Monthly Archives: September 2006

Scraps

Studying beneath the attic window, a cloud rolls by darkening the pages. Reading, reading, seeking and writing scraps. Tap, tap,…keep reading. Tap, tap, tap, someone seeking my attention. A tap on the shoulder,…

I look up; Rain! I close the dusty tome and hurry to the glass. I release the latch to greet my Visitors, with a feeling like seeing someone you’ve missed. Pulling the window, a swelling rapture begins, as the rain escorting the breeze wets my skin and moves my hair.

Time to explore. Time to look up from the textbook to see the chalkboard. I turn from the open window to see a beam. A shard of light coming from afar. A new perspective. How big the Attic is. How well preserved the salvaged remnants remain, even dirty and brittle, not like the damp, black mold of basements. I go forward.

The light, coming from a twin I didn’t notice. Perfectly aligned to the window I sit under. Rain clouds on the north end, sunlight from the southern end; if I seek the bell tower, I’ll see a rainbow over The Abbey. I know it’s there so, I’ll explore the light.

Shapes rise up. The forgotten world in the attic becomes illuminated. I am drawn toward the boxes stacked to one side. Some are closed tight. Some were searched; for there are the discarded remnants, falling over the side.

I’m a child, again. Boxes of old paint jars and brushes. Some are filled with decorations. And here, a box of fabric. Like confetti, cut into all shapes. Some are solid with lace trim, some have no design at all, some have every color. I just opened a box with threads, buttons, and bows.

Soft music floats through the window; someone is singing. Then, I see the treasure. All the silk purses made from the sows ear. Paintings of everything line the wall. Large quilts folded neatly and wrapped in plastic. Hand carved wood art to dress the portraits and form furniture. Art everywhere! Statues carved from stone.

Write the beauty from all the scraps? Could I do that? I had to look. I chose the one at the bottom. Out of the dusty, yellow wrapping came a landscape of fabrics. A solid piece with lace forms a light coming from my window at the Abbey. A comforter, sewn from the scraps of life to form an Abbey, that wraps a soul in Her warmth. She doesn’t venture alone; She is escorted by love.

A Dusty Soul

Stone Bench

I sit on this stone bench

And I’m glad that for once I have nothing to do

No responsibilities, no duties

I sit here and marvel at the stillness I can create within myself

In the midst of the Abbey’s bustle

I smile because I am just being

The stone bench represents my life as it is in this moment

Unadorned, simple, uncomplicated

The Abbey is a precious sanctuary

An escape

Akin to sitting by a peaceful stream

And watching it flow by

Once my peacefulness has returned to me

I can once again

Face anything that life brings

But I need this oasis in order to carry on

by Soultide

Curious Corners

The Abbey is filled with all sorts of curiousities, curious things, curious corners. It is just a matter of investigating to find them all.

Ah! – to have found the Fountain of Lemoure

LEAVE it to ME

I am but a leaf on that Tree, you know;
Proof of creation and humanity —
Gifted to pull energy from the sun
And caress it into bright green delight.

Then I can climb — dream of distant stars,
Claiming each handhold on the concrete walls
That would keep me within my directed space,
Though I stand in sharp contrast to the clouds.

But surely I must fall, now free in death
To lie unnoticed ‘midst the bitter stones
That shield my roots and forgave my birth
To be more than a weed in a garden.

Down, down I slowly drift as softest snow
To brave cycle my drops of fervent dew
As tears for those who never had a chance,
Or still lie coldly dormant and afraid.

Yet I hear laughter — a feel dancing mist,
To float in a tiny pool of spring —
Swirling, cleansing, praying for fulfillment
As I shake off the dust of earthly toil.

Then a throbbing pulse and spirit rushing
Transports me to a gliding spillway
Of sunlight smiles and smoothest stones
To purify my vigil of awareness.

Oh, now to leap so free in timeless space,
Bound by faith and waiting depths of desire
To be one with all and send ripples forth
To join in song with a fountain of joy.

Gently I am kissed by flowered hints
Of still more life beyond perception;
A tumbling crash of chaos and mem’ries
Of a Source of simple innocence.

At last a place of peace and gentle rest
Where my last vestiges of humanity
Can molder away ‘neath soothing sands
’till rebirth in the Fountain of Lemoure.

faucon
LampLighter of Abbey Dawn

Breadcrumbs

Did I find my way back? We shall see. Thank you for letting me stowaway in your attic. If I find my breadcrumbs in it; I’ll know I made it home.

