Tag: Storyteller

Do you know how hard it is to survive when you are a minstrel, and some aggrieved petty lord doesn’t like your song and chops your tongue out?

It took me a while to discover his tale – it’s a bit hard to talk without a tongue!  But we met up as the last days of Autumn fell towards Winter and I managed to get shelter and work for us both at a manor house. You don’t need a tongue to shovel shit.

Most of the young men had been sent to fight and not so many had come home for the winter, so we found food and shelter in exchange for keeping the lord’s stables clean.  I suppose we were lucky in not getting rounded up to fight for Stephen or Matilda, but I’m getting on in years (and can act lame if need be) and some considered the minstrel’s cawing as straight from the Devil himself!

It was, in its way, a good winter,   It’s nice and warm snuggled up in the straw with hot horses keeping you company, and the kitchen didn’t do too badly either with the food!  All in all a good place to pass a few cold months.  We were often called to entertain his lordship and his family over their dinner.  Well, I did the entertaining with my Stories, and the Minstrel played his lute in the background and grunted at the crowds.

It took me all of that winter to get his tale.  Most of it was guesswork and he’d nod or shake his head, but I collect Stories and it made a change from shit shovelling.  I won’t bore you with the blow-by-blow, bit-by-bit way I got to know his story, and there could be areas where I’ve embellished a little (come on, it needs to be entertaining), and if you choose to disbelieve any part well, that’s up to you.

I never did get his name.  He couldn’t write, and even if he could, I can’t read.

So I called him Martin.  That’s as good a name as any, and he seemed pleased with it.  There was nothing wrong with his ears and he turned around anytime anyone yelled Martin so it worked.

From what I could work out – and I am a nosy man, determined to dig to the bottom of any Story – Martin didn’t have a mother or a father, but that’s not unusual.  There’s hundreds of kids starving in the city slums or curled up under a hawthorn bush.  Most don’t make it through the winter, so there’s always less of the brats when spring arrived.  The strong ones survive,  the others don’t.  I was a street brat, I suspect Martin was too.  If you can survive that life, you can survive anything.  Just about.

Somewhere along the way he must have had a bit of luck.  Maybe he stole something, found something, maybe doing a bit more than bundling.  Whatever, he obviously got to pretend to a higher station, bought, was given or (most likely) stole a lute and from there he sang his way into the beds of the wife’s and daughters of the gentry.  Maybe even the gentry too. He was probably a pretty man when he had his tongue.

Obviously I never heard his songs, and without his tongue his voice had no control.  Mainly just noise.  Maybe he had the voice of an angel, or maybe he was clever with putting local gossip into song much as I do with my Stories, but I think he had a good life until he was found to be entertaining a Lady and her husband took exception.  I suppose he was lucky it was his tongue the lord had removed!

But all this is background to the story of how we met, and how we parted.

It was late autumn.  That beautiful time when you can feel the coming cold season and the leaves turn hundred different shades of divine.  Two days earlier I’d spent the night in the pillory in some easily forgotten village and someone had taken advantage of my helplessness and stolen my shoes.  They weren’t very good shoes, but they were mine.  I’d taken them off a dead man and they actually fit me.  So I was not happy that I was barefoot again.  Especially with winter drawing close.

So, there I was hobbling down the lane, muttering and cursing the thief and hoping he would develop gout when suddenly I was sure the devil had come for me at long last!  A bush started to shiver and shake all by itself and the most unearthly wailing came from it.  I almost took to my heels but I’m a nosy man – I’ve told you that – and, not really believing anymore devoutly in God and the devil than I need to (and just then the need was great) I decided to investigate.

Most of the time when you come across a nosy person you get annoyed, then angry.  You wonder why this person is fixated on you, why they won’t leave you alone, what have you done to deserve this.  You just want them to go away and leave you in peace.  I rather suspect that none of these thoughts were Martin’s just then.  Maybe later when I was being annoying in trying to understand his Story, but right then, my nosiness was probably life-saving.

I was missing my shoes.  Martin was missing his clothes.  All of them.  And he was strung up like a sow ready for slaughter.  It’s a wonder he was alive.  He could have frozen, starved or, more quickly, choked on his blood from where they had cut his tongue out.  Except he was upside down so that was unlikely.   More likely to bleed to death.  But he was probably a child of the slums like me.  We are tough.  We have to be.  Survivors.

I cut him down.  There wasn’t much more I could do.  I only had the clothes on my back, no spares, but at least I had some clothes.  So I gave him my coat and went foraging for food.  At that time of year there are lots of berries which is just as well because Martin wouldn’t have been able to eat rabbit if I’d caught one.  Not with his tongue cut out.  So I mashed some berries and he did the best he could.

