She was very small the first time she remembers it happening…tiny  hands clutching the larger and stronger hands of her mother.   She wore a dark green woolen coat.   Her head was covered with a small  bonnet sewn from the same material,
trimmed with fur and tied around her chin.  Over it all she wore a white  sheet.  It was her first Halloween  and she carried the pillow case all children used in those days.   In her memory the day was darkening.

The house was small with a  covered front porch and a sidewalk leading up to the front door.   There were no welcoming lights.   The fence was hidden by bushes –neatly trimmed but high enough she  couldn’t see over it.  The metal  gate squealed when her mother pushed it open.

Fear clutched at her.  Her little heart was racing and her  hands trembled.  She doesn’t  remember the words she used, and perhaps she used none.   Only the body language and the tormented eyes of a child filled with  fear, begging her mother not to send her up that darkened pathway.   She had no words yet to explain what she saw or to even understand that  not everyone saw as clearly as she did...especially not adults.

Her  mother smiled at her fear.
“It’s all right sweetheart.   All you have to do is walk up and knock on the door.   They’ll give you a treat for your bag.
Wouldn’t you like that?  I’ll be right here behind the  fence.  It will be OK.   You go ahead now.”

Trembling and looking back for the mother she  no longer saw behind the dark branches of the hedge, she made her way up the  path and climbed the interminable steps to the front door.

Knock, knock,  knock on the door with tiny hands gripping her bag.

And just as she had  seen, so it all transpired. The  door flung open, an old man with angry eyes and a beard yelled at her to go  away, shoved her so hard  she  tumbled down the 4 steps leading to his house then went back in – slamming the  door behind himself.

Her mother rushed out from behind the bushes and  scooped her up but the damage was done.  

Trust is a fragile thing.   That small child did not learn she was special that day, protected and  loved by forces beyond her understanding.   She learned instead that mothers and strangers are not always to be  trusted and do not always speak the truth.  It took many years for full  understanding to come. Ever after  that day though, a picture would come, a voice would speak and, more often than  not, she would listen.

Her parents told stories of when she was even  younger…a toddler who wandered away from the yard and sat in the middle of a  dusty street while a convoy of military  trucks passed by  on  their way to the base after  maneuvers.   There she sat, untouched, until a neighbor spotted her and, realizing  this was no bag of garbage lying in the street, picked her up and took her  home.  The time she and a cousin  climbed into her father’s car and, he steering and she, operating the gas pedal,  maneuvered the car around in a circle in the back yard. You doubt  me?  Well – the story came from my
mother and who am I to question her memoriesJ.  Luck?  Perhaps, but I prefer to think there was a body of angels looking over  me.  They still do, thank God.  Life would not be the same without  themJ 

Did I  ALWAYS listen?  Of course not!  But I did learn about consequences.

At age 8, I didn’t listen the day my father told me to climb the clothesline  pole in a safer way than one I always used. He was wrong.   They were right.  A broken  arm and deformed elbow to the present day are reminders that others cannot
always know what is right for you no matter how well-intentioned they may be or  how much they may love you.

At age 14, I listened the day they showed me  being thrown from a ladder to a cement floor and descended just as a group of  adolescents flew through the very door I had been perched above seconds  before.

It was my first date. I was 15, he was 18, cute and I had never  been what you would call a “popular” girl.  I wanted to impress.   They told me not to get into the car after the movie but it’s a hard  thing for a teen-age girl with her first boyfriend to say “No” for no earthly  reason that she can explain.  We  didn’t make it a half block down the road before my face was smashed against the  dash of the car.  Our driver had  rear-ended the vehicle in front of us.   The physical damages were slight.   The embarrassment as I faced the local gendarme to explain why I was  there was far greater…and to face my parents…well you can only guess.