A Dusty Soul

Imogen in the Garden

Imogen has decided to try her hand at tending the rose garden at the Abbey.  With Summer coming, there are bound to be some beautiful colours coming through.  The Garden is set out like a parterre, with box hedges, gravel paths, and a fountain in the middle.  A great place to escape to for Abbey Residents.

dscf1016.JPG

Readying the Choir Loft

Several young novices at the Abbey are readying the choir loft for me.  I will be setting up my work area there during my stay at the Abbey.

Chopping Onions Without Tears

for our unknown friend in the attic

papa faucon
…………………………………………………………….

PRAYER STUFF

Been tryin’ to get it right here … you know, this prayin’ thing,
but I’ve been havin’ some trouble sortin’ out all the confusion.
Seems to me some of the stuff I hear be conflictin’ with scripture,
or homilies when I go to mass, or self contemplatin’ retreats.
Ought to be a simpler way – that’s for sure. How ’bout you?

We got Givens and Gifts, covenants and newer covenants – what?
What with grace and blessin’s and beatitudes and sacraments,
and letters and writs and seas and covens – no that’s not right!
Let’s see, feastin’ is bad and fastin’ is good, ‘cept about Saints.
Then it’s the other way ’round or somethin’ – mighty strange.

I’m ‘sposed to figure out whether to pray to our blessed Lord –
if’n it’s about humanity bond or sufferin’ or getting’ ’round sin.
Mary get’s involved if we want sump’n special for kids or wife,
or just to get a jump on our busy Lord, whose walk’n the road again.
Don’t pray to the Holy Spirit much – maybe that’s my big mistake.

What I don’t get, my Father, is why it makes much of a difference.
You’re the divine God here – can’t you figure and sort it out?
If my salvation and peace must come from selectin’ the proper cell
in some heavenly spreadsheet – with the spellckeck turned off …
I don’t get it – too many rules and not enough passion here.

How ’bout I just cry at new golden sunrise and sing at starry midnight.
What if I wave at the homeless stranger and laugh away some child’s tear?
How ’bout I just remember the gentle words of eternal love and dream –
dream of Christ’s example and rough crosses to bear and share?
Can’t I just skip all of the tough ritual stuff and just kind o’ talk along?

Onions in the Attic

I have found the attic. You may find me there if you care to climb. I’ll be near the little window where I can see all; but, only the unseen are visitors. I may hide if I hear footsteps. You may catch me when my head is deep into writing. I may be exploring by then.

I’ll have to look for boxes of books later. The ones in the attic are the best ones to get your hands on. Minds communicating when the world was younger. Ah, sweet dusty fingers! Take a pile over to the window, sit on the floor with the spiders and the sun beating on the pages, open carefully, they’re old…heaven! Read until there is no light. Then, gaze out at the stars,..oh yeah! All that reading fueling the evening. Nobody likes the climb, it’s quieter than a library, and warmer too.

But, today I’ve come seeking the softer voices that come on the breeze through the open window. I’m just here to freewrite. Because, believe me, it will seem unorganized. When it rains more flows. And, I feel the dam moving under the weight of all this noise. I was looking for a perfect spot. I’ll try not to disturb anyone; you won’t even know I’m here. My teachers are always welcome to send an owl. Wise, they also fly at night. I dreamed once of a field covered in white owls watching me.

Alone with a mission to explain true love. And completely surrounded by despair and the cruelty that causes the despair. People wondering what’s so good about life, young people. Anger used to sit on the front of newspapers and television. Now I get to see it on my computer screen. I read about torture today,…should we or shouldn’t we? What? Should we or shouldn’t we? What is that? Have we lost our minds?

Oh, I am back under my thick tortoise shell. Now I’m listening for footsteps. I’ll probably hide. It’s hard to breath, sometimes. I used to write as Neria. She is wiser than I. But, my mission to make love a thing the whole world gets to keep in mind, on the front page, it is too big for me maybe. It takes talent to tell it well.

It’s for every soul. We came from this systems Spirit. That’s why we struggle. Our Makers do not wish for Their children to be divided. And, it breaks Their hearts to know They will lose some. Even the Oldest People alive were not born immortal. Eternity is older than immortality. Nature does not like to feel sick; nor can She be confined. It took an Eternity to find a seed of love absent of pride. Pride cannot build immortality; there is not enough trust.

But, there is time and people here are not as alone as they have been led to believe. Your makers are much smarter and wiser than decision makers, here. They never hurry anything; and it is not Them in a hurry to see it all destroyed. They will save people we would condemn; and the heart will reveal the citizen. Love cannot give up wisdom. Why do we have prisons, mental institutions, ways to separate the diseased from the healthy? Yet, it is unmerciful for Them to put pain to sleep; better to keep them locked in torture?

