Friday, September 23, 2005
Walking on Water
by Ancient Bear
(1) comments
The young Indian boy is sitting at the edge of the river, huddling himself. His thin body is shuddering with a grief that is beyond measure. He can feel the weight of the past few months pressing down on him, threatening to shatter his soul. Desperately, he stares into the water, trying to remember how to calm himself with the water’s flow, but to no avail. Memories spear into his consciousness like a jagged mirror. The screaming, the smell of burning flesh, the gazeless stare of empty eyes.
How could these last few months of battling the winter be all in vain? Had he not tried his utmost to keep the last promise to his mother, to keep his sister safe? Had all the sacrifices in the mountain, the prayers to the ancestors, the cold nights without fire been for nothing? He knows that they will be looking for him, that he will receive a lashing and spend another night without food for trying to run away. His body is blue and bruised, and aching from the previous beating. ‘I don’t even care, ‘ he thinks to himself. His sister being taking away was like somebody bleeding the last drop of blood left in his body.
He remembers a happier time. Bouncing on his father’s shoulder, shouting with laughter instead of pain. ‘You lied to me!’ he shouts at the river. ‘You told me I will always be safe, that I can even walk on water if I wished…’ tears start rolling down his cheeks. ‘…if I so believed…Well, I don’t, so there you have it.’ With his last bit of strength, fuelled by anger, he rips the stone hanging from a leather chain off his neck, and throws it into the water.
To his amazement, the stone doesn’t sink. It starts bouncing off the water, bouncing higher with every jump. On the fourth bounce, the stone transforms and turns into a black eagle, with a white crescent head. It was the largest eagle the boy has ever seen. The span of the wings was as long as the span on the arms of a grown man.
The eagle went flying directly at the boy, sweeping him up with one graceful stroke of wing.
A few hours later the soldiers searched by the river looking for the boy. They found his lifeless body at the water’s edge. ‘He’s a gonner,’ the soldier said, kicking the body to make sure. However, when he looked at the boy he felt strangely disturbed. The boy, despite being dead, had the most angelic smile, and in his hand he was holding a single feather.
* * *
Anger did not leave the boy. He spent several miserable lifetimes in Europe, drowned in decadence and sorrow. Finally, after much misery, he was able to face his Higher Council. He didn’t know if he would have the strength for the task he undertook. When he was born into that chosen lifetime, it was literally kicking and screaming.
* * *
The girl that he incarnated to reminded him so much of his younger sister. He only realized that later in the lifetime. She was able to talk to fairies, and she knew how to make contact with animal spirits and beings of light, such as angels. He did not accept these gifts readily, however. Stuck like thorns in the remnants of his memories, he still angrily remembered that these gifts did not save them from being separated.
She would be the feminine energy that would ebb away the anger. Slowly and gracefully, like water moving over rocks, delicately smoothing away the rougher edges.
He would, however, not be free until he faced his darkest demon. The father he chose for that lifetime was the same soldier who led the army against his tribe, the first to rape his mother. The man’s spirit was still filled with hatred, and the boy suffered a severe childhood under his hand with drunkenness and abuse.
The boy was never able to feel any human love for the man. But, when he stood on the earth, his feet solidly planted, he could feel the love and compassion that the earth has for every living soul, permeating his body and his mind. With full knowledge of his past, including all the injustices of this life and the previous life-times, he was able to look at the man, and not only forgive, but flow with earthly and divine love. Only then was he finally set free. Light enough to walk on water.
* * *
Without thinking much, the boy walked back to the river from where he came. The eagle was still there, waiting for him. He climbed on the eagle’s back, and when they flew over the mountain, the seasons moved backwards. Winter turned to autumn, warmed into summer, and melted into spring.
It was a fragrant spring night that the eagle landed with the boy, putting him down close to the tribal village. He could see the home-fires blazing, and smell the wonderful aromas of dinner. He knew that the women of the village would have been conspiring, trying out all kinds of new roots and berries to make sauces to go with the evening meal.
