Blast from the Past ~ Lean against… and listen ~ Christmas

December 2019

Five years ago I wrote a story inspired by a childhood memory

December 2014

Only 22 days left and Santa will be knocking on the door (or maybe down the chimney ๐Ÿ˜‰ ).
It’s high time for some Christmas pictures…..

And maybe the storyteller can inspire something festive in me:

Lean against … and listen

I quote Kasey Mathews from the WANA group “Write to heal” for this writing prompt:

โ€œWith paper and pen, or computer handy, lean back in your chair, or against the wall, or a sofa etc., close your eyes and imagine you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting against the trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller has come to sit down and also rest against the tree trunk. With eyes still closed, just listen. Wait for the Storyteller to begin his or her story. When you hear it begin, simply write down all that you hear. โ€œ

Description for visually impaired readers: A white tea mug with red poppies on it standing on a rock. Over both white writing in the middle of the picture saying: Lean against… and listen

We were walking in darkness.

Well, not fully. Of course, the guides had some torches which not all of them used though. Gabi, Sonja and I walked alongside each other. We just fitted on the forest path side by side. I longed to shout excitedly how wonderful the starry sky looked and how quiet it was in the forest.

In front of us, we could see all the boys and girls covered in thick coats and hats. I could only recognise their silhouettes in the dimmed light of the few torches around us.

“What are the candles for we are holding? They are not lit!” Sonja whispered. “No idea!” I whispered back feeling the little tube-like candle in my gloved hands. Every now and then a boy or girl was brushed by a pine branch and freshly fallen snow tickled down on them. They squeaked just to be hushed by our guides.

“It’s killing me. Where the… are we going?” I could hardly hear Gabi on the other side of Sonja, who whispered back: “No idea ~ just be quiet!” My fingers started to tingle of the coldness and I could hardly feel my nose no matter how many scarves my grandmother had put around me.

A hushed “Wow” came from the front of the line. “What?”, “What?” came from all of those who could not see anything yet. And then we arrived:

A huge pine tree in the middle of a clearing was decorated with hundreds of lit candles and the guides started singing “Oh Tannenbaum…” Stunned we all fell in without hesitation.

I could not take my eyes away from the light and sparkle this Christmas tree disseminated. We had gathered in a huge circle around the tree and I could see the shining faces of my friends and all the others. I did not listen to the stories our pastor was telling or realised I was singing the traditional Christmas songs. I did not feel the cold crawling up my legs or biting into my fingers.ย I just bathed in the shine and delight this tree gave to us.

In the end, the pastor invited us to go to the tree and light our candles and we carefully, carefully carried them all the way back to the community centre.

Lean against… and listen ~ A cup of tea

September 2019

Feel free the use this writing prompt which kick-starts your creativity nicely ๐Ÿ™‚

December 2014

Lean against … and listen

I quote Kasey Mathews from the WANA group “Write to heal” for this writing prompt:

โ€œWith paper and pen, or computer handy, lean back in your chair, or against the wall, or a sofa etc., close your eyes and imagine you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting against the trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller has come to sit down and also rest against the tree trunk. With eyes still closed, just listen. Wait for the Storyteller to begin his or her story. When you hear it begin, simply write down all that you hear. โ€œ

Description for visually impaired readers: A white tea mug with red poppies on it standing on a rock. Over both white writing in the middle of the picture saying: Lean against… and listen

I should have a cup of tea.

No, it’s not snowing outside. Not yet at least. It is cold though. Freezing to be exact. I have closed my eyes and lean on the back of the pine green armchair and wish for a cup of tea.

Of course, I could get up and make myself one. But I just sat down. I do not want to get up again. I want to sit and concentrate on my inner storyteller and tell that story that wanted to come out ever since…. forever.

However, there is this dryness in my throat and that longing in my belly. Lovely milky brew with some spices. The softness of cinnamon and the strong earthy flavour of clove. And a little exotic: cardamom. Oh, I adore cardamom. It makes both my coffee and my tea just that little bit special.

Imagine that moment you sit down with the cup in your hand and you smell that mixture that reminds you of India and Christmas at the same time. You hold it with both hands, the cup warming them and you just sit and let the fragrances flow around you.

