Serialization of Sacred Vow: Djalma

photo by by DWinton

 

Mr. Walters conveys the reality of mystical worlds and our interaction with them very eloquently.  He states that there is “one true love in its infinite expression,” meaning there is one connection, above all others that can make us feel whole, like our full selves. This book is highly recommended for the reader seeking a love story that knows no limits. As a metaphysical novel, one can expand their views of worlds and civilizations existing with us, and how we may affect those close to us with or without our knowledge.

“Sacred Vow” is highly recommended, and a sequel would be much welcomed. —Catherine Phelps for Reader Views

 

Installment 11 of 22 of the serialization of Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).

 

Djalma

 

 

Ian was sitting by the riverbank, about a mile from Liz’s house, atop a massive stone, under an old hemlock, within view of the bridge on the state road. It was seven o’clock in the morning, just when he’d been asked to arrive, which had required that he start down the road for this meeting in the middle of the night.

It was cold on the top of a rock by the river, a little after sunrise in January. Ian looked out over the water. If Liz’s psychic friend is worth all her claims, perhaps he’s brought me here for a frigid dip in the river, to bring me to my senses, Ian thought bemusedly.

“Not at all,” someone responded out loud, seemingly from nowhere.

Ian’s legs jerked and he had to grab the rock to avoid falling into the river. Fortunately, the top of the rock was mostly flat and Ian had been careful not to sit too close to the edge. He had seen no path except the one coming from the bridge. Being surrounded by thick rhododendron, Ian felt justified in watching only the bridge for signs of another person’s arrival.

 Ian jumped to his feet and looked down in the direction of the voice. At the base of the stone, on the edge of the river was a muscular young man. His hair was long and pulled back into a French braid. His face had a peculiar combination of both male and female characteristics, strength and softness.

The young man’s voice did not give any indication that he had noticed Ian’s embarrassment. “Good morning, Ian. Thank you for meeting me here. Sorry for the inconvenience. I needed to gather some things along the river this morning.”

This was Djalma, Liz’s psychic? Now Ian was aggravated. He had driven half the night and sat on a freezing rock to meet an eccentric, longhaired, blond Anglo kid? Ian had wanted a legitimate mystic.

Ian’s mind exploded in doubt. Where did this guy get such a name? The exotic choice was probably with the idea that it added some credibility in his chosen vocation. If he truly had any talent for the preternatural, what difference would it make if his name were something ordinary like Joseph?

As an imagined defense, considering that a psychic might be capable of reading minds, Ian forced his thoughts into silently quoting the first thing that came to mind from Hamlet. “Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows—”

Unfortunately, Ian found that his frustration was stronger than his fear of Djalma’s possible talent. His mind went on the offensive again. He distinctly remembered Liz referring to Djalma as “this old fellow.” Didn’t she know that psychics and mystics should be of a more mature age? How else would they be able to project the bearing of wisdom? Here I am in the mountains with an eccentric kid half my age, a junior psychic sorcerer!

Ian went back to focusing on lines from Hamlet to mask his real thoughts.

If Djalma was reading Ian’s mind, the calm of his face showed no evidence of taking the hysterical mental chatter personally.

Finally, Ian slowed his mind down enough to say, “Good morning, Djalma. I didn’t hear you come up.” From wherever you came, he thought. Ian looked about to see from just where that could have been. “Nice morning for a hike.”

“A little cold for my liking, Ian. We’d better get on with our business. It’s going to start raining in an hour.”

Oh, great, Ian thought. Now I am going to get caught in the mountains in a blizzard or an ice storm. No way was it going to be just rain at this temperature.

Forcing himself from his true thoughts, still neurotic about Djalma’s possible talents, Ian returned to Hamlet. What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! Noble in reason, indeed, he thought ironically.

Amazed at how much of Hamlet he actually remembered, Ian struggled for self-possession. Okay, how would he and Djalma go about the real subject at hand?

Djalma climbed around the side of the rock and started toward the bridge. As he passed by, he touched Ian on the shoulder and spoke with a gentleness that Ian normally associated with someone much older. “I’m sorry I‘ve disturbed you. This wasn’t my idea. Let’s move over there in the sun, where it’s a bit warmer.”

That brief touch, even through a bulky jacket, gave Ian a remarkable sense of reassurance. He no longer felt any hard feelings toward Djalma for having brought him out at such an odd time. In fact, he was suddenly content to be where he was. He replied in all honesty, “We don’t have to have this talk today, if it’s inconvenient for you.” Ian truly felt freed from his own need and full of concern for Djalma.

“Oh, I wasn’t referring to our meeting. I really am glad to meet you. What I meant was that I didn’t ask to be useful in such matters. It’s sometimes as uncomfortable for me to be consulted about these things as it is for the people who come to me.”

Never breaking stride, Djalma looked over his shoulder and smiled. “By the way, you’d have to ask my parents what they had in mind with the name. I’ve considered changing it.”

I knew he could read my mind, thought Ian.

Djalma led them to a warmer spot, out from under the trees, and a little removed from the river, but there wasn’t much more warmth. The sun had barely crested the mountaintops and the clouds were rolling in.

Djalma started the conversation, “How did you come to learn this talent of visitation?”

“I might be learning now, but it began more as something stumbled onto, I think,” Ian said.

“Oh, I doubt it was purely by chance, friend,” Djalma said. “It requires something much more than luck.”

Djalma asked Ian a few more questions. Ian was surprised at how comfortable he became in sharing information with this stranger. Every question Djalma asked unleashed a flood of response from Ian. It was a relief to share his full experiences with someone who fully accepted what he said. Ian felt immensely closer to a solution.

As wrapped up in warm clothing as Ian was, the cold damp weather was beginning to get to him. Djalma was periodically brushing his hands up and down his own sleeves, too.

“Are you up for a little walk?” Djalma asked. “No need to move your car. It will be all right. My house is just through the woods, and I have a fire going there.”

They wandered away from the road, through the trees and rhododendron, on a worn path through the thick evergreen forest. Suddenly, a tiny house appeared. It was the size of a small storage building. Made of rough-sawn lumber, it had a high-pitched tin roof. A covered porch, which was mostly storage for firewood with a narrow path left to the door, extended about eight feet from the front of the building.

Djalma grabbed a couple sticks of wood from the pile as he made his way to the door. Inside was a tiny woodstove whose fire had all but gone out. Putting the new pieces in, Djalma stirred the coals. Even though the temperature in the cabin was much colder than what Ian was used to at home, just to be in a place that was dry and warmed by the dying fire was a welcome luxury.

The interior of the cabin could not have been much more than 250 square feet. The space was divided into two rooms. The back room, more the size of a closet, appeared to be Djalma’s sleeping quarters. Through the drawn cloth that served as a door, Ian could see a thin pad and covers on a raised platform.

Benches sat against the opposing walls, just inside the door, and were the only seating. A very small table and an old, cast-iron sink, with large water bottles stored under it, were against one wall, farther into the house. Over the sink were a window and several shelves, sporting only a few pans and dishes. The woodstove faced the door, against the wall between the living and sleeping spaces.

Ian suspected that the massive number of books, which covered every inch of wall space not otherwise occupied, provided most of Djalma’s insulation. The weight of books seemed to exceed the sturdiness of the shelves perched over the bench where Ian sat. He hoped, however, that they would not collapse this morning.

Djalma made some hot tea and brought Ian’s over to him. Ian held the cup for warmth and Djalma put his own cup on the table next to the opposite bench. In a single step Djalma was back in the kitchen, pulling a large pot from the wall over the stove and taking a small knife from the sink. He sat down on the bench across from Ian and placed the pot on the floor in front of him.

With one hand, Djalma grabbed the bottom of the bag he had carried from the river and dumped it onto the floor. Roots, bark, twigs, and an occasional green sprig, along with a lot of dirt fell out. Paying no attention to Ian, Djalma picked up a handful of items and started to scrape, cut, and shred portions of his collected treasures, tossing parts in the large pot, parts in a bucket nearby. If Djalma had swapped receptacles for this work, Ian was certain that he would have never known which was to be compost and which was to become stew (or whatever it was that Djalma was creating).

In time, the reawakened fire required that they shed some of their outer garments. Ian forgot about the growing heap of ingredients in Djalma’s pot and the books perched just above his head. He talked easily about more of what had been going on while Djalma worked and listened. Ian told Djalma about his experimentation of moving items in and out of the room, as well as why he felt the teapot to be the central key to the event. Changing expressions on the young man’s face assured Ian that Djalma was absorbed in every word. Djalma rarely gave any response other than a grunt of acceptance now and then, until finally Ian was silent. For a few minutes, the only sounds were the fire crackling and the rain that had begun to fall on the tin roof.

When Djalma finally spoke, it was with a tone of concern. “What you have believed to be thoughtful furnishing of your home has actually been a bit of energetic alchemy. From what you tell me, you have been stirring this brew for a long time, and with some purposeful intent, though subconsciously.”

Djalma was proving to be most of what Ian expected of a generally proclaimed “wise” person, unerringly peaceful, possessing an occasionally disconcerting insight, and impossible to predict. After this brief statement, the young man seemed content to sit silently, as if waiting for Ian to process his diagnosis.

Ian wondered, is that it? Is that all he has to say, after all I have told him?

After fruitlessly waiting for Djalma to expound on his statement, Ian said, “Please explain what you mean.”

“First of all, you are comfortable, are you not, with the idea that everything is made up of energy, and the physical world is an illusion?” Djalma asked.

“Sure,” Ian responded. “In theory, anyway.”

Djalma spoke quietly, his eyes intently focused on Ian’s face. “Though not often experienced as you have recently, it is more than theory. It is so. How are you with the concept of infinite realities?”

Ian defaulted to an attempt at humor. “I like it, but no more than a couple nights a week.”

Djalma’s smile still conveyed seriousness.

“Sorry,” Ian said. “Just what do you mean?”

 

Djalma  continued next

 

copyright 2006 CG Walters

For those who cannot wait to read Sacred Vow over installments, I have a gift for you–the first 15 chapters online to be read at your leisure!

This link http://authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557 is a listing the 1st 15 chapters on HarperCollins.London.

If you enjoy what you read, I’d ask a favor in return; help me pursue a foreign rights publishing contract for Sacred Vow.

Please register on the site (create a profile on http://www.authonomy.com/ ), and search for Sacred Vow. Once you have the page up with the Sacred Vow book cover, notice that to the right of the page there is a column with several options, one of which is “Back this book“, please click that –this adds Sacred Vow to your bookshelf, used to determine which books the editors will consider.—This is not a purchase. Authonomy is strictly a mechanism for selecting books for publishing within HarperCollins.

Please check your profile page afterwards, ensuring that the Sacred Vow cover shows in your Bookshelf.

If you have time, make a comment on Sacred Vow by going to this page
http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557 the comment box is below the book description. I would love your input. Fiction is a collective creation between reader and writer.

Thank you for your continued support.