He knows that when he reaches the village, one of the women will ask: ‘Where have you been, lazing around down by river? Tut, tut, time to do your chores around here.’ And then his hair will be ruffled affectionately.
Most of all, he was looking forward to after supper, when there would be singing and dancing around the fire, and when everyone will gather with their stories to be told. There will be happy stories and sad stories, stories of wisdom and stories of teaching.
He clutches the feather he is still holding in his hand. ‘That is so you could find your way home,’ the Eagle told him.
His heart swells with warmth. Tonight, he also will have a story to tell.
How could these last few months of battling the winter be all in vain? Had he not tried his utmost to keep the last promise to his mother, to keep his sister safe? Had all the sacrifices in the mountain, the prayers to the ancestors, the cold nights without fire been for nothing? He knows that they will be looking for him, that he will receive a lashing and spend another night without food for trying to run away. His body is blue and bruised, and aching from the previous beating. ‘I don’t even care, ‘ he thinks to himself. His sister being taking away was like somebody bleeding the last drop of blood left in his body.
He remembers a happier time. Bouncing on his father’s shoulder, shouting with laughter instead of pain. ‘You lied to me!’ he shouts at the river. ‘You told me I will always be safe, that I can even walk on water if I wished…’ tears start rolling down his cheeks. ‘…if I so believed…Well, I don’t, so there you have it.’ With his last bit of strength, fuelled by anger, he rips the stone hanging from a leather chain off his neck, and throws it into the water.
To his amazement, the stone doesn’t sink. It starts bouncing off the water, bouncing higher with every jump. On the fourth bounce, the stone transforms and turns into a black eagle, with a white crescent head. It was the largest eagle the boy has ever seen. The span of the wings was as long as the span on the arms of a grown man.
The eagle went flying directly at the boy, sweeping him up with one graceful stroke of wing.
A few hours later the soldiers searched by the river looking for the boy. They found his lifeless body at the water’s edge. ‘He’s a gonner,’ the soldier said, kicking the body to make sure. However, when he looked at the boy he felt strangely disturbed. The boy, despite being dead, had the most angelic smile, and in his hand he was holding a single feather.
Anger did not leave the boy. He spent several miserable lifetimes in Europe, drowned in decadence and sorrow. Finally, after much misery, he was able to face his Higher Council. He didn’t know if he would have the strength for the task he undertook. When he was born into that chosen lifetime, it was literally kicking and screaming.
The girl that he incarnated to reminded him so much of his younger sister. He only realized that later in the lifetime. She was able to talk to fairies, and she knew how to make contact with animal spirits and beings of light, such as angels. He did not accept these gifts readily, however. Stuck like thorns in the remnants of his memories, he still angrily remembered that these gifts did not save them from being separated.
She would be the feminine energy that would ebb away the anger. Slowly and gracefully, like water moving over rocks, delicately smoothing away the rougher edges.
He would, however, not be free until he faced his darkest demon. The father he chose for that lifetime was the same soldier who led the army against his tribe, the first to rape his mother. The man’s spirit was still filled with hatred, and the boy suffered a severe childhood under his hand with drunkenness and abuse.
The boy was never able to feel any human love for the man. But, when he stood on the earth, his feet solidly planted, he could feel the love and compassion that the earth has for every living soul, permeating his body and his mind. With full knowledge of his past, including all the injustices of this life and the previous life-times, he was able to look at the man, and not only forgive, but flow with earthly and divine love. Only then was he finally set free. Light enough to walk on water.
Without thinking much, the boy walked back to the river from where he came. The eagle was still there, waiting for him. He climbed on the eagle’s back, and when they flew over the mountain, the seasons moved backwards. Winter turned to autumn, warmed into summer, and melted into spring.
