When I was fourteen, a missionary visited my school and gave a little talk. Although I can’t remember what she said, I do remember being impressed with her as a person. I couldn’t put it into words but there was something special about her. It might have been the calm look in her eyes even though, from what she said, her life was far from calm. Certainly, I recognised a very unselfish attitude and she seemed happy without trying to convince anyone that she was. Continue reading “No Martyrs”
Poem by Hafiz.
Read by Donna Goddard.
At Warrandyte River, Warrandyte, Victoria, Australia.
Translation by Daniel Ladinsky.
Here is the next part of Faith (Book 4 of the Waldmeer Series).
“I feel the love, I feel the love, I feel the love that’s really real.” (Walking on Sunshine)
Chapter 18: A Thousand Years of Tears
In the Borderfirma Mountains:
Aristotle hung his legs from the top of the three-storey tree house in the palace gardens. It wasn’t the same without Malik. Tree houses are meant for sharing; sharing adventures and secrets. The last time Aristotle was in this tree house was half a year ago but in those months, many years had passed in the Borderfirma Mountains. Malik had long since outgrown the days of playing in trees. Continue reading “Faith: Tears and Sunshine”
“Once you are Real you can’t become unreal again.” The Velveteen Rabbit.
On a recent drive to Daylesford, I went into the old bookshop with its rows and rows of books in peculiar little off-shoot rooms. Although the books looked like they were undoubtedly loved long-time by their master and shop owner, I wasn’t so sure that they were going anywhere else in a great hurry. I picked up a used copy of a children’s book which was published almost one hundred years ago. It is a moving, ageless story for children and their adult readers alike. I read it to my children but they may not remember. Books like this one go into the back recesses of our consciousness and help form our collective consciousness. It is called The Velveteen Rabbit (or How Toys Become Real). I have recorded it in this video for anyone who ever wonders if becoming Real hurts and if it is worth it.
Mind the space, so long endured,
it’s best for our protection.
I hope it’s true, for if it’s not
a thousand loves have I betrayed.
Look closer, dear,
a voice it sings as if it was a lullaby.
But if I heed it may become
the lure of my demise.
In fear, we come together
seeking a place of refuge.
In fear, we keep the space
lest our refuge become our captor.
The moments of sweetness
so easily discarded
when danger calls from
the abyss between the two.
Do not push away love’s hand
in punishment for what it cannot give.
Together, we bypass the gap
which is as deep as it is old.
Forget the chasm
so jaded with angry dreams.
Our fear is empty-handed.
Love’s hand has room for the other.