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.

 

 


Glimgluff, the sad Troll

Fabian walked in the woods every morning, just before sunrise.

His grandmother’s little house was just at the foot of the mountain and miles of woods lay between them and their closest neighbours.

He followed the rim of the mountain. The birds sang as if they knew that the first sunrays need to be sung into this realm, otherwise it will remain dark.

This morning another sound broke through the melodies and the chirps. Someone was crying loudly and hopelessly. Fabian looked around and saw the shadow of something huge leaned against the mountain wall.

Gigantic.

Round.

Wild-looking.

Troll.

 

Fabian could not believe what he saw. Round-eyed. Curly-haired. Big-boned.

– Can I help you?

Fabian’s light voice cut right through the convulsions and the troll looked up, startled, his eyes now even bigger and rounder.

– Who…who are you?

– I am Fabian. I live in the white house down there. Who are you?

– I am Glimgluff. I am the youngest in the troll family living in this mountain.

Fabian tried to conceive of this idea. It seemed to make sense. If someone should live in a mountain, it should be a troll.

– Why are you crying?

– Nobody likes us. Nobody likes ME. I am too big, too ugly, too scary. People think that we are all bad. That we keep children captured in the mountain.

– I have heard those stories. Are they not true?

– Well…there have been a few bad trolls in the family, who did bad things. But that was then. I am not them. I love children. I just want to play. But I am so big and heavy, I can’t fit into any building. And it is making me feel really lonely.

Fabian felt really sorry for Glimgluff. He seemed to be a boy just like him but caught in the body of a giant.

– What should I do?

Glimgluff looked at Fabian with round button eyes that never seemed to blink.

– I don’t know.

Fabian sat down next to him.

– Do you want to come fishing with me?

Glimgluff looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He nodded so intensely that his moss covered curls flung back and forth.

All morning they were down at the river, fishing with Fabian’s rod. It looked like a toothpick in Glimgluff’s hands. He was much too strong indeed and pulled the fish so hard out of the water that the line snapped every time. Or he accidentally squeezed the fish when he wanted to remove the hook, leaving only a wet stain between his thumb and his index finger. They were laughing until they couldn’t stand up anymore and the mountain trembled just a little every time.

They hurried back before the sun was too high in the sky, trolls were not supposed to be out in broad daylight.

Just before saying goodbye, Fabian looked at Glimgluff and said:

– Ask me again.

– What do you mean?

– The question you asked me this morning. Ask me again.

Glimgluff had to think really long and hard.

– What should I do?

– You are trying to fit into a tiny, human world. Why don’t you pull other people into your world instead? There is so much space and fun in your world. I could play with you forever.

Glimgluff was thinking is his slow troll fashion and suddenly his brown, apple-cheeked face shone like the sun.

Since then, Gliffgluff has invited loads of children into his magic world. He has many friends and even though he still cries sometimes, he never has to cry alone anymore.

 

 

 


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 Tree Council

Did you know that there are councils for trees? Meetings for mighty, kind giants who talk about, or rather, sing about all the things that matter to them.

In the fairest of voices they paint their concerns and joys. There are enough sincere compliments sung on these meetings to make the most radiant of human families jealous.

This week they all sing about the miracle of the blooming of the Chestnut Tree.

Stronger buds than you have ever seen, round and appetizing to the eye, deliciously sticky. The trunk is spiralled like lukewarm, risen dough.

This tree spirit has one of the most beautiful songs you will ever hear. If you lean up against an awaking Chestnut Tree and find yourself tearing up, it is because your heart can hear the song.

This tree is like the Norse Gods in its uncompromising life force and miraculous buds. They open up like flowers and then deliquefy to become thorny green messages, hiding chestnut perfection.

If you have anything you would like to discuss with a wise, loving soul right now, go sit under a Chestnut Tree for a while. You will be astonished by what comes up within you. And you will recognize the voice of the tree spirit really soon.

The tree council has gathered. Next time other urgent matters will be sung.


Mother Goose and the Queen Swan

Once upon a time, high up in the crispy cold of the mountains, lived a magic swan.

In the silvery light of the moon she floated across the mountain lake with regal beauty. Shimmering and sparkling she soothed the hearts of any being awake in the night hours.

She had so much love within her and wished for nothing but to swim in the lake and to love the moon with every feather of her dreamlike being. The moon loved her right back and the two of them seemed to increase the silver healing tenfold together. You could hardly tell who was emanating the light, the moon or the swan.

The beings who were not awake in the nighttime, knew nothing of this spellbinding magic. Nor the light or the swan. During the sunny, cold, daily hours, there was only an old, brown, ragged gooselike being swimming around in the crystal clear water.

