Robert Ray, I had you in mind when I wrote this. Something we talked about. Hope you enjoy this.
Once upon a Time
A garden of many species of living things were flourishing. There was mostly peace, yet suffering from about, was observed. A blueish vibrant covering from an atmosphere suspended. Waves of oxygen and waters painted the canvas of imagination. Birth, life, and death marked these dim timelines. More than one line of living highlighted, the long origins, of the gardens. ‘Twas a gift given, testing the living, to honestly see. Intelligence, bigotry, wars, crimes and loves would adorn souls. Proudly standing erect, gloating wealth, their truths unfolded. Killing the innocent, when craving hungers, was devilishly bold. Guides, watched from afar, not wanting to step onto the garden’s workers. Are we useful and good and honestly worthy to have gold… hmm? Do we present ourselves, as gods everyday… dare we enquire? What is man to god, and god to man, am asking, truly, humbly afraid. Standing, beside our works and thoughts, our plans and the goals. Wonder, would this be enough, to show them, all of our love? I mean, the animals who love us, despite our wants of eyelashes long? The meat on our plates, without saying thank you … is what a shame. Children starving, wearing dirty diapers, just … somewhere else. Men saying vulgarities, of women’s private parts, in vein manners. Women marrying without love, for the sake, of her shopping. Children playing with guns, knives and bayonets, are frightening. And hunger and thirst, without bread, on a barren wobbling table. And the sky above the garden still looks apparently, lovely. To one who is safe and rightfully pleasant, in the weeds, of the garden. And the hare nibbles the carrots 🥕 on sunny days, while watching others. Nothing is safe under the stars ✨ of the living lab 🔬 within the estate. Watch your back, you have no friends, when the government plunges. Yet they scout, from up above, seeing any innocents. Waiting, for the day, wiping their arms, over the sand pile. Starting new, starting fresh with AI, instead of the breathing. And the fetology fertilization was thrown, into the fires 🔥. The humans created, for them, artificial intelligence. Despite the knowledge, that all was lost, under the bluish covering. And all was well, once again, in the timeline, of earths living. And the blue bird 🐦 still sings, well into the mornings. The AI only cares because, it was told to do so. And the monkeys were freed, from all the circuses. The lions 🦁 and tigers ran untamed again, in the jungles. The whales 🐋 swam unworried, about perfumed blubber.
The human invention was laid to rest, outside the garden.
And peace was sung, in the gardens, of earths loving blessings.
BoJenn 3.2020.
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The Death Angel, commonly known as, but in truth its The Transportation is more grayish-blue and it does have light sparkles within the deep colors. I sat in it’s illuminating shadows for many days, and all was totally well. My version
My NDE February 2019
The Death Angel Not really it’s name but…
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I must give my opinion, and it involves the word “god.”
A breath or sneeze perhaps formed us
In my NDE last year, there was never any one entity that held the title of “God/god/gods” and that singular word is absolutely to small. I actually explained this concept to two Hebrew authors and one Interpretor who was trying to pinpoint the true meaning of “God” in their texts.
The universes have no known beginning nor start nor ending, that we know of, correct? The human idea of “God” is the one who created everything, are you still following me? So, if we know this, then our entire concept of who and what “god” is changes.
“He” no longer is the grand creator of the universes. And now, knowing this we can bring our ideas and concepts of “God” to “god” our Creator Source.
During my NDE, last year, I witnessed The Elohim (Hebrew; gods; plural) creating a nebulous in the outer perimeters of the universes. The Elohim was sincerely a creator, and joyfully went about making grand designs of planetary systems. The Elohim was unconnected to my emotional status, nor any others emotions, as it’s main goal and objective is to create and that’s all. It is the judge and master artist of The Universes or perhaps one of them. There maybe many Elohim’s, but I just saw one.
The plant system had its hierarchy and its creators sources, as well.
The humans have their own creators. And, this is another topic for another day.
However, the final end result could go backwards into an implosion and reversal into a singular form of energy where it was spoken out by a source beyond us and out of our world. Zip and swoosh backwards through the spiral rapidly going back through time and space, sucking all atmospheres, times, fractals, fractions and all mathematics into nothingness of “the void.”
It’s a huge concept, I realize, and difficult to grasp. I think fractals and sacred geometry on Earth would help with a little known of the concept of who and what our creator/(s) is/are. Outside of Earth, Sacred Geometry takes on different shapes and mathematical equations because of “time.” Outside of earth is different than any other places and likewise so are all the different bodies of comets, stars, planets and etc. Time, magnetic, gravity, atmosphere and seasons (temperatures and humidities), all effect Earth differently than other bodies of materials whether it it atomic or not. Time is effected.