I’m a nosy man, but I’m also compassionate.  There was no way that I could just carry on walking down the road and leave the poor man.  And my curiosity was roused.  I was about to become my most annoying self!  Hahaha.

We bundled together for warmth that night and the following morning set off down the lane.  I had nowhere in particular to go, but was concerned with the need for shelter for the winter months. I suspect Martin was just glad to be alive.  Maybe.

We passed through a village, stealing some clothes (and shoes for me), living off the land, I snared a rabbit which was all fat and juicy after a good summer.  Martin did the best he could.  And a couple of days later we arrived at the manor house and found our winter lodging.

No-one is going to hire a man who has recently had his tongue removed. It’s pretty obvious that he’d got on the wrong side of someone!  So Martin hid in the trees whilst I found myself a job.  Then, later on when everyone had gone to bed, I bought him in and he shared the straw with me.  The next day he started shovelling with me and everyone thought the Bailiff had hired us both.

And so we passed the early winter months.  Until just after the winter solstice, when the lord of the manor had neighbours visit with him for Christmas Services.  And the neighbours were none other than the cuckolded husband who had relieved Martin of his tongue.  And he had brought his wife.  Who was in the family way!  Expecting a child.  Well.  Every nosy nerve in my entire body went on full alert.

It took a lot of ferreting to discover that the neighbouring lord and lady had been married for many years and never a sign of impending parenthood.  It took a lot less work to realise that Martin was probably the child’s father.  Which made Martin being here a little difficult, and one day the family came to the stables to inspect the horses and the cuckold and Martin came face to face.

What followed next was extremely entertaining – when you weren’t personally involved that is!  Cuckold went very red in the face and started screaming and yelling.  He was very inventive in what he wanted to do to Martin.  Martin went very pale, started flapping his hands and squealing and trying to hide behind the horses.  The horses, of course, were terrified and started pulling on tethers, and kicking out and generally adding to the ruckus.  And into the middle of all this noise and commotion, our lord came into the stables just as his favourite horse kicked out behind him, straight into the cuckold who went flying backwards and landed on the hay fork which speared him through from back to front!

Suddenly it was really quiet except for a bubbling burbling noise as the cuckold struggled for his last breath.

The quiet didn’t last long.  The lady started screaming…..not for her husband, but for Martin!  He was standing in a state of shock, not knowing what to do.  I suspect he was thinking that all inventiveness of the cuckold would be nothing compared to his upcoming reality.  It was all in the hands of our lord.

And so, we now arrive at that part of the tale where Martin and I parted company.  And it wasn’t how you are probably thinking.

It turned out that our lord really detested the cuckold, who was a wife beater and adulterer.  So he struggled a little bit about his Christian Duty, but very soon overcame it and called in some men to remove the body to a wagon for transporting home.

Then he looked at the wife, by now a sobbing mess wrapped up in Martin’s arms, and he understood the situation very quickly.  Our lord is a compassionate man and understood the life the lady had suffered.  He made a decision that she needed to return home and that she needed an escort.  Martin got that job and was told to remain with the lady.

And off they all went.  That was the last I saw of Martin, but three months later, just as I was about to set off down the lane again, a package was brought to me by the local peddler.  It was a pair of shoes.

Raoul Sancere

Storyteller – Manifest your Bliss

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I’m here!  The New Storyteller!  Ready to share with you, tales from far and wide.  You’ll love today’s story……so join me in the village square, bring a chair, a tankard of ale and be prepared to be enthralled……

In another Dimension, and another thread of time, in a place not so different from our own, there lived a troll.  Actually there are many trolls, but only this one is of importance here.  Trolls and ogres are commonplace in this dimension, humans are shy folk rarely seen!  Ogres are the Big Guys – the ones that rule, make the laws, print the money, control the food, own the bridges.  They are the ones who live in big houses and drive big cars. They consider themselves The Rulers.

Trolls, on the other hand, are the ones who do all the work.  No life of luxury here!  They work the factories, clean the houses, grow the food.  You get the idea….it’s not much different here on Earth in this time line, in this dimension.  Those who have and those who don’t.

And the lowest job a troll could do, the absolute pits, the job no-one wants is the traditional troll role of living under a bridge and frightening travellers into paying the Troll Toll.  Armpit high in cold muddy water, never getting dry, never getting a good night’s sleep because you always have to be ready to jump out, screaming like a Banshee (and believe me, they can scream!) and scaring the bejeezuz out of anyone who steps onto the bridge.

