Sacred River

The river was obstructed.

Manuela of the Elders had called to a tribe meeting.

“Beloveds.

Somewhere along our most honoured snake of sacred water, something is blocking the flow. Our ancient one is not moving the way she should.

If this continues the river will die and so will we. Unfortunately, she is blocked somewhere in the depth. We have to approach this differently as a tribe.

We will have to trust the sacred mirror and know that any action within will without fail be mirrored in the outer realm.

I have consulted our Ancestors, and this is what we have to do. We are all invited to take a sincere look at any big rocks that obstruct our own living water.

To give an example, I will share with you one of the obstructing rocks to my Soul’s flow. I worry too much. I know better, but still allow worry to block the flow that was given to me by birthright.

So today Beloveds, I declare to you that worry will be lifted and removed from my inner sacred river. I need to put into practice the wisdom that I have been taught:

That trust and surrender, next to soulful action, is the only way to life a life as big and light as it was intended.

It is our lineage of love to allow our rivers to flow freely.

I give you this task and I know that you will clear up your mutual, inner realm. Thank you for being the river.”

With these words, Manuela left and was not seen for months and months.

Many rocks were gently lifted from the stream when she was away. Jealousy. Fear. Resentment. Arrogance. Pride. Doubt.

In the spring when Manuela returned, they all celebrated together. The River had found its flow and the tribe was more radiant than ever.

 

 


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.

 

 


The Sky and the Grass

During a sunny summers day, the sky and the grass started talking to each other. The sky said:

“You know, I am the one who reminds everyone of all the space outside of their own little world. I hold the living beings with my light canopy, helping them to lift their eyes and minds from their burdens.”

“That is beautiful and we love you for that” said the grass.

“I am the one who offers comfort and rest. All living beings can rest in my grounding softness. Walk, sleep, or be on their backs looking up at you.”

“That is earthly abundance indeed” said the sky.

The little human who overheard them talking joined in.

“I am the one who gets to love you both. I am resting on the green softness of the grass, connecting me to Mother Earth. And when I look up I see only vastness. A mighty kindness. So I am here to connect to you both, loving both Heaven and Earth.”

“I am not sure we need you to do that”, said father Sky. “But it does sound beautiful.”

Mother Earth said nothing. She just kept sending her love up through the grass straws, to anyone who wanted it.


Eric the Elephant boy

Eric was not like the other children. His head was really big and his legs extremely short. His back was a bit crooked.

He was a little boy with the sunlight in his eyes. His loving parents worried that life would be hard for their son, since he looked so different.

Eric didn’t feel different than the other kids, but already some of his classmates had started calling him elephant boy when the teacher wasn’t around. He didn’t understand why, but decided to find out.

He asked his parents to take him to the zoo so he could visit the elephants. Once there, Eric was mesmerized by the giants. He could only just peek into the elephant garden, as usual he was too short to see things properly.

Eric spotted a baby amongst the adult elephants. It looked sad. Wasn’t playing. Hung with its head and trunk and looked around nervously. Eric was wondering why the little one looked sad and the minute he thought it, the baby elephant came stumbling over.

– Hi little elephant. Are you ok? You look like you’re sad.

The little one looked at Eric with the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

– I can’t remember things. You know, elephants are supposed to be able to remember EVERYTHING. But I can’t even remember the way down to the swimming hole. I’m worried I will never become a real elephant.

– But you look like a real elephant.

– Well, it’s a problem on the inside. And you are not a real elephant if you can’t remember stuff.

– Are you sure?

– Pretty much. It’s the way it has always been.

– Well you look like a beautiful elephant to me. You’re kind and you can talk to me so that seems really special to me.

– Thank you.

A tear fell from the little one’s eye.

– I think it’s easier for you, you are a prefect little human boy, so I think it might be hard for you to understand.

Eric took in what his new friend had just said. Something important shifted in his heart.

– You know…I don’t know much, but I know this…I think we should meet every week and just hang out and talk, like now. I think there might be something magic about hanging out together. And it would be so much fun.

– You don’t care about me not remembering stuff?

– Do you care about me being short?

Little elephant looked surprised.

– You humans are all short.

Eric reached through the bars to pat little elephant on his soft trunk.

– I just know we will be good friends.

 

And for all the thirty-seven years that Eric lived, they were. They were the best of friends and they taught their families a lot about elephants and boys.


The Magic of the Cuckoo

 

Are you listening?

 

Are you listening?

 

The night brings truth, wrapped up in ugly looking wrapping paper of fear and resentment. Everything that is not authentic has rough edges that are not softened by daylight or conventions.

 

Sorrow unwrapped. Doubt.

Can I do this?

Do I want to do this?

Would it not be better to leave this mess and allow myself to fly freely, to live the love I know, unburdened by other people’s doubt and fear?

 

Like a knock that slowly enters my consciousness, the cuckoo sings

 

Cuckoo

 

Cuckoo

 

Cuckoo

 

What is he saying?

 

– Are you listening?

 

– Are you listening?

 

– Are you really listening to me?

 

 

Once I really hear his message and sense my being forming a YES, he stops singing.

 

He is the reminder that magic is forever present. That love wants to become form.

 

That fear wants to be unwrapped.

 

Love wants to be wrapped. In intentions, words and actions.

 

 

Are you listening?

…are you really listening?

 

 

 

 


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.

 

 

 

 


The hymn of the Elephants

The hymn of the Elephants is one of Mother Earth’s saddest songs.

It is the story of broken, splintered, blood-smeared tusks.

The story of the Elders of the Elders, who were maimed and imprisoned because of man’s greed.

Spirit elders, with so much to teach human beings, being humiliated and tortured.

Some songs need to be sung, no matter how unspeakable the horror of their truth is.

This is our family and it is still happening.

Tails are being cut off.

Loving, intelligent beings, far wiser than we are, are being murdered for fun and then photographed by triumphant, ignorant, cold-hearted killers.

The hymn of the Elephants could be such a different song.

Imagine.

Human beings sharing the Earth with them and honouring them as our elders,

loving them as our children,

laughing with them as our friends

and caring for them as our family.

Imagine.

The hymns of the Elephants could be the song in which the greatness of Human Beings emerges from the deep knowing of the greatness of our animal companions.

The hymn of our elders,

the Elephants.