And then….. then you bring the cup close to your lips and the fragrances get more and more intense. Your mouth starts watering. You open it just a little bit and allow a sip of the divine drink to enter your mouth. Ahhh….

Ok, I go and make myself a cuppa!

Lean against… and listen ~ Wish you were here…

September 2019

I don’t think the pain will ever fully go away…

November 2014

Lean against … and listen

I quote Kasey Mathews from the WANA group “Write to heal” for this writing prompt:

โ€œWith paper and pen, or computer handy, lean back in your chair, or against the wall, or a sofa etc., close your eyes and imagine you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting against the trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller has come to sit down and also rest against the tree trunk. With eyes still closed, just listen. Wait for the Storyteller to begin his or her story. When you hear it begin, simply write down all that you hear. โ€œ

video credit: ReGilmour via YouTube
I am not swimming in a fish bowl year after year but I still wish you were here. 30 odd years is a fu…… long time to be without you. Does the pain ever go away and let me live?

How I hate it when people moan about their mothers. Yes, they can be a pain but imagine she would not be there anymore. Imagine not to call her when you need advice or not being able to get one of her delicious cakes.

Every few years I realise how I still miss her. The pain has changed though. It is not the lost little girl crying. Now it is the adult, who will never have the chance to meet her mother as an adult and finding out who she really was.

Never finding out if she knew. If she knew what he has done and if she tried to do anything about it. But maybe that is the better option: I can still imagine she tried everything to stop him. It is not very likely though…..

 

Lean against… and listen ~ Nothing

As I am scheduling post ahead I wonder what life is going to bring us in the next few months. It is February when I write this post and Brexit is just another 4 weeks away. Maybe my plans are going to be disrupted by unforeseen forces. Who knows. However, I have come to believe, that you need to deal with changes when they arrive not in advance. Looks like my practising mindfulness is having an effect. May you have a wonderful day!!!

And here another tiny story from my inner storyteller:

I quote Kasey Mathews from the WANA group โ€œWrite to Healโ€ for this writing prompt:

โ€œWith paper and pen, or computer handy, lean back in your chair, or against the wall, or a sofa, etc., close your eyes and imagine you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting against the trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller has come to sit down and also rest against the tree trunk. With eyes still closed, just listen. Wait for the Storyteller to begin his or her story. When you hear it begin, simply write down all that you hear. โ€œ

Description for visually impaired readers: Black background with a white beam in middle. Inside the beam, yellow writing says “Sunbeam”

I see a sunbeam in total darkness.

The darkness is the void. We used to be afraid of the void but now we know the void is the beginning of everything. Everything comes into being out of nothing. The human spirit had forgotten that knowledge. The question of the egg and the chicken is without merit.

Dreams come out of nothing.
Ideas come out of nothing.
Inventions come out of nothing.
Changes come out of nothing.

That is the miracle every religion and spiritual path has taught for millennia. But humankind has forgotten that knowledge.

Changes come out of nothing.
Inventions come out of nothing
Ideas come out of nothing
Dreams come out of nothing

The question of the egg and the chicken is without merit. The human spirit had forgotten that knowledge. Everything comes into being out of nothing. We used to be afraid of the void but now we know the void is the beginning of everything. The darkness is the void.

I see a sunbeam in total darkness.

Lean against… and listen ~ Over the Mountains came the Rain

When I write this post it’s February, it’s not too cold outside but not sunny. For some strange reason, the “t” on our keyboard doesn’t work properly and it annoys me a little. So best to start the writing day with a “Lean against… and listen” ๐Ÿ™‚

โ€œI quote Kasey Mathews from the WANA group โ€œWrite to Healโ€ for this writing prompt:ย 

โ€œWith paper and pen, or computer handy, lean back in your chair, or against the wall, or a sofa, etc., close your eyes and imagine you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting against the trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller has come to sit down and also rest against the tree trunk. With eyes still closed, just listen. Wait for the Storyteller to begin his or her story. When you hear it begin, simply write down all that you hear. โ€œ

video source: The One Ring via YouTube

Over the mountains came the rain.

Like a wall, it crashed into the leaves of the trees, washed over the fields and into holes in the roofs. We had wished for the rain to come. Months without it had parched the life out of every creature and plant on earth.

But when it came the life-giving force was deadly…

 

Lean Against And Listen ~ So many of us!

