The two big fully leafed out trees darken her view as Moriah looked out at the night sky. An expanding gibbous moon is hiding in the horizon on the east, lighting up a heart shape in the dark clouds above. The outline of the heart is decorated with a lacy white border around the outer edges, beckoning Moriah into prayers and meditation. 

She moves to the kitchen at 3.30am getting together potions that will sooth her old woman bones and bring her ease. She is looking for and is invested in that cloth of woven linen to smooth her way to her Maker. She is trying to move out of her body and her thoughts by taking both down into stillness and silence, and is moving into a reach for some connection with the higher dimension of her soul and its Maker. “Arise my soul” she says.  

She goes through her rituals of breathing and humming into the wheels in her backbone, before she feels some lasso to that other, higher and tries to hold on to it and become receptive to increasing her awareness of her own love and the love that comes from where her soul comes form, from where she comes from, where she now is. 

She hears the strains of a song “I am listening, God is listening, The angels are listening” and hopes the Angels are concerned about her. Traveling is a little harder now with aging and she is trying to make a deal with the Spirit to heal her in exchange  for something the angels might want from her. That her creator might want from her. To be a receptacle, a carrier of the creator love. 

As she waits and listens, she sees a great orange ball briefly. She is under the shadow of her maker and it makes its presence felt by enclosing her in a misty cloud of purple and midnight blue. She feels a lovely feeling of being loved, of being in love. She feels she is held in a loving embrace. She protects herself with the feeling she has toward her maker and is so thankful for the love her maker brings to her from the shadow of the midnight blue and purple. She is blessing and is blessed.

Moriah feels a little cold as the early morning light starts to percolate through. She distributes the energy she has raised in meditation, taking it down through her body and asks for it to heal her knees and hips and ankles. She send it out to family and friends, and sends light to those who are passing over to the other side to meet their Maker and to those that are brave enough to chance another round on this earth, spinning in space, the gestating soon to be born – the incoming souls.

She gets a little food from the cupboard to satisfy her hunger and notices a little mouse come out of the floor boards to eat up the crumbs. She is torn by her impulse to call the cat or to let the mouse, like herself, be satisfied with her lot. She is reluctant to let go of the feelings of love that came to her in meditation.  Panger Ban, her white cat, sleeps on at this time. The mouse knows to scatter if the cat as much as twitches. 

Yesterday Moriah saw a bluebottle fly, all excited around her and around the light, coming in with the sunshine. Moriah splotched him inside the curtain and saw all the eggs that needed to be laid. She had some feeling for the pregnant fly and so when she saw one again, large and excited, she got a soft cloth and encircled it and lifted her into a ball and put him outside.She flew off at great speed. Moriah is making no promises that she will save all flies from now on, as they are often to be found in her house. 

Moriah wanted to put a hen house in her yard as she loved to look at the beautiful hens, as they went about their business of being hens and laying eggs. She even had a dream that she was given eggs and she was carrying them on her arms and felt she might loose some of them easily, or break some of them. They looked the color of whiter than white, bright shining white. When she was given more eggs, she really had to juggle them to keep them up. She knows eggs for the miraculous food they are. 

Her daughters were more in favor of putting the henhouse way back behind the house. Moriah thought that would be an invitation to a fox to eat them up, here a little and there a little until she had no eggs to be laid during the mild winter months. 

That particular piece of the dream about the egg falling down, was a mystery to her. She wondered if she had too many things going on, what with her traveling and being busy just like the hens. Moriah was laying white eggs of a different kind and finding it hard to nurture and care for them. She thought she might get back to her writing, draw people’s faces more. In the dream she was trying to clean out the house and the henhouse, full of accumulated dust, like Aegean stables, not cleaned out in a long time. She too might need a flood to clean all her inner waste places out for her. 

As the morning wore on, Moriah could see the shape of clouds on the mountain and the nearer hill sides before her. This mottled landscape outlined the nearer hills through the cloud shadows shapes bringing distinct color relief against the hazy hills further out. 

Moriah was content now as all the muscle spasms had left her again, taking away the mood of pain and depression. She was free to ponder the beautiful landscape and consider what treats , she would make for lunch. The end.

Love from Rose Marie.