Category Archives: Writings

Chapter 1. The Word.

I see light. I see the future and the past in my present reality through the translucent cloud that is that world they call, The Realm of Love. That realm that belongs to the one they call The Word. I am Blackcrow, servant, messenger, traveller, transcendent spirit, chosen one, warrior, time drifter… I go by so many titles as I have so many roles yet, even now, I still have no idea of my ultimate role nor that of the Realm nor that of The Word to whom I am linked in loving servitude. I exist because all things exist and must needs therefore, all facets of creation are represented in the living, even us, the spirits who have life beyond life and even those of the worlds who have flesh yet even inside them the knowledge of that same life eternal that is promised to us all through servitude to The Word in love.

Though even I am here in the pre-existence of that worldly life, I have seen many things of the prophecies and promises of The Realm of Love through he that is all things, The Word, who chose me from all his creations to go out and about into his existence to see his mysteries unfold so I may bring that teaching to all those who are to come and question such things.

I see light which is truth which is to say, all those things The Word has shared with me through his mighty love, for the sake of his mighty purpose which as yet still lays as a mystery to all but he, yet that which we know is ultimately good and for our sakes. So I see that it is not for us to understand his mysteries, yet in life or at least in the living flesh which is above that spiritual life which is the true heart of us all, we must needs gather as full a knowledge of him, his realm, his realm to come and those things which steer us there through the graceful teachings he has bestowed upon us through the prophecies he has shared with us through that which has been spoken by his chosen few throughout the ages and the ages yet to come.

Ah yes, the life wherein we may experience flesh, senses, feeling, knowing in actual fact beyond that which we can only wonder at in spirit. So many worlds filled with the living flesh that houses so many of his spiritual babes, his children and lo, how I envy those Peoples who in their millions have no idea of their importance nor any idea of time and purpose yet they too have been as me, a spirit in the pre-existence who will always be, now and forever. My purpose is to serve my master in all that I am and I have been promised eternity in peace, I have nothing to learn but all to teach. Those other millions are they who have the free will to choose through that which is laid out before them in life, to choose the right or the wrong even when the right is broadcast to them in their hearts and minds without question or guile, or doubt, yet even then they must choose and their choice is all the more potent because of their living experience in the flesh and that life of senses which bring knowledge.

Perhaps if they knew that their lives are as eternal as the love of The Word who is all things, even life and creation and reason. Perhaps if they knew that they are more than embryo, more that fetal mortals; perhaps if they knew they are the pure and simple expression of The Word, borne from his lips in love. Perhaps if they understood the reality of eternity then they would always choose the right and shun the wrong yet even I know that without knowledge of shadows, light has no meaning and in this lays the true teachings of The Word, in burdens and yoke and slavery to the flesh does he teach them that they might appreciate his light and the light of the life eternal that is to come to all in due time and for due purpose.


Why everything has to taste like chicken!

Boba-Fett-Chicken-CosplayLong, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away it was rumoured that everything tasted like chicken.

“This is a good thing.” Ventured the people who lived there and were eating everything.

“No, this is not good,” said the chickens, “we are all unique individuals, experiencing our own reality and all to be seen in our own personal light.”

“Hmmm, I see your point,” said the people, “but chicken is so tasty, it would be a shame if everything tasted like anything else.”

“But how do you know?” Asked the chickens, “If you have never tasted what anything else tastes like then how do you know whether it would better or worse than chicken?”

“Hmmm, I see your point,” said the people again, “but what motivation is there for us, the people, to stop liking chicken and develop a relationship with new flavours?”

“You do not have to give up liking chicken.” Said the chickens, who were beginning to despair at the ignorance of man. “In fact we want to encourage you to still like chicken, we want it to be your favourite flavour above all other flavours in the galaxy. We are proud of the way we taste and feel we are exceptional but you do not notice this because in your minds, everything else tastes like us.”

“Hmmm, I see your point.” said the people, “Ok, well from tomorrow then, we shall stop thinking of every flavour as tasting like you and we shall allow them, the flavours, to taste as they want to taste. If we do not like a thing then we shall stop eating it rather than fake the flavour.”

