She who watches

I have many names, one of them is Storyteller. Another name I answer to is "She who watches." I have been quietly watching Sam and Sally for a few weeks now, noticing the changes in the look of their wee home, sensing the energy of our two dears, listening closely to the wheels of their minds as they edge closer to the next junction. Sal's hair has grow longer and more silvery. Strands of her hair collect on blankets, gather dust on the floor and clump in the lint trap of the dryer. "More on the floor, less to brush," Sal has convinced herself the dropping hair is not a problem. In fact, this hair on the floor thing has happened for decades and as her hair grows longer the hair falls more. It really is not a problem. But what is happening is the junction of time narrows. The stars are applying greater pressure on the gal, and Sam as well. Saturn for Sal is causing her to be even more cautious and edgy...tightening up that scalp, popping hairs out from an overly watchful skull. Sam's bones carry time and effort heavily. So much of his attention has gone into making things work outside himself. There is that hard shell of the Cancer protecting him as it has for nearly sixty years. Inside, the long lean man is wearing thinner. He will need attending to, and he knows this. He waits his turn. He leaves a share of himself for the birds, the kitty and Sal. The journey to this point has been hard work. It is not over, there is more. Yet, they are stronger and wiser for it even if they are not yet able to know it. The work is good, hard work and that is what needs to be done to build something of value.

Earth is an interesting orb planted with memories of universes most of her inhabitants forget before they are five fingers old. Generations have walked so far from the light, mesmerized by the glitter of the pretty stack of gold, the pretty house, the perfect weed-free green lawn, the many cars, the speed of talk. No matter though, there is an Arabic saying I heard just the other day. It sounded wise and parable-like and yet it suit the contemporary scheme of things. As I recall it went, "My father rode a camel, I drive a car, my son flies an airplane, his son will ride a camel." When I look at the journey dear Sal and her Sam have taken and continue to create, I witness the commitment Sal made to keep walking toward the light. I know, I know. The gal was born on an island where light and sun is present and bright equal shares in most days. And yet, since her early second decade this earth woman has trekked over most of those islands and then boarded planes to seek clarification in a place where it rains a lot, and sunshine is parsed out with economy. The Sun is important and yet it is a lone if not for the Moon, the planets and all the other starts. The light at night is as important and in Sal's case, more important. She is one of those who has keen memory for Moon light and the journey is about clambering to be with the sisters of the stars.

Sally Round has said her prayers, and the Gods heard her. The woman is on pilgrimage, aware at a very deep level the price she pays for listening to the light voice. There will be silence and separation. The experiences of the Poisonous Apple Illness serve as daily markers for Sensitives like Sam and Sal. The Earth has called upon the Sensitives to keep track of all the choices that harm. Many will and are not sure why or how these two old dears do what they do. They do it because they promised they would. The wee home they build on wheels is a work of art. The the work is part of the promise. It is not just beautiful, it is also oddly .... unexpected. The subdued color of their roof, a choice so extreme from the original showy copper is just one example of the real power in charge. The roof will function. It is not junk and it is not funk, and is not flasy! The roof will endure. There are sunny days coming, one of them is here today. The icy night left a coat of ice on the new roof a blessing from the North winds to remind the new home that it is part of this climate. Dreams of a new kind of life are not controlled by logical decisions alone. When you have invoked the attention of the All, you have asked for partnership and they will be involved.

I am called many names. Storyteller is one of them. She who watches is another name to which I answer, and on a day when the waiting ceases and the story births I am called Satisfied. Then there is Sally, another good name. I am called many names.