Craig May

The Ticklish Bee

Chapter One…

A Sun Lit Prayer

The ticklish bee was a monochrome of ideas, he had an uncanny ability to see only that which is and laughed of the rest. He never dwelled in yesterday or tomorrow, he was always free to greet what appeared. In his ever rapturous joy the ticklish bee revelled in all company, He never judged another and only saw what was there to see. All the other bees admired him greatly, but they were concerned for him, for they feared for his safety, the ticklish bee was so care free that they all wondered how indeed he could steer free of trouble and attend to what needed to be. The queen after all was a tyrant and would not tolerate such an insulant bee. No indeed, if she was aware of such a bee in her service he would loose his head surely. All the other bees were acutely aware of this and did their best to shield the ticklish bee from the queens glazed glare. The only problem was the ticklish bee was ticklish you see, he could not enter the cup of a flower without lighting it up with laughter. The other bees were horrified initially, they did their best to assign the ticklish bee other tasks that would not lead to a ticklish end but no matter what he did the ticklish bee would always end up in trouble, although the trouble was oblivious to him, you see he just could not see such things as trouble or sorrow or the need to attend to a queen who to the other bees seemed of her rocker. But not to the ticklish bee, he just saw what was there to see.

One beautiful morning the bees were on the lookout for more lush flower cups to extract the elixir that gave their honey a special glean.

Like a squadron, they flew in unison in the glorious sunshine, intently focused on returning with the goods as they knew the queen would not be pleased if they showed up without the prized cargo. The ticklish bee as always was buzzing behind the well drilled squadron, enjoying the sunshine and scenery, he just couldn’t see the need to be in such a rush, he loved the feeling of the sun on his wings but especially on his tummy as he would fly like a swimmer swimming backstroke, the sun light gleaming of his warm tummy, a blissful look in his eye, he would wink an acknowledgement to the great orb in the sky as a token of his appreciation and think how nice to be out on such a glorious day riding the breeze. He liked to whistle too whilst warming his tummy and gently kick his legs, all six to propel him ever so slightly across the clear blue sky. The sun propagated a subtle tickle upon his budda belly promoting a cute little giggle.  He liked to gently tip his head back and watch the other bees flying in formation and upside down too. Why would they do that he would think and gently giggle the thought away in good nature. This enraged a number of the other bees as they had only a certain amount of the time at hand. The queen was very punctual and insisted rather tellingly that the clock must rule the day in the preparation of her honey that was famous across the land. The ticklish bee though had no such concerns, he just loved to giggle to the high heavens despite he’s supposed circumstances, he had a way of seeing through the unreal and zoning in on the real. This is what endeared him to his fellow bees, as much as they did not understand him, they were irresistibly drawn to his immutable joy and comedy.  

But the ticklish bee was beginning to become a burden to the other bees, they were increasingly concerned with the extra work and effort required to help keep him out of harms way. Some of the bees were jealous and resentful of not only the ticklish bee but also the ones that were protective of him. They were intent on convincing the others that it was in their best interests to abandon the ticklish bee, they were on a vendetta to minus this little bee from their ranks.  

The bee of the ticklish variety was no fool, although innocent and playful he was fully aware of what was driving the other bees and the potential cost to his own bee-ness. But that little voice telling him to be aware was of no interest to him, he knew what would be would be and that was just fine with him for his bee-ness would have its time in the sun and eventually fade away and he would be left with no memory of a bee. His trust was of the infinite variety.    


Chapter Two…

A Resentful Clue

The ticklish bee hardly gave a thought to anything, in fact a thought he never paid much attention to as his own. A thought is just a thought was just a thought was his moto. They come and go of their own accord, nothing to do with me. He was only attentive to his inner most guide and trusted it implicitly. It did not berate or bother him in any guise, just guided him intrinsically, subtle and unfussed it knew which way to steer. Quite and calm and wise, he knew it would direct him as it was always close by.  

This gave the ticklish bee a point of difference from the other bees as they were always on the chain so to speak. Wanting to be free but not sure why….or how to whittle by the time. They were a little aggravated by the ticklish bee’s presence as it brought into focus their own inadequacies and they did not know why. So a certain group of bees decided that the ticklish bee must fly far from their winking eyes as they refused to look at why they would cast such wicked dye.

