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#1 Sun 14th Mar 2010 12:41 pm

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
Website

I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

It'll take me a few days to post this.  Post comments on the other "Isha book" thread here please. 
Thanks, Lorae



I Remember Isha
By Lorae Ireland










http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b146/lorae41/isha%20book/cover.jpg










Dedicated to
the children of the world
and the child in every
grown-up,
that they may know
the simplicity and love
of the
Isha I knew




Copyright@1992

Last edited by lorae (Sun 14th Mar 2010 03:47 pm)

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#2 Sun 14th Mar 2010 03:13 pm

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
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Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

Preface

I first began to remember this life of two thousand years ago as vague pictures and images in my mind; images of the Christ, a big redheaded man. From early childhood, I had had a particularly vivid memory of Him holding me as a child while we looked out over a city. These memories disturbed me, and I didn’t want to own them because they seemed preposterous. I had never been particularly interested in what passes for acceptable Christianity and therefore had no strong religious fixation to account for the intense emotions associated with these images. 

When I was a little girl, and at that time, I didn’t understand why, I would never accept the idea that Christ had died for our sins, not even when pressured to in Presbyterian Sunday School. And years later, I sometimes unexpectedly found myself blurting out in conversation that Jesus had been a bold revolutionary, not meek and mild as we have been taught. However, when I was nearly 50, an elderly lady friend (who was the Yosa, of my story) encouraged me to talk about these memories and to write. Without her affirmation and encouragement I would have ignored them. Me? Living with Isha and Mary? Impossible. However, due to the importance of my friend, Isha, I felt compelled to write.
                                                                           
This is not a historical novel; it’s simply an account of memories of a time two thousand years ago. If the book lacks action and excitement, it’s because life was much slower then than now, and, like most females of that time, I spent almost all of my life confined within the walls of the home. The book would be much more readable with more dialogue and more detail, but I’ve tried to stay away from imagination—if I didn’t remember a conversation word for word, I didn’t make one up. I’m also aware that much of the writing seems vague and hazy as well as a bit disconnected, but I’ve included only what I can remember, and therefore some aspects of that time and place are sketchy or missing altogether.

Although some of the story may seem to contradict the Bible, I have tried to put down what I remember really happened, not what we now think occurred at that time.

I haven’t used hypnosis or trance to remember. Much of what I have written here is of memories, which, for the most part, came to me over the course of the years of 1991 and 1992 with the help of my Teachers in the spirit world. These Teachers are some kindly, humorous beings who have great affection for me and are always available. I converse with them in a conscious state. They speak to me and I answer or ask questions, but I admit that the connection isn’t always perfect. After receiving this assistance, which is much like looking at a “crib sheet??? while taking an exam, the memory becomes more detailed and clear as I write about it. The hardest task has been to put the Master’s words down as best I could. Some days, I would get the sense of His speech as if I had heard it yesterday, other days only a phrase or two, and many days, nothing at all. My dear Grandpa Joseph in the spirit world helps me with this, but he sometimes “connects me directly,??? and, at those times, I feel that I am receiving pure information, as if from a data bank.

As I continued to write, more and more of this material came to my conscious awareness. When I first became aware of the Essenes, in connection with great-uncle Zebedee of that life, I couldn’t have written one more word about them, other than that he belonged to that group. Later, I remembered much, but when the memory of the trip in the spacecraft surfaced related to the visit to the Essenes, I was shocked, and because it was so far-fetched, decided to quit writing altogether. Later, I considered omitting it from the book, but was told by my Spirit Teachers to include it, because the children of today will understand and not reject this story of life on a planet of Sirius.

It’s possible that the beginning episode in the desert may have been my own resonance with Isha’s time in the wilderness, but of course I didn’t have his years of training to survive such conditions. I would have died had He not come for me. This strange experience set the course for my life with the Master and created the very conditions that led me to write this book. In my own way, in an unconscious act of desperation to be with Isha, I managed to put myself on the path that the Father had set for me. I offer this story that you may know that Isha, the Christed one, was a real person.

He came as a man, not a god, and He lived in this world just as you and your neighbors do now. The Christ was at all times self-assured and omniscient, but Isha the human suffered, as do we, from doubts and discouragement. In the beginning, the townspeople of His childhood rejected His human self, and even many of our neighbors had no idea Who He truly was. If He were to begin teaching today in this secular age of unbelief, He quite likely would be diagnosed as mentally ill and put on medication. Two thousand years ago, the situation was much the same—few believed Him, and even fewer cared enough about the teachings to act on His Words. Many of the other members of His household, with the exception of His Mother of course, were ordinary people and not particularly saintly—I know I wasn’t. He was the “Super Star,??? and we were there to help Him, much like a support entourage for a rock star of today. Sometimes I ask myself, “Who are you, to write about such a Being???? But I was there, and I have written this book, because I Remember Isha.

                                       

Lorae Ireland
                                    Applegate, Oregon
                                       July 25, 1993

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#3 Sun 14th Mar 2010 03:22 pm

lorae
Member
From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
Website

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

I REMEMBER ISHA                   



http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b146/lorae41/isha%20book/desertatengedi.jpg


THE DESERT



In the twilight, a six-foot-long viper slithered past me as his rough scales scraped against the rocks and sand.  He came to rest under a nearby bush. As he lay there in a vast reptilian silence I felt safe and protected by his presence.  My cricket friends sang to me while small animals rustled about in the scrub. I felt great peace in this sane and lovely place away from the confusion and disharmony of humans.  A Jackal came sniffing about, but made a wide circle around

Grandfather Snake and trotted off on his nightly hunt.  The sun slowly disappeared, creating purple shadows in the nearby bluffs.  Revealed in the shadows, huge faces engraved in the brown rocks looked at me with impartial kindness, but soon blurred from sight.  The desert evening came on with profound majesty.  One star sparkled, and then many unhurriedly filled the clear night.  Surrounded by their serene and perfect brilliance, I thought they were beings who loved me.

