Ed Loft
As a young boy of six or seven, I was afraid of the dark, not outside on the streets of Wakefield, but in my bedroom - the place was alive with beings from the lower Astral. Even at that age I knew the mind was capable of a lot more than was spoken about. I would lie in bed dripping with sweat calling for my mum just for her to say, "what's wrong with you?" "Read me a story" I would say. Then, when the story had finished and she had gone again, I was back where I started. I hid under the covers and focused on the colours in front of my eyes. I would make them pulsate and get them to start spinning then they would make a vortex and I would dive straight down the middle where hands would try to grab me as I went screaming past...then peace, absolute peace.
From the age of six I knew this was probably not the only reality.
I have been an Artist all my life, therefore an observer I am fifty nine now and still looking, I am also a listener to spirit, that too has been all my life. I worked in the catering trade for my young years, a great place to learn about life, then had twenty five years driving artic's mostly abroard where there was a different side to life. I have been shot at four times arrested a few times and am still not sure which is most frightening?, going up a mountain covered in snow with 42 tonnes pulling you backwards or going down said mountain stood up on the brakes with the hand brake full on hoping it might slow down...It's times like that, that made me wonder if the spirits were smiling on me or just having a laugh.
Just beyond my thought's I can hear a melody, a young one's voice... becoming clearer. He gazes at the petal in his hand thinking - how beautiful you are, how perfect you are, singing and chatting. Sing to me of how you see, the note is high and trill, the birds take over and all becomes one in the dawn chorus. Too precious a time, hold it within your spirit, a place of recognition and tranquillity. He laughts and says to me "I am here, this is where I am". I drift and see through his eyes. I feel all is for me, but I have only myself to give, nothing else is needed, my hand holds the petal and I listen to the song.
