Story: 11. ) Gift of a Book

 from . . . A BOOK IS LIKE A SACRED ISLE . . . 

The rose opens…powered by light

Infused…and energized…the gift of pages

Releases a fragrant life...

Taken out of heart…to give from itself…its love

           Gift of a Book

    What better gift than a book? It can change a life for good. What better personal outlay or stretch of the wallet, than that for a book for the stretching of something greater, personal insides. It is a wise investment for a more expansive future. Untold wealth lies in the power of a book. Conveying ideas that can spark a chain of thought linking synchronizing incidents in our lives, a book can launch one upon a new journey, a new venture into previously unexplored territory.

   I didn’t know the dynamic reality of this until a lovely French girl, who had stayed with us for a few weekends gave my son a parting gift. She was on a working holiday and wanting to continue her ‘overseas experience,’ in other lands; but she had wanted to give something of herself to him before she left; and it was in a book.

   The novel she gave him had obviously profoundly moved her; there was a long handwritten message on the flyleaf. My son enjoyed the book, and lent it to me to read when he was finished with it. He could see I was strangely attracted to it; and no less so than by her message. She said it was ‘her favourite book,’ and ‘like her Bible.’ I was intrigued. When I picked it up it fell open where there was a folded piece of paper, a printed form---a “Renewal of Motor Vehicle Licence” form---and in the section (appropriately) titled “Change of Address” there was a quote from the book filling the lines written in my son’s beautiful handwriting. ‘This natural world is only an image and a copy of paradise. The existence of this world is simply a guarantee that there exists a world that is perfect. God created the world so that through its visible objects, men could understand his spiritual teachings and marvels of his wisdom.’

   This book The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho, was a worldwide bestseller in the late 80’s and through the 90’s. This particular edition, hardcover, published by HarperCollins Publishers Inc., New York, 1998, is still on bookshop shelves or still in print in 2015.

   It was a gentle fable; reminiscent of Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s meaningful tale of The Little Prince; and it was this likeness that made me very much attracted to it.

   I read it avidly, and was impressed. But, overall, my greatest impression was that the wisdom and insight it taught was that which had been outgrown: namely, the wellbeing of the soul focusing on its material gain. It was “an entrepreneurial tale of universal wisdom we can apply to the business of our own lives;” (Spencer Johnson, M.D.)…and, as such, it was brilliant. Yet this wise and beautiful book went ‘so far,’ but no further. And I knew there was more; much ‘more.’   

  Very ‘quickly’ The Alchemist worked its magic within and awakened something; it spurred me onward, to go through with what was already waiting and bursting for expression. It was a timely and most significant gift. The book became for me a springboard, the needed impetus to rise above one ‘good,’ for another ‘good;’ to move from one level of understanding, on to the next: from soul, to what was beyond. I was fired to write a book of my own, and filled with enthusiasm to impart through a simple story another way of seeing and living.

  Throughout our lives we regularly have to think about buying, or making loved ones and others gifts. There are anniversaries of all kinds to celebrate, and the acknowledgements of our regards, the marking of various events; and the landmarks in people’s lives, to help make more significant and understood. There are endless reasons for giving. Maybe the giving of a book, over and against an inanimate object could convey more, or be a more thoughtful, living thing. Books have life.

  Not always is a reason needed for the giving of a gift. Spontaneous ‘brainwaves’ in our desire to reach people could make us think along new lines, and from out of the things we ourselves read in a much enjoyed book inspire us to share what we have found with our friends as we pass the book on, or buy them their own copy.

   Perhaps we don’t fully realize how much we can enthuse or influence, or add to others lives with the gift of a book; we do not know how far reaching our loving actions are, but that they are effectual is certain; for love and truth have a life of their own. And, more than anything else, the joy is all the more ours, and made our gift, knowing that we have extended ourselves; thought a bit further, and given a part of ourselves from out of our innermost being, where life is. Creative ideas are ready to flow unstinted when we have the good and wellbeing of another in our hearts and minds.  …Books change lives. So they are, truly, a gift! 

                                                      

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Story: 8. ) The Poplar & the Creek / from A BOOK IS LIKE A SACRED ISLE; A Rain of Booklight; A Book about Books

