Do you have a poem loving you?

The muse is in the air, and by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin it may not be too late to write a love poem for this wonderful project. The deadline is coming right up, (sorry this storyteller just found out about it this very hour). It's a beautiful thing though, so if you've a poem in your heart wanting to be penned ... let it fly. Here are the submission and project details from WRITING ROADS.

This is exciting, I am a quiver .......

Tinkerbelle

There is a very fine line runs between those who believe, and those who have forgotten how. When I watch our dear friends in the flicker of light from that old television as they watch a favorite old film, I see the line disappear. The old dears become the smooth cheeked young ones with vision for the impossible. All things possible and wonderful color their faces as I see the belief light up their eyes. It's a course world that counts on their fingers the numbers of children and their parents who belief relentlessly ... ah, can you blame the forgetful though such a complex world this now.

It is a rotten thing left untended for far too long, this poison apple disease that has tainted the truth of humans place in the world. They are after all is said, and done, part fairy, part stardust, part dirt and large part imagination. You see the Tribe of Storytellers has passed the gene of believing through the telling, and somehow in the rush to grow up and civilize, industrialize and capitalize the human slowly and steadily diluted that believing gene. Believing in what? Believing in What? Why believing of course in the magic of unimaginable joy simply for the fun of it. The joy of being mundanely alive was rushed to grow bigger, better, richer, cleaner, sweeter than just human-smelling until with the tick of a decade a baby girl could no longer recognize her daddy because he know longer smelled like daddy. We Storytellers though are a hail and hearty stock and we will tell a story as long as we know there is one set of ears who listen.

In the glow of that television light I watched dear Sal's round face drip with tears as she absorbed the masterful telling of a tale of believing. It is one of the simple and available delights that massages the gene in her. Once a long time ago a man, a member of the Storytellers Tribe wrote a story of a boy who believed he would remain a boy forever. Some have said Peter Pan is a man who never grew up. They are part of the folk who have forgotten. Tinkerbelle on the other hand is a tiny bit of fairy dust that waits for folk like that, ready she is to blow the memory back into them so the child in all of them human beings is restored to its magic throne right here on The Planet. Peter Pan is a boy who never stopped believing.

Dear Kerry

A few days ago I found this comment and set of questions from a reader who seems touched by the telling of the tale here of Sam and Sally. In the mind of a storyteller the world between earth-bound physical reality and the times already past-present- and future blend together. It is from that almost limitless gourd of 'explanations' that I, the storyteller write this letter to answer these questions from Kerry:

"Are Sal's dual soul's her pre-MCS able to be out in the world, working, playing, speaking etc., as well as the part of her longing to still be able to act as that self and is the part of herself that has changed through the learning and experiences that illness and being different bring?

Is her one soulness she feels as she begins the year, is this the peace she is finding with both past and present, or in other words "what is?"

Dear Kerry,

Thank you for the beautifully heartfelt comment and questions you left here. A storyteller's greatest reward come from the heart of listeners who have no fear of believing they too can cradle the many possibilities of words. On the page or in the air, words have the power to create love, understanding or perplexity only when the audience has a heart large enough to embrace or question for clarity. The head has a grand capacity for questioning too, but the head often thinks it has the answers as well. It is the query from the heart that touches a story and the teller, and like good conversation the story bubbles into a beautiful stew.

Now, on to the question of Sal's dual souls. When I wrote the words in the story
"The Sustaining Soul" I began with a bit of knowledge shared through the channel of Sal's true soul now. You see, if you believe in the sustaining soul you would understand that a human must have a soul to be here on The Planet. This knowledge I have about Sal includes the fact that until just a few short months ago Sal lived with not one, but two souls. According to my informant Sal's "Sustaining Soul" the one which has lived one lives with her, was not ready to take on the rigors of physical life on The Planet when Sal was born (prematurely as it happened). Instead, a willing and able salt of the earth soul stepped in to make Sal's birth happen. Much later, at around thirteen years, "The Sustaining Soul" was ready to take its place with Sal. To say the least, our gal has been challenged to balance the two internal directives.

Your perception, and first question relating to Sal's pre-MCS life could indeed be the parallel universe human beings experience when they live with long-term .... hmmm, the word... illness is one, and yet that is insufficient a description. I believe you know a more suitable description and live it daily as part of your reality. "Being different" is yet another phrase that I as a Storyteller have heard too many times to count. The answer I always have, though who listens to an imaginary teller, is "Being different to what!"

The second two-part question you asked is more easily answered. I believe, and it appears Sal and I agree, the answer to that question is: YES. There is a very real and growing sense of peace knowing where the doors to and from the past Just before the start of Autumn of 2008, that Salt of the Earth soul was freed to evolve and be the one and only in another being. Sal now lives with the life purpose of her "Sustaining Soul." Whether those doors led away from a way of being in the world in this lifetime or in a lifetime past, being at peace means Sal can either lock the door from her side throwing the key away forever, or stow that key in a place she chooses re-opening the past when life asks more questions.

I hope this letter offers you some comfort and hope because that is what a storyteller's purpose is, at least that is this storyteller's life purpose. Some answers are easy, some aren't. Mainly though, a story ought to play the heart.
Sweet dreams and many thanks for your courage to ask.

Sincerely yours,
The Storyteller

Light and Deft

Sal's astrology for the next few days ...

Small act of kindness is worth a month of heartlessness. One generous

gesture can make up for a season of selfishness. One precious moment of

understanding can repair a of ignorance. There is though, no need to

be sparing with the currency of compassion. if nobody ever gives you

credit for it, the heart has access to a self-replenishing supply. We get

by on a small amount of sincerity in much the same way as we can learn

to survive on starvation rations. Start liking and being kind to yourself now,

and you will find that the sky is not just offering the chance to enjoy a

brief moment of magic but to commence a process that provides plenty

of future fulfillment. Treasure and protect that which is precious to you...

but don’t covet or cosset it. Trust that if something is truly right, you won’t

lose it, spoil it or miss out on it. Remember that there are two types of

caution. It is fine to sense a potential danger and to do whatever may help to

reduce it. It is bad though, to become anxious and insecure. You can end up

scared of your own shadow; forever attempting to fend off some half imagined

threat. Your current problem is not an emergency. So don’t turn it into one.

There are some things that we should not clutch too tightly, no matter how

much we want to hang on to them. If, for example, we hold in our hands an

egg with a delicate shell or a lovely shape made of malleable clay, the very

act of squeezing hard will destroy what we want to cherish. Admittedly,

then, we can say ’Oh well, that can’t have had much value. Look how easily

it perished’ - but it is better still, if we can be light and deft, to respect and

preserve the integrity of something fragile and precious. Be kind, be generous

and be compassionate. And don t be afraid of anything now.

Thank you, Jonathan