Aro’s speech

No one will ever forget the day when the great Wolf Chief Aro spoke about hunger.

Humans were also present at this gathering, silently and respectfully waiting for Aro to deliver his message.

– I want to talk to you today about hunger. It is the one thing in this Earth dimension that still has not been unpuzzled.

We, the wolves, have borne the vilifying words that humans have made up for us for centuries. We are monsters, murderous beasts to be feared, hated, controlled or killed.

We live in families and communities that are in every way as loving and layered as your human families and villages. And we only kill and eat when we need to sustain our survival.

But what is hunger?

How is it possible that human beings still haven’t looked into what it is they are camouflaging with their physical hunger? Why are so many human beings eating for so many other reasons than to sustain your survival and create health? For other reasons than hunger?
We have never once taken a life unless we needed to and felt we had the Great Mother’s permission to do so. Human take lives for so many reasons.

More interestingly, they eat for so many reasons.

Fellow human earthlings, if you, like most human beings on the planet, have an issue with what you eat or drink, that is wonderful.

I invite you to ask yourself what the deep hunger behind that hunger is.

You are invited to open the magic box of your own deepest hunger.

Behind all those layers of eating as entertainment, as comfort, to numb away what you feel, boredom, fear, pain, terror…there is an undescribable gift waiting for you.

I urge you to lovingly ask yourself what your deepest hunger is.

I urge you to re-member yourself.

I love you.

With these words, Aro left the gathering together with his inner circle.

And the humans were left with his puzzle.


The Buzzard and the Heron

The Buzzard and the Heron were hanging out at the pond, having a conversation about things they had learned in their lives. The Buzzard was the first to share and said to his friend the Heron:

– Never listen to beings who call you lazy. Only beings who don’t understand energy would say something like that. Some animals have called me lazy because I can sit on a pole or in a tree for days.

 

– I know that, I have heard them say it, nodded the Heron.

 

– My hunting skills depend on the way I manage my energy. If I cannot soar effortlessly, like when it is raining or very cold, I make sure I save my energy so I don’t get exhausted. Prey will even come to me when I am recharging.

 

– Oh, I know this skill. I use it in the water.

 

– Right? Then when the air heats up again, I can soar. Hunt. Sing. This is something more beings should do, it is wisdom and not laziness.

 

The Heron threw his head back, making the black, long feathers on his head dance. He clappered his bill tips.

 

– Never thought about it that way before.

 

– What about you, my friend? Tell me about something that is important to you.

 

– Well, people and animals have tried to make up all kinds of stories about the fact that I don’t belong to a flock. I fly and hunt alone. There are saying things about how I am a loner, I am restless and all kinds of things I can’t really follow. But you know…even though some of the stories made up are interesting, it is simply who I am to live and move alone. It is my nature. Just like it is the nature of a Starling to move in a flock. Simple as that. Not really interesting. Just nature.

 

– That is true.

 

– So I guess it would be easier for everyone if we stopped making up stories based on our own experiences and just took beings in the way that they are.

 

– I agree, my friend.

 

And the Buzzard and the Heron flew off, both in their own direction.

 

Following their own nature.

 

 


Lisa and the Star People

Lisa was sitting on a rock  in the middle of the forest behind her yellow terraced house.

There was a hole in the big rock that looked like a tiny gorge. Lisa imagined herself being really big and seeing this ‘mountain’ and gorge from above.

She squinted to imagine the trees growing on the sides of the mountain, the birds flying over it, the clouds brushing it. She imagined a line of people, tiny from her perspective, moving towards the top of the mountain together with their donkeys. The people were dressed in colourful ponchos and wore beautifully knitted hats with strings on the side.

She could see them patiently thread the tiny snake-like roads up the mountain. They did not speak but seemed happy to be ascending this imaginary mountain together.

Suddenly she felt something changing behind her and she turned from her helicopter view observation, only to stand in front of two very tall beings cloaked in white. They were a bit blurred, like a film projected on a wall. She looked up.

Lisa couldn’t think of anything to say.

– That’s a beautiful image you’re painting there high up in the Andes.

– In the what?

– The mountains. It’s lovely to visit places with your mind, don’t you think?

– What are you?

Lisa was right in between freaking out and being thrilled, she couldn’t choose how to feel.

– We are Star People. We are really good friends of yours, the Earth People. In fact, we are related.