It was a fragrant spring night that the eagle landed with the boy, putting him down close to the tribal village. He could see the home-fires blazing, and smell the wonderful aromas of dinner. He knew that the women of the village would have been conspiring, trying out all kinds of new roots and berries to make sauces to go with the evening meal.
He knows that when he reaches the village, one of the women will ask: ‘Where have you been, lazing around down by river? Tut, tut, time to do your chores around here.’ And then his hair will be ruffled affectionately.
Most of all, he was looking forward to after supper, when there would be singing and dancing around the fire, and when everyone will gather with their stories to be told. There will be happy stories and sad stories, stories of wisdom and stories of teaching.
He clutches the feather he is still holding in his hand. ‘That is so you could find your way home,’ the Eagle told him.
His heart swells with warmth. Tonight, he also will have a story to tell.
Friday, September 16, 2005
A Serpent's tail
As told by the Priestess Maharah of the Temple Kaiish
Narrated by Ancient Bear
(1) comments
Narrated by Ancient Bear
I was born the last child of an ancestral trail of Egyptian Royal lineage. I was born on a lazy summers’ day, the sky a burning blue and the sun intensely red.
My father could not manage to hide his disappointment, much as he tried. After fathering six girls, he was hoping that the magical number seven would be a son, to continue studying the ancient art of priesthood. After me, it was not possible for my mother to conceive again.
I remember a happy childhood, with few cares, as my parents were rich and had many servants. That was, mostly carefree until the age of 10, when I befriended a solemn young boy, and my life took a strange path from where there was no escape.
From the moment I met him, no telling how, I knew that he would be the great love of my life, but also my downfall. He was older than me by two years, and promised to the life of priesthood. He did not feel obliged to that life, however, as he wanted to do nothing else.
When he reached his age of puberty, he was sent to the School for Young Initiates. During the week, he had to remain at the school, but he was allowed to go home for one day, once a week. Young Initiates were sworn to secrecy, and not allowed to speak of any of the teachings that they received, as the ancient art of priesthood is very sacred, and not to be talked about.
It may have been that the secrecy was too much for his tender soul to carry, but after his first visit, I discovered that, if I stayed focused and quiet, I could hear the soft language of his thoughts. Outwardly, we were playing innocent childhood games, but inwardly, we were discussing the teachings, the often unnecessary brutality of the discipline, and the loneliness he experienced at the School.
He loved spending time with me, because he could unwind and reflect on all the things that were happening in his life. Although I knew with certainty that I loved him, he regarded me only as a good friend.
Swiftly, the years passed, and his nineteenth birthday was to arrive. On that day, he will be initiated as a Full Priest, able to mummify bodies, call up spirits, heal with wands and commune with sacred animals like snakes and cats. There were also many other secret rites that I will not be able to share with you yet.
It was close to my seventeenth birthday, and finally able to let my thick black hair hung loose around my shoulders, and not tied up in thin braids. I was wearing a soft white dress, draped around me and tied with a golden chord, an orchid stuck in my hair.
When he looked at me that day, it was as if he’d seen me for the first time. I knew in that moment that he loved me as I loved him, but our love was not meant to be. Priests lived a life of celibacy, and stayed mostly in isolation in the Temple. I will never know his kiss.
When he left, and because of his feelings for me, he sent me a message with a servant that he will not be able to see me anymore, and that I should not visit the Temple where he lived. I cried for three days. I have not yet mastered the skill to listen to thoughts over distances, as I’ve only done this when we played together. I lost all contact with my love.
* * *
I never intended to use any of the skills he taught me, as our time together was not spent for that purpose. I just loved him, loved to be with him, and loved to listen to his thoughts.
One day, however, one of the older women-servants, who was very dear to my heart, accidentally almost cut off her finger while preparing the meat. She went running out of the kitchen (although I want to call it the slaughter-house) in near hysterics. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand, pieced the loose flesh of her finger back in its place, and with a single phrase was able to heal her.