“Ok, right.” Said the chickens.

“Right, well that’s that sorted then.” Said the people.

“Oh bugger.” Said the snails.

So, right from the following day, the people stopped thinking of every flavour as being chicken and allowed each flavour to bring their own personal uniqueness to the people’s  mouths.

The people ate beef which comes from cows and realised how very tasty it was. It was nothing like chicken at all. Neither was mutton which comes from sheep and neither was baby sheep anything like chicken at all. These meats were not like beef either, they were in fact completely unique flavours.

The people were growing more and more excited as each day went by and more flavours presented themselves.

Pork, especially the fat which people called crackling, was exceedingly popular and apple sauce. There was a new resurgence in the people buying  aubergine, pumpkin, butternut squash and courgettes that previously the people had avoided because they felt the just tasted like chicken. Now the people got excited by a huge variety of vegetables and fruit too.

The galaxy was a transformed living space. More and more animals were being killed and slaughtered to feed the people who hungered for better and better flavours. Rainforests were destroyed to make room for the land needed for all the new animals to graze and for rich land barons to build vast glass cities where field after field of beautiful vegetables were grown in a forced atmosphere.

The chickens themselves were put into cages in barns and forced to lay hundreds of eggs in a short time and when that time was up, if the chickens had survived any of the many new chicken diseases, they were taken out of the cages and had their scrawny little necks wrung to kill them.

Chicken meat was still popular but not as before. The people were hungry for new things and in a deeply hypocritical move, they were hungry for free things, not things in cages. Oh dear, the poor chickens had been reduced to the lowest class of animal in the galaxy, lower even than wild boars.

“I don’t like this chicken, it tastes like beef.” Said a young child one day.

“Let me taste that.” Said his insistent father who gobbled down a mouthful very quickly. “By jingo you’re right.” He declared, “This does actually taste like beef and not good beef either. Taste this darling.” He added as he passed the chicken to his wife who also tasted the meat and concurred with her son and husband.

So now the poor chicken’s flavour, of which they were once so very, very proud was reduced to that of poor quality beef and the people ate less and less chicken from that day on.

“Oh woe are we who were so foolish.” said the chickens.

“In what way foolish?” Said the people. “You led and inspired a flavour revolution among us people that we would never have thought of ourselves.”

“Yes, we did this to inspire you though to prefer our flavour to that of any other flavour in the galaxy but now we have been caged and reduced in your opinion to taste like poor quality beef. We have ended up with egg all over our faces.” Said the chickens.

“Hmmm, I see your point.” Said the people. “Before, when we thought everything tasted like chicken we just ate a mild amount of everything and appreciated that the flavour was chicken. To us then, chicken was a fine flavour that we had picked out as the best flavour above all others which is why we chose that flavour for everything to taste like.”

“Exactly.” Said the chickens. “Where as now, you have discovered how much you like other flavours and are exploiting them and destroying your home to make room for them and you have become so glutted that you no longer care about the flavour and think that our flavour is no longer good.”

“Hmmm, I see your point.” Said the people, “We have done a lot of damage to ourselves and our home and to you. How do we redress this balance?”

“We are not sure that you can.” Said the chickens. “There are those among you who for years have been screaming out about how much damage you have done to your home and how much cruelty you have shown animals, especially your once so favoured chickens, but these screams have been ignored by you.

“You are separated from the animal kingdom because you have original thought and freedom of choice yet even when the truth is screamed out to you by your own kind, you cannot hear them and you do not care. Instead you grow fat and greedy and want more and more than you ever did before. You have become poisoned. We think it is all the beef you eat, we think it clogs your minds. You did not have these problems when you ate more chicken and believed in our flavour.”

“But we cannot just stop believing in these new flavours now that we have discovered them can we?” The people retorted. “We have other things to worry about besides your welfare. There are wars and starvation in the galaxy.”

“There is starvation in your galaxy?” Asked the chickens who were very surprised to hear this given how greedy the people had become. “So you have destroyed your rainforests and cleared your lands and developed super powerful corporations who have a firm grip on all the galaxy’s economy and yet there are still people starving?”