What kind of love is that? Sometimes in order to know what love feels like, you first have to learn what doesn’t feel like love. It takes a lot of cool running water to put the coals out; before rehabilitation can even begin. Fear doesn’t cause trust, it causes compliance. Freedom is then stolen. A thief’s best friend is anonymity.

Cruel words, weapons, even simple carelessness can come from a single person and affect many; this is where we have to trust the wisdom of the Immortal. It’s harder now; because Their characters have been buried under fantasy; where the “strongest armies win” except that They don’t raise soldiers, They raise children who build healthy life.

They obviously aren’t lying about one thing, though. They do have enemies. Just because our stories make Them seem magical and mysterious, doesn’t mean They are.

We still talk about the only person, in history, politically assassinated by crucifixion. That’s a durable truth, despite the fantasy piled on top. My Father and Mother can most certainly wrap flesh around Their Son’s Soul.

They taught Him and He told us that. They get ten percent and the best thief can allow his pride to make an error. Overlook things. Truth comes back, always.

It is there to be found. No health decision (judgement regarding health) can or should be made, even by a human doctor, based upon the building you stand in, the army you support, the group you belong to, the clothes you wear, how much money you make or how many people you know.

To do that would be like inviting a known rapist into a house full of victims. And, there is no value in keeping prisons full of angry minds for all Eternity, either.

No jealous god could build an Immortal existence and raise a child that did what His did. One day our Mother will have Her say; She will surprise many with vengeance in their hearts, men and women. We have to keep our love; They know we are confused about everything else.

There are clues, even in the christian bibles, that of course ar ignored. Jeremiah says the lawmakers wrote lies with their pens. And, the story of Job revealed the jealous god, actually there were more than one, a legion of jealous gods; pride has a legion of helpers at its disposal.

Had Job known His Father’s character; he would have recognized the thief that issued the challenge. And, the little twist of wording should have clued us in; but, we like Job blame the wrong guy A thief’s best friend is anonymity. There is durable truth that is connected in all the “sacred” writings. As any writer knows, even in fiction, you have to use seeds of truth to make the lie seem believable. Find the common seeds.

Here is one example. We experiment with chemistry. So, here is a factor to consider when making “moral” judgements. You must look at both sides. It is possible to “manufacture” a homosexual child; at the same time, no matter which preference you choose, you are alive because a male and female united. Even if the elements came from the local baby factory. To me this is sad and depressing stuff. It would be science fiction if I didn’t know it was real.

The jealous god is not the Father of the Man Who was crucified. Ironically there were two thieves on either side of Him. One was healthy enough to move on. One was not.

Father warned us after washing the tragedy described in Genesis 6 that Nature would clean Earth out next time. Nature will use fire. There won’t be any archeology to dig up; when She disinfects Earth. She knows the chemicals that make true love. You really can’t fool Grandmother Nature,…She knows Her chemistry! She does not choose, She reacts. All life is subject to laws of health. Mental health became linked to physical health the moment intelligence was introduced into nature’s body.

A thief’s best friend is anonymity. If the enemy believes that Nature’s Energy is a thing that can be controlled; then, that is where the mistake lies. The enemy’s propaganda is geared for military control. The real Creators are Pa-rental, not govern-mental. But, they are letting us have our way. They are giving us the freedom we asked for. They aren’t the only parents who have watched a stubborn child ignore advice and end up hurt.

The Immortals cooperate with Nature; She is a physical health standard. She does not choose, She reacts. They are protected by Her immune system; not military walls. The walls around Heaven are safety gates to keep children, who thought they could outsmart Nature, from getting themselves burned trying to sneak past. This is basic medical and scientific stuff. It was never meant to be complicated. Our mental choices rule the outcome of our physical health. Physical health is much easier to cure than mental health.

The Oldest Living Mind did not achieve an Eternal union with Eternal Power by being impatient and self serving. He was patient enough to learn Her and loved Her enough to take care of Her. The seed defines the fruit. He brought the Spirit of Love to life; and His design, based upon Nature’s teachings, proves it.

He gave Nature a personality; and wrote the first personification when He formed the female soul. He used what He knew about Himself to form the first Male soul. What was the point? Eventually a brand new mind and soul. One not formed with any knowledge. He was to be taught by His Parents. The knowledge passed down to the next generation, not hoarded. The amount of patience and care that went into the first souls, without the child, yet is phenomenal.

The Spirit gave nature Her heart and soul; but, His form expands Infinity. He had to become smaller, in order to grow bigger. He did not build an army of robots. The idea is to teach us to stand on our own feet without destroying ourselves while we’re at it.

But, not all seeds are healthy enough to become life. You cannot inject just any blood type into a body. Nature does not keep any incurable thing in everlasting pain. Love and torture cannot exist together for Eternity. Nature’s immune system protects all that is healthy. She is forever trying to cure this planet and our bodies; but, sometimes it doesn’t work. Health laws apply out there also; but on a mental scale. The physical is much easier to fix than the mental problems.