She backed off me as if she’d seen a ghost. ‘How did you do that? She gasped. ‘Get away from me, you evil child!’ Despite the fact that we both tried to hide what happened, the word of my healing powers got out. Secretly, servants and slaves would visit my chamber, and effortlessly I will heal them using the information I received from listening to my love’s thoughts.
A thing like that, however, could not be kept secret forever. Eventually the word reached my father, who had no choice but to ban me from the house. I left on my nineteenth birthday.
I walked for three days, determined to die. Eventually I found a lovely green pasture with lush trees. This will make for a good burial ground, I thought. I prepared a space underneath a tree, and went to lie down with no intention of ever waking up.
A farmer who was living in the area was taking his cattle out to graze. When he saw the young girl sleeping underneath the tree, he immediately fell in love.
He could see that I was exhausted and worn from my journey, and he woke me up to give me some water. Sleepily and without thinking, I drank the water and replenished my energies.
Since I had no reason to lie, I told him the truth of what brought me to that place. He offered to look after me, and as he could not let a young girl just stay at his homestead, offered me his hand in marriage. My father, overjoyed that I didn’t die after all, rode out all the way for my marriage – although he will deny it till this day.
For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I was not able to conceive any children. However, I continued with my healing work, as many people in the village knew about some of the slaves and servants that I helped previously. The farmer whom I married, a shrewd businessman by nature, asked for money or gifts in return for the acts of healing – although, never more than anybody could afford to give.
I never gave much thought to the money, until one day he asked me what I would like to do with money that he has saved up. I was very surprised, thinking he must have spent it all.
‘Build me a temple’, was my reply. Which he did – he proceeded to build me a beautiful, dome-shape temple made of large sandstone rocks. It was built on the top of a hill that was next to a waterfall, that flowed into a natural pond. The roof of the temple had a circle shaped out, so that the sunlight can fall through into a natural, sacred circle of light. ‘I will call the temple Kaiish,’ I said, ‘which means ‘Circle of Light.’
* * *
For the first time in my life, I felt truly happy. However, the first rite I performed was to summon the spirit and incarnation of my Twin Spirit, whom I’ve always known to be the priest I loved. We have not seen each other for 10 years, and yet, it was as if we were never separated. We swam in the pool, and held each other in embrace for a minute, although it seemed like an eternity.
This rite caused me great joy, but my Twin Spirit great pain, because for the first time he could imagine what it would have been like if we had been together. I didn’t perform that rite for myself again.
His sadness caused a rift to grow between us, and the energy fields that sustained our love became heavy with tears. Our joint pain because of this separation, had caused both of us to start manipulating and misusing our powers. I didn’t realize at the time that separation is merely an illusion.
Although I still performed many acts of healing, I also started to practice some dark arts and some rites that go against the natural laws. One of these rites caused the early death of the farmer who was my husband. Even this tragedy could not prevent me from lusting more and more after the darkness. I was falling down a dreadful pit; eating the serpent’s tail. I did not believe that the darkness I’ve sunk into had any ending, but when I eventually hit the floor, I could hear the sound of my own scull cracking.
I overheard from some reliable sources that two priests were planning to kill me. I discovered that one of these priests were the man I loved. I could not allow this to happen, and decided to take my own life rather than face that humiliation.
I went to my temple where I summoned a deadly Cobra, but when the Cobra refused his poison, I cut off his head and sapped the venom from his fangs. The poisonous cocktail caused me to die instantly.
When I rose above my body, I was filled with dismay and deep remorse. What I have done, I could not undo. I could see the vista of my life, and know that I misspent the last few years. I had a beautiful temple, I had great gifts of healing, and yet I chose not to use them.
My love, the priest, came walking up the stairs to the temple. I gazed at him with sorrow and an aching heart, wishing to reach out and touch him once more. I did not even care that he was there to kill me.
Suddenly, a new knowledge filled me, and I was deeply shocked. I knew in that instant that he came to ask me to marry him, as he had left the priesthood. The final conspiracy of my death left him deeply disillusioned with the life of a priest. My grief was beyond measure. Allowing my life to be filled with darkness and pain, I forgot to listen to the soft language of his thoughts.