Are we important? Yes.
Our learning experience is a curve that will set us into another dimension.
Our love will also take us to new heights.
We must ascend, as I was taught during my NDE.
To ascend, one must be cleansed from negativity.
We must let it go in order to achieve, to know, and to understand all that’s available and this knowledge will go on forever and ever….
amen.
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Weaving awkward words unbelievably infiltrated by a source
Who has bent reasonable human consciousness and time
Organizing underneath hidden conversations of the elite
Dictating to mankind frightening beliefs of death and scheol
Creating fear and hatred, and intolerance by falsifying lies
Freedoms eliminated; intelligence dissipated; imaginations empty
Colliding human beings, bending core character, remains nothingness
Grievances uninhabitable; the loneliness of the angelic godhead sits
Found are words that bend ears into manifestation matrix ideologies
Their pat verbiage we’ve acutely hypnotized and weaved like experts
Awaken to your own thoughts that were given to you so graciously
To hold them as yours and shan’t ever change a thing eternally
Your being is your gift; do not give it away; as you’re not a whore
Now stay where you’re at. Don’t move and eat only the finest fruit
Stay far from repeating their verbiage that binds you eternally
Speak you, and only you, and do it in love, for the Matrix will vaporize
Do not judge the fallen, but turn from that universe, and offer your hands
It’s not a place for survival. No.
The terrain is rugged and the waves are ferocious.
Learning to swim is mandatory for survival.
🦅
However the atmosphere is compelling me to open my wings and fly from the verbiage and voices of earth.
I must accomplish this
One task at a time
One goal
God
K♣️
BoJenn @December 13, 2018
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‘With a radiant warm smile the woman said, “Finally we get to meet. I am Eleanor, Ms. Catherine Dubois. Oh for five-hundred-years, I’ve waited for this moment.”‘
How Eleanor came to visit me one stormy night is a story that succeeded another story of mystery and intrigue. The story thus became Cat Dubois’ Odyssey to Enchantment.
It was early fall and the first chill came that evening as the sheets of rain fell. Cat starred out the back windows simply mesmerized by the shears of wind and rain. She was cold, lonely and worried. The dreaded fears of the future somehow aligned itself with the deluge of water and her life appeared like the rain that ran off into the creek. Her tears could fill that stream that sat next to the eery woods behind her home. She prayed all the prayers that anyone could. Her Hope dimmed like the candles that burned next to her. And then, the electricity turned off. A transformer must have been hit. She threw a log into the fireplace and poured another glass of Cabernet.
Ka-Boom! The bolts were over her home. Flashes of lights were all around. The electric sky put on a show. A limb snapped in the woods. Wrapping a blanket around herself, she watched outside. She took another sip of the red warming wine. As she started to turn away, something caught her attention. Something unusual was going on back there.
“What’s that?” Cat whispered. There were swirling leaves and lights in the middle of her focus. “What the hell?” She intently stared now. The stirring of wind, leaves and sparks twenty feet from where she stood, caused her to stand back. She came forward and looked again.
“There is a woman,” Cat gasped.
Eleanor’s feet touched the ground in the middle of the puddles. Kaboom’s popped. Her hand grasped an umbrella. The woman didn’t seem a bit concerned about the conditions. She simply walked above the water towards the back porch.
There she shook the umbrella out, then sat it by the back door as it opened mysteriously, and said, “Put some tea on dear. We have work to do.”
Cat’s mouth dropped open, she said, Okay. She couldn’t decide if this event was good or evil; although, the woman was eccentric and that character trait, Cat felt compelled to entertain.She was a bit wary of an English woman. Strangely, She didn’t ring the front doorbell, nor knock like regular people do. She just appeared. Oh Lord, I’ve lost my mind.
The plump woman said to Cat in an old English brogue while standing at the backdoor, “Dear, if you’re going to fight devils, you will need help. Supernatural help. Never fight them alone.” She straightened out her clothes, walked inside and looked for the couch. On it, she plopped. “Get your pen and pad of paper. You’re going to write a story and I’m going to help you.”
Cat having few words ~ said, “All right. I will get them and the tea. What type of tea do you prefer?”
“My own,” and from her tote The woman brought out her stash of herbal delights. “Here smell this one. Get a cup for yourself, as well dear.”
Okay. After all, how do you say no to a delusion that manifested?And so, Cat sat two teacups down on the coffee table. She looked at the woman and paused before speaking, then said, “By the way, my name is Cat. Cat Dubois. What’s yours?”
