short explanation before the Lady of all Faiths below :)
All of my poems, tales, stories and paintings come from themes in my life:—hurt and sorrow and happier “endings”—and from my ”universal
yet personal Inner Muse’s dreaming with me” and guiding me to inspiration for poetry and art. My Inner Muse is an improviser, and guiding me in the journey to understanding life in this world and others. I spend time in silent meditation almost
every day and am also active on the scene of life. My Inner Muse does not lead me away from connecting me with other people, famous as well as “infamous”, friends and foes alike, making me understand something myself, and “the other one”
that I did not understand before, leading me to deeper realizations which both heals relationships with people to whom I have been close but who are no longer in my life physically but also through the ethers of time to many others. It is a kind of healing
I believe could ultimately release the peoples of the world from repeating the mistakes of the past, such as reoccurring patterns of war which come down on the world in the absence of love and understanding. Traveling the way shamanic poets do across time
and centuries where “parts of us are stuck in sorrow, anger and longing for death, or life, one encounters the Divine, cosmic presence” in roles of life and death and resurrection. Such journeys inspired the following tale:
Little One and The Ghost-like Fairy Tale Mistress of All Faiths and Care
The young one sat by a very large table, an empty one in a large now emptied room, half dark half light in here, she sits there alone and her head is actually bald like an
eagle and old poet one's the way she used to know it, however the very large outline of an almost ghostlike lady turns up, her eyes are more like black sockets light somehow, not attached to anything dark nor evil nor painful nor fear no longer she's the queen
of fairy tales like a one from a past life in India, and she speaks gently to the young one sitting at the other side of the table, she speaks as the inner vision turns up, a little further away across to the other side of the table, the vision of a very fine
house, a half of a house with very fine wooden like structures, an elongated-shaped half-sized home as it were, and in front of it she sees her old boyfriend Richard gently rising up towards the sphere where the young lady is sitting, he is wearing his brown
thick yet soft poet's coat, the one she so used to like, the one she has been given to see him in a very few times when her spirit master guides have wanted to give her a glimpse of how well he has fared in his life after the young one and him split up, actually
split up is perhaps not quite the word as it turned out they had "lived together" yet lived totally separate and yet parallel lives, she had not seen him much in physical life all of these years, yet dreams had told her of a one who finally heard the call
TO LIFE, that God himself had called upon him and his brother, that is God himself had descended down into "their cellar" where they had been hiding, he had been a bit curious about her, Richard had been, yet he had not been allowed to know very much, actually
none at all, the way she, the younger one and he had walked each side of God for a while, those are the memories that this writer now has as she had also been given to see him, years later, as he was "just down the hill healing his life", and much later, perhaps
some years or so thereafter she had been given to see him again, while she was healing more after having been a healer in life and she had "crashed" and bitter tears were rife then, she had seen him then, again in his soft brown leather poet's jacket, she
knew then that he had followed his bliss as he hid his deep musical gifts no longer, and he had turned into a therapist, and now again, this very morn' in a dream, the young one now so very much more cleansed again sits here by a large so empty table in a
large so empty room half dark and half light and she is given to see Richard in this dream vision ascending further from this house that was his very own, and the now ghost like fairy tale mistress of transformative tales, the shamanic poet writer said to
You cannot imagine how happy Richard was in his very own house, the house of his soul, the house of his dreams, the house of remembrance in which he did heal, and it has been fascinating to see how large a part of that home, that very
house you have been.
Those were the words that she used as she was moving along slowly to the other side of this room half dark, half lit and the lady placed in front of young released Liv a fairly large square opened up box of many coloured chalks,
the remains of the multi-coloured fare that Richard had used to help transform his life also through his fine art.
Little Young Liv looks at it in a kind of disbelief, she looked again and finally said: these must be the coloured chalks that his
children have used....
but then again, dear reader of mine, Little Liv is in a phase where things are moving onwards in her own life, with her own understanding, her own thoughts, her own feelings that are slowly transformed after all the release
and cleansing, so what happens now? Gradually it dawns upon her soul and her mind that she has somehow been very important in Richard's life after all, very healing, his very turn-about in his very own life....that is what has come to this reader's mind as
the morning light wore on and a meditative thinking process had again begun, the way it happens these days as this writer's own life moves slowly on...
Next scene is a square again, this time the square is like...an elongated form,
a one filled with see-through golden light like no old experiences attached, all released into who knows where, digested and "spat out" like transformed fairy tales perhaps not exactly spat out who cares, the diagonal form is really fine and Little Liv is
somehow hanging in there legs beneath torso and head above and come to think of it, she has to think real hard about having had to sue Richard in order to have him share their earthly collected belongings way back then, (she had never again seen him in physical
life), and as this thought seem to spring forth again, this writer sees the ghost-like fairy tale mistress of all faiths in dark grey yet light shadows smile other side of this fairy tale from Little Liv's life from way back when and how...now, Liv smiles