He wept when he found my lifeless body. Then he mummified my body, and made me the most beautiful golden mask to cover my face. He laid me down in the middle of the temple.
When he left, he sealed the temple so that nobody can enter, but the light of the sun by day, and the light of the moon by night. He left me so that the light can shine on my face, falling through the circle in the roof, like a third eye.
He did not return to the priesthood, but went to wander in the mountainous hills and caves until the end of his days on earth.
* * *
I can end my story here, like most stories would, but that will leave you, dear Reader, with the unnecessary ache of incompleteness.
When he lived in the hills, in that quiet space, finally our love started to grow. I joyfully fed him the first apples of spring; I looked lovingly at his face through the eyes of a deer. Every morning I sang to him with the voice of a dove.
I kissed him every day, for all the kisses that I missed, every time he cupped his hand to drink from the clear mountain spring. I offered my flesh; every time he ate a rabbit or pheasant, leaving him satisfied, and me as a part of him.
When finally he was ready to leave behind his physical body, I was there, ready to hold him in a sweet embrace. Our spirits joined as one, and rose up high above the clouds.
From that vista, we could see our past lives and future lives, sparkling like stars in the galaxy. We could see the creation and formation of the universe, expanding and contracting like a heartbeat.
And in-between that space, the quiet place between inhalation and exhalation, we are one. One with ourselves, one with each other, one with the universe. Separation a mere illusion.
Ancient Bear 699
My father could not manage to hide his disappointment, much as he tried. After fathering six girls, he was hoping that the magical number seven would be a son, to continue studying the ancient art of priesthood. After me, it was not possible for my mother to conceive again.
I remember a happy childhood, with few cares, as my parents were rich and had many servants. That was, mostly carefree until the age of 10, when I befriended a solemn young boy, and my life took a strange path from where there was no escape.
From the moment I met him, no telling how, I knew that he would be the great love of my life, but also my downfall. He was older than me by two years, and promised to the life of priesthood. He did not feel obliged to that life, however, as he wanted to do nothing else.
When he reached his age of puberty, he was sent to the School for Young Initiates. During the week, he had to remain at the school, but he was allowed to go home for one day, once a week. Young Initiates were sworn to secrecy, and not allowed to speak of any of the teachings that they received, as the ancient art of priesthood is very sacred, and not to be talked about.
It may have been that the secrecy was too much for his tender soul to carry, but after his first visit, I discovered that, if I stayed focused and quiet, I could hear the soft language of his thoughts. Outwardly, we were playing innocent childhood games, but inwardly, we were discussing the teachings, the often unnecessary brutality of the discipline, and the loneliness he experienced at the School.
He loved spending time with me, because he could unwind and reflect on all the things that were happening in his life. Although I knew with certainty that I loved him, he regarded me only as a good friend.
Swiftly, the years passed, and his nineteenth birthday was to arrive. On that day, he will be initiated as a Full Priest, able to mummify bodies, call up spirits, heal with wands and commune with sacred animals like snakes and cats. There were also many other secret rites that I will not be able to share with you yet.
It was close to my seventeenth birthday, and finally able to let my thick black hair hung loose around my shoulders, and not tied up in thin braids. I was wearing a soft white dress, draped around me and tied with a golden chord, an orchid stuck in my hair.
When he looked at me that day, it was as if he’d seen me for the first time. I knew in that moment that he loved me as I loved him, but our love was not meant to be. Priests lived a life of celibacy, and stayed mostly in isolation in the Temple. I will never know his kiss.
When he left, and because of his feelings for me, he sent me a message with a servant that he will not be able to see me anymore, and that I should not visit the Temple where he lived. I cried for three days. I have not yet mastered the skill to listen to thoughts over distances, as I’ve only done this when we played together. I lost all contact with my love.
