaire of gilded marzipan in the shape of the castle itself; shortbreads and a most magnificent cake of spices and dried fruits. It was wondrous to both eye and palate.
The thought of it causes my tongue to long for taste again.
Young John was spoiled with many gifts given. His father gave to him a young falcon of his own, thus to train for the hunt.
My gifts, a gold signet ring, and a new saffron léine and grey brat.
Court musicians played for the dance
and minstril’s sang their songs of romance.
There was much merrymaking by all,
not least, myself.
The joyous revelry poured over into the courtyard and grounds,
where sporting and games were played ‘til sun gave way to twilight.
Such a day of splendour it was!
‘Twas a pleasant recollection
of a day’s complete perfection.
~ ~ ~
Ofttimes colour, ofttimes grey
over-cross, then slip away.
This place, the same as in life
tho’ colours faded, in the light.
I behold the world as once it was
and yet remains.
It is I,
changed,
chained
to unrest.
Non vitalis,
no longer vital.
I can touch and move all that is in this realm
but not in that of flesh and blood.
Voices speak to me from nowhere,
and everywhere
in such disharmony
only scarcely distinguishable
as words I comprehend.
When so, they tell me
"find the one who holds all knowledge,
as he is the key to forever
and will teach of many things,
for he has transcended beyond both worlds,
all worlds."
Then in whispers, "your thoughts
will be a beacon"
as once again, they merge in discord.
And so I bide the time and wait
For he who opens heaven’s gate.
Vita mutatur, non tollitur
Cum mortis moritur....
Ofttimes colour, ofttimes grey
over-cross, then slip away.
This place, the same as in life
tho’ colours faded, in the light.
I behold the world as once it was
and yet remains.
It is I,
changed,
chained
to unrest.
Non vitalis,
no longer vital.
I can touch and move all that is in this realm
but not in that of flesh and blood.
Voices speak to me from nowhere,
and everywhere
in such disharmony
only scarcely distinguishable
as words I comprehend.
When so, they tell me
"find the one who holds all knowledge,
as he is the key to forever
and will teach of many things,
for he has transcended beyond both worlds,
all worlds."
Then in whispers, "your thoughts
will be a beacon"
as once again, they merge in discord.
And so I bide the time and wait
For he who opens heaven’s gate.
Vita mutatur, non tollitur
Cum mortis moritur....
~ ~ ~
Off to the village I shall go
mayhap someone there wouldst know
Of the one for whom I seek
in this dominion sad and bleak.
I leave the castle grounds with reservation
for I know not what I shall find.
If there be anything at all.
As I walk towards the hamlet of Glamis
I hear a whimper in the brush.
I approach.
A hound lay wounded,
it’s eyes glazed with nearing death.
'Twas shot through with a stray arrow
piercing it’s chest.
I hear a horn’s recheat off in the distance
as if through a hollowed chamber,
beaconing the hounds return.
‘Tis but a mort,
for alas, this deerhound will make the hunt ne’er more.
I kneel beside this hapless wretch,
and reach out to comfort, knowing my hand
will nae make contact.
No gentle stroke to ease it’s last moments.
I wondered if anyone was there when my time was spent
If a compassionate hand reached out to assuage my parting.
I look once again at this poor creature
our eyes meet as the rattle of death escapes it’s lips,
and then all was still.
Is that how my end came?
Quiet and resigned?
Or was it so horrendous that my mind refuses it’s acceptance?
As I make to leave
my eyes mist not only for this lifeless form now lying at my feet,
but for my own quietus.
A glow forms about the cold remains.
It’s spirit emerges from the emptied corpse,
stretches as if only aroused from sleep,
shakes to rid itself of any remaining death
then bounds towards me,
tail wagging.
I ‘feel’, yes ‘feel’ for the first time since...
well, that I cannot remember,
but I savour the sensation.
The ‘warmth’ of it’s breath
as it licks my hand in a gesture of solidarity.
I smile, as does he.
Ruffling the coarse grey hair atop his head,
I welcome most heartily this sense of the touch
of another once again.
A new found friend.
A companion with which to share eternity.
The village shall wait until the morrow
for I have found joy in this realm of sorrow.
So off then home, the two shall go
and venture forth once more when the cock doth crow.
~ ~ ~
Off to the village I shall go
mayhap someone there wouldst know
Of the one for whom I seek
in this dominion sad and bleak.
I leave the castle grounds with reservation
for I know not what I shall find.
If there be anything at all.
As I walk towards the hamlet of Glamis
I hear a whimper in the brush.
I approach.
A hound lay wounded,
it’s eyes glazed with nearing death.
'Twas shot through with a stray arrow
piercing it’s chest.
I hear a horn’s recheat off in the distance
as if through a hollowed chamber,
beaconing the hounds return.
