She looked down at her creation. What was once a bunch of scraps, fragments, had now materialised into a perfect whole. She had not expected such elegance. Especially as it had emerged from such chaos, which had left her frustrated and close to tears at times.
Each time she had felt like giving up, a glimpse of light, a creative surge, would arrive in the nick of time to drive her forward. Pieces she was on the point of discarding now found perfection through connection. The ugly duckling piece had now attained a beautiful swanlike appearance within the pattern formed with its neighbours. All the pieces were swans now, no ugly ducklings. There never were ugly ducklings, it was just her tired mind attempting to lead her down blind alleys. But always that creative spark appeared to lead her, to drive her, forward.
The intricate interweave of what had once been random hexagon shapes had arrived at something breathtaking in its beauty. The shades, the hues, the patterns, all now sewn together in perfect symmetry.
But the symmetry only applied to the shapes themselves. The colours and patterns had developed in perfect asymmetry. It seemed to sum up the paradox of life.
Some things are meant to be symmetrical. Others to be asymmetrical and surprising.
She looked down at her quilt again with quiet pride. The piecing together of a work of art, which told the story of her life to anyone who held the code.
That code was precious to her, her private sanctuary. She would never reveal it to anyone.
Saturday, 17 January 2009
Orbs (Vignette)
A flash of light, barely discernible. Was it just my imagination or was there something there? An angel flitting across the room, or the dying energies of an earthbound spirit?
Programmes on television such as 'Most Haunted' have brought orbs more out into the mainstream, commanding public attention. We, as humans, are only now starting to understand the implications of energy, and orbs seem to be on the very periphery of our knowledge and appreciation of it.
When people normally talk of energy they talk in terms of fuel or the expending of physical energy. They are less likely to acknowledge psychic energy or the life force energy we tap into in our healing practices. What does it all mean? Einstein said that E=MC2, but that also means M=E/C2, which provokes a different slant on thinking about the connections between matter and energy. "What came first, the chicken or the egg?" translates into "What came first, energy or matter?". And consciousness comes before energy.
Our world of human consensus delusion puts matter first, and that kind of thinking has trapped humanity into a dark prison, but if we turn things upside down, harnessing the way things really work, we can allow the power of love and light to release us from this prison. Then we can truly start to build heaven on earth.
A vignette written in the Blue Angel Café, Findhorn Park, Sunday 22 June 2008, just before Diana Cooper's talk on Orbs in the Universal Hall.
Programmes on television such as 'Most Haunted' have brought orbs more out into the mainstream, commanding public attention. We, as humans, are only now starting to understand the implications of energy, and orbs seem to be on the very periphery of our knowledge and appreciation of it.
When people normally talk of energy they talk in terms of fuel or the expending of physical energy. They are less likely to acknowledge psychic energy or the life force energy we tap into in our healing practices. What does it all mean? Einstein said that E=MC2, but that also means M=E/C2, which provokes a different slant on thinking about the connections between matter and energy. "What came first, the chicken or the egg?" translates into "What came first, energy or matter?". And consciousness comes before energy.
Our world of human consensus delusion puts matter first, and that kind of thinking has trapped humanity into a dark prison, but if we turn things upside down, harnessing the way things really work, we can allow the power of love and light to release us from this prison. Then we can truly start to build heaven on earth.
A vignette written in the Blue Angel Café, Findhorn Park, Sunday 22 June 2008, just before Diana Cooper's talk on Orbs in the Universal Hall.
Feelings (Vignette)
Her eyes sparkled like emeralds, their shiny greenness almost overwhelming him as he looked into those pools of natural delight. When she smiled, her soul shone out from those eyes. Every time he looked into them, he got a glimpse of her soul. Nothing could be more intimate.
It was the laughter he remembered, the good times of being together. And the small things, which seemed almost trivial now. He had not meant to hurt her, but she was hurt. Deeply hurt, although she did not show it, as she kept close to him. A good friend.
He had not seen that they were drifting apart. Locked in his own world of creeping anxiety he had tried to put things right in his life. But he had failed again, and now she wanted to hold back. Let's just be friends for a while. It sounded OK. She was hurt. He was hurt.
Broken relationships, the most painful of life's experiences, or certainly one of the most painful. But if a level of friendship can be retained it makes for a smoother passing into the future. For both of them. Now they were just two people, hurt. Regretting that they had each been suffering from the same destructive relationship patterns from the past.