I never intended to use any of the skills he taught me, as our time together was not spent for that purpose. I just loved him, loved to be with him, and loved to listen to his thoughts.
One day, however, one of the older women-servants, who was very dear to my heart, accidentally almost cut off her finger while preparing the meat. She went running out of the kitchen (although I want to call it the slaughter-house) in near hysterics. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand, pieced the loose flesh of her finger back in its place, and with a single phrase was able to heal her.
She backed off me as if she’d seen a ghost. ‘How did you do that? She gasped. ‘Get away from me, you evil child!’ Despite the fact that we both tried to hide what happened, the word of my healing powers got out. Secretly, servants and slaves would visit my chamber, and effortlessly I will heal them using the information I received from listening to my love’s thoughts.
A thing like that, however, could not be kept secret forever. Eventually the word reached my father, who had no choice but to ban me from the house. I left on my nineteenth birthday.
I walked for three days, determined to die. Eventually I found a lovely green pasture with lush trees. This will make for a good burial ground, I thought. I prepared a space underneath a tree, and went to lie down with no intention of ever waking up.
A farmer who was living in the area was taking his cattle out to graze. When he saw the young girl sleeping underneath the tree, he immediately fell in love.
He could see that I was exhausted and worn from my journey, and he woke me up to give me some water. Sleepily and without thinking, I drank the water and replenished my energies.
Since I had no reason to lie, I told him the truth of what brought me to that place. He offered to look after me, and as he could not let a young girl just stay at his homestead, offered me his hand in marriage. My father, overjoyed that I didn’t die after all, rode out all the way for my marriage – although he will deny it till this day.
For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I was not able to conceive any children. However, I continued with my healing work, as many people in the village knew about some of the slaves and servants that I helped previously. The farmer whom I married, a shrewd businessman by nature, asked for money or gifts in return for the acts of healing – although, never more than anybody could afford to give.
I never gave much thought to the money, until one day he asked me what I would like to do with money that he has saved up. I was very surprised, thinking he must have spent it all.
‘Build me a temple’, was my reply. Which he did – he proceeded to build me a beautiful, dome-shape temple made of large sandstone rocks. It was built on the top of a hill that was next to a waterfall, that flowed into a natural pond. The roof of the temple had a circle shaped out, so that the sunlight can fall through into a natural, sacred circle of light. ‘I will call the temple Kaiish,’ I said, ‘which means ‘Circle of Light.’
For the first time in my life, I felt truly happy. However, the first rite I performed was to summon the spirit and incarnation of my Twin Spirit, whom I’ve always known to be the priest I loved. We have not seen each other for 10 years, and yet, it was as if we were never separated. We swam in the pool, and held each other in embrace for a minute, although it seemed like an eternity.
This rite caused me great joy, but my Twin Spirit great pain, because for the first time he could imagine what it would have been like if we had been together. I didn’t perform that rite for myself again.
His sadness caused a rift to grow between us, and the energy fields that sustained our love became heavy with tears. Our joint pain because of this separation, had caused both of us to start manipulating and misusing our powers. I didn’t realize at the time that separation is merely an illusion.
Although I still performed many acts of healing, I also started to practice some dark arts and some rites that go against the natural laws. One of these rites caused the early death of the farmer who was my husband. Even this tragedy could not prevent me from lusting more and more after the darkness. I was falling down a dreadful pit; eating the serpent’s tail. I did not believe that the darkness I’ve sunk into had any ending, but when I eventually hit the floor, I could hear the sound of my own scull cracking.
I overheard from some reliable sources that two priests were planning to kill me. I discovered that one of these priests were the man I loved. I could not allow this to happen, and decided to take my own life rather than face that humiliation.
I went to my temple where I summoned a deadly Cobra, but when the Cobra refused his poison, I cut off his head and sapped the venom from his fangs. The poisonous cocktail caused me to die instantly.