“Yes.” Said the people.

“And you will not do anything about this?” Asked the chickens.

“But what can we do?” Asked the people, pleading to the chicken’s superior wisdom.

“Ask God for help.” The chickens suggested.

“Who is he?” The people replied.

“God, you know, the one that created mankind, the galaxy and all the things in it.” The chickens pointed out.

“Oh, him.” said the people who suddenly realised they used to believe in a thing called God. “We have not heard of him for a very long time. He does not seem important to us now.”

“And neither does the balance of the galaxy nor the flavours you put in your mouths.” Said the chickens with sadness.

“So you think we can reset the balance if we turn back to believing in God?” Asked the people.

“Possibly,” the chickens replied, “or you could try believing everything tastes like chicken again, you might find that easier.”

“Hmmm, I see your point.” said the people, “Ok, well from tomorrow then, we shall try to get back to thinking of every flavour as being chicken.”

The following day, the people launched the “Chicken Revolution”.

They went to their supermarkets and bought all the chickens, so much so that the supermarkets ran out of chicken stocks and farmers had to grow more chickens. And because the people were now so convinced that their food had to be grown in freedom, the chickens were released from their cages and allowed to wander about in big barns and fields.

As the people ate more and more chicken, their tastes changed and they began to crave the chickens but the farmers could not produce enough chickens to feed everybody. So the people, who craved the chicken flavour so much once again, once again started to convince themselves that all other flavours tasted like chicken. This satisfied the people.

The people ate less and less beef and pork, so the land that had once been cleared for grazing was set aside for Rainforest Restoration Projects. The starving Peoples of the galaxy were given the excess beef and pork for a short while but it was enough time for them to grow strong enough to rebuild their communities and start farming for themselves as they were more productive and more able to control their own destinies.

Evil governments who caused famine and wars were voted out of power because the people, who had seen the errors of their ways, were not afraid anymore. Those corporations who had once controlled the galaxy’s economies were forced to share their business practises and allow smaller companies to flourish.

“How do you feel now?” Asked the chickens.

“Much better, thank you for all you have done for us.” Said the people. “You have helped us restore our galaxy back to a time when we were happy so now we are happy again and everything has a balance.

“Yes,” concurred the chickens, “everything has a balance. Everything tastes like chicken.”


Saga – A Story Of Life

In the country, where the snow melted after the winter thaw, new streams flooded already boggy ground and marshes came to life. Freshness abound, all was alive then with a thirsty lust for life and survival and the celebration of golden times to come.

In darkness through the cold, stark, frozen weeks of winter, two newborn cubs had snuggled into their parent’s breast and warm flanks, hungry and yearning for the taste of spring. Small and blind they clung to all they knew, the rigid teat and bristling swell of the mother who lay still all the weeks long, in slow slumber, serving only to incubate her young.

When first the light of springtime broke into their cavern home, the cub’s eyes had come to life and a new excitement gripped them. Their contented hearts leapt with happiness and the freedom of an open world beckoned them to venture to the cave mouth, blinking and mewing constantly lest they lose each other as they crept towards a new realm of understanding.

The mother woke. She knew the world and knew the dangers yet she allowed her cubs to scent and venture, only so far though before she called to them in her whiny way to stop them where they were at the mouth of her cave home. They did as they were bid, an unknown instinct held them at the sound of her voice. They stopped and looked no further, returning instead to her warmth and loving company.

For a whole day and night she gradually came to from her long winter sleep. All that time she fussed over the cubs, licking them clean too often, nuzzling them with her snout, testing their weight and balance to judge if they were indeed ready for life outside the cave. By morning next she judged them fit to travel with her out of the cave and into their whole new world of trees, rivers, rocks and green plains that lay waiting for them all. With some coaxing now she urged them on towards the cave mouth where yesterday they had seemed so brave, now, as the reality of their departure dawned, the cubs were a little more coy with their approach, letting their mother lead the way lest danger should befall them.