Blessings all,

CG

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase from Amazon as ebook , paperback, or Kindle version

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

Serialization of Sacred Vow: Liz (continued)

photo by by Pragmagraphr

Classified as metaphysical fiction, Sacred Vow is a love story of a very unusual nature. …. Any new relationship has complications, and Katerina and Ian, the lovers in this story, are no different. However, there is one catch. Ian and Katerina are trying to build a relationship across dimensional planes; visiting each other through meditations and visions. Walters does a fine job of expressing not only the awkwardness of a new relationship, but the hesitancy anyone might encounter in trying to explain non-quantifiable experiences to those around them. —Kate Turner for New Connexion Magazine

Installment 10 of 22 of the serialization of Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).    

Liz (continued)

Still unsure how to proceed without appearing unstable, Ian said, “Liz, have you ever had a possession, which seemed to have more to it than just its physical properties? It’s hard to explain . . . well . . . when you’re relaxed, quiet, and unguarded, it makes you feel as if you know something about its past? Or the people who owned it before?”Liz’s response almost scared him to death. “Oh, you mean an energetic imprint? Energy stored in an inanimate object, which can affect those in contact with it?”

“Um-m-m.” He didn’t know how to respond. Liz smiled kindly, and then Ian knew she had not asked with any judgment in mind. Still cautious, he replied, “Ye-e-es. You could call it that.”

“I told you, I can be a surprise,” Liz said. “Now, sweetie, maybe we can have the conversation you came here for.”

Ian felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He could not say if it was because he finally felt relaxed about pursuing this topic with Liz, or if it was merely a result of exhaustion from trying to dance around the subject. One thing Ian was sure of, whether she thought he was crazy or not, he now felt much more at ease about asking his questions.

“Liz, when I asked to buy that teapot, it was only to remind me of the wonderful time that you, and your B&B, provided Beverly and me. I expected nothing more of it.

“But I soon began having a certain experience every time I used the pot in my study.” Ian paused to summon his courage. He started to speak to Liz of “visits,” but suddenly felt fearful, and restricted himself to calling them “visions” instead. His suspicion was that the concept of visions required much less indulgence on the part of the listener.

“I began to have visions of a woman, about my age, with long, auburn hair. She speaks, but I cannot hear her words. Crazy as it seems, I have to admit that I’ve come to an intense feeling of intimacy with her. I am certain, that in the deepest meaning of the word, I know her well.”

“And you think the woman in your vision has some connection with the woman who left the teapot?” Liz asked.

With this question Ian went from being afraid of sounding delusional to feeling shame for being ridiculously naive. “Well . . . yes. It seems so. Do you think that is unlikely?”

Liz topped off his tea. “This will go more quickly if I tell you a little bit of what I know about the pot’s previous owners.

“They were here about two months before your visit. It seemed they had some business in the area and used my place as a base. Though they stayed for three weeks, I did not see much of them. As I do with all my guests, I tried to make them comfortable and welcome. They did not want to be bothered. Even though they never expressed it in so many words, they made it clear they saw me as a servant, not as a friend or a social equal.

“After they left, I noticed that they had left behind a number of items, including the teapot. So I called to ask if they’d like me to ship the pieces home. The wife was indignant. ‘Oh, no! We left them intentionally. We only bought them because—because they were more—familiar,’ she told me.

“She stumbled over the words when she realized that she had been more truthful than she’d meant to be. It was quite clear that she liked those tea things better than the ones I had in the suite, but even they were not suitable for her home. I pitied her, despite the slight, and thanked her for her generosity.

“This lady looked nothing like the woman you’re describing in your vision. She was a good bit younger than you, though she acted older than both of us. She was short and thickset, had short, dark hair, well cared for, but with a style weighted on convenience. Her clothes were also more practical than becoming. In fact, passionless pretense seemed to be her defining focus.

“I think I’m a pretty good judge of character. My years of serving people have given me time to observe and to learn. I feel safe in saying that this woman, bless her soul, is a person so afraid of living that, if you were to tell her your story, even if she were single, she would do everything she could to have you put away—for presenting possibilities that terrify her.”

With the insight that Liz provided, Ian decided that it might be helpful to have some outside input on his experience. “Liz, what is your opinion of what I’ve told you?”

“Ian, I do not question your experience. I’m only telling you what you already know. Be careful to whom you speak of this experience. There are a lot of people who are more interested in maintaining the illusion of knowing than coming to any real understanding of reality. They will make every effort to stop anyone who upsets their self-deluding beliefs.”

Ian felt suddenly downcast. “That is true.”

Liz leaned forward quickly and said eagerly, “But all is not lost! I cannot help you much with your exploration. I’ve always preferred to spend my time with my flowers and my guests, rather than in explicit consideration of such things. But, I have a friend who can help you. This old fellow is a little unconventional, but he can give you just the kind of assistance you need for something like this.”

“That would be great, Liz! Thank you. Can we invite him over today?” Ian asked excitedly. No matter how peculiar this fellow might be, Ian felt like he was getting nowhere alone and he knew of no one who might be able to explain the kinds of experiences he’d been having.

“It’s not so easy as that,” Liz said. “But we are in luck. Normally, we’d have to traipse all over the woods trying to find my friend. He doesn’t have a phone, but I happen to know he is house-sitting this weekend for a neighbor, who does have a phone.”

Liz got up and went into the kitchen to make the call. Ian could see her through the double doors.

“Hello, Djalma. This is Liz. How’s the house sitting going, sweetie?

“Oh? Nice . . .

“I need a favor, darlin’. I have a friend here who could use your special help. He’s been having some unusual visits. Do you think you could see him sometime soon?”

Ian noticed Liz’s choice of the word “visits”. Was it merely coincidental? He had not used that word while talking with her.

Liz got a pad and pencil from a kitchen drawer. As she listened, she took notes.

“In two weeks? On Saturday?”

Liz looked at Ian for confirmation. He nodded.

“He says that’s good, Djalma. Do you need to go to his place? I can drive you. Ian lives several hours away . . .

“No? Okay, I will tell him how to get to your cabin.”

Liz listened a minute and then said, “Okay, on the stone by the bridge . . .

“At seven in the morning? That’s a little early, sweetie. Are you sure?

“Oh? Well, okay then.”

Again Liz looked to Ian. Feeling he was in no position to bargain when asking a favor, Ian nodded while shrugging his shoulders.

“That will work,” she confirmed.

Ian could tell by listening to Liz’s side of the conversation that his meeting would be a challenging one.

“Ian says these visits started when he acquired a certain teapot. Should he bring it with him?” She paused. “No teapot.”

Liz returned her attention to Ian and gave him a questioning look. He knew of nothing else to ask, so he just nodded.

“Thanks, sweetie. He’ll be there. Again, his name is Ian. Stop by if you have questions later . . .

“You too.” Liz smiled widely. “What do you think about that cat of theirs? A real Buddha personality wouldn’t you say?”

She listened for a bit longer and then said, “Yes, amazing. Enjoy. Bye now, see you soon.”

Liz returned the phone to the cradle and brought her pad to the table.

“There you go, Ian. You’re in good hands now.”

Looking at his instructions, it crossed Ian’s mind to ask, “What if it is raining or snowing that day? It does that a lot in the winter here.”

“Djalma said there is no need to worry about that.”

The sheer certainty of her voice didn’t completely alleviate Ian’s concerns, but he could tell that was all the comfort he was going to get from Liz. She brewed another pot of tea, and they spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about other things.

During the next couple of days, Ian was too busy at work to even think much about his visit with Liz or the upcoming meeting with her friend. In fact, for some days Ian didn’t even have time for a cup of tea. It was just as well. He did not want to risk inadvertently doing additional harm to Katerina.

copyright 2006 CG Walters

 

 

Continued next week,

For those who cannot wait to read Sacred Vow over installments, I have a gift for you–the first 15 chapters online to be read at your leisure!

This link http://authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557 is a listing the 1st 15 chapters on HarperCollins.London.

If you enjoy what you read, I’d ask a favor in return; help me pursue a foreign rights publishing contract for Sacred Vow.

Please register on the site (create a profile on http://www.authonomy.com/ ), and search for Sacred Vow. Once you have the page up with the Sacred Vow book cover, notice that to the right of the page there is a column with several options, one of which is “Back this book“, please click that –this adds Sacred Vow to your bookshelf, used to determine which books the editors will consider.—This is not a purchase. Authonomy is strictly a mechanism for selecting books for publishing within HarperCollins.

Please check your profile page afterwards, ensuring that the Sacred Vow cover shows in your Bookshelf.

If you have time, make a comment on Sacred Vow by going to this page
http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557
the comment box is below the book description. I would love your input. Fiction is a collective creation between reader and writer.

Thank you for your continued support.

Blessings all,

CG
 

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase from Amazon as ebook , paperback, or Kindle version

Receive new editions of Into the Mist through a reader http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntoTheMist

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

Djalma
 

 

Serialization of Sacred Vow: Liz

photo by Francesco Basile

Classified as metaphysical fiction, Sacred Vow is a love story of a very unusual nature. …. Any new relationship has complications, and Katerina and Ian, the lovers in this story, are no different. However, there is one catch. Ian and Katerina are trying to build a relationship across dimensional planes; visiting each other through meditations and visions. Walters does a fine job of expressing not only the awkwardness of a new relationship, but the hesitancy anyone might encounter in trying to explain non-quantifiable experiences to those around them. —Kate Turner for New Connexion Magazine

Installment 9 of 22 of the serialization of Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).

 

Liz

 

 

 

Ian had acquired the teapot from his friend Liz’s bed and breakfast the year before, while on vacation in the mountains with his long-time girlfriend, Beverly. Ian thought he wanted her to have it as a reminder of the good times they seemed to have had on that trip. Sadly, a few weeks after returning, from the mountains they found it necessary to accept that the relationship was not fully providing either person’s needs. The only resolution they could agree on was to separate.It was a sad time for Ian.

Their relationship had been his most enduring since a short, failed marriage when he was much younger. It had seemed obvious that his relationship with Beverly had been falling apart even before the trip, but he had not wanted to see it.

When Beverly tried to pack the teapot with her things as she moved out, Ian was annoyed—and thus became aware of whom he had really bought it for. He was irritated, yet somewhat amused, that Beverly would now choose to claim a gift that she had all but rejected when Ian had given it to her. If anything, she had expressed almost contempt for the teapot and had repeatedly indicated an interest in giving it away.

Ian was surprised, however, by the attachment he found himself expressing for the teapot. After all, it was wholly unremarkable in appearance, manufacture, and function. From the beginning, however, the teapot’s impact on his life proved to be much the opposite.

Ian’s fondness for that simple teapot had seemed to have a special ability to upset Beverly. He could not understand how they had such opposite reactions to a simple ceramic pot. As he looked back on those days now, Ian felt fortunate that Katerina had not visited the few times Beverly used the pot to make tea. He was sure that such an inopportune visit would have spelled doom for his beloved teapot.