This was the job our troll has.  I can’t tell you his name – it’s not pronounceable, so I’ll just call him “T”.

T had another problem.  Well, a few problems actually.  Trolls generally are short in the body with long legs.  They need long legs in order to keep as much of their body out the water as possible, but they don’t want to be too tall or they will hit their heads on the underside of the bridge.  T was short.  Vertically challenged.  It made leaping out of the water very difficult.  Troll skin is a sort of dark greeny-brown colour which makes blending in really easy.  And they generally have dark hair.  T is red.  Not the warm brown colour of Native Americans in this dimension, but bright fluro, glow in the dark, red skin and hair! He was a beacon!  He lit up the night!  And absolutely no-one crossed his bridge.  They could see him a mile off!  In fact, the only people he ever saw was the ogres.  They tormented him terribly because he was different.  I’m sure you understand what I mean.  Humans do the same to other humans who are different.  In our case, it’s usually because we fear things and people who are different to us.  In the ogres’ case they thought it was fun.  Actually, my listeners, there are humans like that here in this Dimension too!  Hmmmmm…..

Back to the Story…..

T had a lot of time on his hands. Because he is short he spent his nights and days sitting on a rock so he wouldn’t drown and he would close his eyes and dream of a better place.

Now, much like us, trolls believe in a Greater Power.  The ogres would like trolls to believe that they hold all the power, but trolls know better.  Think about it……there simply HAD to be more to life than working for the ogres.  They know, without any shadow of a doubt that Things Would Change sometime soon.  The problem is that they all had different ideas of what that Change would be.  Some thought that the Greater Power would swap everything around and that trolls would be the bosses and they could treat the ogres in the same appalling way that trolls were being treated.  Some thought that things could be discussed and a better balance achieved based on ability and not genetics.  T just wanted all the horribleness (and especially the bridges) to go away.  And if they wouldn’t go away, then he wanted to be the one to disappear.  And, apart from when he was being tormented, he had a LOT of time to think.

At first he was angry at his lot in life.  Then he was angry about no-one coming to his bridge and the fact that he never met his monthly targets.  He was worried that he would loose his job and even more worried that he would get swept off his rock. He was super angry that his skin was a different colour and that he was short.  That it made him the target of the tormentors.  It would be so easy to lose himself in anger and despair and fear.

There was just one thing that stopped him from giving in completely to this deep, dark fear.  His bridge was near the ocean.  It was only a short walk to the beach where he could watch the sun rise out of the water.  It was his lifeline, his connection to the Greater Power.  He would stand on the beach, glowing a spectacular red in the gentle blessing of the sun’s early morning rays.  So he did this every morning.  He would go to the beach, face the rising sun, close his eyes and receive the Blessing of his Greater Power.  With this daily Blessing it became harder to hold on to his anger and his fear and slowly he began to let them go.  Bit by bit.  And as his fear started to go, he felt himself grow.  Not physically, he’d always be short and red, that couldn’t change, but grow in his confidence, his surety, his appreciation of the world he lived in.  And one day he opened his mouth, drew in a deep breath and Sang.

Now, trolls have awful, horrible, screeching and wailing voices. Remember….they scream to frighten travellers!  But T had another gift – the voice of an Angel.  A voice that allowed his Greater Power to shine.  A voice that drew together the citizens of the town, then the country and eventually, the entire world.  A voice that, as the Singing Troll, brought people to their knees, that gave Hope, expressed Beauty and shared Unconditional Love.

His song told the people, trolls and ogres alike, that there was a way to Change things.  That a New World was going to arrive and that they would have the opportunity to design this New World, to have a say in how it will look, will feel.  This Song sang to the hearts of the people and explained that they simply had to Manifest that reality.  Their thoughts, their dreams, their energy was what would bring this together and into Reality.

But (and there is always a ‘ but’) they MUST work together for a common goal.  They needed to decide exactly how this New World would look, would feel, would function.  The people needed to come together as One.  Together.  One Consciousness.  One plan.  One People.

T travelled the world and every morning he would sing to the rising sun.  And The People would listen and over the next century or two The Plan for the New World was brought into fruition.  All the people worked hard at aiming for the same goals, at making sure that everyone had enough to eat and a place to sleep.  All who heard T’s song, wept, then rejoiced in the Beauty and the Love, and then went on to share that thread of hope and light.  And with each daily rising of the sun, the energy of the planet rose.  The Love was felt by all who knew about it. Of course, there were quite a lot, especially the ogres, who didn’t want to know.  The People left them alone.  They always were given the opportunity to Love, but it was an individual choice.

