( from new manuscript of short stories about books:
A Window on Reality
I simply stared at
it a moment, in some confusion. Then quite suddenly I realized what it was that I
was seeing, and spoke out: ‘There’s a
window in the tree!’ Gold, shining, brilliant, a ray of evening sunlight was reflecting from it; one brief stolen glint almost too bright to behold. I was astonished. It was totally surreal. Here was something beyond what the world contained. Suddenly I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging elsewhere.
I suppose I was half asleep . . . which wasn't surprising, really; often when I was reading, or writing I would ‘let go’ so much I could have fallen asleep. And this time, with my fingers on the keyboard, I was writing . . . outside . . . my way of doing it is perhaps far from ‘normal.’ Long ago I had discovered that when it was time for my daily task of writing, the less I had in my head when I began, the more I had in the spirit as I flowed, all unthinkingly; or, the more I had to rely upon my spirit to write for me, whatever was needed; and it did.
And so it was that without really thinking about it, I looked up, at our massive tree, which was in front of where I was sitting, and saw there was a window in it.
A wooden framed window it was; set quite low, near the base of the trunk. Later of course, I understood its own natural way of getting there, but at first, I knew only the fact that it was there, and it was perfect.
I suppose I was half asleep . . . which wasn't surprising, really; often when I was reading, or writing I would ‘let go’ so much I could have fallen asleep. And this time, with my fingers on the keyboard, I was writing . . . outside . . . my way of doing it is perhaps far from ‘normal.’ Long ago I had discovered that when it was time for my daily task of writing, the less I had in my head when I began, the more I had in the spirit as I flowed, all unthinkingly; or, the more I had to rely upon my spirit to write for me, whatever was needed; and it did.
And so it was that without really thinking about it, I looked up, at our massive tree, which was in front of where I was sitting, and saw there was a window in it.
A wooden framed window it was; set quite low, near the base of the trunk. Later of course, I understood its own natural way of getting there, but at first, I knew only the fact that it was there, and it was perfect.
I continued staring at it, but without
blinking. Had I blinked maybe it would have disappeared? As I peered, through
half shut eyes, the blinding golden light dimmed, and I saw through the window.
Presumably it was enabling me to see inside the trunk because it was through the
window that I looked and suddenly saw a library. What appeared to
be a beautiful library was there inside the tree! My view of it opened up immediately. I caught a glimpse of hundreds of living shelves lining a circular inner room reaching high
up into the tree. Glorious golden books were there filling every shelf giving
a warm glow to everything. There were tall creamy candles in carved wooden
candlesticks and cradled doves in angels’ wings.
I heard the voice of a child speak to me.
‘They’re all here!’
she said, ‘Every one of them!’ I knew
immediately what she meant and I understood. ‘See! Here are all the books you wrote when you were very, very young.
The ones you began but never finished. You loved them, and so they are here! They are all here!’
My gaze then fell
to lower shelves; and I heard her gentle voice say, ‘These are the books you
wanted to write but never did.’ I heard the warmth of a smile in her voice, as
she beamed towards me a wave of unutterable love. ‘Over there,’ she said, pointing
to an even lower shelf, ‘are the ones you didn’t know you wanted to write but
would have had you only known;’ she paused, smiled, ‘Judith, you are loved. And
we want you to know that. This is the Library of Good Intentions. It is very
real, you know. It will be waiting for you when you come: joy is here; and love:
fulfillment beyond your own ability to imagine!’
Though it has taken
me some minutes to describe, actually all this took place in only a split
second! One brief seeing to take in and perceive all this! But it was a moment outside of time and place, where everything is now and as it has been
and always will be, and yet, ever increasing and expanding without end.
And the wooden window: The Window on Reality? How
on earth did it get to be in a tree?
The pair of
them were very busy cleaning out the shed. The pile of rubbish outside of it
was steadily growing. Then they felt they ought to get everything out, so
that they could clean it really properly. So the things that were to go back into
the shed were put opposite the pile of rubbish.
I could
half-see all this industrious work going on, through the intervening bushes,
from my vantage point. I was sitting on the old blue sofa on the front
verandah, with my legs up and snuggled in a blue blanket, writing, and resting,
alternately. Absentmindedly I watched them carrying out many bits and pieces of
long forgotten junk; and then, carefully manhandling the thing between them, setting
it down away from the rubbish, leaning it against our huge old pohutakawa tree.
And this is how I saw the coming of the
demolition window, and how it got to be ‘in the tree;’ which was altogether a kind
of irrelevant happening that I didn’t take
in before; it was only afterwards that I did. Fortunately, the window
was not considered rubbish! And, mercifully, it helped administer ‘an eternal second’ of precious comfort, and in a time of a particular need of it. The longing of every human heart is
seen and known: we are all loved!
*
From the Book of Life my loosed leaf pages . . .
Hearts
of pearls, and shining things . . .
The sequins on the dress I’d wear
When I was taken there . . .
The secret things I had longed and hoped for
But never, ever, dreamed of . . .
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