Later, I shivered in the nightly desert chill, and as the night wore on, the cold became so sharp and deep that sleep couldn't make it go away.  Grandfather Snake had long since slid deep into his warm home beneath the ground.  Friend Jackal returned, but tensely sniffed the wind and fidgeted about before quickly running off again.  In the black silence of the long night I heard rustling, sudden snorts and grunts of what I thought to be hideous creatures creeping about.  I began to sob as only a three-year old child alone in the wilderness could.  My sobs gave way to ever-louder wails as I lost myself in complete despair.  In the comfort of a kind of delirium, howling and shaking I cried through the night.

I had slipped away from my parents' caravan.  Nanny wasn't with us, and Mother couldn't keep me in hand or in sight.  Finally, in exhaustion she had let me ride or walk with any member of the train.  Late that afternoon I had been riding in the back of a donkey cart.  First by accident, then on purpose, I kicked out small leather containers of water, and when no one was looking and not really knowing why, I simply jumped off the back.  Mother and Father hadn't missed me until they made camp that night.  They and the others had retraced their path to search for me in the twilight, but I hid when I heard them calling.  Silently crouching in a sandy depression behind some bushes, I watched from my hiding place.  They soon walked on, calling and searching.  I felt like a little desert animal cleverly hiding from them.

This wasn't the first time I had run away from my parents.  On a spring morning a few months before, I'd escaped from the house by climbing out a window and down a wall.  Free from my home, I wandered through the wide paved streets in the bright sunshine.  Following a narrow lane, I came around a turn to find myself at the seashore.  Down the beach I saw some men building a huge boat and immediately went there to watch.  They tolerated me in a good-natured way as they quickly shaped the wood with sure hands.  Master craftsmen, these men worked under contract for my father and his brother.  One giant fellow grinned at me through his tanned face as if he knew some private joke between us.  He gave me a wooden pounding tool, and I helped him by banging on a piece of wood.  I felt quite grown-up sharing his midday meal of soft cheese and flat bread.  After eating, this same man carried me on his huge shoulder back to our house.  Nanny had thought I had been taking a nap all that while, and we all agreed to not upset my parents with this story.

My name was Nasha, and my true self was a child of the wind, flying over the blue flowers of the wild hills and desert places.  My mother, Aleatha, was nervous, and I made her even more so.  Father didn't quite know what to do with me, so he ignored me.  For some strange reason, living with these nice people made me restless, and I was always wondering what life was like in other places.  This time, my rebellious wanderlust had put me in the worst situation yet.

In the desert, the frigid night seemed never to end, and I felt the greatest chill before the dawn.  At last the early sun lit up the tops of the hills, then its rays ever so slowly came down the slopes to caress my stiff and suffering little body.  The sun felt warm and good.  Grandfather Snake emerged from his sleeping place in the sand.  Ignoring me, he deliberately moved off to bask in the warm sunlight.  But Friend Jackal was there.  He tried to show me how to chew on succulents and how to lick up bits of dew under the plants.  After coughing up a furry body, he watched me pick it up, and when I dropped it in disinterest, patiently nudged it towards me, but I ignored it.

In late morning, the sunlight soon turned into a blazing fierceness, forcing Friend Jackal to lie panting in a hollow under a giant rock.  Although I tried to do as he did, there was no escaping the glaring sun.  Grandfather Snake had slipped back under his bush, to finally disappear underground.  For shade, I took off my dress and put it on branches above me.  I poured the last of my water over my hot head.  By late afternoon, the burning heat seemed determined to turn me into a pile of dry bones like I'd seen along the trail of the caravan, and I imagined my bones being scattered by the same hungry predators that I'd heard prowling around me in the night shadows.

After three days, hunger had passed, but thirst was there; relentless, dry, scratchy, determined to kill me.  Licking the dew from the plants before the sun came up was never enough for my painfully dry throat, and it hurt to choke on tough desert plants and furry dead mice.  I tried to crawl, but my naked, bloated and dirty body shook and fell again and again until I gave up trying, and, cooked by the sun, my lips and cheeks cracked in my swollen face.  Squinting through burning eyes, I perceived a smudged glaring world wavering in the heat.  Then I saw visions of luminous singing angels who alternated with huge scary demons looming up in violent colors.  I realized that I couldn't remain much longer with Grandfather Snake and Friend Jackal.  My desert friends couldn't save me, and there seemed to be no solution to my predicament.  I was close to Death, our old friend who helps us pass from one life to the next.

The second day of my disappearance, my mother had gone into hysterics.  Then my parents had returned to fetch their kinsman, Isha,1 because He was clairvoyant, and also because they knew that He and I had a special bond of affection.  He had the same clarity and purity of the desert and knew where to find me.  When I saw Him in His brilliant white clothes, standing in loving welcome and stillness, I wanted to run to Isha, only Isha.  But I couldn't so much as crawl and could but weakly cry out.  I came back to the world because of Him.  Although I was safe again, my poor abused parents gave up trying to manage their impossible child, and it was decided that I go to live with Isha and His Mother.

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#4 Sun 14th Mar 2010 03:24 pm

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
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Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

THE MORNING



It was early morning in Jerusalem. I had lived with Auntie and Isha for a month or more in our little house outside of a village north of the Holy City. We had come for the Spring Festival and gathering of the families. As was our custom on our few visits to the City, we stayed with Auntie Sara and Uncle Solomon, who lived in a lovely home on a southeast hill above the market area.

Earlier that morning, after bathing and putting on a long brown dress, I had wanted to twitch and squirm in protest while Auntie combed my dark brown hair. She braided and fastened it on top of my head with blue ribbon matching the trim on my new dress. Then She sent me out to the terrace to wait, telling me to stay out of the dust, not to play with my lizards and bugs, and to stay perfectly clean. This flagstone terrace overlooked the city from the northwest side of the house. Defining its edge by a two-foot rise from the flagstones, a high rock wall on its other side rose above a tall and dense thicket covering the hillside below. Waiting while the household prepared to go down to the Spring Festival, I sat on that wall facing the stone house, lazily watching my brown toes wiggle in the pale dawn light.