– Are you human?

– No, we are star beings. But the humans are our family.

She blinked.

– Can you fly?

They laughed.

– We don’t exactly fly, we just travel but sort of without the vehicles you use for travelling.

– Are you angels?

– No. But they are family too. We are only stopping by today, short visit. And we have an important message for you.

Lisa leaned against the rock and held on to some moss to stay calm.

– That thing you were doing just now, when you were creating with your imagination, like travelling in your mind?

– Yes?

– We want to ask you to do that a lot. Those moments when you feel really good and light and limitless.

– Ok?

– We also want to ask you to help others do the same.

– But…everyone can do that.

– Yes they can. But they don’t. So we want to give you the very important task of helping them to remember how to do it and then help them to actually do it. Every day.

– But…why?

– This whole Earth-Star People-Angel family depends on it. Everything will be determined by what we can IMAGINE. TOGETHER.

Health. Peace. Nature. Climate. Science. Schools. Families. Do you understand?

– But…it’s just playing.

– Playing. With good, loving intentions. That’s what we need very very urgently. Are you in?

– You bet.

Big smile. Lisa had an important task. One that was fun too!

She started thinking about who to play with first,  and before she knew it the Star People were gone.

But not really.


The Buddha and the coughing cat

Right behind a wall of old bricks, under a Eucalyptus tree and surrounded by roses and lavender, sat the Buddha statue. He was put there to spread peace in the garden.

Now and then the family living there would place precious pebbles in front of him and weed away the Dandelion.

The Buddha was laughing and his round belly seemed to water abundance into the thriving garden.

One day the Buddha was interrupted in his perpetual meditation by a sound he did not recognize. It came from the corner of the garden, behind and apple tree and a fig tree.

 

– Who is that and what is your intention in this garden of peace?

 

Only silence at first. After a few minutes the green foliage behind the trees started to move and out came the most sorry-looking cat you could imagine.

He was orange, skinny and all wet. He was coughing like a heavy smoker.

 

– I am Christo the Cat.

 

– I see. What are you doing in my garden?

 

– I have been kicked out of my home. I don’t know where to go.

 

– That’s quite a cough you have there.

 

– I have been out in the rain for days and now I have a bad cold.

 

– So maybe you could explain this to me…I know many cats who are free, who live in the wild. They never get wet and they certainly never catch a cold.

 

– But if you’re out in the cold you get ill, right?

 

– Do the ducks get ill? The crows? The deer?

 

– Well I…I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve heard so many stories about cold and illness…and I…feel really ill and…

 

– Stories. Let’s talk about stories. What’s your story, Christo the Cat?

 

– Well…I was raised in a family that wasn’t good to me. They kicked me and forgot to feed me and now they have kicked me out.

 

– And before you lived with them?

 

– I only remember that I had a beautiful, sweet mother and two sisters.

 

– Loving mother. Warm, sweet. And then a temporary stay with a family that was not a match.

 

– I guess you could put it that way.

 

– Is it possible that you are now set free?

 

– Well…but…I don’t have a home.

 

– No? Were you not born wild? Born to make your loving mother proud? Do you not have the skills, strength and intelligence to live and thrive in the wild?

 

– I have no idea.

 

– Maybe this story is only just beginning? Maybe you are now free to remember who you really are?

 

Christo coughed again, but somehow the cough sounded less miserable and convincing than just five minutes ago.

 

– You know what? said the round-bellied Buddha. You are always welcome in my garden. I suggest you get some sleep under that fig tree. Then, when you are rested, you can think a little bit about your story. Maybe you don’t even know your story yet.

 

Christo the Cat did. He slept and slept.

 

And then he wrote a new story.

 

In the wild.

 

 


The Starling and the Berries

Once upon a time in the mountains of a warm and sunny country, a Starling was busy harvesting the red berries he loved so much.

He had already picked seven of them from the tree and now he wanted to bring them to his nest. He flew away with one but then heard a sound behind him and immediately returned. He didn’t want anyone else to eat his berries.

He was wondering how to do this. Could he put all seven berries in his beak? He tried but could not fit more than three. He tried to grasp all seven berries with his feet but succeeded only with four and then accidentally squashed one.

Now, if you know anything about Starlings, you know that they move as one body, even in flocks of hundreds. They are like dancing clouds of dust, they bounce and swirl as if they are one with the mystic heart of everything.

