The Minstrel’s Story


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


The Song of the Troll

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


You Too Are a New Storyteller

Come, gather around, I have a tale to tell

A spin on your Story of heaven and hell

if they exist

Come, gather around, the short and the tall

The thin and the fat – I welcome you all

in Peace

What? You have no Story?  No tale to share?

Isn’t that you, who lives over there?

in that doorway

I see you are a good man, fallen on hard times

After you returned from those far distant front lines

in Pain

People avoid you, they won’t look in your eyes

They are too afraid of seeing the truth of the lies

of this Now

But I see your dreams, how deeply you care

And it’s time to release them if only you dare

share your Love

Tell your tale of bravery, turn the lies around

Share the Love and the Light between sky and ground

breathe deeply

Young man you have stories that are meant for sharing

Of brave deeds, of strength, compassion and daring


Stand up, claim your soul’s beauty and travel the lands

Pick up your staff and your drum in both hands

and summon your Future

I have shown you your Light, my job is done

To continue your Story, you are the One

to shine

Lift your heart high, receive Joy and Peace

From the Great Spirit in waves without cease

and Awaken

With a gleam in my eye I bequeath Adamantine Light

To you New Storyteller, now strive with all your might

to grow

And gather the Story of another man’s fear

Dig deep, Seek the Love and bring that here

to the Light

Work hard Storyteller, manifest your Bliss

Refuse to think of those dark shady mists

that mis-lead

If you find yourself thinking those dark shady thoughts

Seek deeply within for the things you were taught

and Shine your Light

Go forth.  Manifest your Bliss

In the words of Essence Ka tha’ras: 

OM AkArapariNAma Anandaham

A New Storyteller


Gather Close and Hear a Story


I am a New Storyteller.  You may be too.  So come close and hear my Story of changing patterns and beautiful manifestations for the future.

But first, gather around, and as you settle down, maybe with a coffee or a cup of tea, making yourself comfortable, let me tell you what a New Storyteller does.

Stories, as you know have been told since time began.  Before the first word was ever drawn on the wall of a cave, people gathered and listened.  Stories brought the history of the race to life.  They taught young people how to act in certain situations.  They frightened, enthralled and brought laughter and tears.  The old storytellers told of brave deeds, princesses rescued, dragons slain (although I must say that the dragons I know are beautiful gentle creatures and I would be heart-broken if anyone tried to slay my dragons).  They told of wars, battles won and battles lost; of ogres and giants and trolls under the bridge.  They told tales of seasons, of stars and far distant friends.  They built a picture that was fantastical, filled with Magick and the Knowledge of Ages to show the people who came together to hear.

In today’s world, in this current reality, this “Now,” we rarely gather to hear such tales.  Those gatherings around the fire have morphed into watching TV, Face Book and Google; of being spoon-fed the atrocities of the world we currently live in until we come to believe there is only war, and terrorism; famine and bloodshed; the Haves and the HaveNots.  We are loosing sight of the Beauty, the Mystery of Spirit simply because those who control our current stories understand that Fear drives the market.  And they are in it for money, not for the wellbeing of humanity.  We live in fear.  Fearful of being attacked, abused; loosing our job, our home.  We fear our neighbour, so we no longer look people in the eye preferring to walk on by in case we see our own fear and pain reflected in their eyes.

And these fears drive our current future reality.  What we dwell on is what we manifest.  If we expect the dark and heavy energies to come our way, then they most certainly will appear in your life.

Now, we are on the brink of the New Earth.  Shambahalla.  Our New Reality Now is waiting to be manifested.  We each have decisions to make.  Do we want to carry these fears with us into our future?  Or would we prefer the bright, loving world of our most joyous dreams?

This is where the New Storytellers come in.  This is why Spirit has gifted us with the fire of Adamantine Light.  The bright, shining, sparkly diamond gift of re-telling a Story without the fear.  Of re-birthing the beauty of this world and taking that beauty into our New Earth.  Of sharing, supporting, upholding that which is Right; of aiding, teaching, healing.  Because, and you MUST believe this, every Story CAN be re-written.  We have simply lost the skill.

