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With vivid prose, evocative imagery, and a keen psychologycal perspective, The Other Side of the Story brings Greek myths to life in a way that is both timeless and timely.
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Forthcoming
The Promise of Feral Seeds
From The Promise of Feral Seeds:
There are two kinds of promises we make. First, there are the conscious promises of which we are aware. These can be truths or lies and they can be spoken out loud or they can be made secretly, heard only in our own minds. They can be kept or broken. The second kind of promise is the kind we make in our bodies. These promises flow out of Dreamtime and they are almost always true. And true promises pull at our bodies even when we don’t remember making them. These are the kind of promises it would kill us to break.
Sometimes these promises get lost in Dreamtime. Dreamtime is a funny place. It has no quarrel with the laws of nature, yet it also feels no need to abide by them. So, promises lost to Dreamtime become feral seeds scattered across time and space. These lost promises pull at us in the way the Moon pulls on the Earth’s waters ever beckoning but always just out of reach. These tides are felt in the rivers of our blood and the ocean of our souls. They are sometimes soft and gentle and sometimes strong and deep but always persistent and ever-present.
In moments of silence and stillness, we can hear these lost promises more clearly. Sometimes that is enough to get us to move. Most times, however, it is only in moments of deep pain that these lost seeds arise as the promises they were born to be, calling us once more into the wild. Inviting us to breach the comfort of what we know with an adventure, a quest, a healing - to become whole again in a new way. Maybe this is why they become lost in the first place. So that in a moment of need we could hear their calling and awaken back into life. And that is when you know a promise is true; when it compels you to cross over.
The seeds of this story were destined to be scattered across both time and place. This story then is a mended bowl with its scars visible and, I hope, beautiful in its own way. I will share the pieces of the story as they came to me and allow the fractures to be mended through the resonant echoes in your heart and mind. The story needs you too. If this story has any value, it is only because you will fill it with yourself.
There are two kinds of promises we make. First, there are the conscious promises of which we are aware. These can be truths or lies and they can be spoken out loud or they can be made secretly, heard only in our own minds. They can be kept or broken. The second kind of promise is the kind we make in our bodies. These promises flow out of Dreamtime and they are almost always true. And true promises pull at our bodies even when we don’t remember making them. These are the kind of promises it would kill us to break.
Sometimes these promises get lost in Dreamtime. Dreamtime is a funny place. It has no quarrel with the laws of nature, yet it also feels no need to abide by them. So, promises lost to Dreamtime become feral seeds scattered across time and space. These lost promises pull at us in the way the Moon pulls on the Earth’s waters ever beckoning but always just out of reach. These tides are felt in the rivers of our blood and the ocean of our souls. They are sometimes soft and gentle and sometimes strong and deep but always persistent and ever-present.
In moments of silence and stillness, we can hear these lost promises more clearly. Sometimes that is enough to get us to move. Most times, however, it is only in moments of deep pain that these lost seeds arise as the promises they were born to be, calling us once more into the wild. Inviting us to breach the comfort of what we know with an adventure, a quest, a healing - to become whole again in a new way. Maybe this is why they become lost in the first place. So that in a moment of need we could hear their calling and awaken back into life. And that is when you know a promise is true; when it compels you to cross over.
The seeds of this story were destined to be scattered across both time and place. This story then is a mended bowl with its scars visible and, I hope, beautiful in its own way. I will share the pieces of the story as they came to me and allow the fractures to be mended through the resonant echoes in your heart and mind. The story needs you too. If this story has any value, it is only because you will fill it with yourself.