Starling asked his friends to help him. They came in hundreds and they all brought one berry straight from the tree to their brother’s nest. It overflowed with red berries. Under it grew a shiny red hill of deliciousness.

When seeing all the abundance and the flowing movement of his own kin, Starling woke up.

He did not need to struggle and sit on more berries than he could eat in a day.

He asked his friends to all enjoy the berries they themselves had brought.

Then he set off to dance with the wind together with his flock.


Willow, the talking Tree

Her long, slender branches had finally grown back.

She had been trimmed down to the point of being just a naked trunk, awkward and ugly, but now the long swaying vines made her beautiful again.

People who came to sit down at the shore could catch her shade and be soothed by her long billowing hair.

The gardener who trimmed her down every fourth year was loving but strict. He knew that we all need that sometimes. To be stripped of too long, thick, hardening branches. To be naked for a while. Dwell inside and save up spring energy and then explode in streams of new life and stories.

Luisa was down at the shore today, sitting on one of the thick, calcified roots, her bones aching but not so much as you would expect from someone who was way over seventy. She was thinking about the small things, like what to cook for dinner and when her grandchildren would come by, but also about the big things, like how to live a full, sparkling life even when your hair is white and the animal of your body slows down.

She remembered something her grandmother Alicia had told her once about the trees.

“They are living beings, with spirits, like us baby girl. If you have questions, all you have to do is choose a tree you like and then knock on the trunk and ask. The answer will always be given, in some form. A voice, a sign, a song on the radio.”

Luisa turned her stiff back and knocked on the trunk of the Willow tree she loved so much. Her voice was sandy and hoarse when she put words on her ponderings.

“Tell me Willow…how do I grow older with lots of laughter and pride?”

She listened but heard nothing. Just the water and playing children somewhere close. She patted the bark anyway, thanked the tree for shadow and beauty and got up to do her daily errands.

When she walked up to the road she ran into the gardener who was busy, as always, with the soil and leaves and blossoms.

– She is a beauty, isn’t she? He smiled and nodded in the direction of the Willow.

– It’s the best place to sit in the whole village.

– You know, some people get mad when I prune the trees. It looks awful for a while, that is true for sure. But if you don’t do that, they grow out of control and the branches become too heavy for the trunk. You really need to help those trees by trimming away the old and make room for the new.

He was talking even though she hadn’t asked anything and he didn’t seem to wait for a reaction from her. He was still muttering when he walked back to his little truck.

Luisa’s knees went weak.

It couldn’t be.

The gardener brought the answer to her question.

Luisa went home that day and cleared out all of her closet and the spair rooms.

Then she welcomed the awkward emptiness, keeping the long, slender, light green branches of the Willow in mind.


Great Grandmother Spider

She was misunderstood.

The weaver of wisdom and protection. Such a calm guardian. Kind, loving, fierce.

Yet she scared most people. Their fear wrote stories about her character and hers was a life that could be taken. Not a loss. She was a creepy being anyway.

In the ancient stories she was loved and praised because of the silky patterns she could weave. Only visible to the eye in the sunlight. And yes she could catch what she needed to feed her family. Why shouldn’t she? Everyone knew back then that she was a sacred guardian.

But people forgot. And now they seemed to want to kill her most of the time.

She was wondering if it was time to return to the unseen world, but she loved the world too much to leave it unwoven and unprotected.

Now and then there were beings even in the human world who could feel her presence and honour her role, her thread in the big fabric. That made it easier.

One day the ancient stories would be remembered, told, restored and rewoven. They were too magic and loving to disappear. She knew that nothing is ever really lost.

If Great Grandmother Spider greets you today…try greeting her as the guardian that she is.

 

 


Blackbird and little pig

Once upon a time in a country filled with the most beautiful forests, lived the blackbird who had forgotten how to sing.

She had been one of the Winged Ones who painted the forest with the most beautiful melodies anyone had ever heard. Such a transparent resonance it made everyone who came close feel at peace.

One day, when Blackbird wanted to call in the sunrise, she discovered that she did not remember how to sing anymore. She slapped her wings and flew rounds to shake up what must be a temporary blackout. She rested on her favourite oak tree branch and waited. Nothing. She splashed rainbows of water in the creek, dipping her head in the cold, clear water. Not a tune. Not even a click. She remembered the clicking sound that is the Winged Ones’ signature, she just couldn’t remember how to make the sound.