Despite its association with the end of Ian’s relationship with Beverly and the beginning of some strange activity in his life, it was good to see Elizabeth—Liz—Fontilineau’s bed and breakfast again. It had been the centerpiece of his vacation with Beverly.

When seen while driving up the country road, Liz’s bed and breakfast appeared to be a one or two-story flat-roofed building with some Victorian enhancements. But once past a green border of trees and bushes on the approaching side (or sooner when it was winter), you would become aware that the house was deeper than it was wide. It was built on a steep bank bordering the road. This fact hid the extra height of the building. If you were not stopping at the upper guest parking, on the approaching side of the B&B, you made a right turn on the opposite side of the house and drove down and around back to Liz’s parking place and gardens. From there, the south side, the B&B looked like a townhouse, three stories over a basement.

Liz told him that the building had once been a general store and feed supply. Though it took a lot of work to fix up, she had bought it for the location and the space it provided for the price. Now Liz had multi-bed guest suites on the upper two floors. The common dining area and her private living space were on the bottom floor. The basement, exposed only on the east and south, was used for storage and gardening supplies. The two upper floors had balconies, and the first floor was wrapped on two sides with a wide deck.

Liz was a joy to be with. She and Ian had become good friends since they met on his trip with Beverly. Over seventy years old, she was a tall, remarkably elegant woman . . . elegant for any age. She spent much of her time in the bountiful gardens that spread around the house.

Ian would not have expected to find Liz inside, except that it was winter. She opened the door to greet him. Three weeks of abstinence from visiting Katerina had not brought about quite the health recovery that he had convinced himself it would. Though it would take far more to force Liz from her usual decorum, her eyes betrayed fleetingly her shock at Ian’s haggard appearance.

Then she said, “Give me a hug, darlin’.” She spoke in a charming deep-South accent—not heard very often in the mountains of the Northeast—and opened her arms to greet him.

Ian stepped through the door, glad to wrap his arms around her.

“Hello Liz. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

The year before, Beverly, Ian, and Liz had had many enjoyable conversations. Liz proved to be not only gracious, but a very wise, fascinating woman. During those leisurely conversations, Ian had never been able to extract from Liz just how she came to her knowledge. Her attention was focused on the “here and now,” to caring for her gardens and being cordial to her guests, which she did so intently that it was almost a mystical art.

Now Liz led Ian through the door to the dining room and said, “The water for tea went on as soon as I saw you pull up.”

“Thank you, Liz,” Ian said. “You are such a wonderful hostess.” He pulled back a chair from her large, double-pedestal dining table and sat down. She always had a way of making a person feel special.

“It is what I enjoy. It is what I do,” she replied, and she disappeared for a moment through the double hideaway doors that led to the kitchen.

Every move Liz made, everything about her appearance, and all the choices she made were graceful and genteel, Ian thought. He realized that the music playing softly in the background was a recording of a Mozart concerto, performed on original period instruments.

He got up and looked through the windows toward the river west of the inn. Ian called, “How have you been, Liz? Did you have a nice Christmas?”

“I’ve been doing very well. Thank you for asking, Ian.” Liz came through the door, carrying an exquisite silver tea service with a plate of the most fragrant scones. “It was a lovely Christmas. The weather was cold, with just enough snow for the mood of winter, without being troublesome. I spent time with many dear friends, of course . . . By the way, thank you for sending me that lovely Christmas card.”

Just being around Liz brought out Ian’s best manners. “My pleasure, Liz.”

“How have you been, Ian?” The tone of Liz’s voice held none of the alarm Ian had seen on her face when Liz had first greeted him.

“I’m alright, Liz.”

Liz paused for only a moment before responding, “I’m glad to hear it.”

Ian could not overcome feeling guilty about his obvious lie, so he added, “Though I’ve been working too much. It’s been wearing on me lately. But I think that’s about to turn a corner.”

“That’s good,” Liz said. “One always needs to care for the spirit.”

Ian looked around the room, seeking to diffuse the nervousness that was starting to build within him. Against the wall next to the kitchen, Liz had a pie safe with glass doors. If this had been her busy season, the cabinet would have displayed several cakes and pies. Now it was empty. The standard flower arrangement was absent from the center of the table, replaced with holly for the winter season.

Placing tray on the table, Liz looked up at Ian, “I hope you like scones.”

They sat and sipped green tea, spending the next hour relishing the maple-flavored scones and finding out what each had been doing since they had last been together.

“I was sorry to hear about you and Beverly,” Liz said. “You two seemed so happy together when you first arrived.”

“Thank you, Liz. Obviously something was not quite what it should have been. Anyway, the separation seems to be best for us both.”

“Well, that’s good. I know it had to be painful. But if you are both happy, I’m glad for you,” she said sympathetically.

Liz’s enjoyment of the simple pleasures of the moment and her unwavering attentiveness were, as always, so infectious that until she brought it up, Ian had completely forgotten about the teapot and the visions that he had been obsessed with for months.

“So, tell me, sweetie, what is it that you want to know about this teapot of yours?”

As comfortable as he felt with Liz, Ian realized that their conversations had never entered into esotericism. If Ian had to guess, he would have speculated that Liz had no such interest. He’d wondered whether she had never been drawn to such things or had just passed beyond the need of like expressions.

Ian answered carefully, not wanting to sound insane, “Oh, I don’t know, Liz. I’ve just come to believe there is something very special about it.”

Liz leaned back and gazed at Ian in a way that made him feel she was looking right inside of him. He was becoming uncomfortable. Always before, she had maintained a mix of Southern politeness and New England reserve. Never had he felt the slightest impulse in Liz to be openly curious. He would have assumed that she considered prying to be bad manners. But today, her quiet look felt almost intrusive.

Eventually, Liz shifted her gaze, smiled, and tilted her head to one side as she lifted her teacup. “It’s a pretty teapot, darlin,’ but there is nothing special about it. I was glad to give it to you when you asked to buy it. I’m not really sure why I kept it after that couple said they didn’t want it back.”

When Liz had given him the teapot, she had told Ian that a previous guest had left the teapot behind, but she had said nothing more. Its history had seemed unimportant at that time. He had been happy to have a token to remember a wonderful, peaceful time, and the teapot had served that purpose well. Beyond that, Ian had not thought much about it.

But all that had changed. Now he was curious. “A couple left it?”

Ian’s question was not as telling as the quick way he spoke, the tone of his voice. He was embarrassed, and he hoped Liz failed to pick up on his expressed eagerness.

She smiled and put her teacup down. “Yes, it was a couple, a husband and wife.” She paused. “Now it’s your turn, dear.”

Lost in his thoughts, Ian was slow to respond. He had hoped that the previous owner had been a single woman. It came as a surprise to see how much of a romantic fantasy he had built up. Ian imagined that he had been experiencing a connection with a proverbial “soul mate,” through the mutual connection of the teapot. Ian had not been aware of it until now, but despite all the elaborate trappings of the visions, some part of him had adopted the notion that the person he was visiting had previously owned the teapot and was “of this world.”

Liz waited patiently for his response, smiling and giving him all the time he needed. She took a bite of scone and gave him an encouraging look.

Initially, Ian was not ready to accept his disappointment. “Excuse me?”

Liz leaned forward and reached across the table. She touched his hand gently and said, “I will be glad to tell you everything I can about the teapot, Ian. You don’t even have to tell me why you want to know. But I think you’ll be surprised to learn that I know a little something about a lot of things you might never imagine.”

 

 

 

Copyright 2006 CG Walters

 

 

Liz continued next

For those who cannot wait to read Sacred Vow over installments, I have a gift for you–the first 15 chapters online to be read at your leisure!

This link http://authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557 is a listing the 1st 15 chapters on HarperCollins.London.

If you enjoy what you read, I’d ask a favor in return; help me pursue a foreign rights publishing contract for Sacred Vow.

Please register on the site (create a profile on http://www.authonomy.com/ ), and search for Sacred Vow. Once you have the page up with the Sacred Vow book cover, notice that to the right of the page there is a column with several options, one of which is “Back this book“, please click that –this adds Sacred Vow to your bookshelf, used to determine which books the editors will consider.—This is not a purchase. Authonomy is strictly a mechanism for selecting books for publishing within HarperCollins.

Please check your profile page afterwards, ensuring that the Sacred Vow cover shows in your Bookshelf.

If you have time, make a comment on Sacred Vow by going to this page
http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557
the comment box is below the book description. I would love your input. Fiction is a collective creation between reader and writer.

Thank you for your continued support.

Blessings all,

CG
 

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase from Amazon as ebook , paperback or Kindle version

 

Receive new editions of Into the Mist through a reader http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntoTheMist

 

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

Serialization of Sacred Vow: Dark Visits

photo by photographer padawan

 

Sacred Vow shares with us the magic of a loving commitment that spans time and the understanding that such a commitment needs to be held sacred. It is a love story, one that shows the journey towards one true love has infinite expressions. —Monthly Aspectarian, Chicago

Installment 8 of 22 of the serialization of Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).


Dark Visits

 

For some time to come, Ian was content to understand nothing more about why and how he and Katerina were brought together. The fact that their time shared gave him great happiness was enough. The experiences had no perceptible impact on his day-to-day life. The joyful sensations that he had in trade for a few unaccountable seconds during his daily cup of tea were precious.

Ian knew he was growing increasingly attached to an experience that he could not explain to most people, but what was the harm? Just like many others, he had dinner or a few drinks with friends after a day of less than fulfilling employment. So what if he then came home and had tea with his mysterious friend Katerina? Though theirs was not the most orthodox relationship that he had ever known, it made him inexplicably content.

Unfortunately, Ian’s time spent outside the domain of his conscious world did not remain confined to only a few seconds during each visit. He did not mind initially when the time span increased a little. But after a while, there was evidence that he actually was losing consciousness during the sessions and for unpredictable amounts of time during visits with his tea companion.

When the visits began, Ian felt as though his perception was briefly being expanded to include some part of reality not ordinarily seen by him, and he willfully chose to concentrate his full attention on that redefinition of his world for a period of time. What he was now beginning to experience was more like an unavoidable blackout. Sometimes for seconds, sometimes for hours.

Despite the implied danger, he continued to desire contact with Katerina. Common sense forced Ian to consider that he might be out of control. He could no longer avoid the blackout experience if he had the ritual cup of tea, and yet he could not deny himself visits with her. Of additional concern to him, the visions had begun to leave Ian with the sensation of a particularly noxious poison flowing into every cell of his body.

After a time, Ian began to notice disconcerting changes in Katerina’s appearance. Since he believed that it was the traveling that was affecting his health, and he was generally the one doing the traveling, Ian had not imagined that their visits could have a corresponding ill effect on Katerina.