April 2019

It is great to see what I used to do and bringing it to life again ๐Ÿ™‚

December 2016

It is Saturday and if I do not have time to take part in Linda’s wonderful “Stream of Consciousness Saturday” I do my own Stream of Consciousness Writing with a prompt that has helped me get back into writing many times. Feel free to try it out and let me know about the messages you received :-):

โ€œI quote Kasey Mathews from the WANA group โ€œWrite to Healโ€ for this writing prompt:ย 

โ€œWith paper and pen, or computer handy, lean back in your chair, or against the wall, or a sofa, etc., close your eyes and imagine you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting against the trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller has come to sit down and also rest against the tree trunk. With eyes still closed, just listen. Wait for the Storyteller to begin his or her story. When you hear it begin, simply write down all that you hear. โ€œ

Description for visually impaired readers: A white tea mug with red poppies on it standing on a rock. Over both white writing in the middle of the picture saying: Lean against… and listen

So many. So many of us. So many of us have perished in the attempt to cross over. This new world found in the depths of quantum physicsย was nothing like Baxter’s and Pratchett’s “Long World”.

It was terrifying this loneliness. There were no creatures. There were no humans. There were no plants. Just a great big nothing and if you had no creativity to imagine “your” world you just fell and fell and fell and never stopped falling in the great big nothing.

The writers and artists and musicians were lucky. They could create in the blink of an eye and like magic their worlds connected into a beautiful cobweb of music, stories and images. The greedy ones, though, those who had dominated the old world, they ended up under a pile of gold, oil and whatever their minds were attracted to. No air to breathe, no food to eat, no nothing.

And so, in what you might call “an act of the creator” not only the new world but also the old was freed from greed and its perpetrators.

I do not know how I managed. I was one of the greedy ones. So successful when the others tried their luck in the new world in the old one as none of them came back and I just tookย over their empires. It was so easy. I felt like heaven and I avoided the connection points to the new world like the plague.

Until… until I got lost in that jungle where they promised me more gems. Today I suspect it was a trap set by the creative ones. They had conned themselves into my trust making out they wanted more fame, money and success but what they really wanted was to get rid of me.

But know what? They did me a favour. I stepped into the elevator that supposedly led down into a mine and then I fell and fell and fell and I was terrified and then I remembered. I remembered the days when I collected shells on the beach before the patron of our family took away my dreams.ย My screams still hang around in the old world.

And now I live on this island full of shells and mango fruit and jumping fish. No one around to beg me for favours or pushing me onwards on that fateful path of greed.

Just now and then I hear another one screaming and I know I am just a blink away from the elevator where those who do not know end their old lives. It is terrifying. This loneliness when you fall. And when you realise you cannot imagine anything else than your greed!

Story Time ~ A Woman Who Runs With….? (Attention might trigger)

I am running deeper into the woods.

Around me, I can hear them panting. Their paws hardly make any sound while the soles of my clumsy feet seem to catch every single dry branch in my way. Even though it is just a silent crackle to us it sounds like a wall of rocks coming down.

My heart races. I have never felt more alive or freer. And even though some of the elders still give me looks they don’t growl at me anymore. Since I have saved that youngster from drowning and then warmed her until we got saved. I nearly drowned myself.ย 

When I tried to get home that day they did not let me. The whole pack moved around me growling when I got up and walked towards the village. I stopped in my tracks and did not move for minutes. I thought they would kill me then. They had never done anything like that before when I came visiting. Just sitting there watching.

The village did not approve. They never approved of anything I did. They said I had brought them upon them. But I always suspected they had done that themselves.

How that day turned my life. Now I had plenty of food and a warm place at night in one of their caves. I also had some sense in my life: Taking care of the youngsters when they were ill, getting food and if necessary to fight. They did not mind me using a spear.ย 

The leader had shown me the ancient place where you still could find old stone spearheads. For a moment she had seemed to be in human shape, then she ran and I did not see her for a week. That was when I started growling, barking and howling.ย 

And now this. The cub killer had taken one of ours. I knew him. He also ravished his own. Too many times had I seen the blankness in his eyes when that evil took him over. The village never acknowledged it. They just pretended he was a shepherd. But what he shepherded they never let their consciousness enter. Too scary. Too evil. They rather blamed it on me.