Isha came out of the door. He also had recently bathed, and was wearing a simple white wrap. Over six feet tall, he was big well-muscled man with long red-brown hair. He radiated immense positive masculine charisma and energy. Formally greeting me, He said, “Little Desert Flower, how you glow this beautiful morning! Expressing true affection, His musical deep voice made me feel wonderful. I ran to Him, and, as I jumped, He lifted me with strong hands. I happily put my arms around His thick muscular neck as we hugged each other. He smelled nice, and His full soft beard, which I remembered pulling at in younger years, tickled my forehead and cheeks. With my face buried in His neck, I snuggled against His furry chest for a peaceful moment.

Then, abruptly rising to lift my head, I stared close-up into His eyes, my nose and forehead almost touching His, as only a small child can do. Not at all bothered, His eyes looked at me with amusement. He smiled with finely shaped full lips, showing brilliant, even teeth. His eyes had always fascinated and hypnotized me; anyone, looking at those deep hazel eyes, became almost immediately hypnotized, lost in the contemplation of eternity. When I was younger, I had often stared into them, watching them change color with His thoughts. Sometimes they were violet, sometimes green, and more rarely, almost brown.1.

As I had done as a baby so many times in the past, I clutched the back of His thick, soft  wavy hair with my right hand.  Half turning, I looked out over the city with Him. Time stopped. In the early morning quiet, a few bees buzzed sleepily about. Whiffs of heavy fragrance rose from the blossoms on the hillside below us—lush flowers of red, white and pink, accented with splashes of purple-blue and pale yellow. One of my little insect friends crawled along the top of the rock wall, stopping at small obstacles to wave his antennae in puzzlement.

From the immense security of the arms of my beloved Isha, I viewed the world. The clear air seemed to magnify. Behind us a golden pink sunrise glowed, reflecting baked clay white-gold against dark gray shadows in the buildings of the city below. To the northwest, a luminescent aquamarine-blue filled the sky above a white gleam outlining low purple-gray hills. On the north hill across the streets of the city below, we could see the huge slightly curved roof of the temple shining multi-colored gold in the sunlight.

I felt a serene calmness and sensed a vast silent power as if at the beginning of time. He and I did not speak as we enjoyed the quiet morning together. Isha began a meditation, and I with Him; I could be in His mind when He allowed it—we had always had that kind of relationship. Isha visualized His work to be done in that city, that day and all the days to follow, up to our present time. He saw it all and accepted it. He had not yet begun His teaching, and this day in the temple He was to begin. This moment in eternity was so powerful because it was the blueprint for the Christian era and was the last meditation He had as Isha before He took on the mantle of the Christ. Framed in my mind like a picture, I remember it clearly now, nearly two thousand years later.

1. For an excellent portrait of Him, go to, Look at "Age 8, second picture".
http://artakiane.com/gallery.html
That's almost exactly what Isha looked like! She certainly got the eyes correct. His eyes would change color depending upon his mood. His mouth was fuller and more sensuous, but the hair color is correct. Sometimes after a lot of sun it became redder. His hair was a bit longer and His neck very muscular. This guy was over 6 feet tall, maybe 6'5", athletic build, nothing like the wimp He's portrayed as being. This was back when most people were fairly small.

Last edited by lorae (Tue 15th Feb 2011 01:26 pm)

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#5 Sun 14th Mar 2010 03:44 pm

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
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Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

THE SPRING FESTIVAL



Later, Isha’s Mother, my Auntie Miriam, came out of the house. Although She was my Father’s cousin, I called Her “Auntie", because She belonged to his age group. Her light brown hair shone with blonde highlights in the sunlight. About five-and-one-half feet in height, tall for that time, Auntie Miriam had large deep greenish-blue eyes and clear light olive skin. Her face showed strength and character, with a beautiful straight nose, full mouth, curved jaw and excellent white teeth. Wearing a long gown of the same blue as the northwest sky, She briskly started down the steps at the left of the terrace. Isha and I went with Her. Following the rocky narrow foot-trail through the high bushes below the house, we made our way down the hill to the city. Isha carried me on His right bare shoulder, because the path was rough and steep, but also, I think, because He wanted to carry me. I snatched pink and white blossoms off prickly branches as we passed.

Isha left us. I ran on short legs after Auntie through the narrow streets. In the market place, crowds of people good-naturedly jostled each other about. Family members who had gathered from the countryside for this annual holiday happily greeted distant relatives. From my perspective, all I could see were hairy legs and dirty sandaled feet. Much food had been put out—fruits were piled high, and, oh, the honey cakes! Honey cakes were light-colored breads about four inches in diameter, flat, slightly puffy, crunchy and delightfully sweet. I ate them and ate them; then, when I wasn’t being watched, I blissfully ate some more.

In late morning, I held Auntie’s hand as we walked in serious quiet to the Temple. Enormous square rock columns, ancient as the Tribes of Israel, imbued this silent holy place with an atmosphere of peace and authority. The arched spaces gave a sense of openness, and it seemed as if we were outside. The women sat behind a curtain on a balcony about half a floor high. Cuddled in the serenity of Auntie Miriam’s lap, I felt drowsy and dream-like from eating so many sweets.

We watched the priests below us. They wore magnificent royal blue robes trimmed with gold, crimson and purple sashes. Ceremoniously, they paced with formal steps over large black, white and rust-red diamond-shaped tiles. At intervals, they shook shiny brass bells while reciting from a sacred scroll in deep resonant voices. I smelled whiffs of incense as a smoky plume curled above a raised stone altar. Later, dressed in white and standing alone, the tenor priest-singer threw his voice to echo at the far reaches of the temple and across the men sitting on the floor below him. First he chanted a line, which was repeated by the men below. After they had gone through a few lines or a verse, the priest-singer sang the whole verse and the men repeated it. To fit the hypnotic form of the music (in the key of A-flat minor), some of the lines were repeated as a chorus. I heard the women around me quietly joining in; I’m not sure they were supposed to sing, yet the song was so lovely that it was difficult not to. This is the prayer they sang to a melody from times of old:
   
                                             

HOLY IS THY NAME

Oh beautiful is Thy world,
And how great is Thy Love,
All that we know is of Thee
And Holy is Thy Name.