The winds had not been kind this winter, they had blown in from far towards the upper regions of the territory and caused much destruction. In the woods many trees had fallen and been uprooted. Finding shelter had not been easy for some. Hiding among the scrub in prepared hideaway dens, a family of white tailed deer had not settled, they moved from place to place in an effort to stay out of harm’s reach as the woods were wrecked by the cruel snow-storms that blew and blew for days on end. Often after grazing the adults would return to their den to find their two beloved fawns laying out in the white, blanketed ground, unprotected, their den yet again smashed by a fallen oak. After a while they simply roamed, keeping the fawns with them, ever alert for danger, ever watching for those predators who hunted them, the bear, the wolf and eagle. This was not a time for fawns to be so exposed and the parents did all they could to offer shelter from the cold yet even then, one morning as the pair rose with the dawning sun, one of their little babies lay still, dead, frozen in the night.

No tears fell from them, they were survivors. They felt the loss and wondered and the power of the anxiety that ran through their blood yet as the sun climbed higher in the sky and shadows fell upon them from the filtered canopy above, they moved on again to graze and survive another day in this wilderness they called home.

Sparrow watched everything from high up, safely tucked away from life on the ground. She flitted from tree to tree and kept a watchful eye on her charges, she made sure to note every detail of all their activities, their experiences and any events that affected their way of life in the forest. She worried over her charges, them that lived in the forest with her, she took her instinctive responsibilities seriously and sang out her daily reports to every other ear so they would know all the ups and downs of forest life.

The day the young fawn died was a tragedy she sang about for a long time after. She mixed this news with more news of fallen trees and her forecasts of more snow and winds from the upper regions which would hit them all again within a day of her spotting them. She had warned Fox of the impending danger one day of a nearby tree which looked as though it was about to crush Fox’s den, yet Fox did not listen, like the rest of them, they did not take Sparrow seriously, and lo, within the day the den was crushed under the very same tree with the loss of three of Fox’s litter.

As the weeks of winter came to an end, Sparrow changed the tone of her song from a mournful lament to a celebratory rejoice for the new season to come. She flitted around with renewed joy and gusto for soon the snow would melt away, the blossoms would bring their glorious scents to her world, colour would return to the stark white land and she, as with so many others, would again find a mate and raise another clutch of young, to feed and sing to and teach her ways. She looked forward to seeing her charges strengthen with good feeding and those who had survived once again enjoy their relaxed forest living. She was excited at watching the progress of the new babies and having so much good news to report through the longs months ahead.

High above them all soared the oldest bird in the territory, Blackcrow. His huge black wings caught the upward heat from the ground and lifted him upwards towards his master, the sky. Solitude was a comfortable place for Blackcrow and though many of the other beasts looked on him with awe, they respected his individuality and gave him freedom to roam without their interference. Even Sparrow fell silent when Blackcrow was about in her neighbourhood, his silent grace was such that his aura crept into the atmosphere and even she would not dare disturb it. When he perched on a branch somewhere nearby, she would sit still and wait for him to leave before going on about her business.

Blackcrow was the master of all he surveyed, not a bird in the sky nor any beast of the ground would aggress him, not simply through fear of his prowess but because all knew he was the master, sent to watch over them. He was their protector, guardian, watcher and guide. So long as Blackcrow roamed the territory, they knew they were safe and connected to the mother who made all things, even Creation herself whom all beasts knew in their hearts. They felt the presence of the mother Creation from the time they were born until the fateful end of their days and they knew that Blackcrow was her black Angel sent to watch them on her behalf.

He nested high in the cliffs to the North and followed the winds as they blew or tracked the heat of the sun when she shone, so hot, so bright, bringing with her the love of Creation to bless them and using Blackcrow as her mighty messenger to tell them all was right in life for them.