Tea was later than usual that night. He had stayed at work late to catch up on some things that had been delayed due to his developing health issues. Feeling like he had just dragged himself across the infinite space between their realities, Ian strained to focus on the likeness of Katerina that was available to him. No longer was her image fully formed and substantial. It was more phantasmal like he had seen of his own form when he first visited her world.

He didn’t know if he would be able to remain this time any longer than the other visits of late. Why have I come back with no more answers than before? he wondered.

Ian had to ask himself why he was making so much effort to bring Katerina’s image into view. He knew it would only sadden him. Even if he could overcome the visual distortion, it was evident much more was going terribly wrong.

In the beginning, Katerina’s face had been radiant. Now it was growing haggard and unhealthy looking. She moved like a completely different person, with a labored step rather than her former gracefully flowing movements.

The haziness of her present form kept Ian from being able to make out much of Katerina’s countenance. He hoped all this unpleasantness was the result of the delusional consciousness that now seemed to take hold of him during recent visits. If Ian could trust what he saw, her bright eyes, with their bold spirit, had become dim—and perhaps angry.

Thinking the details of his facial expressions were probably no clearer to her than hers were to him, Ian raised his hand to say hello. She threw him a kiss in return. Though the action told him she was not angry with him, it actually made him more depressed about the situation. It was disheartening to see Katerina struggle through the visit as if she was also victim to a poisonous atmosphere, even though she tried to be congenial. If she was subject to any of the same physical effects that he was, Ian did not want to impose the situation on her.

In desperation to express his feelings for her, Ian tried to move toward Katerina, but he could not budge. He could sense that he had a fever, and that it was rising rapidly. He knew he would not be able to remain much longer. Maybe this is only a delusion from the fever, he thought. How he wanted to believe that was the case!

Transitions in and out of the visions had lost their unheralded nature. A flood of input to Ian’s nervous system signaled the beginning to his return home: nausea, tension, and pain. It warned that he would pay for this transition. These days, he increasingly felt some of these symptoms while in the visit. However bad it was during the visit, it was much worse as the visit ended.

Ian reached out as to try to touch Katerina, just before the scenery reverted to his study. With his high fever, sweat was rolling down his face. The only way Ian kept the pain in his poisoned muscles from making him vomit was by clenching his teeth. With long, slow breaths, he started to calm his stomach. This, however, was not all good news. Recent experience told him that as soon as the physical distractions subsided, he would have to fight the onset of a round with depression. Though the vision seemed relatively short, his watch told him that he had been “out” for half the night.

His blackouts had become extended, and the nasty aftereffects lingered long after his return. Quite often, Ian “awoke” with his body fighting off this resulting fever. He also had the sensation of a sleeper who had not been fully released from a dream.

He made his way to the bathroom sink, to throw some cold water on his face. Ian hoped it would cool him off and shake him completely free from this nightmare. The face in the mirror was looking as strained as Katerina’s had. After each visit, Ian swore that he would not attempt another one before coming to an understanding of what was happening and how to combat the deterioration of their experience together. Yet, as soon as his health recovered enough, he could not resist returning. He knew better, but each time he managed to convince himself that the two of them would not suffer ill effects in the next visit.

The breaking point for Ian came when he started to feel the same erratic waves of distorted perception when he was not with the teapot, or even when he was not at home. In these experiences, he never remembered Katerina appearing, but he would suddenly become conscious of the sensation of returning to awareness—an abrupt regaining of his consciousness—which almost always followed recent visits. This situation was proving to be particularly tricky at work.

One day, Ian was making his way to the office when his supervisor joined him in the hall.

“How are you feeling today, Ian?” she said.

Without slowing his pace, he responded, “Good morning, Mary. I’m doing pretty well. How are you doing?”

The look on her face said that she thought he looked terrible. He knew he had dark circles under his eyes and that his skin was ashen. Ian’s recent visions were costing him much sleep, and his appetite was not good.

“Are you really, Ian?”

“Yes, I really am,” he said.

“And how is the testing going with the doctor?” she asked. “Is he getting any closer to finding the source of the allergy?”

Ian felt he had everyone in his daily world convinced about the causes of his health issues.

“Food allergies can be very complicated to pin down, you know,” Ian said. “There are just too many variables. But we’re making headway, Mary.”

“I hope so, Ian. I would be a lot more comfortable if I knew you were taking time off and focusing on your health. You have enough seniority and vacation to take as much time as you need.

“If the effects of this allergy are causing a lot of insomnia, like you say, you should be home, resting.”

Ian stopped to make eye contact. Mary took a step past him, and then turned to face him.

“I know you’ve been concerned about my health, Mary. I very much appreciate the fact that you are letting me continue to come into the office. With the exception of time needed for doctor’s appointments, and the infrequent time that I can catch a little extra sleep, the best thing for my health is to be here, focused on work instead of my health.”

The last thing Ian wanted to do was remain around the house when he had no idea how to resolve the issue and did not dare to make additional visits.

“Okay, Ian. If you assure me that you will take any time you need,” she said.

“Yes, I will, Mary. Thank you.”

She momentarily put a hand on his shoulder, “Now, if your health allows you, I need for you to do me a favor. I was hoping to ask you for some assistance for an associate working on one of the projects that you are doing research for.”

“Sure, whatever you need,” he said, glad to have the conversation change.

“Do you remember Thomas Hutchins?” she asked. “He is a talented fellow, but his group is a little short of senior-skill-level help and he has been put into a position that might be demanding more than he has experience to handle in the timeframe we need. Can you give him a few pointers in some of the more problematic functions for their code section?”

Mary’s concern was now fully shifted to schedules and performance. That motherly look had completely left her eyes; she was viewing Ian solely as programming talent. He was much relieved.

“No problem at all. I’ll give him a call and set up a work session with him,” Ian said.

Without further delay, she started to walk away, returning to her usual fast pace of making sure each of her current projects was bustling along productively. “Thanks, Ian. He’ll be expecting your call.”

Ian had always preferred to work alone, more now than ever. But if he was going to be under someone’s scrutiny, he much preferred it to be a junior associate rather than his project manager.

A couple of hours later, Ian was sitting at his laptop, going over a code structure with Thomas Hutchins. All had been going well and they were just about to clean up most of the group’s areas of confusion. Out of nowhere, Ian felt faint, as if his consciousness was being forcibly pulled elsewhere. This sensation was similar to the initiation of the recent visits, but he had never been threatened with such a strong experience outside of his study.

“If you move this value to temporary storage . . .”

Ian knew that he had stopped speaking in mid-sentence, but he could not force further words out.

“Are you all right, Ian?” Thomas asked.

Ian’s eyesight was getting patchy and the sense of touch was fading from his fingers, as they became numb. Ian looked down at his right hand, at the fingers frozen in place on the keyboard. He tried to tap the keys, but no finger would move.

Though Ian did not see any vision of Katerina, and did not fully lose sight of the office around him, he experienced many of the unpleasant physical responses that had become common during his recent visions. He managed to avoid blacking out, but it took every effort he could muster. Ian didn’t know for sure whether Thomas believed that he was conscious during the entire episode.

Thomas had placed a hand on Ian’s shoulder. He was leaning forward to look into Ian’s face. “Ian?”

Fortunately, the immobilizing spell snapped at just that moment. Instantly, Ian’s vision recovered, and the cloud in his mind vaporized. He found his voice. “Sorry. What were you saying, Thomas?”

Thomas quickly pulled his hand away and shifted his weight back to the center of his seat. “Are you all right?” There was an obvious concern in his voice.

Ian tried to cover up. “Oh, yes. Sorry, I was completely absorbed, thinking about a possible solution to that database screening. I just might have a solution.”

“Oh? Sure,” Thomas said.

“I’ll work on that later,” Ian said. “Now concerning this module.” He pushed ahead without hesitation, gave the junior programmer an important bit of code to work on, and sent him on his way.

Ian knew Thomas did not believe his explanation for his peculiar behavior, but Thomas was young and unsure of his status in the company. He would not cause any problem for Ian by bringing up the episode with anyone else. Ian knew he would have to spend a good bit of time instructing Thomas on how to work through that module, but the effort was well worth the trouble if it bought his silence. Thomas would benefit, in turn, from Ian’s instruction and from the recognition he would receive once the code was completed. Still, Ian was sorry to have to use his seniority in such a way.

Ian had had other experiences when he was away from the study. Fortunately, the incident with Thomas was the worst. However, it had become evident that Ian could have the blackouts not only at unpredictable times, but in random places as well. He was afraid he might even black out while driving. He needed answers, right away, concerning the recurring visions of the alluring but silent Katerina. And he felt confident that a visit to the original home of the teapot would provide some resolution.

Continued next week, Liz    

 

copyright 2006 CG Walters

For those who cannot wait to read Sacred Vow over installments, I have a gift for you–the first 15 chapters online to be read at your leisure!

This link http://authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557 is a listing the 1st 15 chapters on HarperCollins.London.

If you enjoy what you read, I’d ask a favor in return; help me pursue a foreign rights publishing contract for Sacred Vow.

Please register on the site (create a profile on http://www.authonomy.com/ ), and search for Sacred Vow. Once you have the page up with the Sacred Vow book cover, notice that to the right of the page there is a column with several options, one of which is “Back this book“, please click that –this adds Sacred Vow to your bookshelf, used to determine which books the editors will consider.—This is not a purchase. Authonomy is strictly a mechanism for selecting books for publishing within HarperCollins.

Please check your profile page afterwards, ensuring that the Sacred Vow cover shows in your Bookshelf.

If you have time, make a comment on Sacred Vow by going to this page
http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557
the comment box is below the book description. I would love your input. Fiction is a collective creation between reader and writer.

Thank you for your continued support.

Blessings all,

CG
 

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

 

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase from Amazon as ebook , paperback or Kindle version

 

Receive new editions of Into the Mist through a reader http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntoTheMist

 

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

 

Serialization of Sacred Vow: Katerina (continued2)

 

“Sacred Vow by C.G. Walters is a book that truly casts a spell, transporting its characters — and its readers — to a parallel universe where dream visitations and psychic fusions occur and lives are drastically changed. Prepare to be transported to a mystical realm of rites and ceremony, where ritual cups of tea can trigger a visit to “the other side,” where the power of language is extreme, and of the strength of desire runs deep.” -Jim Barnes, Managing Editor & Awards CoordinatorIndependent Publisher Online/Jenkins Group Inc.

Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).

Installment 7 of 22

 
 Ian became certain that the teapot was the most crucial element in invoking the visits. During two lapses when he had no visits, however, it proved evident that removing anything else from the room also had a disruptive effect. He could only speculate why, since the combination of those items never caused the experience before the addition of the teapot., Dark Visits

Katerina (continued2)

 

 

The first period of Katerina’s absence began when Ian removed a balloon-back chair in front of his desk in the study to have its seat re-caned. At the time, Ian had no idea why Katerina ceased to join him in the tea ritual during the two weeks that the chair was being repaired. As the days passed he became quite distressed by her absence. He only hoped that the remarkable circumstances that made her visits possible had not ceased to exist.