So she waited. And the forest turned silent.

One early morning when she felt extra sad she couldn’t greet the sun anymore, the bushes under her tree started moving back and forth. When she flew closer to examine the swaying branches she found herself standing in front of a small, wild pig.

He looked really scared, just panted and said nothing. She wanted to ask why he was afraid but since she couldn’t sing, the only thing she could do was to stay close and show him that he was welcome. He was still trembling but seemed to calm down a little bit so Blackbird decided to get some food for the furry little guy. She got some nuts from her stash and put them in front of him.

He ate, snorted and chewed – with a lot of noise. He was funny.

Little pig saw the creek and now dived right in. Rolling, coughing and squealing with joy. You would think he had never seen water! Blackbird couldn’t help but to laugh. Who was this funny creature?

When he finally lay down between the thick oak roots, exhausted from playing and swimming and running, Blackbird decided to stay close and keep an eye on him.

For days, little pig and Blackbird hung out together, eating, playing and sleeping really close. The pig was so clumsy and happy, every time he fell and got up again with a big smile, Blackbird was laughing until she almost fell out of the tree.

The morning she woke up and found that little pig had disappeared, she was devastated. Little pig! Her friend! She combed through the whole part of the forest that was familiar to her, looking for that endearing, grunting laugh.

He was gone.

She flew up to the highest top of the biggest pine tree and thought about all the fun they had had together. He was the most special friend she had ever had.

Before she knew it, harmonies and angelic clicks were painting the story of the unlikely friends. Notes cutting through the evening light sang water, moss, friendship and laughter to life, more beautifully than ever.

The forest sighed and welcomed the song it so had missed. Flowers opened, trees stretched out and branches trembled lightly.

Little pig never came back. But Blackbird never stopped hoping that he could hear her song.

 

 

 

 


Ant Ariel and the Underground Pyramid

You might think that they are not so significant, the ants. You can hardly see them, after all.

It is easy to shiver and tear up when seeing a majestic lion, an ancient giant mousse or an angelic giraffe. But an ant?

Let me tell you about a special friend of mine. Ariel the Ant started showing up in my dreams. All alone at first, he would simply make me curious in my dreams and have me follow him into his ant hill. (Sure, you can adjust your shape and size in your dreams.) There he would show me all kinds of stuff. Like how the pyramidical shape of an ant hill is mirrored under the ground and has one lowest point, the “tip”, where the guardian lives. And how their home was actually lit up from within, with light that seemed to emanate from themselves somehow. Like glow-in-the-dark-ants.

I could talk to him somehow and no one seemed surprised I was there. You could hear music in their pyramid and their home was some kind of connecting point in the woods. They would be hanging out and partying but now and then they had to head out and see to things in the woods. Clean up stuff, change the acidity in the ground somewhere for the moss.

One night we were sitting in one of the chambers when Ariel suddenly got really quiet.

“I need you to understand one thing about us,” he told me. “Have you understood that we are actually one being?”

I looked at him and laughed out loud. His friends, siblings and neighbours were coming and going, as always. Always moving, always busy.

“You might not be able to see it yet but we are actually one being.”

I didn’t know what to say because I figured he’d gone crazy, so I just nodded and then hurried back to my normal life, leaving my dreamtime friend.

One being. Did I not see thousands of ants move around building things and foraging for food?

I woke up in my bed and wondered what Ariel was talking about.

Months passed by and then turned into years. Hardships and age made me softer and more open to the unseen. One night, I found myself back with Ariel in the pyramid. Or rather, back in his home but he was not there, so I went looking for him. I scurried through endless rooms and dwindling aisles, up to the highest point and room by room looking for my friend until exhaustion got the better of me. I had to stop and rest.

As I relaxed, it seemed as if I could move sideways and up and down in a floating way and before I knew it I was feeling through and floating through walls and stairs and basement chambers. I was somehow shifting focus to feel and be the entire ant hill. I could feel every life, every consciousness but also the building itself. I felt it, I could even taste it. I could feel the ants outside of the ant hill, still one with the whole, just out working and foraging. There was a pulse, a silence, a presence.

One. It was me too, I was it and it was me.

So why would I look for Ariel, we weren’t just connected, we were somehow the same. The second I realized this, Ariel was right in front of me.

