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.


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.

 

 


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 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.


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?

 

 

 

 


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.

 

 

 


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.

 

 

 

 


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.