Roadside Chats (13) – 8/5/15

Swollen cloud empties into the Wakamarina Valley. The river roars. Moon Creek reaches a crescendo.

As I prepare my evening meal there’s a knock at the door. Beneath the umbrella is Pete from Convergence. Pete’s been staying at the DOC camp at Butchers Flat. He’s attempting to drive his house truck out but the swollen ford at Dead Horse Creek blocks his way. He’s waded the ford and walked to the cottage.

I invite him in and we share a meal. We talk of gold mining and the travelling life. After we’ve eaten I drive him back to Dead Horse Creek. The ford remains a torrent. Pete decides to wait it out.  We will meet in the morning. If the creek has dropped he will attempt the crossing. I’ll bring a tow rope… just in case.

After an early breakfast I drive to Dead Horse Creek. The rain has stopped and a rainbow climbs skyward out of the Wakamarina River. Pete negotiates the ford with ease. We hug and he heads for Nelson.

I’ve always loved the travelling life; both inner and outer. A recent saying rises to memory:

‘He who loves the road without understanding why’

Beyond

T
H
E

F
L
O
O
D

The rainbow dream

I enter a new phase. The writings of Barry Brailsford support me. Barry is a wisdom writer. His words and images evoke the archetypal levels of the deep unconscious. His writing touches into the unitive core. He educates in the sacred lore of the Maori people. I read of Hine Wainui; ‘the mist maiden.’

I drift beyond the weather forecast

To where the fine drifting cloak

Of

H
I
N
E

W
A
I
N
U
I

Adorns

Mirror Mountain

Three tasks occupy my attention: completing the shift into the cottage; preparing to write my new book; and deepening my relationship with Elle.

I purchase bookshelves and fill them with books. I assemble a new chair and a workstation. Boxes of belongings are gradually unpacked. In the 48 square metres of Deep Song storage is at a premium.

I’m keeping an eye on ten young wilding pines in the roadside reserve. Increasingly they block my morning sun. I mount a short lived attack with a handsaw but am forced to retreat. This is chainsaw country.

The new book is to be a series of meditations on sayings given by the Self. I’ve honed the sayings down to a thousand. Soon I will fine tune to 125 and arrange the list in a sequence. The sequence will honour both the unfolding nature of the revelations and their various themes.

The Self guides my preparations: ‘Are you able to give the news in a much more positive way?’ ‘Learn to write as a nurse rather than a teacher.’ ‘You begin the fight against tyranny.’ ‘It’s an original revelation… but oh the cost.’

One night I receive a saying from the poet William Blake (1757-1827); ‘I used to be a trumpet.’ At first I don’t get it… then gradually insight dawns. Blake is speaking of his prophetic call. The saying sinks deep into my being. I feel challenged to the core. Like Blake I want to be a trumpet for the Lord.

Holy, holy, holy

In

T
H
E

H
E
A
R
T

O
F

All

The Glory

Elle rings most evenings. She’s reading a book called ‘Gold in a Tin Dish; The History of the Wakamarina Goldfield.’ We talk of the colourful history of the Wakamarina and its rugged & beautiful landscape. We love the area and plan how we can live here together.

We also talk of our deepening connection. Elle has a sense of spirit being active in our togetherness. She says; ‘It feels like something very special’s going on.’ I feel my heart stir. I too sense specialness.  Elle continues; ‘It feels like we’re being led.’

After her call I rest in a pool of contentment. As sleep inches ever closer the Self speaks: ‘What an honouring lady!’ Contentment deepens.

Upon the honouring

The swan of human pleasure

Glides

.

Roadside Blessings – Kevin

This entry was posted in Blog. Bookmark the permalink.