Thou art our life in this Earth.
And all that we have is of thee,
Blessed is our life in this world.
And Holy is Thy Name.

Lift up our hearts to the mountain glories.
Give us the sight of angels.
Blessed are we to be of Thee,
And Holy is Thy Name.

May we hear their great choir sending love to us
Like waves of sunshine and rain.
Blessed are we to be in this world,
And Holy is Thy Name.

Hear us, Oh Holy One,
That we might dwell
In the heart of Thy glory forever.
Blessed is our life in this world.
And Holy is Thy Name.

With love everlasting,
Infinitely expanding,
Ever again, again and again.
And Holy is Thy Name.


Chorus:

O nameless is Thy glory, 
O nameless is Thy Name,
Blessed are we to be of Thee,
And Holy is Thy Name

Last edited by lorae (Tue 15th Feb 2011 01:42 pm)

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#6 Sun 14th Mar 2010 03:53 pm

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
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Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

THE FIRST WORDS AT THE TEMPLE

In the temple courtyard after the ceremony, Isha sat on a low rock wall, now wearing his beautiful, almost ankle-length cloak of pure white linen. He began to speak in a strange high-timbered voice, not normal for him: “My brothers, this is a fine festival and a beautiful holy day, as are all days of the Lord. Holy, Holy, Holy is His Name."

Rapidly striding by, a tall young rabbinical student stopped short and turned around. He wore a vertically striped wool coat, worn and faded and barely covering his thin knees. A pointed nose led his narrow pimpled face, and he had frizzy tufts of reddish blonde hair as nervous as himself. In a high, sharp and querulous voice, he loudly asked, “What did you say? What does this mean?"

Isha answered, “I mean that God is in His holy temple within man and without. His grace and His kindness are within all things and all His people, for this is Holiness."

Quietly sitting on the wall next to Isha, a handsome dark-haired man, my Grandpa Joseph (Joseph of Arimathaea) appeared to be intently interested in this moment. Although middle-aged, he looked younger. His dignified muscular body was dressed in silks of bright colors. A trimmed dark brown beard framed his full mouth and prominent nose beneath a sun-tanned high forehead. As if on cue, he leaned toward Isha and sighed in a flowing deep voice, showing straight white teeth, “My brother, you speak as one who knows. Tell me on what authority you say these words."

Isha said, “I and My Father are one. I speak, and He speaks according to His Will through my lips. I do not control God. God controls me. This is a Holy Alliance. I speak to you as an interpreter and spokesman for our Father, for He wishes to speak to His children on this holy day of our nation of Israel, and you are to know from His Words who you are and how beloved you are to Him.

"Because you are His children, you live in a state of grace. Understand that everything you think and do is holy. We are within God, and we, oh beautiful brothers and sisters, are a manifestation of God. The ground we walk on is holy. The air we breathe is holy. The water we drink is holy. The food we eat is holy. Even our bodily wastes are holy. All the world surrounding us is holy.

“Listen to the birds in the morning, for they are God’s spirit speaking to you. Listen. Listen. Be still and listen, for God is in His heaven, which is all about us, and all is holy.

“Peace be with you, and joy be ever unfolding in your hearts and in the heavens about you. God’s love be with you. AMEN"


Isha got up and walked away. Only the priests were allowed to speak so, and three old men sitting in a row on the wall like a carving in bas-relief shook their long beards and gray heads as they stared after Him in shock.

Last edited by lorae (Tue 15th Feb 2011 01:47 pm)

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#7 Sun 14th Mar 2010 04:01 pm

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
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Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

THE WOMEN AT THE WELL



The wells served as the communication focus for all news, and information might have spread faster through a town in those days than now with all our communication networks. The women came to the well for water several times in a day, and no events went unreported for very long—that’s why we have many stories of biblical men meeting women at the well. Even the water itself, being receptive, held that information for the persons who drank it.

I walked with Auntie Miriam and others from our neighborhood. When we came to a wide and dusty public courtyard we saw three young women getting water at a well. This well, an ancient hole in the ground, twelve-feet deep by seven-feet wide, was in the center of the paved area under a gnarled old tree. Worn steps led down toward the water from an opening in the low rock wall around it.

The women had been talking about Isha, who was standing apart from them across the dusty rock-paved courtyard. He seemed to be leaning against a high wall partly covered with a white-flowered climbing bush. They asked each other who He was.

On the steps, a sturdy young woman lowered a wooden bucket on a thick tattered rope. Wearing a gown of deep dusty-rose, she showed the world that she was newly married by the wrap of the same color over her thick curly black hair. Energetically lifting the heavy bucket of water, she announced in a loud brassy voice, “I think He’s the young troublemaker who’s been talking about God all around town."

Another one remarked, “Maybe he’s crazy!" Then a dark-haired young woman, speaking quietly in a pleasing musical voice, said, “Many believe Him and like Him, because He speaks with authority, as though He knows more about God than anyone."

She saw Isha start to walk away down a shadowed narrow lane and impulsively said, “He’s going my way; I think I will follow." Dressed in white and gracefully carrying a turquoise jug of water on her shoulder, she walked after him, stopping within hearing when he paused to talk to a shopkeeper standing in the lane. As she approached, she heard the shopkeeper objecting, “That can’t be so. I don’t believe you." And Isha answered, “So be it then, my brother, but the day will come when more than a few men will agree with me, for they will see with their own eyes new things of God’s powerful ways working through man’s lowly estate. Good day, my brother."1. The shopkeeper wagged his head and retreated into his shop.

Isha had known that she would follow Him and felt her presence behind Him. He turned His head, greeting her with a smile, saying gently with great love, “You, too, my sister, shall know more about me in the days to come. May the peace of understanding enter your heart. God be with you."

Isha called everyone brother and sister, because we are all the children of God. He never singled Himself out as divinely different.




