Tales/Poems/Dreams

THE INNOCENCE OF TRUE LIFE

HEAVENS TEARS AND LOVE

FOR US ALL

By Liv, the A’Mused One

 

Had walked into a church like room she had

she could not see the ceiling at all, more like

a gothic "contraption" with nothing but darkness

"up there" now, no stars up above under this

particular "heaven", and the room they were

in was large and dark and the walls were reddish

bricks from hearts' blood yet it feels ok now, you

know, the way that churches are sometimes built

small red bricks stacked on top of each other one

by one for all the steps and all the love that were

given to all those who came and went and where

she and God up above had invented the most

finely "threaded" stories in the aftermath of trying

to break up the mores of nothing more of "something"

between people who were "married with nothing

but friendships risen and hearts' death behind

material walls and social mored facades for "all"

as if that is what life and a soul and a heart...

 

she was inside of this now, and deep into "it" she

had waded through lives together with a one whose

love is so great for everyone, a one to see and hear

and feel and be all peoples' hearts that are

made of the same star dusted dreams:

unconditional wonder filled love, of colors

and not all these immoral mores that

keep people together inside of mental contraptions

of broken souls, of broken hearts, of broken bonds

and the two in question keep living on these lonely

mores without truly communicating...it's called

marriage...

 

she had been an agent for changing for loving for "hating"

to maybe having her spirit and heartbroken once "more"

yet she had been bound to one and more by these

pure soul and heart bonds "forever more" (seems like that

word "more" is now less" and it keeps turning up inside of

"this dress of more words":), and so she had had these bonds

broken by soul mated, now friends at best whose fear of

love was greater than greatest and the social mores of

a friend from Iran...and stuff, and this book is ending no more

it seems, and so she is down there inside of these quarters

built by gothic bricks like inside a "contraption" of older mores

and there are people sitting there, kind and funny people,

a row of catholic priests in their robes turning their heads

towards her when she arrives and there is a group of monks

there too, and a large "something or other" in this corner,

she gets up this young story teller, and she begins a tale

of this holy child that were born once upon a time, and like

holy children inside of every more, inside of every culture, she

begins her tale like this, and then one of the monks steps forward

a one to whom she feels close, from the group of them with their

long robes there, he takes over from her tale and begins to weave

his own, he holds a small red soft ball in his hands and he speaks

of how he got in and passed this ball onwards to all the ones in

a group, she sees how he speaks to the others in this group as

he turns his back to her, and how he reaches out his hand

for them to take this ball, and to speak their own tales...

 

and then she breaks into his tale and says straight to his face,

a face that is kind of rounded and elongated with a beard

he's wise and of a childe's innocence and knowing too

it looks a bit like a mix of at least three people whom she knew

that is: her own, that of Egil, her past boyfriend

who had so helped her along with hugs and care

as she took her way through her past life and turned it

around in another beautiful direction, inner blockages

and tears were releasing to bare her very soul then

and that of another friend from Canada's land,

her fun friend Lawrie who had such a happy laugh

he was a graphical designer of beauty and of fame

and he could joke with death the way her father in heavens knew

and wanted to show people on planet earth, that death is small

and that tao and life and love cancels out these small moments

of dying to a relation, as LOVE is grander than "life", he had called her

once-upon-a-grey-time and wanted her to leave a message to

"Ricky Mortis", and she had laughed as her English was not that

strong then, and her humor was still intact (it has never really

left) and she did not understand till Lawrie had explained

that those very fun words were an allusion to death cramps,

he was Jewish and made fun in a light way of what

had happened to them, and come to think of it,

it has indeed happened to us all...the death theme and life

on this planet "for all", where people are so afraid of changes

that they stay put inside of fear mores rather than take the

break-up and become their honest innocent souls outside

of social mores again and once more...

 

anyway...

 

he showed his hand, the large monk did, around, with the red

ball inside, to the people in the corner of this street ex-gothic

church and as the young listened in, she stopped him and he

faced her close as she said: now you are taking over the stories

and turned into my teacher, and then she was gone...from these

quarters and walked to a large sunny terrace outside these

"contraptions of times gone" of red bricks of once love, she

sat down there and looked out into the far off horizon for a long

time, she saw nothing there now, and there was a golden

darling there of a young girl playing around with her doll, not

all that much life in her it seems, she was not very grown,

she said something, cannot recall what that was,

as this writer was pondering the life line from God that was gone

nothing at all out there on the horizon anymore,

and I vaguely see a someone arriving, up the steps

to this terrace, and then I see that the young motherly

lady gets up and walks onto the ground with...

 

this tall man...her old so incredibly beloved Per...the one who

broke 27 life and soul bonds, the one she had been told of in

a dream that "a one with a huge "fit for life and souls" would

arrive, he did indeed, and his was so hard of hearing, his soul

was, that he broke all those at least 27 lives bonds in their souls,

she remembers standing on the pavement at a 1st of May

Parade and his name had danced in her bossom in many

many ways, she had danced there on the pavement of life

as he came by, but he was gone, he fell into the arms of

another, his soul were bound by old sores and "games of life"

and old mores and facades and all that not so happy jazz..