Blackcrow flew out from his nest in the northern cliffs, he flew towards the forested lands of the south where instinct told him he must go. He followed a familiar trail, recognising each stream bed as he passed over it, spotting every tree and noting which may have died or fallen or developed throughout the months since he had last travelled this route. As he followed the line of the hills he swept in close to cliff face to speed his flight. He rounded a hillside and came across mother brown bear who had woken from her winter slumber. She was not alone as she had been that Autumn before her long winter sleep, now she had charge of two fresh lives, her cubs, two small bundles of fur who bounced and tumbled along beside her as she tried to guide them safely on with their journey down the hill to the river below to fish and drink and bathe.

Blackcrow dipped his flight down to pay his respects to the mother bear and she stood to allow him to brush his beautiful wing against her, such a touch of love between them, those old souls of this land.

Despite the ills of the world; the horrible reality of unpaid bills; the never ending work on the old house; the cheap, rusty car and the stress of trying to balance it all while moving through a constant transformation in character as he, himself matured, the father, Michael, found peace in holding onto his traditions and seeing his son, Jack, learning those traditions that had been passed to Michael from his father.

Traditionally Michael was a solitary figure, he enjoyed his own company and as he felt very in tune with the natural world where he lived, he never felt alone. He mixed with other folks ok and was quite social when he had to be but on the whole, Michael Wallace preferred to live life on his own. He had met Jack’s mother, Lorraine, a few years back; met her at his friend John’s wedding. They were both single then and both attending on their own. Michael had made the first move and asked Lorraine up to dance and though Michael had two left feet when it came to dancing, they had both found this funny and enjoyed their evening despite his dancing handicap.

For the first three years they shared a deep love with each other. They lived in Michael’s cottage, Lorraine had moved up from the city, given up her career as a sales executive and “gone wild” to live with Michael. She found a job serving at the local store that was three miles away and she enjoyed cycling there, breathing the fresh country air deeply into her lungs and counting her blessings every day.

Because these three years had gone so well with the pair of them they took the decision to marry and in the spring of 1982, in the fourth year of their relationship, they became husband and wife. Soon after Lorraine fell pregnant with their first child; neither one had ever contemplated having children before. Though they had both found love and long term partners previously, the desire to have children with them was never there. Needless to say, those relationships had not stood the test of time and had fallen by the wayside so both were grateful not to have children involved with those break-ups. Now however, they knew with confidence that their marriage was the real deal, they were simply meant to be with one another, kindred spirits as it were and without knowing why, they both felt quite overcome with the desire to have a family.

Nine months further on Lorraine produced their son, Jack. Jack was a stunningly beautiful boy who, over the next four years grew into a perfect little angel. Yes, they were both biased when it came to the way they regarded him but the truth was he was a credit to them both. Their parenting was unified and loving. They spent time with him teaching him to play and speak and they read stories to him every night before bed. Michael had a particular magic with Jack. When he held him it was with gentleness, he would take him for walks into the woods near where they lived to be among the trees and the local wildlife. Michael would tell Jack to “Watch out for the fairies now.” and would bring the boy’s world alive with mystery and wonder. Lorraine too was a beautiful mother. She was a soft place to fall when Jack needed comfort, she was warm and kind and encouraged him at all times telling him how wonderful he was and how proud mummy and daddy were of him.

Jack continued to develop in this positive way even after the October of 1988 when his mother, died. He was now six years old, his mother had been “gone” for the past year and his father had continued to bring him up on his own. His father always talked about Jack’s mummy, “Oh Jack your mummy would have loved to have seen you climb that tree.” he would say. Almost everyday Jack and his daddy spent some time telling each other what they thought mummy would have loved to have seen them do. Daddy did all the cooking now too and while Jack went to school daddy worked “Every hour God sends” to keep them both going. Jack missed his mummy in his heart but daddy helped him stay happy.

Michael was not sure whether his decision to stay in the country where he worked as a forester, had been the right decision to make after Lorraine’s death. He had family nearer to Denver who would be more than happy to take him and Jack in and set Michael up with a job. Then there was Lorraine’s family too in Boulder who were constantly offering to buy him an apartment in the city and Lorraine’s father, who ran his own engineering firm could provide Michael with a good management position. But Michael was just too much of a solitary man to feel comfortable committing to any of these offers. He did worry that Jack needed more family round him and it would be nice, if he was honest, which he almost always was, to be able to take more time for himself by having people near who could take Jack off his hands for a day or two at a time.

