Softly Whispered

 Now David had been told, “Ahithophel is among the conspirators with Absalom.” So David prayed, “Lord, turn Ahithophel’s counsel into foolishness.”

Greetings. In March I wrote a little about forgiving. This is extremely difficult to achieve when we are experiencing the unforgivable. However, if we are seeking sincerely for a way to forgive those who hurt us, perhaps we might feel inspired to pray very simply from our deepest hearts, like David once did, that their wicked deeds shall simply come to nothing.

Rancour is the chain that binds the wingèd soul to pain – and wings that were designed to fly might never span the sky again.

About the pics. The elevated path winds lazily through forested avenues, where celestial streams of golden light dance freely with the drifting shadows – and welcomes all with softly whispered breezes to the golden throne of the eternal crowned sun.

I hope our readers are standing firmly in the sunshine of inner peace. Despite the rising clamour of external events, personal victory is born in silence. 

Meanwhile, winter lingers in my bones, demanding time and effort for every little task. So I will take this opportunity to thank everyone who finds time to spend with our posts. After a recent update, it has become almost impossible to ‘like’ blogs on any device. This nuisance has happened before, but the talents of this blogging community deserves attention. So I will take this opportunity to thank everyone who finds time to spend with our posts. It is an honour, because yours are brilliant. I hope to be back soon, until then, peace, stay well, and be strong.

“Finally, may we indeed, keep in our hearts, that our humble blogs are the spirits that keep the World Wide Web humane. Let us use this gift to flourish as people! Let us cherish one another! And be thankful for one another, because at some point, we touch our respective lives.”  ~ Aina Balagtas https://lyricssentimentsandme.wordpress.com

 

 

Photography ©Amanda Moloney.

An Inner Sun

Hello there, readers. I hope you find yourselves in fine fettle this day. The above pics were taken a few days ago, during Amanda’s second visit to The Stratford Butterfly Farm, Warwickshire. 

Throughout the months of winter, I am confined to my bed for the greater part of every day. Counting bare branches on the rain drenched chestnut trees standing tall outside the house. Grounded, like a caterpillar – anticipating fondly that day when the sun will smile kindly again upon our northern climes. Summer brings the promise of improved mobility, and although I can’t without difficulty leave the confines of our house, the garden is my patch of eden. Here I spend the long, warm days, counting numberless leaves on branches attired – until the sun must travel south again. Optimism is an inner sun, whose yellow rays will rouse our frozen wings to life.

We are all born, like the caterpillar, with the capability of becoming something extraordinary, and beautiful.*

Until next time, strive to be happy. Amras.

“Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement.
Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.”

— Helen Keller

* https://amras888.wordpress.com/2018/09/29/divine-elegance/

Photography ©Amanda Moloney.

Reminders

 

Greetings, and top of the day to everyone. The above pics are reminders of a truly great summer, just passed. All too soon the land must sleep, as though dead – and all will dream of spring. The first eight pics were taken in our garden by me. Amanda took the others whilst out and about. All these pics were taken in July, except the sun seen shining through leaves; which belongs to the next paragraph. Please enjoy.

The beauty of the natural world soothes the soul, and calms the mind. When I stand beneath our tallest leafy tree, in silence, and warm Autumnal sunbeams dance merrily across my face – then, above all else, I know that I am standing in the light of our Creator’s love for all. I hope you feel this way too.

Until next time, peace – and may you enjoy many more days of warmest sunshine.

July supp

 

‘Tis hard for man to rouse his spirit up–

It is the human creative agony,

Though but to hold the heart an empty cup,

Or tighten on the team the rigid rein.

Many will rather lie among the slain

Than creep through narrow ways the light to gain–

Than wake the will, and be born bitterly.

But he who would be born again indeed,

Must wake his soul unnumbered times a day,

And urge himself to life with holy greed;

Now ope his bosom to the Wind’s free play;

And now, with patience forceful, hard, lie still,

Submiss and ready to the making will,

Athirst and empty, for God’s breath to fill.

~ George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul.

Photo 22-07-2019, 19 11 37

A Good Day

Greetings, I hope you are enjoying the new year so far. It certainly promises to be an interesting ride. I took the above pics while sitting in the car during a ten minute drive around. Sadly, I can’t spend much more time than this away from home without experiencing extreme exhaustion. Having said that, I am grateful for all that I can do, and this was a good day.

Every remaining day, of one particular summer holiday when I was a boy, and Just back home from the family fortnight, I would meet with my friends, and we would play together in abandoned neighbouring farmland. Before long, we put our heads together, and decided to build a two level treehouse in the branches our favourite oak tree. It was ancient, and tall, with many long branches for us to utilise. We loved this tree like a member of our gang. We utilised available planks and rope, and whatever else we could find lying scattered where the farmhouse had stood. The treehouse took less than a week to complete. Here we drunk lemonade, and swapped comics. When hungry, we helped ourselves to apples, gooseberries, strawberries, and suchlike. They grew freely and in abundance amongst the wildflowers and tall bushes growing all around. All in all, it was turning out to be a very good summer holiday.