1. The day coming that the Master spoke of is now! The woman who followed will be important for Him in this time.

Last edited by lorae (Tue 15th Feb 2011 03:53 pm)

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#8 Sun 14th Mar 2010 04:06 pm

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
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Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

THE HOUSEHOLD OF ISHA AND MIRIAM



Most of the time, traveling between towns, we walked. And we had walked to the Holy City for this spring holiday. While we were returning home, a long journey for my short legs, I became cranky and difficult. The afternoon was hot, and I wanted to sleep due to the after-effects of too many honey cakes that day. Everyone stopped for my nap—it was time for the afternoon rest anyway—but I was spoiled, and thoroughly enjoyed it. We walked late into the evening, rested, and arrived home late the next morning. Isha did not return with us.

We lived in a small three-room adobe and stone house on a southeast-facing hillside to the southeast of the town. The house was simple, consisting of a spotlessly clean bare tile and dirt floor with a main room that held a few large chests and one low table. Even in the cold season, open window shutters let in fresh air. We cooked at ground level and ate sitting on low cushioned stools or on rugs. In hot weather we sometimes slept on the roof, reached by outside adobe stairs. Normally, we slept inside on the floor, curled up in woolen cloaks that served as combination mats and blankets. There were no particular sleeping places or routine, and many guests came and went at all times.

Outside, a small brook paused near the house to give us a reflecting pool for meditation. Scattered about the bare courtyard and by the windows, flowering shrubs were homes for birds and little bees in the sun. Isha and His Mother had a special affection for growing flowers, and something was always in bloom at all times of the year. That courtyard, though Spartan in its simplicity, was a magical place for me. Many varieties of birds lived in the shrubs, and if I became still, they would come to rest on my shoulders or outstretched hand. I spent many happy hours there.

We were never sick, nor were our animals or plants. We gave everything lots of clean fresh water. Unlike most of the people of that time, we bathed every day and always wore clean clothing.  Such habits are typical now, but at that time, such an emphasis on cleanliness was extremely unusual.

With strong capable hands, Auntie Miriam efficiently managed Her daily tasks, caring for a small vineyard, a vegetable garden, a spice garden, chickens and goats. She was a genius at practicality and an artist at creating beautiful home surroundings, often out of what seemed to be rather unpromising material. I learned true hospitality from living in that household. Dependable, loving and understanding, She was a perfect mother and a source of peace and security for everyone (as She is for all of us, forever). As for me, I was always a very good little girl for that Lady. I knew that Joseph, her husband, was present in spirit in the home, though I couldn’t see him. She and Isha had an intense inner bond and communicated constantly without speech. Miriam and Isha rarely spoke, but when they did, they spoke carefully and with great effect, as if in ceremony.

There were helpers in the kitchen, older girls from Miriam’s extended family, which was extensive indeed. My little chore was to gather the eggs from my beloved chickies. Nearly everyone in the community was related to Miriam, as were my parents, who had a house there. As was typical of a household consisting of a widow and her children at that time, the whole town cared for them, giving them love and support. Friends and relatives were in and out, often leaving various things. My father and his wealthy brother, Solomon, brought gifts of food, supplies and clothing to the home, staying overnight many times.
I wasn’t the only relative living in that household as close family; Auntie brought several children to live with Her and Isha.

Josa (Yosa) was one; she had spent her childhood in Herod’s palace. Miriam brought this lost little girl home from the square. She had seen the round-faced, black-haired child with the mark of the royal family on her forehead wistfully looking at Her many times. Another baby girl in the royal household meant little, and Josa had been barely cared for, merely having a place to sleep at night and being protected on the streets by the diamond mark on her forehead. Even though Josa resisted by throwing subdued temper-tantrums, Miriam taught her to cook, wash clothes and to perform other household skills so that she might eventually take a place in society as a wife and mother.

At fifteen, Yosa married an older, somewhat portly, but well-off shepherd. This happened before Isha returned from his travels and studies, and thus she never met the Master. She was one of those who listened to me when I spoke to the shepherds after the crucifixion. Living in that household was an experience etched in our minds with loving fire, never to be forgotten, not in a thousand years, not in two thousand years.

I never returned to my parents’ home. Living in Auntie’s household was wonderful. I adored Isha, and always will. Always. I identified with Him completely, feeling tired when he was tired and happy when he was happy. I had an intense interest in His teachings, and even though I was small, I felt a fierce desire to protect and help Him. He knew how much I cared for Him and He did appreciate it.

Here is a little singsong I sang to myself over and over when I was outside:

“Isha in the flowers.
  Isha in my buggies.
  Isha in my chickies.
  Isha in the sky.
  Isha love me."

After Isha took on the Christhood, He became more serious, even remote. He rarely played with me as He had done so often when I was younger. However, one morning when I was three years old, He and I were waiting under a tree in front of a relative’s house. This was the home of the girl who later had the wedding where He manifested the wine. We played a silent kind of peek-a-boo game. I darted behind Him, then peeked around in front where our eyes met in delight. Then I scooted around behind Him again to repeat the same thing on His other side.

We stopped when the girl who was to be married looked out the upstairs window.

Other than the time at the Essenes (in a later chapter), Isha never held me again after carrying me down the hill to the festival. So many times in the past we had played when He had sung to me, told me stories and was my most favorite person. Now He had taken on greater duties, and He belonged to the children of the world. I felt abandoned.

From the beginning of His ministry we of the household were careful not to carelessly touch Him, because His body had been charged at a molecular level with the Christ. When He held or touched others, it was with great intent and purpose—that’s why He felt a shock when the sick woman touched His clothes.

Isha had a formal, priestly air about Him and lived His whole life as a Holy Ceremony. Because He understood that His speech carried great power, He spoke precisely, and His words were always perfect as if they came from a sacred text—no idle chitchat from that Man. He was aware of Himself and His place in the world at all times; and even walking across a room was deliberately performed with ceremonial consideration and care.