On the evening Ian picked up the repaired chair, he had a flat tire on the way home. There was a light mist of freezing rain, which made changing the tire all the more frustrating. He was chilled when he got home. He brought the chair in, placed it beside the desk, and immediately started to make some tea, for a little warmth and comfort.

Concentrating on his warming brew, he looked up to see Katerina sitting in the newly caned chair, smiling and talking to him while she worked on a book of handmade paper.

His body was suddenly filled with warmth, and his heart gladdened.

“It is so good to see you, dear, dear friend,” he said. “Until this moment, I didn’t realize just how much I had missed you.” Ian was so overwhelmed with happiness that he was trembling slightly. He had to put the teacup down until he could recover.

Katerina smiled and nodded. Looking directly into Ian’s eyes, she spoke for a few moments, her facial expressions seeming to reciprocate his feelings. As usual, the only words he heard were his own.

Picking up his teacup, Ian rose from the chair and moved toward her. “How do you like the new caning? Does it sit well?”

Katerina was looking down, tying the binding on her book. Ian saw that she did not know that he was speaking. It didn’t matter. He was so content though, that as he neared her he continued talking.

“Do you think the absence of the chair could have interfered with our visit, Katerina? I don’t understand how it could. We were never able to come to each other before the teapot. I am sure the teapot is the source of our connection.”

Midway through his last sentence, as Ian was standing just in front of her, Katerina looked up at him. Raising her eyebrows, she questioned him for what he had said.

“I said that I wish I could do better at lip-reading. I am sure you can understand what I am saying, but it won’t help much for me to ask you a question because I won’t be able to understand your response.”

Her fingers finishing the knot on the binding, Katerina raised her shoulders and then began talking to Ian about something, very casually. He was sure it was intended to provide some comfort. She reached out to “touch” him.

After a couple of minutes, she quickly turned her head to one side, as if she had heard something.

“What is it, Katerina?” he said.

She lifted a finger, retaining her focus outside his study.

“Is one of your children calling?”

Katerina tilted her head and started to rise. Instead of coming to her feet before him, she vanished.

There he was, teacup in hand, looking at his newly caned chair. Comforted by her return, he moved back to the recliner and admired the caning that Katerina had been sitting on only moments before.

“Welcome back, Katerina,” he said as if she were still with him. “Come back to see me anytime.”

It was rare that they visited in his world, and Ian could not discern what determined who would visit whom. Though Katerina’s world was much more interesting to him, he would have preferred to always have her visit him in his study. When visiting in his home, Ian had independent mobility, the experience of moving about at will. He was also afforded the comfort of being fully corporeal. Katerina appeared to be solid flesh in either environment.

Much to Ian’s pleasure, his and Katerina’s teatime visits occurred regularly after that, and were uninterrupted for a couple of weeks. Then one night, he sat down with tea, and was surprised to find that he remained alone. He lingered, having several cups, thinking Katerina might return.

“What is keeping you away tonight, Katerina? Hope you are having fun. I miss you.”

He was disappointed, but not overly distressed. After all, Katerina did not visit every night.

The next night, still alone, he was a little more anxious. Just drinking tea and letting his mind wander, for no particular reason the incident with the balloon-backed chair came to mind suddenly.

“Oh, no. Is it I that have been keeping you away?” he said.

Ian began to frantically go over the inventory of the room, searching for what he might have done to disturb the ambience of the room.

“Think, Ian. Something tells me you’ve done something that you shouldn’t have.”

Midway through the second cup of tea, he realized what it was. The day before he had moved a Fauvist-style painting of a male angel—painted by a local artist—to another room. Without thought of any consequence, he just decided to try the painting elsewhere.

“The painting; I moved that angel! What was I thinking?”

He rushed to the painting and brought it back to its previous location in the study. Confidently, Ian headed back to his chair. Before he could raise his cup from the table, Katerina had come and gone. He could not remember any of the activity of the visit, but he had the sense that she had been with him. It was as if she made the connection, imbued him and the room with her presence, without ever needing to materialize.

Never again did Ian allow any article to be moved from the study.

Continued next

 
copyright 2006 CG Walters

For those who cannot wait to read Sacred Vow over installments, I have a gift for you–the first 15 chapters online to be read at your leisure!

This link http://authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557 is a listing the 1st 15 chapters on HarperCollins.London.

If you enjoy what you read, I’d ask a favor in return; help me pursue a foreign rights publishing contract for Sacred Vow.

Please register on the site (create a profile on http://www.authonomy.com/ ), and search for Sacred Vow. Once you have the page up with the Sacred Vow book cover, notice that to the right of the page there is a column with several options, one of which is “Back this book“, please click that –this adds Sacred Vow to your bookshelf, used to determine which books the editors will consider.—This is not a purchase. Authonomy is strictly a mechanism for selecting books for publishing within HarperCollins.

Please check your profile page afterwards, ensuring that the Sacred Vow cover shows in your Bookshelf.

If you have time, make a comment on Sacred Vow by going to this page
http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557
the comment box is below the book description. I would love your input. Fiction is a collective creation between reader and writer.

Thank you for your continued support.

Blessings all,

CG
 

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

 

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase from Amazon as ebook , paperback or Kindle version

 

Receive new editions of Into the Mist through a reader http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntoTheMist

 

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

Serialization of Sacred Vow: Katerina (continued1)

 

photo by JF Sebastian

Sacred Vow is a unique, ingeniously written visionary/metaphysical novel about one true love and its infinite expressions. It asks the reader to consider an experience where our interconnectedness and ‘self’ definition might extend far beyond the segmented (individualistic) awareness previously held by so many. It takes us on a journey deep within, exploring and discovering one’s own mystical longings and a wealth of endless knowledge. Be prepared for some surprises.—Spirit in the Smokies Magazine of Living NEWStories

Installment 6 of 22 Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).

Katerina (continued)

Katerina didn’t appear every evening that he had a cup of tea in his red leather chair, and she never appeared when that particular teapot was not in the study. Nor would she visit Ian in any other room, even if he had tea with that teapot there. One evening Ian found out she could materialize in the study when he was not having tea, but had, nonetheless, brought the pot into the room.Katerina to be continued next

Planning to have tea a little later, Ian was in the kitchen rinsing the teapot when the phone rang. Still drying the outside of the pot, he went to the study to pick up the cordless extension. As he talked, Ian sat down in the antique recliner and placed the teapot on the table to his right. When the conversation was over, Ian turned off the phone, and laid it on the arm of the chair.

For no particular reason, Ian continued to sit and stare at the teapot. Suddenly he felt Katerina’s presence. Although it had not been that way in the initial visions, he had recently noticed that his awareness of Katerina was now instantaneous. No progression of sensations led to their connection. During the last few visits, she had consistently appeared someplace in his study, as if out of nowhere, without warning. Or, more likely, Ian had suddenly found himself in her world.

On this particular visit, Katerina was sitting on a bench near the very statue that had caused him trouble in a previous visit. She was playing a wooden flute. Of course he couldn’t hear the music she was making, but she painted a serene picture and seemed to be enjoying herself.

Quite content that he could move only in proximity with Katerina, Ian got her attention and pointed at the statue, to make sure it was not too far away. She nodded to confirm his intention.

The countenance of the statue looked uncannily familiar. It was a woman who looked very similar to Katerina, but it was not she. The stature and dress were regal. Ian leaned forward and stared right into the eyes of this stone woman. Even in marble, those eyes implied a wisdom that could recognize a person by his or her spirit within.

An unbelievably loud, grating noise rose right up Ian’s spinal chord. When it reached the base of his head, a shattering pain shot through the top of his skull. Ian jerked away from the statue, unable to believe that even in this place stone could generate such a sound.

“What is that?” he said.

The noise stopped. But he was back in his study as well. The noise had been the phone ringing and it only stopped only after Ian’s convulsion knocked it to the floor, breaking the connection.

In panic he looked at the table next to the chair, where he always set the teapot.

“Thank you, thank you,” Ian said. He had flung out only his left arm to silence the phone. The teapot sat safely on the table to his right.

He got up, disconnected every phone in the house, and pulled the curtains closed. He made tea and had a cup, hoping to return to Katerina and relax. He was unsuccessful in both pursuits.

“Tomorrow I will disconnect the doorbell as well,” he said, finally rising from the chair. “I’ll never again be yanked back before my visit is complete!”

From then on, Ian went through an invariable process of closing the house up, sealing himself off, and switching off all the phones before each tea.

The day soon came when Ian was able to visit Katerina in her cottage. With all his precautions in place, he settled into the recliner one night, hot pot of tea prepared and on the table beside him. He had not poured himself a cup. Yet, an old room of large stone and timber-frame opened up before Ian. The interior reflected the same grand artistry and craftsmanship as that he had previously seen on the exterior.

It took him a moment to become aware of his new surroundings, but Katerina was already smiling and talking to him—as she worked with some herbs.

“Hello, dear one,” he said. “Your home is even lovelier inside.”

With her hands in a pot of a liquid mix, she motioned with her head for him to look around. Fearful of encountering the limit of his energetic tether, he turned slowly around where he stood, taking in every detail of the environment.

The room was reasonably large, perhaps twenty-five by thirty feet. Judging by what he had previously noticed about the exterior size of the cottage, the staircase to the left of the area, and the windows he had seen from outside, Ian knew there were several other rooms in the house. This room seemed to serve as the all-purpose area. It was kitchen, dining room, and study. Shelves of books and a couple of large, comfortable upholstered chairs sat at one end. He and Katerina were at the opposite end.

The primary entryway was through an arched door in the center of one wall. The floor beneath Ian’s feet was of stone similar to slate, but more rustic. A few feet in front of the door was a sturdy, old rectory-style dining table, flanked by benches. Opposite the door was a very wide span of deep-set leaded transom windows, set over a kitchen counter made of large, handmade ceramic tiles. The cabinets under the counter were handmade, with wooden knobs. Shelves holding many kinds of ceramic jars covered the wall on either side of the windows behind the countertop. Between the windows and the back of the counter top, there was a window box filled with various flowers and herbs. Dried bunches of plants hung from the ceiling in several locations.

While Katerina worked with the flower essences, and another pot of dyes, Ian stayed near her. He could not assist her with her chores, for he still proved to be without substance in her world. Though unable to hear what she told him about her tasks, Ian could smell the aromas and was happy just to see the sights and pastimes of her life.

Obviously, Katerina had acquiesced to Ian’s innate inability to lip-read, no longer seeming to expect further progress. Ian was convinced that they understood much more of the intention of their communication by speaking naturally. One thing he was certain of: the silence did not diminish their enthusiasm for communicating with each other.

“What is your vocation, Katerina? I still don’t know if I visit only when you are away from work,” he said. “That happens to be the case with me because I initiate the visits, and can only do so at home, after work.”

Katerina watched him, considerately.