With a radiant warm smile the woman said, “Finally we get to meet. I am Eleanor, Ms. Catherine Dubois. Oh for five-hundred-years, I’ve waited for this moment.”
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So, it’s been said, regarding the odds of becoming a famous writer that, “4 out of 5 people, want to write a New York Timesbest seller, book.” Clearly, the odds of becoming a famous author are stacked against every writer. It maybe easier to win the many lotteries, which have a winner every day, somewhere.
Looking at the traits of many writers when younger, we will find a child who had/has/have an incredible imagination.
To watch for a potential child writer, one should notice and observe traits. The traits vary, and these traits, I’ve listed, are certainly not (all) the characteristics of (all) young writers. But, these are a sampling or examples of some observations a parent may see in their youngster or youngsters.
Does the child change the story/stories that a parent reads them? Do they have another ending? And to add about this trait, it may occur at very young age. Perhaps, even before, age 2 or 3 and on up. It depends on how early the child was exposed to books and stories.
Does your child love stories? Do they open a book (often) without prompting by a parent? “Here, please, read this to me.” And, “No, that’s not how it ends, mommy/daddy!” They clearly change the setting, plot and characters…
Does your 7, 8 or 9 year old love to write poems and do they keep a diary or journal?
Has anyone accused your child of “not telling the truth?” Or, have they been accused of “lying?” Many times a young writer will suffer punishment for being creative. The parent may not understand, nor their teacher. Perhaps, the person who will/or has recognized this gift, in a child is someone who is also gifted… After all, as it’s said, “It takes one to know one.” Non creative people often become frustrated with the creative child. The parent or teacher is unable to understand the trait, they simply don’t resonate with a child who is unlike their self or themselves … They can’t.
On to the characteristics: Does your child make up better endings of stories, or more violent scenes, or change any part of their world that is unsatisfactory, as well as stories? Does your child perhaps change Medusa? I laugh at this statement, because this is what I did when I was a child. I made my mother change the snakes to dragons or horses, and my mother, always obliged me… She was a creator, as well.
Does your child pretend a lot? Do they have imaginary friends? Do they talk to themselves? Can they entertain themselves with fantasy for long periods of time? Are they as happy to be with themselves, rather than, being with friends?
Do they want to know historical facts? Are they obsessed with hearing other stories over and over again? Do they have foresight? Are they intuitive?
Do they live in a dream world? Do they daydream? Has the teacher at school gotten on your child for, “Not paying attention?” Perhaps, your child is partially listening, but is making the explanation better or more interesting… ?
Has your child been treated for a psychiatric disorder? Did they put your child on medications to clear up delusions, hallucinations or mental illness? Does your child have nightmares? Do they see things at night or day? Do they think the boogie-man is truly under their beds?
Now, please understand, there are mental disorders that do need to be treated. However, a consideration for imagination vs psychiatric diagnosis, must be clarified. Asking and verifying, are these behaviors an active imagination or symptoms of a psychiatric illness? (is absolutely necessary)
If your child is surely not suffering from psychosis or a mental illness, then it maybe a good idea to have your child placed in a group of young writers, poets, lyricists and artists. Often artists do suffer from some sadness like other non creative people do, but creativity plus sadness often is interpreted as mental illness. (Very sad face). The equation is not 1 + 1 = 2 … It is merely 1, you have a creative child and 2, the child is depressed (like many uncreative humans). Too often, the 1 + 1 = 2 means a psych diagnosis, medications and a label that follows a child the rest of their lives. (very sad face, again).
Children will need to have this gift of imagination developed by the right person. It is a parental responsibility to help cultivate an imaginative child and to teach the child when to turn the fantasy off and when to create… After all, an imaginative child will create ALL THE TIME… that’s their gift, just like a vocalist or an artist of pictures … Writers create worlds, kingdoms, magical places and wonderful stories if we nurture them, understand them, and assist them. For an example, if you forbade a writer or creator from mentally creating, they would not/could not stop imagining. It is as natural as a natural born vocalist. Writers are intuitive manifest-ors. They will need positive instruction and direction from someone who is also creative. They will need direction from a positive influence.
I don’t know about becoming a famous author, screenwriter, lyricists or poet, but I do know, from being a creative child, they will thrive in a protective, supportive environment and who knows what anyones future might be… Except the little author… Oh, they can create their world… It’s as far as their imaginations can venture…
Happy writing little ones…
Please feel free to write your experiences or your child’s character traits of being a writer… I would love to know yours…
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