       The Poplar and the Creek

  We look for that which we know not. The intrinsic quest is always there it never leaves us. It is why we read books. But it is strange how we feel nearer to those unknown riches in the wilderness, in the outdoors, in the garden; or anywhere outside. And perhaps we haven’t fully realized the extent to which having an outdoor arbour in which to read can add to one’s life. I have found it quite amazing how the place where we read a book can add to the stretching our self-set limits and widen our lives.
   Down by the tidal creek at the bottom of the steep grassy hill that our house is built on is a huge poplar. It looks about a hundred feet high. It towers above the house. This grand denizen the valley below used to dominate the view from the back windows, but in recent years an oak has shot up and blocked our view of it. Sad, because I used to delight in the sight of its shivery leaves flittering and sparkling catching the sunshine in the breeze.     The poplar’s great roots line the bank on the opposite side of the creek and travel underneath its bed for quite a long way. At the base of its wide trunk is a large cavern-like hollow; and up in a crevice of it safe above the flood line is a square red tin. The delights of a dreamer are in this ‘treasure chest.’
   This lone, tall poplar is a favourite thinking-and-writing place for me; just as our book-hammock is a favourite resting place in the hottest part of the year. With many manuka trees on either side of it, the creek below at its feet and a grazing paddock behind, it makes a lovely hideaway spot for an hour.
   I lean against a convenient chair-shaped curve in the trunk. My legs stretched out near the edge of the bank just above the sparkling water. I let go the inevitable pressures of the day to accomplish ‘this that and the other,’ and listen to the singing of the creek as it flows close by me. From far side from upstream it comes running in tiny rapids, then swirling and curving it pours into the little pool below the steep bank where I sit. Slowly it is eating away at the bank. Flooding from heavy rains has taken some of the earth away and the great strong roots of the poplar are more exposed now.   I have taken the tin from its hiding place. It is beside me, open. It is a lot rustier now and the red is fading. But it is still sufficient for its work in providing sustenance; in words now rather than in confectionary; though sometimes there is something physically edible in it, like a bar of chocolate, etc.! But the main nourishment it offers is its books. Among them a notebook for river-writing. For this place is a catalyst for creativity, as well as a place for afternoon reading.
   The sound of running water combines with the sunshine and the warmth of the ground and up through the midst of me, like this great tree, living waters rise from my roots till they reach my mind, there to pour out a kind of liquid light, lambent and pellucid, that opens into life and thrills. These living waters teach me. They show me pictures of myself that are so true they change me and I see through the mists long formed by the obscuring thoughts of this world’s habitual thinking. A welcoming of truth, sharp and clear, takes the lead and I see through the veil something in the living world around me mirroring the living world within me and my life is enriched.   Two books are in the tin, as well as the notebook-diary and biro. They are on my lap. I keep a choice of two or three non-fiction books here because I never know what this one hour’s respite will dredge up in my waiting midst. I don’t always feel like writing. Often I read a bit of one book, and then lay it down to read the other. Occasionally, and quite like magic, I find a deeper catalytic sparking between the content of the two books. They ‘marry,’ in some curiously coincidental way, and I am amazed.
   I stop and look up. I gaze vacantly. And continuing in ‘the force that through the green fuse drives the flower’ (Dylan Thomas) I am strangely warmed. Lines of thought, like ethereal strands of gifted gold filter through in an inner sunshine and there’s a rising of joy in sudden insight and I grab my notebook and scribble a moment. Although what I write, usually has little to do with the subject matter of the two books I am reading, but it is like the trajectory of an inner object of light, on its sudden flight within another subject altogether, flying inside an ever increasing seeing-space within expressing a parallel in another sphere and in another dimension.
  These are the ‘thought-comets’ which ‘quicken’ life; that burst upon our mind and energize our spirit in our otherwise plain existence. They are our treasures, for a while. They feel amazing when we capture them. But afterwards they seem to lose their initial sparkle as they are no longer new: we have assimilated them into the body of our consciousness and they are now a functioning part of our wisdom and knowledge. But their coming was vitally important nothing else could have accomplished that particular ‘leap’ and renewal adding to our understanding. It was a unique moment in time and a spontaneous linking of one thing with another: the flash of truth bringing life.                                           What delight there is in taking time out to sit by a stream, to listen and think; a book in one's lap; a book which lives here, in a tree. And what delight there is, too, in throwing open the shutters of our windows and looking out and reading between the lines of the book of life.   
 
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Amethyst Poetry / Writing Saga # 17, Part Two / IN THE LIGHT OF INNOCENCE / A Novel

     At heart I wrote this book for C., the lovely French girl who had stayed with us for several weekends, awhile back now, and who had given us that delightful book THE ALCHEMIST, by Paulo Coelho which had so inspired me to embark upon a new writing venture. 

     I found myself fashioning a story around an imaginary twenty-two year old girl, Arkiahh Rose. In an inner longing, I think, to reach C. with a greater dimension of universal truth: inner spiritual truth in the realm of SPIRIT, rather than outer natural truth in the realm of SOUL. Having learned through the things which I suffered, I wanted to share. I had been deeply inner-taught through the separating of these two realms of experience in me, by my being divided asunder through the revealing of the thoughts and intents of my own heart. This was the path by which I had been led further, and into the centre of all things, and peace; where I now live totally free of all the painful face-to-face, self-seeing which had been necessary for me to enter the hidden place of Love’s glorious liberty, and inner freedom: the ever-lasting Land – Everland. By my own painful experience, and subsequent incomprehensible joy, I had been made rich inside with the treasures of darkness: the hidden wealth of secret places; and I had ‘a cornucopia of plenty’ to share with anyone willing to listen. But how few were! One had to be terribly small and live in close company with the Least of Love’s little children. And that, the simplest thing in the world, was the world's hardest thing!

Ever land, Everland

The land that ever was

The land to ever land on

Ever there, of course!

  

    The story of IN THE LIGHT OF INNOCENCE is set in Plymouth, on the south coast of Devon in the United Kingdom. Arkiahh, recently returned from a year’s overseas experience after finishing her degree, prepares to start university again to sit her master’s degree. During a three week upheaval before she must start studying she reflects very deeply upon the future course of her life. The story follows her inner journey through this time of change. Her reflections upon the idyll of her charmed but unusual childhood, of her father, and Josh, the young man next door, which leave her in confusion over new rising feelings, culminates in an impassioned excursion, far reaching, and in truth, stranger than fiction.  

This unpublished manuscript is available to anyone wishing to read it.  This work is titled IN THE LIGHT OF INNOCENCE: A Novel. Please feel free to contact the author and request:  email:  arielaevans@gmail.com  

 This manuscript can be emailed in pdf format in Microsoft Word Document 2007.

These are the titles of the next three ‘ragged writings’ of Amethyst Poetry:

Caught Up!

Searching All Things

Her Unseen Hand Lies in Us Silent