I never heard Him mention anything about a Messiah, though I would imagine that He was well aware of the expectations people had at that time. He called everyone brother or sister and didn’t proclaim Himself as any more than that. No miracles were needed in that household, and none were performed. He didn’t work at any manual labor as part of His daily routine - in other words, no carpentry work - though He was quick to help when needed, and handled the material world with ease and efficiency. He lived only to teach, and the household existed to support Him. The extended family were also supportive of His Mission, and supplied Miriam’s house with everything we needed. I knew nothing of Isha’s royal lineage of the House of David. It was never spoken of; but the very fact that Great Uncle Zebedee was the owner and custodian of a sacred spring written of in the Holy Books (which information was kept private to keep some Roman officer or official from confiscating the property for himself) perhaps meant that the extended family had been charged with some special duties.

Life was very quiet and serene in that home. There was little talk, but much mind-to-mind communication—most of the words of the Master were spoken at night in the classes. In the mornings He went off to the pool to meditate and usually was gone before noon, sometimes not to return for weeks. The household existed for the sole purpose of giving Him rest, quiet and replenishment. We maintained the home as a power center for the Master. Someone, usually John or I in later years, was always there, always meditating, even while working at a household task, keeping a focus of love and steadfast energy on Isha and His mission. We did this, not as an onerous exercise, but gladly, with devotion. We all followed the example of His Mother, living only to support Isha with energy, care and love. She helped His human self to stay focused and clear of human fractiousness. As the Christ overshadowed Him more and more, She also became almost super-human and was always a light at His side, enormously strong and never wavering from Her concentration on Their Mission.

Last edited by lorae (Tue 15th Feb 2011 02:04 pm)

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#9 Thu 30th Dec 2010 07:29 am

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
Website

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

LAZARUS AND MARTHA

Lazarus was a well-educated intellectual who regularly met with a group of Essenes for study and meditation. Quiet, reliable and even-tempered, he was tall and slender and had almost-balding, thin sandy neck-length hair. I especially remember watching him gesture with large bony hands and long fingers as he explained to me why people and the world were the way they were, or rather, why others were upset with me. I would go to him at these times, and with patience and understanding in his pale gray eyes, he would calm me, but also bring me to see how I had brought this trouble onto myself.

Lazarus and Martha had a deep affection for each other and lived together before Mary Magdalene came to stay with them. Sometimes their father, an older man, came to visit them, often accompanied by a little beady-eyed girl near my age, a younger half-sister. This little girl and I silently glared at each other the few times we met.

Martha was much as the Bible depicts her--modest, practical, hard-working, dependable and nice--like Auntie Miriam. A blonde, handsome, solid women with large strong hands, she didn’t speak much, but radiated peace and comfort. Unlike most other adults who usually became irritated at my energetic behavior, Martha understood, and was patient with me and never short-tempered. The cool serenity of her house seemed a haven from the outside world, and I liked to go there because she made honey cakes, too.

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#10 Thu 30th Dec 2010 07:45 am

lorae
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From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009
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Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book

THE SECOND SPRING FESTIVAL

At the time of the second spring festival, we hiked far out into the foothills to an estate owned by my great-uncle Zebedee. At that place, the extended family had gathered around the central focus of the grounds, a deep, clear pond about one hundred feet long by fifty feet wide. Ancient trees gave dappled shade to large flat-topped rocks around the eastern edge. This pond was fed by a large underwater spring, and seemed so magical to me that I thought that even the birds in the tall old shrubs sang of wonderful secrets. From time immemorial, a story in the Holy Books had described this spring as Sacred Ground, and the family had cherished and cared for it for many generations.

Most of the families had brought tents, and the men and boys had put up a tent city of all the stripes and colors of Joseph’s coat. In such an encampment, we could almost forget our present domesticated lives and imagine that we were wild desert nomads again as in ancestral times. However, Uncle Solomon and Auntie Sara, incorrigible city dwellers that they were, chose to stay in Zebedee’s villa to the east of the spring.

Uncle Zebedee, my Grandfather Joseph’s brother, was married to my other Aunt Miriam, who was much younger than he. She was great friends with Auntie Sara, the wife of Uncle Solomon, my father’s brother. They lived in the house on the east hill in Jerusalem. Although Miriam and Sara would have liked to play the part of snobbish society ladies, they were held to good behavior by their husbands.

Zebedee, an elder of the family whom everyone looked up to to take care of things, mediated family disputes. A wise and exalted person, he was well respected in the community, and acted as judge for the family, which was to say the whole town. Above medium height, spare, erect and dignified, he had a long white beard and long, thick wavy white hair. A broad high forehead above a large hooked nose gave his face a look of authority, and his lively blue eyes missed nothing. As an All-Knowing One, an Essene title, he had planned this gathering.

I saw him briskly walking about in his bright blue robe, speaking to this group and that, gently and masterfully keeping all arrangements coordinated.

Counting the children, there were between two and three hundred people present. Almost everyone wore white or light pastels for this special festival in this sacred place. On big flat rocks near the pond, musicians sitting in the shade of a tall tree filled the morning with wispy melody. A young man played a flute and another strummed a flat instrument. Several others took turns softly playing two small drums while a beautiful young woman sang in a contralto voice.

Women bustled about preparing the feast, and we children had been told to not get under-foot. The men of the family helped too, because all were equal, even the servants, who were relatives.

This day I became four years old, and I felt quite grown up in my new light blue dress. My parents had also bought new sandals for me, but I left them in a special place in the rocks to be put on later—my bare feet loved the feel of the earth, rocks and plants. We children ran and played. We were lively but not quarrelsome, never fighting over things or hitting each other. We were sweet children, at least that day. Some of the very young children took off their new clothes and were happily splashing in a shallow end of the pond, but I felt too old to join in. I envied them.

Wandering about on the outskirts, I climbed a rocky knoll covered with wildflowers. When I looked up, I saw spirits—tall translucent beings reaching to the sky. With a start, I happened upon Grandfather Snake, self-possessed as ever and stretched out in the morning sun beneath a rock higher than my head. We stared at each other. I felt that he would have winked if he could, and I was glad he was going to be listening.

First I saw Grandfather Snake, then by peering around the huge boulders he was lying under, I spied Isha. He sat out on a flat rock wearing white and completely alone. Deep in meditation, Isha seemed to be a harmonious part of the landscape, very still and alive, like a tree. I knew not to bother Him, but I also knew that He was smiling inside at my furtive snooping.