He could have said “I told you so” and “what took you so long”, but he just came close so we could enjoy the physical presence of each other too.

And that my friends, is the story of Ariel. A story of unseen allies and underground wonders.

I strongly recommend that you ask your own allies to make themselves known to you and tell you what you need to know.

 

 


The Butterfly and the Bear

She did not want to come out of her cave

Big mama Bear had been in deep winter sleep and she was skinny and hungry, but she was not coming out.

The other bear mamas came out of dark caves with cubs rolling out around their big paws.

This Mama Bear had no surviving cubs and was not going out into sunlight and the smell of berries. She was staying right here in the dim light, groggy and tired. Safe. She could not bring herself to start all over again one more time.

She knew everything would bloom again but why should she have to? She was still alone. She would have to find food only for herself, she had no one to protect or to get protection from.

Her tummy was growling. Fish and berries, that would be nice. Maybe she could find some food really close to the opening of the cave..?

She rolled over and crawled to the opening which was just big enough for her to squeeze herself out of her underground retreat. She was still so tired. She kept lying in the opening with her enormous, beautiful head on her paws.

Something fluttered and a yellow spot blurred her vision. There, on her winter dry nose, a big yellow butterfly with coral and orange swirls covering its wings. Since she was so tired, she simply let it sit. It was opening and closing its wings slowly, as if breathing.

Mama Bear fell asleep and when she woke up the butterfly was gone. She wanted to see it from a distance, so she could see the patterns of its wing more clearly. She sat up and started looking around for the yellow spot.

Something yellow-orange glimmered between the old pine trees in the distance and she stumbled there on weak winter legs to find the butterfly. It turned out to be cloudberries and she threw herself on the ground and sucked them all right off the small branches. Sweet and sticky. It made her even more hungry. But she wasn’t ready to go hunting just yet.

Just when she decided to return to her cave, the pulsing light spot passed by again, now landing on one of the naked cloudberry sprigs. The strokes of orange looked almost golden from a distance. Mama Bear was impressed.

“You are so pretty.”

The butterfly fluttered a little bit quicker but did not speak. She just sat. Then she disappeared like a dancing ball of light.

Mama Bear was back in her damp cave. She couldn’t stop thinking about the deep, sunny orange colour of the Butterfly. It felt like eating honey, just watching the wings open and close. She decided to crawl back out in the fresh air for a while to try to catch a glimpse of it again.

Sunlight filtered through the branches of the pine trees surrounding the cave and she sat down to get used to the light. To her amazement, when her eyes caught the bright honey wings again, it came out of her cave!

The Butterfly came flying out of the cave with soft, tempered movements. She landed in a blueberry bush and immediately started talking.

“Let me tell you about my people.”

Mama Bear had no idea how to react to this craziness but she was really too tired to do anything else than to sit and to listen.

“First there is an egg.

Sometimes in groups, sometimes a single one, always protected by a leaf. This is the beginning of everything. All we need is within the egg, it is full of nutrients and well protected by a hard shell.

Then it is time for the caterpillar to hatch. This is the time for our growth. The plant serving as our home is also our source of food and we eat and eat and eat. And grow. Now we are protected by our camouflage. We can look like plants. Or just frightening enough to scare off the ones who want to eat us. We can even mimic more dangerous beings just to protect ourselves.

Now comes the time for the big change, the chrysalis. We attach ourselves to a plant in a safe place and then we go through the magic. We basically melt and then take on a completely new form. Complete mutation. Very intense. Painful.

When we finally emerge as adults, we first look awful. We are wet and crinkled and first need to pump up our wings. Then we need to dry. And THEN we are ready to fly and make friends in the woods. Ready to be beautiful.”

Mama Bear was fascinated by the Butterfly’s story and her soft, silky voice. Silence filled the opening before the cave.

“Why are you telling me this?”

She was sitting down, not looking directly at the sunny orange spot, but keeping it safely in the corner of her eye.

“I just figured I think we all need to come out of something. We come out of our eggs, then  leave our caterpillar form and finally emerge from the chrysalis as a Winged One.

I can tell you want to stay in your cave. I just think there might be something amazing waiting for you too, outside of it.

Bear lowered her head and took in the words of this new friend.

Maybe.

She would have to think about it, but maybe,

just maybe,

Butterfly knew what she was talking about.