When I rose above my body, I was filled with dismay and deep remorse. What I have done, I could not undo. I could see the vista of my life, and know that I misspent the last few years. I had a beautiful temple, I had great gifts of healing, and yet I chose not to use them.
My love, the priest, came walking up the stairs to the temple. I gazed at him with sorrow and an aching heart, wishing to reach out and touch him once more. I did not even care that he was there to kill me.
Suddenly, a new knowledge filled me, and I was deeply shocked. I knew in that instant that he came to ask me to marry him, as he had left the priesthood. The final conspiracy of my death left him deeply disillusioned with the life of a priest. My grief was beyond measure. Allowing my life to be filled with darkness and pain, I forgot to listen to the soft language of his thoughts.
He wept when he found my lifeless body. Then he mummified my body, and made me the most beautiful golden mask to cover my face. He laid me down in the middle of the temple.
When he left, he sealed the temple so that nobody can enter, but the light of the sun by day, and the light of the moon by night. He left me so that the light can shine on my face, falling through the circle in the roof, like a third eye.
He did not return to the priesthood, but went to wander in the mountainous hills and caves until the end of his days on earth.
I can end my story here, like most stories would, but that will leave you, dear Reader, with the unnecessary ache of incompleteness.
When he lived in the hills, in that quiet space, finally our love started to grow. I joyfully fed him the first apples of spring; I looked lovingly at his face through the eyes of a deer. Every morning I sang to him with the voice of a dove.
I kissed him every day, for all the kisses that I missed, every time he cupped his hand to drink from the clear mountain spring. I offered my flesh; every time he ate a rabbit or pheasant, leaving him satisfied, and me as a part of him.
When finally he was ready to leave behind his physical body, I was there, ready to hold him in a sweet embrace. Our spirits joined as one, and rose up high above the clouds.
From that vista, we could see our past lives and future lives, sparkling like stars in the galaxy. We could see the creation and formation of the universe, expanding and contracting like a heartbeat.
And in-between that space, the quiet place between inhalation and exhalation, we are one. One with ourselves, one with each other, one with the universe. Separation a mere illusion.
Ancient Bear 699
Book Announcement
Our very own Joseph Babinsky has published a new book! Here is a brief synopsis. Click on the title link for ordering information:
Gentle River Flow, by Joseph Babinsky. ISBN 141164042x. "Gentle River Flow" is a collection of writings, from the sublime to the seeming mundane. Essays on the subject of truth are juxtaposed with writings of an experience driving through a desert storm, letters written to a friend on the subject of the origins of Christianity and brief articles written about the experience of star gazing. Further essays are about UFOs and on the experience of a past life regression. Additional subjects include writings on writers’ block, God-Talk, dreams, numerology, the human as a divine being, and stories about a stranger who reappears after a twenty year absence to help with a new aspect of a spiritual journey. The finished book offers the word picture of a river. There are places where the eddies are quite rough, and there are quiet pools where the water flows ever so gently. This is a book for casual reading and serious study containing many levels of awareness. "Gentle River Flow" is for the on-going spiritual journey and the expansion of human consciousness.
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Sunday, September 04, 2005
Book Announcement
Our very own Trendle Ellwood has published a book! Here is a brief synopsis. Click on the title link for ordering information:
Ohio Homestead's Recipes & Recollections of a Season, by Trendle Ellwood. Embark on a journey through the four seasons of a market farmer/homesteader’s life. Join her as she taps trees for maple syrup and discovers the first snowdrops peeking through the snow in early spring. Walk alongside as she pursues the wild berry brambles of June and gleans the rustling cornfields in late autumn. Finally, snuggle in by the wood stove while the stew simmers during the cold of winter. In the pages of Ohio Homestead’s Recipes & Recollections of a Season, Trendle Ellwood brings us a taste of the challenges and a sampling of the joys of a life lived close to the heart of nature. She shares with us the hope that as in the seasons of the garden, likewise within the human heart, winter is destined to melt into spring.
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