“At least I imagine that I instigate the visits—perhaps foolishly.” Ian had to question just how much of this experience he could afford to make assumptions about. It was all so anomalous.

He looked back at Katerina. She warmly smiled, continuing her work and patiently waiting for him to go on.

Ian speculated that the image of his form must be clearer to Katerina than it was to him in her world. When he spoke, she was always attentive for the duration of his monologue. Ian considered that this conduct might have been due to a difference in their cultures, but the ardor of her attention sometimes made him uncomfortable. If not for the familiarity that she also expressed, Ian might have thought she believed him to be a visiting dignitary or luminary. Maybe such a visitor as himself was not so common in this reality either.

“Never mind talk about work. I’m finished for the day,” he said.

Starting another look around the room, Ian changed his focus. “I think I like your world better than mine. With you being here, I am certain of it.”

It appeared that Katerina was reasonably well-to-do, for even if the house was an old, inherited family home, it would have cost a fortune to maintain the structure and its ornamentation, not to mention the extensive gardens that surrounded it. Even though the gas oven and the lighting that was similar to electricity implied that Katerina lived in a time with some modern technology, the furniture, doors, and windows of her home followed the décor of an architectural “period display”. It crossed Ian’s mind that he had only seen a home furnished with such a disassociation to present time when it was a part of a cultural heritage display, or perhaps a church property used as the home of a vicar in a wealthy parish.

When Ian returned his attention to Katerina, she began a very lively, cheerful conversation. He watched closely and picked up what little he could. From her animation and facial expressions, he took in the joyfulness she was conveying. Ian caught his name a couple of times, and a few hand gestures certainly were referring to him. She seemed to be speaking of some interaction that she had had with others, concerning him.

Stopping mid-sentence, Katerina jerked her head toward the heavy, arched door. The top half of it was open. She rose quickly from the stool where she had been sitting, and wiped her hands dry on a towel that lay on the counter. Ian had no idea of the sound she was responding to, but it now had her full consideration.

She moved quickly across the room, and swung open the bottom of the door. After a momentary delay, Katerina stepped out onto the stoop, awaiting some arrival. Of course, Ian followed, as he knew he must if he expected to continue the visit.

A little boy charged up the pathway, crying. Katerina kneeled and scooped him into her lap. She rocked and stroked him, speaking all the while. Ian slipped out the door and came close to watch her perform this magic. His movement disturbed neither the child nor Katerina. Though Ian believed that no one but Katerina could see him in this place, he suspected that the little boy would not have noticed anyone else anyway. The boy was completely focused on the comfort he was receiving from Katerina.

Apparently the child had scraped his leg. Katerina was consoling him, his head on her shoulder next to her face. She had one arm wrapped around him, and the other hand pulled various salves and herbs from her pockets and applied them. It was quite a ballet of motion. No wonder the children came to her. Ian could see how the rhythm of her speech and the loving way she touched the little boy would soothe him. Watching it was enough to hypnotize Ian into a state of tranquility.

Katerina must be the village godmother, Ian thought. He didn’t doubt that she was particularly adept at healing small injuries, whether to body or to spirit.

After a while, the boy was sufficiently soothed. His energetic predisposition returned, and he slid off Katerina’s lap. She gave him a little advice and a peck on the cheek. Away he went as fast as he had come. Katerina’s face was sublime radiance as she rose and returned her attention to Ian.

“Lovely,” he said. “What a lucky child.” What a lucky man, he thought of himself.

Fully returning from what almost seemed a meditative state, Katerina beamed a smile at Ian and continued with what he assumed was her previous conversation. They moved back into the cottage.

Thinking about Katerina’s manner with the children, Ian wondered why she was the only other adult he had seen in this place. But that question was soon to be resolved.

Ian and Katerina had a particularly long visit that day. As they talked Katerina sketched some pictures. Then she painted for a while. Later, she wove fragile baskets from the stems of the flowers that she had used in the essences earlier that morning. Ian was so comfortable and involved in their visit that he did not even notice when he started to return home. There was no warning at all. Instantaneously, he was sitting in his chair, still wrapped in the warmth of Katerina’s company. But he was alone now.

Without thinking about it, Ian looked at his watch and realized it showed he had eased into his chair only a few minutes before.

Enjoying his immediate memories, he thought about Katerina with the children during his various visits. It crossed Ian’s mind that she was not only supremely attentive with them. She paid the same special consideration to him as well. She possessed a remarkable selflessness, a singular thoughtfulness that made one feel more significant with her than when outside her company.

Ian’s visits with Katerina continued to be silent, but with every visit he felt a greater intimacy with her. He knew that much of what he felt was all in his mind. Ian became acutely aware, however, of the value of kind and loving gestures—of touch and conversation. He began to give greater value to the many other ways people can convey affection to each other, but so often take for granted.

 

 
copyright 2006 CG Walters

For those who cannot wait to read Sacred Vow over installments, I have a gift for you–the first 15 chapters online to be read at your leisure!

This link http://authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557 is a listing the 1st 15 chapters on HarperCollins.London.

If you enjoy what you read, I’d ask a favor in return; help me pursue a foreign rights publishing contract for Sacred Vow.

Please register on the site (create a profile on http://www.authonomy.com/ ), and search for Sacred Vow. Once you have the page up with the Sacred Vow book cover, notice that to the right of the page there is a column with several options, one of which is “Back this book“, please click that –this adds Sacred Vow to your bookshelf, used to determine which books the editors will consider.—This is not a purchase. Authonomy is strictly a mechanism for selecting books for publishing within HarperCollins.

Please check your profile page afterwards, ensuring that the Sacred Vow cover shows in your Bookshelf.

If you have time, make a comment on Sacred Vow by going to this page
http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557
the comment box is below the book description. I would love your input. Fiction is a collective creation between reader and writer.

Thank you for your continued support.

Blessings all,

CG
 

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

 

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase from Amazon as ebook , paperback or Kindle version

 

 

Receive new editions of Into the Mist through a reader http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntoTheMist

 

 

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

Serialization of Sacred Vow: Katerina

 
 

picture by imhis1
 

Sacred Vow is a unique, ingeniously written visionary/metaphysical novel about one true love and its infinite expressions. It asks the reader to consider an experience where our interconnectedness and ‘self’ definition might extend far beyond the segmented (individualistic) awareness previously held by so many. It takes us on a journey deep within, exploring and discovering one’s own mystical longings and a wealth of endless knowledge. Be prepared for some surprises.—Spirit in the Smokies Magazine of Living NEWStories Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).

Installment 5 of 22

Katerina

Ian and his new friend had quite a few pleasurable visits over the six weeks that followed. With the exception of a couple of short periods when she did not show at all, he saw her one to several times every week. Her visits lasted only seconds on his watch, yet the activity that he could recall made Ian feel that they had been together upwards of several hours at a time.Katerina to be continued next

He came to call the woman Katerina sometime after her second visit. Absentmindedly interrogating himself after he returned from their time together, trying to get some better idea about what exactly he was experiencing, Ian realized that at some point he had begun referring to her by that name. The certainty and familiarity with which he used the name amused him.

Ian started to search for the justification of this inadvertent christening. Surely, he had picked up something in the vision without realizing it, something that suggested her name. After considerable deliberation, he found no such clue. And yet he experienced discomfort when he did not refer to her as Katerina. He was certain that he somehow knew her name. And even if it was not her name, what would it hurt to call her Katerina until he knew her name for sure? Using this name was much more soothing to him.

Ian next encountered Katerina as she was sitting in the grass under a tree of beautiful purple flowers. Comforting a dear, little girl, perhaps three years old, on her lap, Katerina acknowledged Ian’s presence at about the moment he became aware of her.

When Katerina spoke to him, the child looked about as if she had no idea whom Katerina was addressing. But, the little girl did not seem disturbed by Katerina’s response. Once the youth decided there was no one else with them, she laid her head back onto Katerina’s breast and closed her eyes.

“You have a lovely daughter,” Ian said.

Katerina shook her head, very slowly, in order not to disturb the child’s rest. The caring look for him on Katerina’s face gave comfort to the depth of Ian’s soul. He had never imagined that there could be so much connection between two people merely through visual communication. No wonder the child was so contented in the company of such an empathic woman.

“She’s not your daughter?” he asked.

Again, another slow denial, and then Katerina stroked the child’s hair.

He looked about at the surroundings. They were in a sculptured garden, spanning in all directions as far as he could see. True, he could not see much more than fifty yards in any direction, but the paths that disappeared in every direction implied there was much more beyond.

When Ian’s attention returned to her, Katerina was gazing intently at him. At first he was a little embarrassed with the attentiveness of her focus.

“You know. I suppose I should start by introducing myself, though it seems we are rather familiar already.” He was starting to ramble, so he calmed himself before continuing, “My name is Ian Sarin. It has been a joy to meet you, dear lady.” He bowed his head.

She nodded in acknowledgement, placed a hand on her chest opposite the head of the sleeping child, and spoke. It was obvious that she had introduced herself, but Ian did not catch her name.

“I am so sorry,” he responded. “I have always been inept at lip-reading.”

Then Ian started nervously rambling again, “You know, after we met the second time, I got the most assured idea that I already knew your name. I had no reason for it, but I just couldn’t help believing that your name was Katerina. In fact, having become so certain of it, I was afraid that I would just call you . . .”

Noticing her smiling and nodding, Ian regained his focus, thinking he had missed something she was trying to convey.

“I am sorry. What did you say?”

Again, she placed a hand on her chest, but spoke with slow, exaggerated movements, slightly pausing between each syllable. She appeared to say I . . . am . . . Kat . . . er . . . ina.

What she said seemed obvious, but Ian distrusted his eyes. Surely, his own preconception of her name was making him imagine that he understood what she said. Still, he had to check.

“Katerina? Your name is Katerina?”

She nodded with enough enthusiasm that the little girl stirred to see what was happening.

“That’s amazing,” he said. “How could I have possibly guessed that?”

Katerina kissed the little girl’s cheek, and tried to coax her head back to rest. Apparently, the little one had received all the comfort she required and was fully revitalized. Without any further indication of intent, the child jumped to her feet, looked quickly to one side, and started to talk excitedly.

Katerina nodded, and the girl rushed toward one of the many paths radiating from the clearing. Waving back to Katerina, the child barely missed running into Ian. She seemed no more aware of his presence than she had earlier.

He laughed at the transformation and watched the child disappear around a flowerbed. When he turned to look back at Katerina, Ian was surprised that she was now standing right in front of him, gazing into his eyes.

Katerina reached to touch him, but her hand remained barely suspended in front of the upper right side of his chest. “Hello,” she mouthed. He was sure of that.

Reflexively, Ian reached to touch her face.

He was so engrossed in her eyes, that he did not really pay any attention to his hand. Anticipating the touch, his senses informed him that his hand had moved enough that it should now be reporting the feel of Katerina’s skin.