One day, when September was approaching, a gang of ruffians bore down on us. They came, orc-like, thrashing through the tall grass. They threatened to hurt us if we didn’t surrender our treehouse. My friends decided it would be wise to run away, and so they did. Not this fool. I refused to surrender, and defended the structure from barrage after barrage of flying stones taken from a crumbling boundary wall. Next thing, the thin planks making up one side of our den were demolished. I grabbed the corrugated iron roofing and made a shield around my exposed flank. The raining stones were deafening against my ear, and worse yet were the threats and taunts. Before long, the floor collapsed, and I fell, wearing short sleeves and trousers, into the moat of tall nettles that was lying directly below. 

We lost our hideaway that day. The gang took over the remains of our treehouse. Days passed, and that would have been it, except for the surprising fact that I had earned their respect, or so it seems. One of them approached me with an invitation to join them for an afternoon in the tree, and I accepted. The first thing I noticed was that the wild flowers that graced the field were all gone. The treehouse had received some very rudimentary repairs, and I sat, with some trepidation, in a corner, to observe the ways of these boys. They read naughty mags, and smoked cigarettes. I flatly refused both things. They spoke rudely, and plotted ill doings, including thefts, and truancy. When they grew hungry, there was no fruit growing for free to be found, and so they opted to scrump apples from a dwelling close to the road. From here they were chased off promptly, and with strongly worded threats to call the police ringing in their ears. I didn’t waste a single minute more of my time with these fellows, but I do thank them sincerely for the truly great lesson about life, and mother earth they gave me on that one cloudy afternoon. 

Now they remind me of our brothers and sisters who have stolen by force, the earth herself, leaving wastelands behind them. *Thorn bushes grow where the enemy has camped. Many decades have passed since our happy treehouse, and the way the earth once fed us freely. The landscape of childhood has changed out of recognition. It is built over, and no longer allowed to feed any hungry children at play. I miss mother earth. So much of the bounty that heaven provides freely according to our need, has had a price put on it by naughty children who throw stones. I am very happy though, to contemplate the fact that too much Yang will become Yin. Therefore the pendulum is, perforce, swinging back again towards universal righteousness, and nothing but nothing can stop it. The good are becoming better, while the better are becoming best. Can you not feel this, like a call coming from inside of yourself?

I hope you enjoyed that memory of mine from a time long gone. The moral is timeless. Until next time, peace and good cheer from me.

“Oh Thou, from whom the breath of life comes,

who fills all realms of sound, light and vibration.

May Your light be experienced in my utmost holiest.

Your Heavenly Domain approaches.

Let Your will come true – in the universe

just as on earth 

Give us wisdom for our daily need,

detach the fetters of faults that bind us,

like we let go the guilt of others

Let us not be lost in superficial things

but let us be freed from that what keeps us off from our true purpose.

From You comes the all-working will, the lively strength to act,

the song that beautifies all and renews itself from age to age.

Sealed in trust, faith and truth.”

Jesus.

The Lord’s Prayer, in its original Aramaic form.

Photography ©Francis Moloney.

 *Lau Tzu.

The Freshly Waxed Sled

We were treated to a heavy snowfall. It stayed for a week, but now is gone. It was a nice lead up to the seasonal festival here in the hills, where the soundless blanket of frozen crystals fell from the air. It seemed as if we were living in a scene from a Christmas card.

I am old enough to remember snowfalls that almost completely buried the houses where I lived, and which endured for many months. Temporary ski slopes were created in the unlikeliest of places, and I used to go sledding almost every day. Most of the roads were impassable for traffic, so walking to school and back was akin to embarking on an arctic expedition, which came complete with freezing flurries, and howling winds. Also ambushes, and pitched snowball battles with rivals from other schools. That was 62/3. Winters have never been so good since.

One day, I was having a go on my best friend’s freshly waxed sled on the street where he lived. Face first, and like a torpedo, I flew down the hill unstoppably towards the junction at the end, accompanied only by the cold wind singing in my ears. The road down there must have been gritted that morning, because I realised suddenly as I cleared the street, that my head was about to collide with the front wheel of a moving car. He must have been the first driver on that road in months. I just glimpsed the shock on his face, when at the instant his wheel should have crushed my head, I was lifted up by the collar of my coat, still clutching the sled, and was placed standing safely on the side of the icy road. This all happened in the blink of an eye. Thinking that my friend had somehow rescued me, I turned and shouted a heartfelt thanks, but there was nobody there. My friend was a quarter of a mile away. The car slid to a halt, and the driver got out. He said nothing, just gawked at me in what looked like complete disbelief, tinged perhaps with a little bit of fear. Cognitive dissonance, I suppose. Then he drove away, and I never saw him again.

My friend was greatly puzzled, but after an excited debriefing session, we agreed that for us, angels are proven, and nothing would ever take that knowledge away from us. We were nine.

Countless, I’m sure, are the numbers of people, who have, and who will experience such things, and although we live in a world that prefers us to keep it all to ourselves, we will alway know what is really true – and so will our angels. And that has to be a blessing.

I wish you all a blessed Christmas, and a safe and holy season in the arms of the giver of life. Let us remember in our hearts, all those who will not have it so good, and perhaps find time to reflect on the ebb and flow of things that cannot be quantified by any organ other than the heart.

On the Eve of the Winter Solstice, Peace from Amras.

Soundlessly they go,
the herons passing by:
arrows of snow
filling the sky.


Yamazaki Sōkan (1464-1552), loose translation by Michael R. Burch

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