He began to speak mid-morning, a gorgeous time in a beautiful place, surrounded by his loving, supportive family. He stood by the pool, facing the family gathered around. Affection filled the air, a happy, joyful moment in our lives, a moment of pure love. When Isha spoke, even the children were quiet—no one had to tell them to be quiet. Everyone listened.

http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b146/lorae41/isha%20book/teaching.jpg

This  is what He said:

"Gather around closely,
Oh beloved Brothers and Sisters,
For such we all are,
The children of God.

Even as we are close to one another in the joy of this moment,
We celebrate this day of festivity of spring,
Another holy beginning,
As is every day and second of our lives.

The full moon we will see rise tonight,
Will appear from behind the hill of trees,
Giving us a special light,
The light of the Father,
Sending his message of love to our souls.

A message of the purity of the heavens,
To His Children,
Who will be gathered here at this holy place,
To participate in the ceremony at the beginning
Of this new spring time,
A time of great love and glory
Which we will live in with Our Father,
Who gives us abundant and extravagant love.

This moon will send its light from the hilltop
To the pond, to deep in the pond,
To the depths of Mother Earth and back again,
Apparently reflecting from the surface
Of this water to our eyes and souls.

This new season beginning,
The springtime of this era,
Will create a memory of great wonder.
Will fill our minds and hearts with the new age to come.
An age of creativity, love and beauty,
Such as this world has not known before.

The creation of this new age
Will begin in our minds as a desire,
A desire for the peace and joy we once knew
In the home of Our Father in Heaven.

The fresh new energy of this spring life
Will fill our souls with happiness.
The soft sweet wind of Earth
Will blow gently in our faces,

The breathing and feeling of it will remind us
Of our home with Our Father;
And we will feel a sweet, sad remembrance
Of happiness long ago, a joyful anticipation
Of living life on a star,
From whence we came.

This wind comes from we know not,
And flies across the land to the sea,
A mystery to our souls.

We live here on our Mother, the Earth,
Enjoying Her loveliness;
Yet we know not from whence cometh our very bodies.
From whence cometh our lives in awareness of the infinite?

We see the shoots of green sprouting,
The buds on branches growing,
And the flowering of life in all its glory;
But from whence does all of this issue?

A sweet mystery.
The Mystery of Life.

To the mind, centered on God,
All these things we see, feel and are,
Become part of God's Holy Realm.
Think of these flowers growing,
These wise old rocks and trees about this pond.
Always here in radiant glory,
From now to the end of time.

All this is ours to have,
Surrounding us with the infinite care of Mother Earth,
Reminding us of the presence of Our Father,
And showing us the way to perfect love.

In your devotions,
The living of your very lives,
Every breath, Every thought,
Every word, Every action,
Is indeed a Prayer of Joy with the Father.

It is in the seeking that we find.
It is in the desire and effort that we find the joy of being
With the Great Unknown,
Our Father, Who Art in Heaven.

So it is that in this day in which the Glory of God
Shines forth upon this Land,
This beautiful Mother Earth of ours,
Adorned with fragrant flowers and caressed with gentle breezes,
That we gather about the cool waters of this sacred pool.

A family of love,
A chosen family of glowing light.
Children, Fathers, Mothers, Grandchildren,
Aunts, Uncles, Fathers and Kin,
We are as one.

With our feet dusted liberally
With the Blessings of Our Mother, the Earth,
With our bodies clothed and nurtured
By the gifts of this loving planet,

With much wealth in our possession which blesses us in many ways,
We are happy to be a part of Earth Life,
Gladly becoming more and more attuned
To the natural beauty of life around us, and within us.

Breathe in this glorious air
And feel great joy.
Breathe out this air
And send joy out to our world.

Herein lies a Secret:
Between the in-breath and the out-breath
Is an opportunity for the conception of our lives,
And the ages to come.

For this is a Moment,
A Sacred Moment of Creation:
A precious Moment,
In which a man, woman, or child
Can imagine what is to be,
What was and what is.

Can create the Nows of tomorrow
And all the Nows of eternity,
Today, Yesterday, and Forever.

The infilling brings vitality into the being or situation.
This energy creates a new manifestation of Life.
The breathing out is the outworking this new vitality.

Thus, our very lives are created.
Therefore, let us align ourselves with this moment of Nature's Beauty
And become One with the Creator.

As He creates the eons of time with His Breath,
So do we, His Children,
Create the Nows of our lives
With our inbreath and outbreath.

By breathing in Divine Light
From the sun and the air,
Which is one with the Winds that caress the landscape,
We feel the energy and rapture of Our Father;
The inexpressible happiness of pure existence.

With the blessings of Mother Earth on our feet,
Even on our hands and heads,
We enjoy pure insight and being,
Being one with God,
And one with His Love.

We create anew.
Thus our next outbreath is fully revitalized;
And it goes out as a blessing of God's Holiness to this world,
And to all living creatures on this world.

So it was in days of old;
The days of our fathers of Israel,
And so it shall be in the days ahead.

Re-Creation means to go out
Into life's surrounds,
And infill with its essence of beauty.

Find that new Inspiration by letting go of the old,
And then, being infilled,
Infilled with the love and glory of Our Father's world,
Which He has given to us in love.

This is a sacred process.
This is the momentum
Of God's creativity
Continuing on within us.

Create.
And Create some more.
May His Love be with you,
And His Joy ever creating again and again,
Forever and Forever.
Peace be with you.
AMEN”


Isha was in the here and now for us, affirming and teaching us that we were God's Children co-creating with God:  He had reverence for the Earth and spoke of our relationship to Her many times.

Afterwards we had a delicious feast.  I was a skinny, hyperactive child who ate enormous amounts of food for my size.  I ecstatically tasted, then gobbled all the different dishes.  Especially fascinating were the many kinds of small flat cakes, some of which were delightfully sweet.  I drank an effervescent kefir-like drink, and greedily carried off round concoctions of nuts for eating later.  I saw fruits set out in geometric color arrangements, expressing a reverence for the shape of the fruit and the way it looked, to enjoy it simply as it came from the Earth.  I don't recall, in the years that I lived in that family, that they had any particular prohibition against eating meat.  Even the Christ himself would go out with anyone and eat whatever they had, making the point that all the priestly laws regarding diet were ridiculous.