The pack though does not do pretending or blaming. They see the truth and act upon it. Immediately. I can sense his presence. The smell of fear reeks from his footprints and I can hear his racing breath and his footsteps a thousand times louder than mine. He shouldn’t have come looking for me.

He should have given up. But my matured form he had spotted from afar made the evil boil and explode like a volcano. I smelled him before I could hear or see him. I took the youngster and ran back to the pack calling out. Calling out for their protection.ย 

The other little one had followed us. Great spirit only knows how she could have made it through the watchful eyes of the elders. He got her before the leader stroke. I will never forget the pitiful yelp she uttered when he wrung her neck. The same moment the leader was upon him.ย 

Her powerful set of teeth was on his neck, but he wriggled his way out and ran. It must have been the evil that gave him more strength. But it is natures power that makes the pack stronger. And it is the evil done to me that makes me stronger.

He has stopped now. I am elated. Soon. So soon I will get him. I know the pack will let me. I know the pack senses the power of my passion. The passion for justice. Not revenge. ย I know the pack will let me because I still have to make my first kill…

 

Lean against… and listen ~ Mushrooms and Dog Poo

April 2019
This time it is not for Wordless Wednesday
November 2014

And again another not so Wordless Wednesday where I lean against my story tree and listen to the storyteller. What might she have in store for me today

Lean against … and listen

I quote Kasey Mathews from the WANA group “Write to heal” for this writing prompt:

โ€œWith paper and pen, or computer handy, lean back in your chair, or against the wall, or a sofa etc., close your eyes and imagine you are sitting under a large tree with your back resting against the trunk. On the other side of the tree, a Storyteller has come to sit down and also rest against the tree trunk. With eyes still closed, just listen. Wait for the Storyteller to begin his or her story. When you hear it begin, simply write down all that you hear. โ€œ

Description for visually impaired readers: Meadow grass with a spiderweb in between

I walked into this web of spider creations.

Every tree was decorated with the delicate tangle of threads that the master weavers have birthed. And they, in turn, were decorated with filigree dew drops.
Never had I seen anything like it. Never had I seen so many spider webs in such a small space of forest.

The small footpath I wandered along was surrounded by dark to lighter green ferns. Not one of them was spiderless. I could not see all of them. Thank goodness.

Along the next corner, I could not see my car anymore when I turned around. There was only the lush green glimmer of leaves, ferns and bushes covered with the silver sparkle of dew covered spider webs. I felt like being in my worst nightmare knowing though I was in it. A conflicting feeling. Horrifying and at the same time magical.

The next minute I expected Sam and Frodo strolling towards me with a basket full of mushrooms inviting me to come along. There was a little fire in the clearing I had just left behind and Merry and Pippin cheering to see the basket full of penny buns.

In no time they had a pan on the fire with onions frying in it while Sam cleaned the buns and cut them into exact slices. Their earthy odour mingled with the delicious smell of frying onions.

Suddenly the smell changed though into something rather disgusting. Shocked I looked down at my feet. Frodo and his friends had vanished and I discovered this path was full of dog poo.

Description for visually impaired readers: Fly Agaric seen from top with dry leaves and acorns and little branches around it

This walk has actually happened a few weeks ago when I went mushroom hunting with my husband in a nearby forest. I just did not meet Frodo and his pals and neither did we find any mushrooms :-). But the spider webs were magical and the dog poo was all over the place. Therefore, we never went nor looked back…

This post takes part in Wordless Wednesday. If you like what you have seen here head over and find more gorgeous posts: Wordless Wednesday Blog

#SoCS is soulful or has a sole

Ah, the great lady of Stream of Consciousness has challenged us again:

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is โ€œsoul/sole.โ€ Use one, use both, use โ€™em any way you like. Enjoy!