So these bees hatched a brutal lie. They planned to sabotage the honey and pin it on the little guy. When the morning came of the night before when those bees strung the noose up high. The ticklish bee was nowhere to be seen and no one knew the why. “He’s sabotaged the honey and flown the coup alright” said one of the bees assuredly. The queens boiling tummy blew smoke out of her eyes. She was mad, furious, so furious in fact that she literally dropped dead on the spot. The bees who birthed the plan stood dumbfounded, some of their many knees were knocking when suddenly one of them screamed “ HE’S KILLED THE QUEEN” There was dead silence then the rest joined in “YES, HE’S KILLED THE QUEEN” and before you knew it, this diligent, decent group of bees (minus the plan hatchers of course) had turned raging mad and murderous, a mob was born and their sights were well and truly on the ticklish bee.

The little bee in question in the meantime was hovering by a hummingbird, he loved the sound of their wings and the breeze they offered on a warmish day. Sometimes if he was to close he would be blown back through the air and would have to regather himself carefully. He was far away from the impending doom of the lynch mob and as per usual was unconcerned of any such thing. All he knew was that he was up bright and early this morning and now he was here by the hummingbirds side who was unalarmed by the little bees presence.

Usually a bee would find it difficult to keep up with a hummingbird in flight, they may be able to hang by the tail for a while but eventually would fall of the pace and be left to watch the pretty bird disappear into the distance. But as this hummingbird took of something said to the ticklish bee “follow”. And follow he did, just casually as the hummingbird timed his flight accordingly. They flew forever it seemed, only stopping once the hummingbird sensed that the ticklish bee needed a breather. On and on they flew over many places and through inclement weather over sun lit seas and by great citadels that seemed to hang in the sky forever.

Finally they seemed to have arrived at a place which the ticklish bee sensed was their destination. The hummingbird turned to the bee, the first time he had acknowledged his traveling accomplice from the beginning of their journey and gently gestured to him before taking his leave. The ticklish bee knew not to follow, he was where he should be. He looked around and surveyed his surroundings, it was a beautiful place, majestic hills and mountains coexisted seamlessly with lush vegetation, magnificent trees and shrubs gracefully carved out groves and winding tracks throughout the landscape. Wildlife teemed all across the valley, gorgeous birds of generous and expansive colours flew in and amongst the trees, their songs ringing throughout the natural amphitheatre. Ducklings grassed on the green unfussed and curious by the banks of an amulet so calm and clean.

He wondered not where he was or why, he just felt so inclined to explore the serene abode that seemed to stretch for miles and miles.          

Chapter Three…

The Gates of Heaven

After wandering aimlessly for a while lost completely in the sensory lullaby of the luminous landscape he came upon a village of sorts. He spotted it at a distance at first, his eye drawn to its friendly charm. He gradually worked his way closer as the surrounding forest was full of its own charms. Massive oaks, their grandeur almost overwhelming stood watch over the inhabitants who had made it their home.  Dappled sunlight nourished the green moss carpeting the forest floor. Various varieties of colourful flowers of all shapes and sizes nestled beside one another harmoniously.

Although not much ruffled the ticklish bee he was truly charmed and slightly tickled by the soothing effect this place had had on him. His curiosity had spiked as it never had before and the village and its inhabitants were to be the next point of investigation. He even had a slight buzz of anticipation rumbling in his tummy as he made his way toward the peaceful outpost.

The first thing that struck him was the apparent lack of any activity within the village. As far as he could discern, it seemed to be deserted. This both puzzled and intrigued him and with slight trepidation he continued to close the gap on the village and himself ever so slightly. He had no ill feeling in regard to his thoughts but seemed to be unaware of his increasing reliance on them. As he pressed forward something began to dawn on him, an uneasy feeling of what lay ahead was apparent. The ticklish bee was worried, yes worried. This was such a foreign feeling to him he knew not what to make of it. He started to think about that too and the fact that he was thinking about that as well. He started to tell himself not to think but that only seemed to make matters worse. The ticklish bee was tying himself up in knots, mental knots. Unfortunately his worry free self had abandoned him, or so it seemed. It was as though he had a new employer and it didn’t particularly inspire much confidence in him. Things were suddenly so complicated and uneasy. By the time he had reached the village his worry had intensified to fear, another unrecognisable sensation he had no familiarity with until now.

Still drawn to the village but now fear replacing his curiosity, the little bee gently set his weary wings at ease and perched by the main entrance to the village. The entrance itself was something to behold magnificent ornate gates stood at the foot of a slight incline, welcoming rather than foreboding they glistened in the pale sunlight. The walls around the village were curved gracefully around the village border. They were an architectural wonder, beautifully ornate and constructed with such care and precision craftsmanship. The ticklish bee stood in wonder, his worries tenderly eased and the pleasure of his curiosity returned with wonderous effect.

