Interlinked

It's so good to be out on the deck awhile, it's all so quietly impressively gentle and mild. Goodness abounds and it's like even the out-breathing even that singularly, goes out in an emanation of thanks to God, to the Universe. Hearing the soft coursing or the subdued fine whistle like sound of one's bloodstream. Everything so at peace. Such that even the sound of a motor vehicle in the distance is all part of the setting, without interference. A soft breeze blows … are we awaiting something! An airplane flies over, a sudden gust, then silence again. Sounds of traffic off in the distance. The music coming through the open window – part of the setting as well. Mostly classical and like a gift in itself. Thinking of Grandfather and his peaceful visage ever so near, seems to be with her so often especially on days or throughout times that are trying. When his smile really helps. It's uplifting, he is a gentle and good hearted man. Could never have foreseen or anticipated he'd be such a comfort and as such reassuring through the years. Thank you Grandfather Frans! Petere, (which means godfather). The sound of flute and trumpet, yeah! Looking out at the scope of rolling land and trees in the distance – it sets the area alive in a rush of vitality. Then the last impressive strains of the piece from Sheherazade. It is such a noble and overwhelming sound which impresses and humbles us in wonder from such a composition. To compose like that, it is really unearthly. Such a one is like a god with such truly godly powers. To have been blessed with such a gift. (Rimsky Korsakov) The first portion of Sheherazade is as such overwhelming and beautiful with some of those strains so truly noble, outer worldly. To affect the listener as such, simply magical. That … is of the magic of sound, a good example here. Sound can awaken one to the visionary. The foregoing attests to that. The sound of flute, the more so. Sound is of the creative element, if not "the Creative element" which it surely is. If we'd just remember, we'd realize that by sound we were created. If then we had lain dormant in the mind of God; it was through sound that we awakened. So long, long ago – out of timeless eons. So here we are, which is quite amazing, so wrapped up as is, in this physicality; wrapped up but thoroughly in the now attitude of these so recent beginnings. Through ingrained habit mostly, ever forgetful in the attribute of our so recent birthday and little beginnings on this earth. What a mysterious life it really is! So many levels, aspects and areas we're not in the least aware of. And yet that it should all be at our fingertips, if the openings should have come about. Though most would not have been ready and while things are beginning to happen – openings, more and the more speedily. As if, of a sudden the system will then crack wide open: The crack in the Cosmic egg … The days following up and onwards day by day, so constant so fleetingly amid the usual goings on, the varied activities – a flitting change here and there. In the distance this late morning hour, occasionally the mooing of a cow, then here then there, it will be weaning time on farms soon. The sound of cows mooing! It was mostly there somewhere in the surrounding as far back as Elsa can remember, from earliest childhood on. Even at boarding school, since the nuns ran a farm on the side. Later some years ago she then suddenly experienced what seemed like a swift flashback at odd intervals; fractions of a remote inner viewing, as of near forgotten memories. If they were such, unless they pointed at reincarnational information: A remote memory of domesticated or semi-domesticated herds of reindeer. She did mention it in a poem one day although not immediately evaluating the particular impress of it, until she read it over and realized then the fuller, how the meaning so thoroughly impacted, within her very identity. Also as in relating of the little bells about them, and their clicking hooves. It is mentioned in her book "Shalumba" which is also available. Also there, in one of the poems, as she describes "the Mighty Northern Stream" – in the proximity of such setting, while even so mentioning the remembered hearth fires. It's all mysterious … even such as now hearing flocks of geese fly over. Their increasingly longer practice runs, along with the new young ones. Then later, weeks from now they'll get to see them fly again to gradually beginning to fly in V formation. It won't be too long then and they'll be just about ready for their flights south. It's so magical, each and every time to see the geese fly by as such. At each occasion their distant honking announces their coming, and as they approach Elsa can't help looking, aware of how wondrous their flight, each and every time, to see the geese fly by. She sends them then a heartful greeting and a blessing which is like a little prayer then: Fare well! Magical creatures … You are! Magical … God bless! Blessing nature, and worlds, and all life … She doesn't understand how hunters can shoot them, of what such notion? Not of a need to sustain themselves surely. The sporting then? If there weren't the killing involved … is it the power then they need to feel, over life! Like would be masters of a yet darkened age. It's as such how it still is and how it continues on for yet a time. As long as they not stop to consider it out, and it remains a rule amid the habitual way – with not giving it a further thought. Until the Light, the inner Light increases! It's the only way. Humanity as such must become aware of the true beauty and splendor of it all! Of it all …