The New Storyteller will weave your fearful story, seeking and finding the hidden diamond of brightly lit Love and bringing it forward so you can see and hold the beauty that is revealed.  And then the New Storyteller will gift your re-written tale back to you.

In the fairy tales of our youth, the story has an ending.  The prince wakes the princess with a kiss and they live happily ever after.  But “happily ever after” isn’t a new story….it’s a continuation of the first story.  And the characters must make the choice to be happy.  This is the point where YOU have the potential to become the New Storyteller.  You take your new story, your re-written and re-defined Story and lead it into the next chapter.  Where you lead it is up to you………

And now, let’s throw a few more sticks of wood on the fire and I will share a Story to show how we can re-write our Reality…..

It’s an everyday story, based in this Now Reality.  The heroine, Carol, is lucky to have a good job.  She is the main breadwinner in her family and lives with her husband (who has a drink problem), her mother who is getting on in years and off her rocker,  and her daughter.  They all depend on her. Her job isn’t anything special, but she loves it.  Her boss is good and understands that she sometimes has problems at home to deal with.  She does what she has to do to get by.  But last year she nicked her leg when shaving it and an infection set in which put her in the hospital.  She not only nearly lost her leg, but it was touch and go if she would survive.  She had to take heaps of time off work and the debts mounted up.

She went back to work before she was really well enough, simply because she didn’t have a choice.  She had bills to pay.  Everyone was pulling her in all directions.  She struggled, depressed, her leg hurt constantly, her husband didn’t help at all.  Her world became bleak and dark.  Her work suffered.  She was doing a rushed and shabby job.  Her boss seemed to understand even though he called her into the office on a number of times about work that was well below accepted levels.  She was given many chances until one day she was late to work and the boss had stepped in to cover her absence and discovered just how far her standards had fallen.  And there were four letters of complaints arrived that day, from customers, about the standard of her work.  The boss called into the office………

This Current Now Reality story could end here with her loosing her job…..and Carol would take her Story forward into an ever bleaker future.  A downward spiral of anger and fear, straight into the depths of desperation.

Or we can step back in time and with the aid of a New Storyteller, the Story can be re-written….

Once upon a time in a land not too far away, lived Carol.  She isn’t a princess, or anyone special, there isn’t a knight is golden armour going to sweep her off her feet.  Indeed she is fairly ordinary looking, heading towards middle age, plods through her life doing the best she can and most certainly would not consider herself a heroine.  But that’s exactly what she is.  Let me tell you….

Carol’s husband went away to fight for the King who wanted a dragon killed.  It was horrible and he just can’t get the nastiness out of his mind unless he has a drink of beer.  Some days it takes a lot of beers before he can forget how the dragon pleaded that she had only taken the sheep to feed her hungry babies.  Some days the memories are so bad he hides under the table and Carol gets under there with him and just sits with him.  Not saying a word.  Just being there for him.

Carol’s mum lost her marbles years ago!  And needs to be watched carefully so she doesn’t wander off through the town wearing just her nighty and asking the bus driver where she can buy wet fish.  Sometimes she calls the police because she thinks the gypsies have stolen her clothes.  So Carol brought her mum to live with her and her family do that she can keep an eye on her and make sure she eats and bathes and has do robe close by to love her.

When she speaks of her daughter you can see the pride and love she holds for this child who is going to school and learning so much more than she ever had the opportunity to do, and even in her most busy days, she will find time to sit and talk with her daughter about Life and Love and the ways of the world.

She is the only person in her household who is well enough, or old enough, to go to work so the whole family is dependant upon her.  It makes life a bit tough at times, but she keeps cheerful and is happy that her family is together and safe.

I told you she is a heroine!  She is one of many unsung heroes in our world.  She lives her life in Love, but is so bound up in holding it all together that she doesn’t actually recognise her Love any more.  She only feels the constant tiredness.

Then, one day – disaster!  Carol cut her leg and the infection was so bad that the doctors talked about cutting it off!  She was so upset and spoke with the doctors telling them how very important is was for her to keep her leg.  The doctors too are unsung heroes and they worked night and day for three weeks to help Carol keep her leg.  And they did a marvellous job!  All their knowledge and training, their lotions and potions were brought to bear and eventually Carol was allowed to go home.