It had been just over a year since Lorraine had died. Hit by a drunk driver, early one morning as she cycled to work, she had died instantly after striking her head against a tree at the side of the road. Because of his responsibilities Michael had never really taken the time he needed to properly mourn her passing. Always in the back of his mind were thoughts of how much he missed her and everyday when preparing to go to bed, he felt the pangs of heartbreak deep inside him. But he shook these feelings off, as he had to and the following day, got up, gave Jack his breakfast, packed him off to school and went to work again.


Witch’s verse

“In light and dark we live and love,

we beseech the Giver from above,

til end of time the Giver stalks,

and carried on his outbound walk,

the blessing of the living soul,

and spirit pure to make us whole.”


Traveller part 1

He rested a while, the traveller, who had walked so many miles in a day that his feet were now bare from the rough ground he had traversed. Hounded he was from hill to dale by those who scorned him on account of a misrepresented circumstance in which he had been made to look like a murderer, though of course this man, this holy man filled with love and compassion for all, was innocent of any crime, save for taking the blame for another’s misdoing in order to protect that person’s good name.

Yes, the traveller knew who the responsibility for the death lay with, though he would never say, for in fact the dead man had not been a kind and gentle soul and in any good person’s opinion, really quite deserved to be murdered.

He had been a notorious wrong doer yet fell under the protection of a gang of scoundrels who called themselves the Warrant Society. The Warrant Society were a motley crew of long term criminals who would rob and kill for fun and the murdered man, Mr Frank Thomas had been associated with them, professionally.

It was the traveller’s friend, Carl Travis who had ended Frank Thomas’s life on June the 3rd 1989 in the Northern English town of Rochdale. The circumstances of the murder were not yet revealed to anyone, the only one who knew the exact detail was Carl himself but the traveller would not see his good friend arrested for this crime and so, even without knowing fully why Carl, his friend had committed this crime, he instantly, on hearing of it, accepted the role of protector for Carl by confessing to all who would listen that it was he who had murdered Frank Thomas and he did not care who knew it!

Soon, as it always does, especially in a small Northern English town, this news spread around to the extent that not before too long, the Warrant Society had now placed a contract on the head of the traveller and sent word that he would be dead by the next morning. The one great defense to this threat that the traveller had was that nobody knew his name. He could travel around incognito so long as he kept away from his typical routes and was careful to change the style of his clothing and hair so as to appear different and not be so easily recognised by any who may know him.

He had done just this when he heard the news that the warrant Society had contracted to have him killed. He changed his appearance by shaving and tying up his hair under a hat. He wore his summer clothing though it was late autumn which did not seem too out of place and was still warm enough for him as he moved around which kept him warm from the heat he naturally generated.

He headed out of town by an alternate route to any he had used before and went south towards Oldham and Manchester city where he felt he could disappear into the masses of the populace more easily. He had friends in these places who would harbour him if necessary and he would be safe.

It was while he was walking alongside the road to Oldham that the chase began. He walked a quiet country road where not much traffic came or went throughout the day. When he heard a vehicle engine in the distance he would take himself off the road and either lie down in a nearby field or hide amoung some roadside scrub or trees until the vehicle went safely past, then he would continue his walk on the road. It was on this road however that he came a cropper.

After many hours of walking he felt extremely tired so decided to rest up for a while at the roadside. He chose to rest in a clump of trees with enough scrub to provide good shelter and block visibility from the road for any passing vehicles. While he sat, resting, he dozed off for some time.

Unknown to him, the Warrant Society had also sent a van load of men to investigate Oldham town for the travellers whereabouts. The van drove along the very same road as the traveller had chosen to walk down and with alarming coincidence had pulled into the same clump of trees for the men to get out and relieve themselves.

While the criminal members of the Warrant Society were urinating against the trees in this roadside clump, the traveller woke from his slumber, sat up and stretched out his arms to straighten out his knotted muscles.


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