And one day, when the Energy of the The People had risen high enough, when The Plan for the New World was perfect in every degree and ALL were in alignment…….The People moved to their New World.

In another Dimension, and another thread of time, there is a world of very confused ogres who one day woke up and discovered all their slaves had disappeared.

And now my Good Friends and listeners, I leave you with a thought…….humanity, in this Dimension and this thread of time has the same opportunity.  Except we don’t appear to be trying very hard to manifest the same New Earth.  We all, millions of us, have different ideas.  Some want to manifest more money, a healthier body, a new boyfriend who understands!  You get the idea.  These are self-seeking manifestations.

We need to come together.  Individual consciousnesses forming Group consciousnesses and eventually a Single Group Collective Conscious Mind, where we are all striving for exactly the same Future based in Unconditional Love.

Go forth.  Manifest your Bliss.  Eventually we will come together.

In the words of Essence Ka tha’ras

OM AkArapariNAma Anandaham

The New Storyteller

16/10/2016

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When I go into a meditative state, I don’t see as a human. I don’t see as if it is with my eyes.  What I do see, with my third eye, is Energy.  Other people can describe scenery and people they meet, flying and climbing mountains.  I see swirls and wormholes, Stargates and sparkles.  Lightening and empty spaces.  And sometimes, this Energy is accompanied by a Knowing.  It makes working out what happened in a meditation, the messages and guidance, sometimes a tad tricky!  

Some energy signatures are easy to recognise.  My two dragon guides, are easy unless they both arrive together and then they kind of meld into one and it’s hard to work out who is who.  My huge matriarchal elephant Emily is another easily recognised energetic signature.  Most of my animal guides are easily recognisable, it’s the humans who can be tricky.  I have friends that I’ve never met in this reality, but I recognise when we meet in meditation.  One is accompanied by the lovely smell of baking cookies, all lemon and vanilla.  Another is a calming green blue…….  

Yesterday, my meditation was filled with swirls of energy, all sparkly.  I went deep and I know that information was given to me, I just can’t remember what it was.  I’ve learned to simply accept these blank memory times, it will be remembered when needed.  When I woke from that meditation I discovered that night had fallen, I’d been ‘away’ for over an hour.  I’ve often found that message hints will appear in the clouds when I return from meditation, so I usually have my iPad nearby.  Tonight there was just one very bright light in the sky, so I took a photo and a video. 

Today I listened to a radio talk show hosted by my friend, mentor and teacher Essence Ka tha’ras and she was talking about information she’d received about The New Storytellers.  The show always  ends with a Spirit-lead meditation and as Essence started to guide us through this meditation, I realised that this was what I’d already experienced the day before.  It was so familiar.  And that the light I’d photographed the previous night was an aspect of the Adamantine Light being centred, anchored into my Third eye.  The Adamantne Light is the vehicle this aspect of self, of the New Storyteller, is bring brought in through.  I think I may have been called to become a New Storyteller. 

The New Storytellers are here to start telling the new story of humanity.  Of Gaia and her children.  Of Everything.   The Story of how things should be and not necessarily of how they are right now.  The New Storytellers are here to teach people how to change their story.  How to see the positive, the Love, in every situation.  How to turn things around so that the focus is not on the hard, the difficult, but  on the sparkle, the high energy that lifts you up , that gives you strength.  I’m still learning.  I have the tools of this craft: the ability to string words together to present a picture; the Spirit-sent experience of hitting the absolute lowest point and surviving with the ability to Love everyone and everything.

Telling stories is nothing knew.  There have been Storytellers for as long as people have gathered.  The New Storytellers take a story, an experience, a knowing, and spin it into a glorious version where everything sparkles with Adamantine brightness.  Where the positive can be experienced and the higher energy can be allowed to bloom.  Where the negative, the low energy,  is not allowed to exist.  The Story may, at first, be so fantastical that it seems like a childhood fairy tale, full of dreams and fantasy, but we are manifesting how our New Earth should be and the dreams and fantasies are a billion times better than the current 3D reality.  Let us grow our new reality in a beautiful, fantastical way.  Where we can freely fly with our dragon guides and live in peace.  Where Joy is everywhere.

The New Storyteller will take a tale of current troubles and find the beauty.  She will show you where to look, point the tale in a direction of growth and Love, and show you the first step into a new way of seeing……. And then she will pass the unfinished story to you to weave your magic through before you too share the new story, and this brighter way of living your story becomes the new reality now.   We are all involved in writing our story.  Let us manifest and share the beautiful New Earth and the story we want for our future.

Am I a New Storyteller…….?

……… That’s the cliff-hanger!  Lol

Namaste

💜🐘💜

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