 

she was supposed to be his soul's shaman. it broke...nothing

more to say about that. she had cried. for two years at least

and she had felt soreness inside for years thereafter, now he

arrived and the two of them walked across the grounds and

he had put his arms around her shoulders, she was in soul's

grey and nothing but a sort of friendship as she put her arm

around his waist and he talked to her there for the very first

time about something else but his own sides of lives, the very

lives that were broken, for the very first time he spoke some

words "of her side of life" and he said that he felt they had

been unfair to her inside of the ark.

 

She just asked him why he did not have children in his own

life, and she continued to say, guess it was like with hers,

he had married earlier in his life to a someone he only cared

about as a friend but had not loved, like she had been with

a someone for years whom she had not loved at all, and he

had been pressured to take this girl for his bride by her family

who had seemed to think she would not survive had they not

pressured him into being her provider by asking for her hand

in "marriage", and as she walks there and talks here and this

writer knows that she has broken hundreds of years of mores

as it seems that not only him had been pressured by the

strong expectations of fathers and families and "all" to stay

married without his soul, her own beloved dad seemed to have

resigned when she chose to stay inside a "contraption of sorts"

that was of no love, he had not been happy when she heard

him sigh "well, at least she is provided for", and she had gotten

mad when she broke it all, as did her "beloved not even on

paper", and now this makes her smile a little not even sad,

as her so beloved French Connection fared the very same way,

the father of "his beloved "bride"" had pressured him to marry

"his wife", and so it went, one after the other of these facades

of...not really life at it's most beautiful and fine, one could say,

 

and so, the young lady looks up from the steps she was taking

there on these grounds of an aftermath of "having had the ball

passed to one after the other in beautiful beginnings of huge

love and life", and she sees that now when sorrows and endings

have been laid aside, she looks up now from her not quite agreeing

with her recently become friend Per, as her sorrows and soreness

over him is gone now after all these years, and she sees a large

tree of life grown from life outside of the Plato Cave and it's

shackles of shadows and fears

 

it is really big, it is rising tall and sturdy and it's old branches thick

and small are black now and the leaves on this oak tree from

the IceAgeFree with it's beautiful lines are yellow like in the late

summer of lingering life and, early fall of her life

the very shape of the tree is like a huge triangle,

for a "him and a her and a God up Above"

a holy triangle of once thought out life, the Holy Trinity...

for Life, and there is nothing more to say, really, it begins

to rain slightly from the skies, and they both walk to a tall building

to stand underneath a large grey ledge, the building makes her

think of the incredibly large building at then Cape Canavaral where

they used to shoot rockets up into the sky, where she and her

inner traveller beloved, her spirit guide had been inside once-upon-

a-thyme to help people ascending to heavens above, those very

ones to whom the "ball had been passed onwards to by the hand

of her inner friend for life , for them tell their own stories, their

very own tales rather than repeating through the century

truly broken mores and hide their sores and brokenness of hearts

and stay put behind material fascades, no true homes" and so...

 

it began to rain, as this writer mentioned, but by the time she is

under the ledge there with Per, and somehow he is not staying

around either, it begins to pour down from heavens above it

rains and it rains and Heaven itself is crying clear beautiful tears

for all that went wrong and Heavens' longings like hers

and....she looks to the thick dark cellar wall undernath

this large thick ledge where she is standing tall,

and there is a window in this cellar's wall and it has no

window pane at all, and guess who is peaking through,

the face of such a happy childe, she is smiling and laughing and

she has a doll, she is sturdy and golden and knows of nothing

at all about the happenings in the young woman's life.

 

Innocent life and laughs from the childe like pealing bells

and giggles now...you know, dear reader of mine, the way

children are playing:)...

 

 

and how Heavens above are missing and loving...ALL children

on Earth..

 

How we are ALL Holy and Innocent Children of Light up above

and Heaven is raining it's tears for missing and loving..US ALL...

 

(and working to get us all through those black heavy walls

and doors that keep us "in hell" of thoughts and truly broken

mores and fears...needed NO MORE)

 

 

 

Holy and Innocent Children...in all spheres and all cultures..

this writer is smiling now....she is thinking of what she had

learned through these holy tales of broken mores and all...

 

(The Holy Oak, The Monk of Life and Broken Mores and The Holy

Child in every culture, The Innocence of True Life)

 

 

(In August of A Life)

 

 

 

August, I mean,  October 15, 2011.

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29.10 | 15:01

Tusen takk :)

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12.07 | 12:58

Hei Liv! Veldig fin maleri...

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28.08 | 22:36

Mange takk for den fantastiske bilder og utdrag av klassisk musikk...:)

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23.07 | 14:03

Kjære Patricia - etter 5 år med acem-meditasjon, møttes du og jeg "tilfeldig" på Blindern, og du nevnte dine kreative kunster. Det var meninga!! :)<3

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