Ian pulled his attention from her eyes and looked to where he expected himself to be touching her face, along her jaw line. The translucent distortion that he saw instead of his hand caused him to jerk backwards. He pulled his hand back, bringing it right in front of his eyes for a better look. Still Ian saw nothing but a fuzzy impression of a hand.

“What the . . . ?” he said, stepping back again.

Noticing that Katerina was waving her hand in front of his face, Ian let his attention follow her hand. She drew a single finger to her lips, gently suggesting quiet, calm. From her lips, his attention went back to her eyes; in the process he became as subdued as the child had been a moment before.

What difference does it make that my hand is not solid? he thought. Ian looked around himself and back to Katerina. It was an odd feeling to perceive himself as the only intangibility in the environment.

“Look where I am, what I am doing,” he said out loud. “Why should I be so surprised just because I see something else unexpected?”

Though still not completely comfortable with the appearance of his hand, he was calmed. Being careful not to point with his finger, Ian asked for a tour. “Let’s take a walk. Please tell me about this gorgeous garden.”

They wandered about for quite a while, winding through path after path. It was all much manicured, more like an arboretum or a study of wild flora than the garden of even a lavish estate. He didn’t see any indication of a dwelling of any kind. Of course, since Ian could not hear anything during the visitations he could not rely on sound to tell him if they were close to any houses.

With the sights and the company, it did not take Ian long to completely forget about the distortion he saw instead of his hand. The couple talked like long-lost, dear friends, spending most of the time looking into each other’s eyes as they talked and walked. He was surprised that neither of them stumbled, he especially, since he had no idea where they were going.

Though he did not ever feel the contact, Katerina reached out to touch or stroke Ian—or more precisely, his location—frequently. He was amazed how much intimacy could be conferred by the implication of such a motion. The gentleness with which Katerina carried out those gestures, the look in her eyes, almost satisfied any need for touch, to a degree that he had never known before.

When she was close enough, Ian “touched” Katerina. He had no physical sensation as a result of the effort, and he did not look for confirmation of that touch. He did not want the pleasure of his experience interrupted by what he suspected he would or would not see.

As Katerina continued with the tour of the endless garden, Ian’s conscious mind started to push for answers to questions. Was he only a matter of his consciousness projecting to a location near Katerina when he was in her world? If so, what were the perceived sensations of his body in this place? He experienced fragrances, experienced movement as he walked.

And there was one odd sensation that was starting to disturb him. Ian’s movement had a vague hint of being guided, as if he was in some confined space. He walked along with Katerina, but it didn’t fully feel as if he was moving as a result of his own physical effort. The idea made no sense to him. Yet, it did explain why he never stumbled as he kept his eyes only on Katerina during their tour of the garden.

Two little children came barreling down the path. Their little faces lit up when they saw Katerina. They began chattering and waving, without slowing their pace. She replied with similar enthusiasm. Off they disappeared in the opposite direction, without any indication that they had seen Katerina’s guest.

The interruption was good for Ian. It brought him back to the joy of his moment. He returned to the steady exchanges with Katerina, rather than dwelling on the pointless concerns of his conscious mind.

Shortly afterward, he and Katerina stepped into a clearing and the sky opened up over them. The flood of sunlight drew Ian’s attention ahead and then upward, where he noticed a magnificent old-world building.

“What a remarkable place, Katerina! What is that?” Ian said, looking back and forth between Katerina and the structure, which stood about fifty feet away.

Moving in front of him, Katerina lifted her left hand toward the structure, as if to introduce it to him.

Overwhelmed by its unique beauty, Ian repeated, “What is it?”

She looked him right in the face and began to slowly pronounce something. Ian hated trying to lip-read. He found the slow, labored pronunciations to be more distracting than helpful. For all he knew, Ian caught nothing of what Katerina said, despite her efforts.

“Do you live here?” he guessed.

Yes, she nodded. Motioning for him to move forward, they headed for a large, ornate entrance. Katerina began telling him about it, at normal speed.

Her home was the archetypal French country cottage. It was neither small, nor very big. The exterior was extremely well crafted with stone, stucco, and heavy timbers. Quite a bit of the stone and exposed wood was carved, apparently by various craftspeople on different themes, at different times since the styles were so different. The cottage had to have been ancient. Unless her world was much different from his, he thought, not even the wealthy built homes of this size with such detail and artistry anymore.

Ian realized that he was acting as excitedly as one of Katerina’s young friends. Moving this way and that, he tried to take in all the rich detail. Katerina moved toward whatever he showed an interest in and tried to tell him about what he was seeing. Nearer the main door, off to one side of the building, there was a sculpture that fascinated him. Katerina stopped to see what he was looking at.

A path led directly to the intriguing sculpture. She waited to see if he wished a closer look. Ian turned toward the house, concluding that he could see the statue well enough from where he was, and he did not want to delay their entry into the house. Katerina followed suit and turned to continue toward the door.

An instant later Ian changed his mind. “I’ll be right back, Katerina. I am going to run over there for a quick look at the statue.”

As he was behind her, Katerina did not see his change of direction. A few steps into his jog, a sense of internal strain, a visceral pull, started to get Ian’s attention. Another couple of steps and he experienced a rush of faintness. Before he could take another step, Ian lunged back—against his recliner.

The return to his study was abrupt, but he recovered without complication. His little stroll toward the statue alone let him know he was correct in supposing he could not move far from Katerina when in her reality. Based on that experience and the children’s unawareness of him, Ian concluded that in that place he was an apparition honed in on, and seen only by Katerina.

 

 
copyright 2006 CG Walters

For those who cannot wait to read Sacred Vow over installments, I have a gift for you–the first 15 chapters online to be read at your leisure!

This link http://authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557 is a listing the 1st 15 chapters on HarperCollins.London.

If you enjoy what you read, I’d ask a favor in return; help me pursue a foreign rights publishing contract for Sacred Vow.

Please register on the site (create a profile on http://www.authonomy.com/ ), and search for Sacred Vow. Once you have the page up with the Sacred Vow book cover, notice that to the right of the page there is a column with several options, one of which is “Back this book“, please click that –this adds Sacred Vow to your bookshelf, used to determine which books the editors will consider.—This is not a purchase. Authonomy is strictly a mechanism for selecting books for publishing within HarperCollins.

Please check your profile page afterwards, ensuring that the Sacred Vow cover shows in your Bookshelf.

If you have time, make a comment on Sacred Vow by going to this page
http://www.authonomy.com/ViewBook.aspx?bookid=1557
the comment box is below the book description. I would love your input. Fiction is a collective creation between reader and writer.

Thank you for your continued support.

Blessings all,

CG

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase from Amazon as ebook , paperback or Kindle version

  

Receive new editions of Into the Mist through a reader http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntoTheMist

  

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

Some Things You Just Know

photo by ricardo.martins  

In December 1993, by many standards mylife was wonderful. I was in a loving relationship. I had a secure high-tech job of almost limitless advancement potential, with one of the largest international corporations in the world. My wife, of only a few years, and I had just built the house of our dreams, in pricey though desirable countryside surroundings—where we expected to retire in due time, enjoying the fulfillmentof our dreams as best we understood them at that time.

Also in December 1993, my life was failing by some standards that I could not escape. All indications of my health were that I could not long survive the‘costs’ of our achievements. I spent most hours of my day entering into/within/or recovering from a migraine. My blood pressure was sky high (very bad for someone with an aortic valve insufficiency). Virtually every aspect of my health seemed to offer a negative response to my attempts to push myself to achieve more, quicker, or to seek instant comfort from the effects of going ever faster, farther.

To make matters worse, I was in dire confusion about the growing conflict between how I believed I should assess my ‘achievements’ and what I actuallyfelt inside. The more I achieved along that previously defined path of success, the emptier I felt—and the worse my health became. Fortunately, my relationshipwith my wife was strong. It was, however, being tested by my ravings about pursuing some unorthodox path to shake off the growing sense of meaninglessness.Kathy wanted to help, but had no better tools than I to understand what we wouldbe trying to achieve if we did veer from the only path that we knew.

Soon, I announced to my wife, “I want to move to the mountains!” –a place that I had only visited very few times in my life, and found myself completely incompatible with due to my severe intolerance of heights (and curvy roads!). Kathy had much more history with the mountains, and loved them dearly, but was most comfortable with them as a cherished vacation destination . . . perhaps even a second-home site.

“How do you know you can live there?” she demanded, truly concerned about my reasoning and logic.

“Some things you just know,” was my spontaneous response—surprising Kathy as well as myself. I did not have any real understanding of the need to move to the mountains, but I did know.

I abruptly quit my job—certain that I could not muster the energy to survive if I went back into the office even one more time. I returned to my writing, long neglected, as an avenue to realize what it was that my spirit could not otherwise convey to my consciousness. I picked up a translation of the Tao Te Ching Though it had become lost in the background of my everyday ‘achievements,’ I always had the good fortune of a strong connection to the spirit self. Writing, countryside and nature were forever the best gateway for me to come to my center. The Taoist philosophy of the Tao Te Ching was a perfect reminder. The land surrounding the dream home that I had come to disdain was now a willing aid in my journey back to myself.

Without my drive for an urgent solution, it took my wife another year to let go of the path that she had been well trained to believe in all her life. It was fortunate that a connection of the spirit—a joint interest in the metaphysical—had been one of the strongest common interests between us in the beginning, even at the subdued state of our spiritual focuses at that time. We followed our intuition, even without understanding it. Releasing that familiar life was a painful time in our relationship, but it proved we had a deeper bond that we had not fully realized.

In order to stay within our budget, we purchased a boarded up place in much need of repair, attic full of snakes, in the country. Writing again took a back seat to such things as patching the roof, chopping wood, getting running water into the house.

One of many new blessings provided to us was to walk to the ridge of the mountain range near our home—though it is a hard three hour climb. When we arrived in the area, my knees were so bad that I could barely walk stairs. Before long, the mountain had called me to the top.

Once on the top, I visited the mountain frequently, meditated many hours, listened to nature around me, and tried to attune my hearing to my higher self. Kathy and I redefined our priorities, and developed new circles of friends with focuses more compatible with our new understanding. Employment still got in the way of writing, but work chosen was more likely to tax the body than the mind and spirit.

For many years the writing waited while I came back to my center and my health. I was fortunate that the muses were not offended by my long absence. When I was in a position to understand, they renewed our conversation. One of the first things they graced me with was the knowledge that I had come to just the right place at just the right time.

Whether it is the love of your life, the life changing move to a new career/new location or a major shift in your definition of yourself, the greatest knowledge that you will ever exercise is often unjustified by your cultural experiences, your family heritage, your education or even your own logic. These are the “things that you just know,” from deep within yourself. It is a part of yourself that may seem mostly unfamiliar, but is always there…waiting until you can listen.

copyright 2007 CG Walters

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

 

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase from Amzon as ebook , paperback or Kindle version

 
Receive new editions of Into the Mist through a reader
http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntoTheMist

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts:
Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Serialization of Sacred Vow: Tea Ceremony (continued)

 

photo by melted_snowball

The most significant event of your life calls to you, from barely beyond your perception…both imminent and impossible… a call of the heart, of the spirit, and of yourself to which you have not yet been introduced.

