I had a lovely afternoon picking pears in a backyard where the pear trees had been planted many years ago. There were four different types and I came home with four bags full.

I remember when I was just twenty and I read a book about living on fruit. At the time in Ireland there was a great bounty of pears and grapes so I picked those two as the two I should live on. 

I also heard that  I should make a tape recording, making suggestions relating to living on fruit. This would help me live successfully on the fruit. So I made a tape repeating over and over “I want to live on pears and grapes.” I would listen to it every day while reading “The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus” etc. or before going to sleep. 

My sister, with whom I was rooming, heard my tape and laughed at my droning on and on repeating my suggestion. She kept that laughter down low in case I might get mad at her.

I had an office job at the time and would visit a little store on Baggot street complete with a counter and a person standing behind it. She kept a supply of lovely ripe pears, much like the ones I have now,  and I would purchase three every morning for breakfast. 

Sometimes I went to the Dublin market and got myself a fifteen pound box of grapes, pale green, sweet and juicy. When a mouse invaded our bedsit, it sampled just three grapes before going away and giving up on our place. 

I got more extreme, eating fruit and fasting, stewing tomatoes and roasting bananas before eventually giving up. I had a hard time coming back to eating such things as eggs. When I put on weight again, my sister said my cheeks ballooned out and I looked like a healthy cherub. 

I had a job as an executive officer, with the Electricity Supply Board in Dublin. They treated me well in spite of my absence while completing the fast. They though I was very sick as did my poor parents. They blamed the crowd I was hanging out with. They were relieved to find out I was not dying of anything serious.

So here I am again and could live on pears for a few days at least. They have a lovely smell as I pass by them, all lined up on a shelf in varying degrees of ripeness.

While collecting these pears I spoke to the owner and she told me her life story, which included some hard times. She spoke of  “atrocities” that happened to her. It got my stomach to hear all the details. I had to ask. 

She told me one dream in which the deceased lowered his head to her and said three times “I am nothing.” In life this was the opposite to what happened. She felt that God had been watching all the time and that the evil doer got his comeuppance on the other side. 

That night I could not sleep for the amount of pears I ate as I swallowed her story. I did my prayers with more fervor than usual and saw those sacks of emotions leaving me one after the other in big watery balloons from my now non existent womb, emptied at last.

When I say “Thou art my dwelling place” I reference the within space and feel a lifting off, a rising up out of this dimension into what is on offer on the next.

These feelings brought me back to my Granduncle Father Bernie giving a sermon in his home church in Beaupark in County Meath in Ireland. It was an old church then complete with a balcony at the back. I liked to go up there and watch from on high.

Grandmother lived with her brother Father Bernie. We came for holidays in the summertime. It was our Disney World complete with outdoor tanks of water, swings from big beach trees, donkeys, a first visit to the beach and many more fun things. Saying prayers and going to mass was a given.  

I wish I could remember the words of his sermon now. He looked up at me with his blue eyes.  I have to be content with that line of light back to them from this here and now.

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His sermon was around the words; “Eye has not seen nor ear heard, nor had it entered into the heart of man, what things God has prepared for those who love him.” He must have repeated them to me as I always remember them. I have his bell and scapula with me, my mother letting me take them from the bottom of a pantry at her house. He always kissed the center of the scapula before putting it on. It is worn.

An other dream I got this past weekend, involved rocks. They were in his living room and in his yard. They were waist high and jagged. I seem to remember something about rocks crying out. But why are they muscling into his space. Is there something about the spirit he is refusing to hear?

My intuitive leap here is that he needs to face the second half of life, fair and square, and bearing that in mind, get out from under these boulders to bring what he can of love and light and healing onto his worlds. Doing something about this dream could include a spiritual practice or any number of things that would let his unconscious know he is listening through his dreams.  

Be sure to sign up on this site for my email with the link to these writings. Pray for me and I will pray for my readers. God knows I need all the prayers I can get to help me with service to others and to back away from all that is selfish in me. 

Love from Rose, her eyes, her ears and her heart.