“Can you hear it?” The boy whispered, his accent still perceptible at the age of twelve . “It happens at the same time and ends here.” He said in anticipation, his tone hushed as he stared out his bedroom window. On the tip of their toes, his little sisters struggled for balance, clumsily gripping the window sill so they could see.
Footfalls, clear, repetitive, were heard by the boy who, as a child, spoke to the man at the window. They were heard on the roof almost every night. The three listened in careful silence, heard steps lightly thud above them to end at the edge of the house. Quietly they waited for someone to fall to their death, peek in, something. No one was there.
The fabric of our world is thin, layered, and woven into the mystery of us. Intuition, knowing, instinct; these work collectively, effecting one purpose. In its most basic interpretation, it is survival. In its higher purpose, it is awareness, spiritual evolution. Either way, it is energetic information.
Sometimes the shroud thins and things bleed through.
Readying myself to leave my parent’s empty house, I gathered my hair-tie, exited the bathroom and made my way down stairs. Descending the wooden steps I caught sight of something. I nearly stepped into it. Blood - dry blood. How had I not seen it earlier? I examined the spots, marvelled at their size. The first was the size of a quarter, the second, found a few steps down, was the size of a nickel.
My father was prone to nose bleeds. This was likely a nose bleed and in my family's hurry to leave the house, no one had noticed the floor. Ascending the steps I returned to the bathroom. With a wet tissue I dissolved the blood and wiped it clean.
Later that day I questioned my family, had anyone cut a finger, had a nose bleed? They replied no, eyed me curiously and asked me why. I told them I had found two spots of blood on the steps earlier that day. My parents looked at each other, their faces grew pale and they were quiet. Was it an omen, a telling, a message? It became clear to me - it wasn’t for them to see, it was meant for me, alone.
Although the blood was on the floor, I interpreted its meaning as blood on the walls. The message is the same, war, conflict, loss.
Goliath cut a finger, used the veil and some blood got through.
He would try harder the next time to get his point across.
Continued on Monday July 11th 2011
Until then, I remain yours,
Lesley
Hallelujah Heartist
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