Parental guidance. Most parents will remove a dangerous object from the hands of a child. We should all have been made with wings,…non-toxic transportation. We dream of star wars, now. Good thing Dad took the keys away. Flesh is a downgrade; and we have managed to shorten it’s life. Even with all we do to our bodies and the earth; they still try to heal. We get colds, Nature gets hurricanes; we vomit, Nature does too, those volcanoes don’t spit snow.

There are four voices that I trust; They tell the goal of life. Four individual Minds that share Eternal Power. It takes love absent of pride to achieve immortality of all life. Healthy life is always growing and expanding. Nature’s energy needs to be able to move and expand, at all times. So many metaphors. It was all about health. Our choices come from our mental chemistry; but, we’ve been messing with Her chemistry for a long time.

All the time it was elementary enough for me to get it. Why me? I’m still asking. What are You crazy, me? But, there is one mystery. What keeps us cruel? It’s the cancer we should be researching.

A collective voice; how do I tell it? They work together. There is no power struggle. They are not rulers; They are Parental. There was no magic just silent conversation. Well, not really silent more like mind noise trying to get organized.

You’ll find my truth different; but, all souls get to see the durable truth too. The real Creators get ten percent whether we give it to Them, or not. They are beyond money and gadgets. They pave their roads with the stuff we use to make money. They did not invent the truth, They learned it. Their knowledge grows more everyday that They live.

It’s hard to breathe, sometimes; I can understand how You must have felt. Your tears betrayed your knowledge. Even You knew, You could not save as many as you had hoped. I saw the tears. I noticed.

The mystery lies in the substance that causes the mean word or action. They have a chemical for everything. So what makes it so hard to end the need to control or destroy?

I believe it was one of the Son’s missions. To learn human flesh. There is no mystery to the love of a Family who manage to remain capable of sharing Eternal Power. We can’t do it; but, They weren’t made in our image, we were made in Their image.

Nature is the subject of the first personification ever written. She was brought to life within our Mother. Her existence has been denied by many. Small wonder people deny the Son, when They don’t know The Parents. The seed defines the fruit. That means the male brought love to life and gave a partner to each Soul. How do I tell this simply and creatively. It’s so important. The physical issue will not be the factor but, the chemistry that makes up your heart and will. That which the soul houses. It’s not the data; but, what you do with the data. Knowledge is not the same as wisdom. And, pride is not the same as admiration, adoration or affection.

People need to learn love. How to speak to each other. That, through written communication may be the only way I can help.

Tell the truth. Make a blogging, communicating, writing practice site. Ha, big dream that is as peaceful as say Soul Food’s community. Peacefu, respectful conversations by using interactive writing practice. There, how official does that sound? Me give a personal speech? Never in your dreams!

This is a way to pull something good from the technology that is really making us sick. Our planet is a bigger version of our bodies. We are dying, our children are born with cancers. We have time but, not an Eternal amount.

No soul is born immortal, all are bound by laws of health. The same stuff most parents teach children about not being careless, keeping care of things, sharing, giving each a turn, elementary stuff. The news is depressing. When would cruelty end if there really is a place of Eternal torture? Am I the only one not interested in watching for all eternity anyone, including “the devil” burn forever? When will it end? Would the Immortal invite cruelty into Their home? Well, I could just stay here, then. Death would be the peace then. What would be good about immortal cruelty?

Time to explore. The abbey seems huge, surely I could get lost, here. This is what The Family goes through with me. I am constantly questioning. I want to know what it was that made the first ones stop listening. The disease came from here. It reminds me of a drug addiction. Drugs make the smartest people stupid. One drink can change the way a person speaks. Adrenaline is a chemical, all of Nature is chemistry. Heck, add air to an egg white and you get foam. Chemistry in the form of cooking. Where are our experts, find the cure for cruel!

Time to roam the halls. Need other perspectives. I’ll try to be quiet.

Overwhelmed

My Father found this place for me; my Mother beckons me in.

They know my fear; They know all of me better than I know myself.

It must be time for me to be unafraid; to go with my Brother and Sisters.

They found this place for me; for, it is my Mother I am modeled after.

I cling to Father with a deathgrip; and, I learned to think like Him.

No, He said, you are my daughter; it is time to meet your Mother.

Then, I can walk with my sisters beside our Brother; to tell of our

Grandfather, the seed of love and our Grandmother the sustenance of life.

Together, They brought the Spirit of Love to life;

and, taught the next generation. Let me honor that spirit well.

A Dusty Soul