‘Tis but a mort,
for alas, this deerhound will make the hunt ne’er more.
I kneel beside this hapless wretch,
and reach out to comfort, knowing my hand
will nae make contact.
No gentle stroke to ease it’s last moments.
I wondered if anyone was there when my time was spent
If a compassionate hand reached out to assuage my parting.
I look once again at this poor creature
our eyes meet as the rattle of death escapes it’s lips,
and then all was still.
Is that how my end came?
Quiet and resigned?
Or was it so horrendous that my mind refuses it’s acceptance?
As I make to leave
my eyes mist not only for this lifeless form now lying at my feet,
but for my own quietus.
A glow forms about the cold remains.
It’s spirit emerges from the emptied corpse,
stretches as if only aroused from sleep,
shakes to rid itself of any remaining death
then bounds towards me,
tail wagging.
I ‘feel’, yes ‘feel’ for the first time since...
well, that I cannot remember,
but I savour the sensation.
The ‘warmth’ of it’s breath
as it licks my hand in a gesture of solidarity.
I smile, as does he.
Ruffling the coarse grey hair atop his head,
I welcome most heartily this sense of the touch
of another once again.
A new found friend.
A companion with which to share eternity.
The village shall wait until the morrow
for I have found joy in this realm of sorrow.
So off then home, the two shall go
and venture forth once more when the cock doth crow.
~ ~ ~
‘Twas a walk of sheer delight
as we near within the sight
Of Glamis
I sing aloud a country air,
All drives away my dark despair.’
The walk home is spent in joyance,
a most happy day I have had, yet these many.
My playful companion held such exuberance,
the same, I imagine, he held in life
thus this ‘death’ holds little of consequence to him.
I wonder, doth he e'en sense a difference?
We play ‘fetch the stick’,
of which, although he doth return with it,
‘twas his turn to play ‘keep away’
as he feigns to part with it not,
and in doing so, maketh me giddy with mirth
As we continue homeward
Tarry we at the burn
which borders Glamis grounds.
Without hesitation,
upon seeing the water, plunges he in
and begins nipping at young parr.
They, trying their utmost, to avoid the
menace of his snapping jaws,
he is as a pup, reborn.
When coaxed, out he scampers,
shaking the water from his rough, grey fur
soaking me entire and causing me to laugh most heartily.
The sound of my laughter startles him,
as it does me,
since I had not done so in many a time spent.
I pat his head, the smell of his now damp fur, like that of wet wool,
rose to my nostrils.
Another sense long gone, reawakened,
as onward towards Glamis we keep.
‘A day I shall not soon forget
which made my heart feel less regret.’
~ ~ ~
as we near within the sight
Of Glamis
I sing aloud a country air,
All drives away my dark despair.’
The walk home is spent in joyance,
a most happy day I have had, yet these many.
My playful companion held such exuberance,
the same, I imagine, he held in life
thus this ‘death’ holds little of consequence to him.
I wonder, doth he e'en sense a difference?
We play ‘fetch the stick’,
of which, although he doth return with it,
‘twas his turn to play ‘keep away’
as he feigns to part with it not,
and in doing so, maketh me giddy with mirth
As we continue homeward
Tarry we at the burn
which borders Glamis grounds.
Without hesitation,
upon seeing the water, plunges he in
and begins nipping at young parr.
They, trying their utmost, to avoid the
menace of his snapping jaws,
he is as a pup, reborn.
When coaxed, out he scampers,
shaking the water from his rough, grey fur
soaking me entire and causing me to laugh most heartily.
The sound of my laughter startles him,
as it does me,
since I had not done so in many a time spent.
I pat his head, the smell of his now damp fur, like that of wet wool,
rose to my nostrils.
Another sense long gone, reawakened,
as onward towards Glamis we keep.
‘A day I shall not soon forget
which made my heart feel less regret.’
~ ~ ~
An explanation of sorts-
In this account there are two known realms, somewhat like identical twins, that of the mortal, and that of the spiritual which is the focus of the Lady Janet and her diary.
Everything that occurs in both realms, are bound together like tissue thin sheaves of paper for every single fraction of time (and can be ‘crossed over’ by the few that know how).
These layered strips form a circle of all time, from the beginning of life, all life, to the end of time itself as we know it, then join together back again. The alpha to the omega, like an ouroboros.
Imagine it as a link in a paper chain children make at Christmas to decorate the tree.
There may be other links, one to another, of even more dimensions or other undiscovered realms. This is not known nor understood.
As for now, travel is only possible within this known singular ‘link’.
No one knows what lies in it’s center (of the circle it forms) nor what lies in the vastness of it’s outer rim.
This is the best way I can describe it.
The one for whom Lady Janet was told to seek, is a rogue. An unsanctioned rebel, hunted by possibly whatever lies within or without the circle itself, and he is a ‘guide’ to others.