Without further ado here is my contribution:


video credit: Amy Winehouse via YouTube

I swear I can hear Amy Winehouse singing over there in that little cove. Really? Soul Music? Was walking along the beach. My friend the jungle to my left and sister sea to my right. She looked so beautifully calm today. No grey or spray or wind gusts that blew me over like the first day I stepped out of the sea like Botticelli’s Venus. Hadn’t seen anyone since.ย  Made my way up the little path between a couple of palms that opened the view down towards the blue of the cove and… By my soul, I swear I expected Amy standing there in the middle with a microphone. Didn’t even question the fact that she was dead. Dead since when? Can’t remember. Just yesterday I heard a name called and turned around but there was no one. Just the gulls sailing along the sky and the waves washing up the beach. My friends would laugh at me if they’d see me with the bamboo stick in my hands. Had attached a string at the end that had washed up a couple of weeks ago. Never knew that shells can make such a good hook. Captain Hook? No that was something else but what? If only I could remember stuff. What was at the end of the sea? Does this place just fall over the edge or sail up into the sky? I remember sky and beach and sea, you know. But hey you aren’t there whoever you are. Am only talking to tortoises and gulls. Throaty noises I make. Smile. Yes, there was this sole yesterday. Never thought that old man showing me how to filet a flat fish could come in so handy. Who was he? That old man? Father? Maybe but what is a father? It was nice eating that sole. Didn’t taste like shoe sole at all. Giggle. Father? Can’t remember. But friends yes. Had many. We set off on a trip to somewhere and then nothing. No future no end. And the morning sun taunting me. Another day? Yes, getting up every day. Wash myself. Eat what I found the day before. It never gets cold. Good that. Walking out of the cave I made my home. It’s a little higher up than the beach. Beach gets flooded in stormy season. How long am I here? There is a stormy season and a calm season. Even stormy season isn’t cold just so damn damp. Slipping down the path to the beach in stormy season. But now it’s calm. Amy Winehouse still sings. Hear her. Tears dry on their own. What are tears? There is another voice. And..there…is…some… wood (?) swimming in the cove. Didn’t see it before. Now it comes into view around the bush.’..it’s…a boat. I remember. A boat. And there is someone. A woman. I remember “woman”. She waves at me. Shall I go? No, better not. I run. The other way. Back home. Panting. Falling in the sand. I hear Amy again… NO. Curling up in a ball. Rocking. Amy. Again and again Amy’s voice. A splash. Someone moving through water. Rocking. Just rocking. Forgetting. Rocking. A hand on my back: “Oh my god Ami, you poor soul, found you at last!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This post takes part in Linda’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Please head over and find many more soulful posts in the comments. Please visit them all ๐Ÿ™‚ you are worth it!!!!

Thanks Linda!

 

A Belated Answer to “Tell a Story” Challenge

Back in January, I was kindly tagged by Barbara from “Teleporting Weena” to take part in the “Tell a Story” challenge. I promised to do it but forgot. Oops. So here it is with about two months delay ๐Ÿ˜‰

I want to thank Barbara for being patient with me. Iโ€™m to take the photo she chose to write something about it, then tag 3 others with a new photo. You can find Barbara’s blog here.

description for visually impaired readers: A white house with dark roof behind a workman in blue work trousers jumping up. He holds his right hand up with a roll of paper in it. There is the illustration of planet earth on the top right side of the entrance door.

“He’s done it at last?”

“I guess so, look at how he is jumping around!”

“Like a rabbit on speed!”

“There is this rumour he had trouble with drugs back in the ’80s.”

“Is that when he started building this… this well… I know it’s what they called a house on earth”

“Yes, I remember when he pulled the whole planet out of the other dimension. I think he had planned to build the house on the planet but of course, that’s not possible. You can’t build from one dimension to another. ”

“But it’s in this dimension!!!!”

“No, it’s not. See that’s the problem with quantum physics. Nothing is how it seems.”

“Ah. So he got frustrated and into drugs?”

“Probably.”

“He managed somehow though…”

“As we can see but he has a planet stuck on his entrance door.”

“Stupid!”

“Yes, really stupid”

********************************

I am not going to nominate anyone because many of my fellow bloggers don’t do challenges. But if you feel like you want to write a story to this photo…

Description for visually impaired readers: To left medieval part of a house with huge wooden door and pointed arches over it. There are three coats of arms in a row over it and two underneath left and right and a window to the left. To the front is a building that is connected with the medieval building at ceiling level. It is a new build and a metal pillar is in the middle of the picture holding he building. There is a drive going from bottom left towards the upper right and a red car parked behind the medieval building. There is a white wall at the right and red grafiti on it consisting of triangles and lines

…feel free to join. Am looking forward to your stories!!!!