I’m going to try something alittle different. The prose piece that inspired this was written back in the “mists of time” and I have always wanted to use in some way. I now think I may have a way.

It is simple. There are so many bloggers I have encountered over my first 90 days blogging who I believe offer in a multitude of ways what this story/prose/whatever it is, suggests. Every Thursday I am going to re-blog a post or hi-lite a particular blogger.

When I wrote “Worlds” I had so many things in mind; madness, mayhem, sadness, at our loss of innocence, our loss of way, our forgetfulness of what is REALLY essential to who WE are. I don’t think anyone has “THE” answer, rather I believe there are as many answers as there are beings on earth. Diversity after all is a counterbalance of both chaos & order. So expect the unexpected, the paranormal, the profane, the mad, the angry, the silly, the lush, the loud and the quiet, and the peace and the love, and what ever else happens to tickle my fancy.

ENJOY!
PaulaB

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WORLDS

In a far away place on the edges of time, there is a place that only our unconscious mind can remember and know. A place where all that we see is translated into a metaphor and placed so as to remind us of our personal way. In worlds, far and distant, the descendants of that original race know and recognize each other through the myths that we send down through time. To Carl Jung this place was the “collective unconscious” … a place where all myths represent and metaphorize into one pool of thought, one place where we all can know and understand our souls message to us. Like a secret language known to all, but spoken by no one.

As in the myths of magical places such as Atlantis…we create worlds that tipafy this sense of perfection and purpose. Where all beings are one, and where all things are known. Over centuries we go looking for these worlds…as if to find them just under the surface, hiding from us. Lost away in secret valleys or drowned in majestic sea’s, hidden forever from us. These places become icons for our own follies…pilgrimages to them offer us a sense of ourselves lost along our journey.

How would the story unfold? Would there be a great destruction? A great dark cloud arising over the land to blight out the sky and darken the landscape? How would one capture the essence, the grace of this land of imagination? After all…it does exist, but the journey is different for each of us, as is the destination.

FROM THE MOUTH OF THE CAVE, at the side of a mountain that time had forgotten, spoke THE ANCIENTS…

We exist but by your service, We see but by your visions, We know all by the stories you tell. In your innocence and confusion you misunderstood your own power. You gave to us, we do not give. We are the mirrors of your soul, mind and spirit. When you question us, you question yourselves.

…but no one was listening.

So…in the beginning…there was a mist that covered the land as a veil. The landscape stretched for miles; hill, mountains, rivers, lakes and seas sprang from the skin of time. Amoebus gell evolutionized into creations of skin, legs, feathers, and bones. Gutteral tones matured too resonate thought. Skin walked, feathers flew, and bones creaked with growth. In a whirl of time, we forgot time. As seconds passed, we learned to remember. Space filled in, and we saw wonder. In wonder we learned how to damage eternity. In innocence we saw no connection…and in our dying breath we understood.

Between innocence and death there exists a place, for a brief time, that has the essence of perfection about it. In this brief hidden place, lies our sacred selves. You can not go to this place, there are no doors, no maps and no portals. There is only one way in…..and…

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