During the quiet in the middle of the day a small group of men walked off with Isha and met under a tree.  I had been told to lie down for a nap, and did so near them.  These men were regulars at Isha's talks in the evenings, and had a few pointed questions about the talk of the morning:  Uncle Shmael asked, "And, my brother, tell me if you will, how is it that even the smallest children among us are able to know when they must sit and listen quietly?"

Isha answered, "My brother, indeed even those most directly from the far side of life know the laws, for it is no secret that the spirit of man must obey.  These little ones follow, more closely than the rear feet of animals which track their forefeet in the wilds.  So it is that as their elders listen, these children listen also, and their ability to absorb the higher meanings of my words would amaze you if you could but see their receptivity in full.  These little ones, especially in our family, have this ability to a great degree, for they have been anointed by the Father for special work on His behalf."

Joseph (Grandpa Joseph, my father's father, Joseph of Arimathaea) said, "Tell me, my lad, where do you find the most resistance to these fresh ideas of yours?  Is this family in any way your most difficult group?"

"No, not this family, but the greatest barriers are in the organized religious groups and their founders, for these have been charged with the duty of perpetuating their sect and their beliefs so that nothing changes.  Without change, all are dead.  Do you understand?"

Joseph answered, "Yes, but why have I taken so long to see this?  And I do see much good in the old ways."

"I know there is no possible way for men to obtain or keep all truth, yet all men, especially young men, have available directly from life true union, a direct pathway to truth.  In your youth as you raised questions with your elders, your questions and doubts derived from your inner communion with God.  But being one who desires peace, you accepted other views and forgot your own.  Remember that truth comes in pieces, flashes of intuition, and repeatedly, unless blocked out by disbelief."

Joseph said, "Thank you.  I know."

Cousin Peter, a small thoughtful younger man, asked, "Why are we here this moment and this day as we are?"

"We are here by the grace of God, by our desires to be.  It is this desire to experience life which draws us into embodiment.  It is this dynamic which supplies the seed, as it were, to generate into this family those whose past experiences together focus on a step--as you will--which holds for each one an opportunity to advance in beingness.

Similarly, this day is like all other days in that it is unlike all other days.  Within this dichotomy lies the import and reason for being.  Thus we have the necessity to be aware of this moment in time, and, with it all rewards available at this moment, which can become obvious to us by surveying this landscape.  The family upon its face listens to the murmur of peaceful voices, the rush of air sweetened by flowers and the sparkling water reflecting dynamic rays of sunshine.

"But beyond that, the inner heart of man reaches out to an infinite meadow of beauty of music of perfection which knows no end, but which is just as real as it is unseen by mortal eyes.  My brothers, this scene before us is but a reflection of that which exists but unseen.
 
"There are no ends, no fatal moments, nothing but passing effortlessly between two poles, if you like, of existence. 

"Each has its purpose, each brings its music, and each has its celestial beauty."


It was easier for Him that day to teach the family than when He taught the rabbis at night, because the rabbis' minds were so cluttered with intellectualism's that sometimes a simple matter of which He was speaking here did not seem to penetrate.  However, the family, for the most part, understood Him immediately, and was receptive to His words.  Love filled the air, making this a wonderful experience.  It was our desire that that day be perfect, and it was.

From two to four in the afternoon everyone took a nap.  When the shadows were longer, we all went down to the water.  Clearly mirroring the old trees, the pool reflected the late afternoon sun and tuffs of clouds in a blue sky.  Softly brushing our faces with gentle kisses, the warm dry Wind-child of Spring whispered of spring blossoms and new life.

At that time, I felt that we and the world around us existed in perfect synchronization, the moment caught in a forever golden dream.  Even the white lilies overhanging the pond seemed to glow of brilliant rainbow colors.  As He waited to speak, our beloved Isha sat quietly by the pond.  I thought, "I want this moment to last forever.  I want this to last forever."

Fascinated, we children got up close to hear.  From his perspective, looking at our sweet, innocent faces, He loved us so very much, wishing that the people all the time could be like these children, open and hungry for His words and so understanding.  He sent us a burst of energy, surrounding us with an aura of enormous affection.  I felt enveloped in an overwhelming strong white warmth, a communication of pure admiration, saying, "I like you.  I think you're beautiful."

Looking expectantly at Him through bright shiny eyes, we thought He was wonderful.  It was as if we were sealed off from eternity in a timeless world of powerful energy formed by the circle of love between Isha and us.

He began to speak:

"A flower like this one (He pointed.)
Grew close enough to the edge of the water
To see into it.
Flower watched the blue sky,
The white clouds,
The sun, the rain,
And the bees.

Flower felt the kindness
Of Mother Earth
Feeding with love
Its stem, its leaves and its head.

So it was that one day
A cold wind came,
And it, the flower,
Knew that the time had arrived
For seeds to be made.
These seeds blew
Across the land and the water.
One day new plants with flowers grew
From those seeds around the pond.

The new flower watched in the water
The blue sky, the white clouds,
The sun, the rain,
And Lady Bee,
Who came to enjoy the sweet honey
Which flower gave with love.

The sweetness of life
Is all around us, children,
As flowers around mothers and fathers,
All can give the sweet honey of life to one another,
And to strangers like Lady Bee.
In love, and with sweetness.

For one day, the cold wind will blow,
And seed time will come.
Little flowers, little flower seeds,
Will travel across the land and the water
To find new homes,
But always upon the beauty
Of Mother Earth.(1.)

So it is that we give love to our families
And sweetness to all strangers we do not know;
For this is the law of life on Earth,
That we share the sweet home of life
With all others."





1."To find new homes, but always upon the beauty of Mother Earth," meant that this family would in later lives settle in the area now known as the United States; first as American Indians, then as white people of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Last edited by lorae (Tue 15th Feb 2011 03:54 pm)

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