He is ever on the move.
He holds forbidden knowledge, part of which is how to travel between these ‘sheaves’ or ‘planes’ of existence.
Maybe he is what would be called an angel or perhaps a demon, no one knows exactly what or who he is, and he will not tell.
He finds you, for he will not be found unless he desires it.
He has eluded ‘them’ for millennia, and has taught many but when these ‘students’ are found they disappear.
Lady Janet has already witnessed as well as slipped between planes, but she has done so without recognition of it (as in her discovery and subsequent friendship with the deerhound).
Animals, however, because they are innocent of the faults of humans, can automatically travel realms and be wherever/whenever they want (they can chose to be reborn in any form of their choice, but if they choose to be human they must, at that end, be held responsible and face the same consequences as humans for the choices they made in that particular corporeal lifetime).
There will be more, as her diary unfolds.
~ ~ ~
The chill of winter, ‘twill never fade
from hill to cheerless forest glade
A forsaken wretch, disconsolate maid
whom love and life hath left in jade.
~ ~ ~
A quiet eve was spent
one in holy sacrament
In obeisance I recite my evening invocation
the hound, whom I call Liath
for his rough coloured coat,
lay, tranquil, at my side
seeming to sense the sanctity of it.
He appears accepting of this quietus,
tho I have not.
E’en an eternal sleep with no resurrection
would be a blessing.
Amen.
I stroke the head of my beastly companion
as he, in repose, unnecessary rest, a thing of habit,
whimpers and shifts at my touch.
Of what or if he dreams, I know not.
We shall make for the village, he and I,
when the hour is, as day breaks.
Thus I release a weary sigh
and contemplate til eve is nigh.
~ ~ ~
from hill to cheerless forest glade
A forsaken wretch, disconsolate maid
whom love and life hath left in jade.
~ ~ ~
A quiet eve was spent
one in holy sacrament
In obeisance I recite my evening invocation
the hound, whom I call Liath
for his rough coloured coat,
lay, tranquil, at my side
seeming to sense the sanctity of it.
He appears accepting of this quietus,
tho I have not.
E’en an eternal sleep with no resurrection
would be a blessing.
Amen.
I stroke the head of my beastly companion
as he, in repose, unnecessary rest, a thing of habit,
whimpers and shifts at my touch.
Of what or if he dreams, I know not.
We shall make for the village, he and I,
when the hour is, as day breaks.
Thus I release a weary sigh
and contemplate til eve is nigh.
~ ~ ~
‘From whence it comes,
some hidden lair?
To behold it’s visage
I do not dare!’
There be that sound.
It curdles still blood,
and defies e’en the air itself.
Liath stirs, whines
and cowers closer,
in his mock sleep,
which bodes not well.
I have heard it oft enough.
Tho distant yet,
it grows ever nearer.
A chill passeth through my being,
more of thought, then felt.
Thankful, the sun will rise anon,
and with it’s light
so bringeth fearlessness and strength.
‘Not quite dawn,
as darkness fades,
a premonition
is conveyed
of one whom once
did so deride
the Sabbath with
his gambler’s pride.’
~ ~ ~
some hidden lair?
To behold it’s visage
I do not dare!’
There be that sound.
It curdles still blood,
and defies e’en the air itself.
Liath stirs, whines
and cowers closer,
in his mock sleep,
which bodes not well.
I have heard it oft enough.
Tho distant yet,
it grows ever nearer.
A chill passeth through my being,
more of thought, then felt.
Thankful, the sun will rise anon,
and with it’s light
so bringeth fearlessness and strength.
‘Not quite dawn,
as darkness fades,
a premonition
is conveyed
of one whom once
did so deride
the Sabbath with
his gambler’s pride.’
~ ~ ~
'Silenced breath,
Expiro sigh,
Rattles of death,
before we die.'
We shall venture forth,
Liath and I,
to see if others, like unto ourselves,
dwell in village Glamis
Perchance to find he
who has been foretold?
That which holds forbidden ken.
From force of habit,
for need not be,
I wrap my cloak about.
This brat which once did stave off
morn’s chill, alas, can
n’er give warmth to this condition.
Tis’ but a cerement.
For Liath, his anxiousness to be
on our way is displayed most ardent,
cavorting about, playfully.
I grasp the latch to ope the door
but it moves naught.
I try again.
Thrice I did attempt to go,
and thrice was I denied
Musts we try another egress.
Another, after another, throughout
the halls of Glamis
I endeavour,
Liath following close at heal,
only to find all ways be barred.
No threshold may I pass.
What is this new folly being played?
Perplexed, I return to the main hall,
and so to sort this tease.
'Again our trip a’thwarted be,
To keep me from yon company?'
To keep me from yon company?'