But this time was different, as if each had woken up from a deep slumber. They started to speak to each other, at levels they had never contemplated before. Now I understand, he said. Now I understand, she said. They had been such good friends.
He looked into her eyes and now saw the true beauty of her soul, something he had missed before. And she looked into his eyes, past the hurt, and saw the beauty there.
Without warning, they each broke into spontaneous laughter, as her hand gently moved towards him, imperceptibly touching her palm into his. He accepted this movement with gratitude.
They got up, their hands gripped tightly, as they moved towards the waves on the moonlit shore.
It was the laughter he remembered, the good times of being together. And the small things, which seemed almost trivial now. He had not meant to hurt her, but she was hurt. Deeply hurt, although she did not show it, as she kept close to him. A good friend.
He had not seen that they were drifting apart. Locked in his own world of creeping anxiety he had tried to put things right in his life. But he had failed again, and now she wanted to hold back. Let's just be friends for a while. It sounded OK. She was hurt. He was hurt.
Broken relationships, the most painful of life's experiences, or certainly one of the most painful. But if a level of friendship can be retained it makes for a smoother passing into the future. For both of them. Now they were just two people, hurt. Regretting that they had each been suffering from the same destructive relationship patterns from the past.
But this time was different, as if each had woken up from a deep slumber. They started to speak to each other, at levels they had never contemplated before. Now I understand, he said. Now I understand, she said. They had been such good friends.
He looked into her eyes and now saw the true beauty of her soul, something he had missed before. And she looked into his eyes, past the hurt, and saw the beauty there.
Without warning, they each broke into spontaneous laughter, as her hand gently moved towards him, imperceptibly touching her palm into his. He accepted this movement with gratitude.
They got up, their hands gripped tightly, as they moved towards the waves on the moonlit shore.
The Missing Piece of the Jigsaw (Vignette)
I had the full picture in my grasp, its beauty unfolding as I pushed forward. But now all that was left was a sense of emptiness. Something's missing, I thought. What is it? Where could it be?
My frustration simmered, as I became overwhelmed with a feeling of being let down. The picture was incomplete. Therefore I was incomplete. My mind searched for answers, but the question kept being shrouded by the dark. The dark, dark mist of sorrow.
I stopped thinking. My mind shifted, imperceptibly, subtly, as a light switch went on. A light bulb moment, they call it. The picture was not incomplete. Only different from what I expected.
Where there was a gap, I now realised I could create my own piece, didn't have to stick by the rules of what had gone before. Make my own piece, change the picture. Not out of shape, but a new shape.
Not only had I found a new picture of beauty, unexpected in its brilliance. No, that was not it. I had found myself.
My frustration simmered, as I became overwhelmed with a feeling of being let down. The picture was incomplete. Therefore I was incomplete. My mind searched for answers, but the question kept being shrouded by the dark. The dark, dark mist of sorrow.
I stopped thinking. My mind shifted, imperceptibly, subtly, as a light switch went on. A light bulb moment, they call it. The picture was not incomplete. Only different from what I expected.
Where there was a gap, I now realised I could create my own piece, didn't have to stick by the rules of what had gone before. Make my own piece, change the picture. Not out of shape, but a new shape.
Not only had I found a new picture of beauty, unexpected in its brilliance. No, that was not it. I had found myself.
A Star Turn (Vignette)
A star turn, a chance to shine, like wood turned from its natural origins into its smooth, polished final state. You haven't turned back, been turned off, turned down, you have taken your chance to shine. A polished performance. Well done. Take a bow.
It is easy to turn back when the going gets tough. But you were not one for turning. Never mind what those turncoats said, said you would never make it, never be a star. But you are a star and your light has been shining.
What are you going to do for your next turn? You've set the standard, raised the bar. No turning back now. It's quite a turn on, isn't it, basking in the light of your own creation.
You've done it, just like the writer who was told to turn up at the page and write. Keep on keeping on. You've gone full circle, but not on a flat page, more like an ascending spiral, on a staircase reaching for the stars.
It is easy to turn back when the going gets tough. But you were not one for turning. Never mind what those turncoats said, said you would never make it, never be a star. But you are a star and your light has been shining.
What are you going to do for your next turn? You've set the standard, raised the bar. No turning back now. It's quite a turn on, isn't it, basking in the light of your own creation.
You've done it, just like the writer who was told to turn up at the page and write. Keep on keeping on. You've gone full circle, but not on a flat page, more like an ascending spiral, on a staircase reaching for the stars.
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