Now……this is where we REALLY get to know just how amazing our heroine really is.  Even though she could barely walk, she went back to work!  It was very hard, but luckily she had a boss that understood and helped in every way possible.  But even heroines have bad days, and Carol’s bad days got pretty bad.  She kept thinking of the bad stuff, and that meant bad stuff kept happening, until one day it was so bad that her boss decided to let her go……

And that is where the New Storyteller jumped in.  Two aspects of the same tale.  The same Story seen through different eyes.  She took Carol to one side and told her her new Story.  The version Carol hadn’t seen because she was wrapped up in the hard reality she had built.  The New Storyteller showed her how she has some amazing gifts:  of Love, Compassion, kindness.  She was told that she is an incredibly strong person, that she had been tested and stretched almost to breaking point, but she has survived.  She was told how deeply she is connected to Mother Gaia and Spirit, and that her lost Joy would return.  She had simply needed someone to flick the switch and bring her light back.  She was reminded that every thought, every word, every deed manifested her reality.

And the New Storyteller handed over this bright light to Carol and gave her the chance to write her next chapter.  Which would she choose?  Trust in herself, in the gifts she has, would she work at bringing herself into the world she dreams of, or return to the darker path and risk a tumble even further.


And now the fire is cooling, the stars are sparkling in the sky.  Time to go home gathered people, look into your life, soul and re-write your story.  Manifest your Bliss.


In the words of my Teacher

Essence Ka tha’ras

OM Akara parinama Anandaham




The New Storyteller

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






The_Horizon.jpgThis time around, it started with a number of co-incidences.   You know what I mean – those co-incidences that are anything but.  That are actually pretty hefty nudges from Spirit that here is something you need to look into.


I got my first wake-up call way back in 2008 when the world turned blue.  It was gorgeous, didn’t worry me unduly, lasted a couple of hours and then was pretty much forgotten as I got on with life.  My next wake up call was in 2011 when Spirit dropped the whole story of Kishar and Anshar into my head when I was walking on the beach.  I fell in love with the story, confirmed it on Google, called my belly dance class Raqs Kishar and again, got on with life ignoring the wake up call.


Now, I wonder at my easy acceptance of these happenings! Lol 


Over the last couple of months I’ve been mentally “worrying” about my Almaak Dancer name.  Nothing major, just recognising that I am moving away from that aspect of my journey.  Yes, Almaak is home, I was told when I first travelled there that this was my last re-incarnation on Earth and that I’d be going home after this life. 

But many things have changed since I went through the Lions Gate and ventured into the Dragons Gate in August and discovered that this would no longer be the case.  I’m going to be here a while yet.  I have new tasks to complete.  Almaak Dancer is still me, it’s just not so relevant.


Thinking up a new, more relevant name is an idea that has been tickling the edges of my brain for a while – and then last week the co-incidences started.  A friend asked how you received a Spirit name.  Find your Soul Name quizzes started turning up on FB with almost alarming regularity!  A conversation the other day with my Teacher involved “human” Sue and “multi-dimensional traveller” Sue, and I realised I needed a new “filing system” in my brain so I could keep a handle on everything.  But what to call that m-d traveling aspect of self?


And that was the trigger. 


There’s nothing set in stone yet, I need to do a lot of work to know exactly where this is leading me, but last night I had one of those Eurika moments and the thought popped into my head that the reason the story of Kishar was given to me, and the reason I have ALWAYS found peace and answers on the horizon over water, is because Kishar is me.


For me, that thought is a bit radical.  I know other people are aware of their soul journey – and I too know some of mine – but I’m a contradictory mix of totally accepting some very weird stuff without any evidence of validity whilst also needing to be able to file the proof away in a corner of my brain.  The accepting is usually when it refers to other folk.  The doubts flood in when it’s about me.  So I’m in a position of accepting that Kishar is an aspect of me, but needing to know more.  Confirmation I guess, but this shouldn’t be a time of trying to second guess Spirit.  I was told, and should accept.  I’m just having a little argument with Human Sue aspect of me!


I see some very deep meditation coming up! 

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