Writing is a long-term career. It takes a lot of time, money, perseverance, learning, and soul. Making a mark as a writer and having an influence in the world is a process which generally accelerates slowly.
Trust your instincts.
Go with the flow.
Do your best.
If you know that the spiritual voice is in you, and you would like greater access to it as a writer, then Writing: A Spiritual Voice can help you to develop your capacity to hear and heed that voice.
The bus driver announced that there would be a half hour stop at Wurt Wurt Koort to change a tyre. The road from Waldmeer to Darnall ran through the hills and forests of the Leleks. At the highest point was the little town of Wurt Wurt Koort. From the Wurt Wurt Koort Town Hall, if one looked further inland, one could see Darnall in the distance. In the other direction, one could just make out the sea. Waldmeer lay beside it.
At one time, Wurt Wurt Koort was a thriving, respectable hill-town, thus the presence of a rather pretentious town hall. However, the death of a local child changed all that and now it was surviving, but barely. Further, it was rumoured to be run by witches. It was said that they were the only ones who remained. They weren’t bad witches. In fact, a number of them had businesses and were visited, with some success, for healing, readings, and other mysterious type activities. There was a leadership group or coven of thirteen. They were all women, although, these days, they said that they were gender-neutral. They ranged from fifty to positively ancient. Their headquarters was the local cafe, the Wurt Wurt Koort Tearooms, which was next to the town hall.
Amira hadn’t had the nightmare since she was twenty which was six years ago. Back then, she was known as Maria. It hadn’t even crossed her mind in the two years she had been living in Eraldus, in the city. Now that she was travelling each weekend back to Waldmeer, the nightmare was occasionally returning. It was strange because nothing could be more charming than Waldmeer; going to sleep and hearing the distant sea, waking to the forest birds, walking to the rhythm of the breaking waves. Some years ago, she had come face to face with the nightmare malevolence when she went to see her teacher, Erdo, in the forest. That occasion marked the first time Amira spoke to Maria. It was the beginning of many years of instruction from Amira to Maria. These days, Maria was back in the Homeland and Amira had sole charge of the body they had both inhabited. Some years were lost in the transition and Amira was now in her late thirties. Like all the secret ones who claim their spiritual inheritance, she seemed somewhat ageless.
Right from the start, Paul didn’t like Maria. She had nothing against him but we are careful with people who dislike us. Gabriel had many gay friends in the city. It was a part of his life that Maria had had no contact with until they were housemates. Now, she met some of those friends when they visited the house. One of them was Paul.
Ever since Farkas had stormed out of the cafe, not to return, Maria had felt ill. She was even finding some of the cafe customers annoying. Mrs. Reisenden was one of them. Maria’s mother liked her and enjoyed talking with her whenever she was visiting Waldmeer.
“You have returned,” said Maria’s mother with obvious delight. “Do tell me how life has been in the city since you have last been here on holidays.”
Lenny was a fisherman from Waldmeer. Several generations of his family had lived in the little coastal village. One of his past relatives was a logger in the forest like many men, at that time. He had emigrated from Germany. The logging settlement was the spectacular meeting point of forest and stunning coastline. It was he who first referred to the early town as Waldmeer. It means forest-sea in German. The name stuck and the locals called it that ever since.
In the spirit world of a garden, in Waldmeer, on Earth:
The gardener walked into their lives bright and sharp. Her need was covered by a ready smile. She came from a house with walls that echoed loneliness. On the very first day, her eyes were drawn to the little flower in the corner of the garden. Its beauty was in its simplicity. The gardener’s jealousy was already born. She watched it every day. It moved to the breeze and reached for the sunshine. The flower did not complain about the dark, the wind or the cold. Its roots had strength unseen.