All the other animals seemed to know her and she was never alone. She was not pleasing to the eye. Her feathers looked dusty and had lost their shine. In fact, she was hardly noticed. By the daytime beings that is. The creatures of the night knew that once the sun went down and handed over the power to Sister Moon, the old goose would dive down into the silvery mirror for a long time and then silently resurface in all of her glittering glory as the Queen Swan.

Little green frog who knew her well in both shapes, got curious and asked her one night if she wouldn’t rather be only the glorious swan instead of flapping around as an old brown goose during daytime?

“If I had to choose, I would choose the goose”, replied the swan in her silky white glow. “Mother Goose is dearly loved and knows everybody. No one is afraid to get close. Her life is warm and shared with many beings, big and small. This Moonlight Swan swims with magic surrounding her, but she is alone. Only Sister Moon dares to love her fully. All the other beings enjoy her beauty but keep their distance. Except you, little frog.”

And she arched her long, gracious neck and placed a kiss on his head. Frog froze and coughed and almost fell off the leaf he was sitting on.

Swan swam away in the mystic light, already longing for the morning when Mother Goose would make everything and everyone real again.


Lonely Duck

Lonely Duck was his name.

He used to be a part of the six-headed flock sailing the pond like one living ship. But one day, a long time ago, a really big, strong duck joined the flock and Lonely Duck was kicked out. He was not so big and not so strong and therefore easy to chase away.

The other ducks in the flock accepted the new big guy, even though his colours were different and the patterns on his wings unfamiliar. He was, after all, REALLY big and strong.

Lonely Duck stayed around, swam in the same pond and came running every time people brought bread. He was always bitten a few times by his old flock members just to make sure he wouldn’t forget that he was not a part of the group anymore, but he just went about his own business.

The remarkable thing that happened next was that Lonely Duck made new friends. He became friends with a lady and her dogs. With two ravens. With the turtles that lived in the pond. He even discovered he could speak different languages.

The big duck who had pushed Lonely Duck out of his flock got sick one day. He started coughing and had problems breathing. He tried to eat but got weaker and weaker. One sunny morning in May, he passed away.

The flock approached Lonely Duck to let him know that there was now a place vacant in the group again. Lonely Duck politely said no.

“I am used to this life now, I would rather keep living it just the way it is. I have great friends who like me the way I am.”

And he swam off.

On his own.

Alone

but never lonely anymore.

 

And since Lonely Duck is not lonely,

He now goes under the name Freedom.

 

 

 

 


The Raven son

Once upon a time, far far away, there was a Raven father looking out for a troubled child. His son was slower than the other ravens and there was something about one wing. It looked broken even though they had never actually seen him break it. It was just different and weak.

Whenever they had found food, all the ravens, seagulls and ducks rushed over to get a bite, to fill up before a cold winter. But his son was always too late. He was too late and he didn’t dare to get close enough. The other birds snatched the food before his eyes. He seemed hesitant even though he must have been so hungry.

In the beginning the father stayed close by and tried to help his son by getting the food for him and then plant it in front of him. Even then the son was too slow, seemed not to want the very thing he needed for survival and growth. After many frustrating days and nights the big, silky black Raven father decided to stay up in his tree and simply observe from a distance. Weeks of agony followed. His son was pecked at by other, bigger birds, he stumbled and starved and he remained silent and slow. He did not grow the way he should.

One day, when the father felt his chest contract with worry and overwhelm, his son actually fell into the water of the pond and disappeared. The father was out of his mind with worry and grief and flew over the water calling his son over and over again…until he could no more. Broken and suddenly small, he fell into a pile of just breathing and being. Sadness and silence.

What he did not know, was that his son had reached the world on the other side of the water, the mirrored world of this one. Sun warmed the shores where the raven son woke up, suddenly white in this world. He looked around and saw an abundance of berries and nuts hanging from the branches around him. There was all the time in the world and no one else to disturb his pace so he ate until he felt strong again and then fell into the deepest sleep.

In his dream he could see how loved he was. Even by strangers, human beings just passing by or throwing some bread in his direction. He could literally see the warmth emanating from his father’s gaze every time he looked his way.

He decided to become stronger and then return to the world he came from, where his father must be missing him greatly. After days and maybe even weeks and months of resting and eating, he finally felt ready to go back. He was bigger, shiny and suddenly looked like an impressive, adult Raven.

He looked around, held the mirror world with love in his heart before he inhaled deeply and DIVED down down, until light shimmered and the sounds of the other world returned.

He came flying out of the water as if spat out by a canon, scaring the feathers of most bewinged beings present at the pond this morning. The seagulls screamed like crazy witches, other Raven family members gurgled their surprise and fright. But one joyful scream cut the sky in two. The Raven father, who had not left the pond since the dreadful day, spread all his feathers broad and black and embraced his beloved son with dark angel wings.

Since that day, the birds share all their food, because the Raven son will see to it. He is strong enough to help others just like him and he does.

And that is the story of Black Silk Angels.