So  here I am.  15, I hear things, I  see things and I feel things.  I  cannot kill a fly.  Watching my  brother and his friends drowning out gophers makes me physically ill.  Seeing someone else being taunted,  teased and /or bullied makes my skin crawl as I feel their embarrassment and  pain.  Do I always stand up and  speak my mind?  I am a child and I  am human.  Sometimes I do and other  times I suffer along with them in silence.  I have no idea not everyone experiences  the world in the same way I do but I also do not share these things with others.

Why? 

that answer came much later in my life and, in time, I will share the why bit by bit...the way I learned it:)


 

Johnny went for a walk one day and along the path he found a small bird. 
There was nothing of note in that small being.  She was drab and feathers were
nondescript but there was in the beak a small red ruby.  Johnny stooped down and
raised that little bird to his face and blew softly upon her.  She dropped the
small red stone and as he watched her feathers glowed with a silvery light.  The
tiny beak opened and out of the bird came the most melodious sound he had ever
heard.  Johnny held the small being closer and shut his eyes.  His hand closed
gently around her and he felt her small heart beating rhythmically.  There was
no sense of fear in the tiny creature and that amazed him. 

Why is it that such a tiny creature can choose to hold dearly this small red
stone he asked and why was it that she willingly parted with it.  The tiny birds
beak opened and in the throat he saw there was not one but several of the small
red rubies.  There was no other sound in the glade as he reached forward and the
bird once more dropped one of the tiny red stones into his hand.

If there is one there must be more available he thought.  The tiny bird once
more opened her beak and dropped a third red stone into the palm of his hand. 
The sounds of the forest dimmed as he watched the shiny red stones appear one
after the other.  There seemed to be no end to them and he wondered at the
beauty he saw within this tiny bird that chose to share so willingly the red
stones within her. 


Johnny red is the name of the tiny bird and if one is willing to share all
that is within the capacity to give, and even when it is a given there will be
no more, that tiny bird once more reaches deep within and always found that one
red ruby that was needed to be in the sharing allowed... 


...Humility is a quality that ensures there is not the profile placed above
that of any other and there are many that are not incapacitated in that
regard... 


Given to me by Johnny Red – A Voice From the Past

Start blJeremiah was walking along the south end of the creek one day when he
happened to spy a younger man struggling on the opposite bank with a large green
stone the length and breadth of which was equal to the size of the man himself. 
Jeremiah paused on the edge of the bank for a time and watched the struggle
occurring on the opposite bank.  As the younger man looked down into the water
he saw Jeremiah’s reflection watching him from the other side.  He paused in his
struggles and looked across the waters at his oldest friend.

 “I didn’t recognize you over there” he uttered.  “I forgot the time we were
friends and all I saw was an old and beaten man.”

“There is nothing in this world that I would not have done for you”, the
older man cried, “but as I see you struggling, I realize that it is not my help
you require but the aid and assistance of one far greater and more powerful than
I myself would profess to be.  Even in my prime I would not have been able to
help you move such a large and heavy burden.” 

“Aahhh my friend” the young man said, “with the aid of one and another I’m
certain we would not only move this stone but 10 thousand more like it.” 

There is no greater power granted.  There is no greater treasure.  There is
naught that will lighten the burdens of a soul in difficulty than the knowledge
there is even one other single solitary soul that cares.

We tell you that there is nothing that you can offer one of the dark that
will change their patterns of behaviour.  Their mission is to provide an
environment that creates disturbances in your very souls.  If it were not for
the appearance of those dark entities in your world there would be not the
continuing vigilance required of the Warriors of the Light but it is not with
weapons of destruction will come a changing of their guardians.  When there is a
meeting of a member of their forces with one of ours there is a clash that is in
essence creating openings within the beings to stand on the brink and peer
through the veil at what is indeed the power of choice. 

Just as Jeremiah faced his own sense of powerlessness in the task across the
waters, so do each one of you.  Just as the young man saw the truth in the
reflected image in the water, so is it possible for those afflicted with the
scales of darkness to see their own true potential reflected in the light
pouring from the countenances of those of you that are of a loving nature.

Given to me by members of the Sirian High Council