Sacred Vow is visionary fiction of  a journey toward our one true love…in its infinite expressions…bringing together two individuals from disparate realities—but one spirit—to heal the rift in the Collective Consciousness…a breach that threatens us all.

Installment 4 of 22 Sacred Vow (Dragon’s Beard Publishing, ISBN: 978-0-9774271-4-7, paperback, Fiction: Visionary/Metaphysical).

 

Tea Ceremony (continued)        

 

         

About a month later, Ian had convinced himself that he was in charge of his own choices. Despite not feeling in control of every emotion, he let down his rational guard and began pursuing another experience with the woman of that unforgettable night. Speculating that the image had been a product of a combination of environmental factors in his study, Ian decided to duplicate the circumstances to the best of his memory.

 

His efforts did not produce a vision the next few times he had tea in the study. Perhaps, Ian thought, he was trying too hard. In time, however, the woman did reappear. This time they did not meet in the forest, but in his study.

 

The progression of her appearance was precisely the same as before. The items in his focus began to blur. Then a transparent outline of her figure emerged. As she began to take form, Ian noticed a growing tension within himself. He speculated it was the conflict between what he perceived and what his logical mind could accept. Forcing himself to relax, the queasiness he was feeling disappeared quickly.

 

 She was wearing a much more formal-looking garment with a cowl, embroidered with many of the same symbols as the tunic she had worn before. When she fully materialized at the other end of the study, she raised both hands and gracefully pushed the hood back from her face, and down onto her shoulders. A feeling of joy swept over Ian as he saw her smiling face unveiled.

 

His pretense of scientific research fled the moment she arrived. In the brief instant before total abandonment into the moment, Ian took mental note of the genuineness that denied what he perceived as merely visual. Nor was Ian stirred to know why he felt what he did, but allowed himself to revel in it.

 

Ian was disappointed that the woman did not offer a kiss on this visit . . . and a visit was what it felt like to him. Instead, she slowly raised a palm in salutation. He got up from his chair and welcomed her to his home.

 

“It’s so good to see you again, my friend,” he said. “Come and have a seat with me.”

 

She shook her head and pointed to her ear. Ian understood that she could hear no more of what he said than he had heard from her during their last visit. Turning to his recliner, he motioned to it with his hand. She declined, pressed her hands together as if in reverent thanks, and lowered her head slightly.

 

They stood, smiling and staring at each other. Ian did not know what she was feeling, but he was certain that their lack of dialogue did not limit their interaction. For his own part, Ian felt much communication was taking place, without the need of a single sound.

She glanced about the room, eventually gesturing as if to ask if it would be all right for her to have a look at a pottery piece that displayed stamped Celtic symbols.

 

“Sure,” he said. “Make yourself at home.” He rushed over to join her. “It’s made by a potter who lives in the mountains where I go sometimes. I love the symbols that the artist has used.”

 

His visitor stooped to look closely at the miniature monolith. She pointed to a symbol, a triskele, looked up at him, and made a comment he could not hear. Ian raised his hands to either side of his chest, palms upward, and shrugged his shoulders to indicate that he did not understand what she meant. Standing upright again, she pointed to a triskele on her garment.

 

“They are the same!” he said. Ian wondered if she was from a Celtic culture. He knew, however, that the triskele was not unique to the Celts.

 

Wishing to present the woman with a gift, Ian picked up a small candleholder that also bore the triskele design and offered it to her.

 

“Please, let me give you this.”

 

She appeared grateful of his offer, but shook her head, declining politely.

 

“Please,” he insisted.

 

After pausing for a moment—that Ian took to be considering how to respond—she slowly reached out a hand as if to touch the pot. Excited that she was accepting the gift, he further extended his arm. Without ever touching the pottery, her hand jerked away and her face took on a look of fright.

 

This movement caused Ian to quickly withdraw his outstretched hand and almost drop the candleholder. After recovering his composure, he noticed she was smiling again, but she had both hands up in front of her, palms out, signaling that he should not bring the pottery to her. She slowly pointed one hand to the place from where he had taken the pot. So, he put it back on the shelf.

 

With that bit of awkwardness, their visit began. Ian’s visitor relaxed and returned her attention to his offered token, gracefully nodded in thanks again, and mouthed something, about the pottery—he assumed.

 

Ian silently watched her and his embarrassment evaporated. The gentle woman looked up and gave him another of her enchanting smiles. Showing her about the room, he talked and laughed as if she could hear him. She responded in kind. Happily, they carried on their silent exchange.

 

It became apparent to Ian that she did not want to touch anything in the room, or else could not. Several times she motioned to Ian to turn an item around, so she could see its backside.

 

At some point, Ian’s new friend moved to have a look at a book in the bookcase. She took a couple of steps toward it—and then vanished into thin air. Ian was seized with a momentary distress, and then he was startled to find that he was again sitting in the recliner, teacup in hand. He could not understand how it was possible, but evidence suggested that he had never moved from the chair. From all appearances, Ian had been the only one in the room the whole time. But he felt certain that he knew otherwise.

 

Now that Ian had experienced another visit—or visions, because he interchangeably referred to the experiences by both terms, unable to conclude which they really were—he looked forward to enjoying another one. Ian planned not only to enjoy them but also to find some answers. Crafted after his experiences in computer testing, he would use a base environment of everything just like it had been the first (and second) teatime. He made the same type of tea, used the same teapot, and sat in the same chair. Everything was just the same as it had been previously.

 

After a couple of successful visits, he started to change one thing at a time. If changing something kept her away, Ian would return things to the way they had last been for the next tea, verify another success, and then see if he could cause a repeat failure. The first conclusion he drew was that even with the absolute replication of the first visit setup, success was not always guaranteed.

Copyright 2006 CG Walters 

 Continued next, Katerina

 

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

 

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Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase as ebook or the Amazon Kindle version Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg

Letting the Spirit Story Flow

Sacred Vow by CG Walters, Dragon’s Beard Publishing

 

It seems that a lot of angst would be spared if the spiritual path—and life, in general—had an undeniable standard pattern that could guarantee we were ‘on track’. There would be an invariable voice of the intuitive, heard by everyone—that you could compare with what your friends heard, just to make sure you were tuned into the right channel. Maps could be acquired in advance of any planned spiritual progression, to do away with all the years of meandering through endless forays.

So much effort is required to first determine if the mounting need within should be responded to as a worthy motivation or merely (as we are often told) a chance to mature—in the real world a word frequently implying a directive to ‘neglect,’ ‘deny,’ or ‘rationalize’. Once certain we have a true calling to this path, we must next determine from just where the voice of one’s guiding intuitive will emanate. What language will we use to communicate with it—service, art, and dance, even words? What environment will most likely evoke its presence?

For me, one of my most powerful connections to the Absolute—the Tao, or whatever you may call the unified intelligence—has turned out to be through just the right story: something that takes the form of an extended mantra, imbued with a rhythm and symbolism resonating so personally that it seems surely to be a direct manifestation of my intuitive self. Such a ‘chant’ lures me beyond my imagined limitations, to allow me to unreservedly embrace an otherwise untouchable identity.

That being the case, I guess I should not have been surprised when over time, I became aware that whenever my higher self, spirit guides, or other such familiars have been unable to otherwise get a piece of learning across to me, one of their choice tools is to bring it to me in the form of a story—even if I am the writer of that story. No matter what I have in mind, or am working on, I find my writing activities are suddenly hijacked along a previously unanticipated path. If I am in the midst of a neglectful sabbatical from writing, my mind becomes so inflicted with an unfolding tale that I must write it down to free myself from its clamor.

These playful friends of mine (my muses) are quite talented. For, as soon as they force me back to the keyboard, or by the moment that I realize that we have taken a “wrong” turn (if I was currently in a writing cycle), my conscious mind has already been seduced into gladly following their whimsy.

As a rule, once their intended lesson is conveyed via the resulting story, I am amazed that I was not already consciously aware of the information they have presented. Quite often I am such a complete convert that I cannot imagine how I could have been unaware of this particular information previously. Sometimes I suspect that I merely want to have as much as my instruction as possible delivered in this, my most favorite way.

I can’t offer any reasonable excuse for why I have periodically withdrawn from writing when I know that is the fount of so much valuable instruction for me. The most likely justification that I can offer is what flows before me is sometimes more than I was prepared to stand up before: sometimes “the truth may be recognized before the peace to live it is realized.”

The last time I had the good fortune of a being redirected along a path of instruction, I was making my way to rework a long-neglected bit of writing: doing preparatory exercises of short stories. Without warning, one of the stories—that soon became my novel, Sacred Vow—lay hold to my attention, far exceeding my intentions. I pursued, curious about what passed before me. After hour upon hour of following this new lure, I came out of my little 3×5 writing closet in a deep meditative state. Clearly, this story would be no mere preparation for another. Shortly afterwards, my job was downsized. I now had no excuse not to follow with abandon.

My writing closet—so small that I must turn the chair away from the desk to be able to stand and open the door to leave—may be an appropriate environment for inducing a meditative state—sitting in the dark for long hours, staring at a single light before me (the computer monitor). But I think there was something more going on. For ten to twelve hours a day, over the next several of weeks, I followed where the experience led. I was enjoying the story unfolding before me, but I was ecstatic from the sensation of extended periods of being connected to my higher self. My wife said that I possessed a radiance when I walked into the house during breaks in the writing. True, I typed in the text, but I did not initially imagine their meanings.

Weeks later, hiking with a friend, I told him of some of the views of reality unfolding in this new book. After listening attentively, he said: “Do you really believe this is the way it works?”

We continued deeper into the woods, as I gave his question thought. I was a little amused at the answer I finally had to admit. I said, “Until I saw this information in the story, I can’t say that I had any such ideas. But now, yes, I think this is a truth.”

“You know how tarot cards unveils truth depending on the way the cards fall?” he asked. “Perhaps just such an auspicious falling of words on your screen is unfolding the same way.”

For just such moments of clear connection with my higher self as the writing of Sacred Vow, I gladly pay the cost of the once seemingly endless attempts to connect with my unique path and intuitive voice.

Copyright 2007 CG Walters

This is my truth. Only you can determine if there is any value in it for you.
 

 

 

C.G. Walters primarily writes fiction that focuses on the multidimensionality of our loves and our lives.

 

Autographed/signed copies of Sacred Vow are available from the author– or purchase as ebook or the Amazon Kindle version

 

Receive new editions of Into the Mist through a reader http://feeds.feedburner.com/IntoTheMist

Please join me as a friend at any of my other favorite hangouts: Facebook, Gaia, Myspace, StumbleUpon, Friendfeed, Twitter, Plurk, or Digg