But still there were no inhabitants within the village, in at least as much as he could see. But the village itself was oh so lovely. The slight curve of the entrance path gave way to a sprawling display of dwellings and shop fronts offering so very many amenities. Once more the ticklish bee was overcome with awe at the sight of such baroquely envisaged buildings. Surreally tall widows endowed with such curves that one had to imagine how indeed they were constructed. Spaces so divinely ushered in with such intricate carvings of an array of charming creatures. Pan like figures woven amongst angelic musicians decorated the tall and slender like buildings. Magnificent gardens ornamented the village streets so seamlessly. Tapestries woven by skilled weavers hung from slenderly engraved eves. Chimes crafted and hung so strategically sang in the soft breeze. It truly was a heavenly place but strangely vacant of its citizenship.

The ticklish bee now free of the malady that inflicted his decent into the city was keen to explore the intricacies of the beautiful place more closely. He flew from the border of the lovely abode and into the heart of its precinct.      


Chapter Four…

A Brighter Day                

It was like a ghost town. With the exception of the many beautiful birds coming and going as they pleased. There were many bees also, all very welcoming to the newcomer within their mists. The ticklish bee noticed the bees here were of a different variety than the comrades he was accustomed to, both in nature and appearance. These bees had a luminous green tinge, sapphire like, most intense around the middle of their bodies that faded to both ends . They were very attractive to the eye and peaceful and friendly. As the ticklish bee was admiring his new found friends, he could faintly here something in the distance that seemed to be approaching the village. As it become closer and more pronounced it was obvious to him to be some type of celebration. The mood and sounds were full of chivalry, there were drums beating and trumpets aloud hollering in good natured joy. And people, people singing and dancing with children on shoulders. By this stage the ticklish bee was back at the entrance witnessing the approaching throng. Obviously these were our missing inhabitants returning home it seemed from a joyous time had by all, but who knows where? As the villagers reached the city gates and spilled into the city, they gradually began to disperse and retire for the day into their respective lodgings. The sun had gone down and the shroud of night gently settled, there was a lovely musky tinge to the night air and the moons glow gave the gardens and homes within the village a gorgeous purple glow. The windows all started to fill with warm light, the chimneys started to smoke, pipes were lit and feet were rested by the fire stove.

The ticklish bee now seated on a window sill watched closely as a fellow inside slowly raised himself from his comfy chair, placed the guard on the fireplace who’s fire was starting to dim, then placed his pipe in a meticulously carved cradle and pausingly titled his head back, yawned as his two thumbs stretched his suspenders unintentionally raising his trousers above his bellybutton and retired upstairs to bed. The ticklish bee had his eye on a crack in the window and was able to squeeze himself through and settled down by the fireplace. He was out like a light before he knew it.  

The following morning the ticklish bee found himself snoozing blissfully unaware that he was lit up like a firefly. The bright morning sunshine had pivoted itself through a beautiful stained glass window and our friendly bee was awash in stunning colours intermingling with one another across what was now a stained glass floor. Gently shimmering light eased across his warming body as he was sleeping like a baby. The house was beginning to stir and the market stalls began to bustle with early bird shoppers. Birds were singing cheerfully as the village began to come to life and a sudden knock at the door brought the bee from the floor as he hovered and attempted to gather his bearings. There was a quick conversation at the door, when that was done the hovering bee had regained his visual focus and was starting to make sense of things. He flew a little closer towards the kitchen. Before he could gain much of a look a little girl sitting at the table screamed “A BEE, A BEE” another girl slightly older chimed in “A WEIRD ONE TOO”. The shellshocked bee quickly shot of for the cracked window that granted him access the night before and squeezed himself through and out as swiftly as he could.

The village centre was a buzz of activity, people were going about their daily business with such an ease and comfort that it recoloured the ticklish bee’s outlook on people. There was much laughter and banter amongst the enthusiastic chatter. The tradesman and shopkeepers exchanged various well-crafted barbs, of an always polite and well natured tone. No one had trouble exchanging a giggle or two at their own expense. Money changed hands with a slight haggle or two, but always coming to an arrangement that suited both parties. It was a highly functioning community stocked with good spirit, congenial manners and a respectful eye.      

Chapter Five…

To Bee or not to Bee

As the ticklish bee was surveying the morning hustle and bustle of this peaceful village he noticed a faint rumble echoing from a distance outside the village. As he gazed towards the impending hum, He was amazed to see the village walls facing north from which the travelling throng of sound was approaching was lined from its rim with a well organised array of  bees, native of course all aligned in perfect formation. Attentive, relaxed and patient, the bees began to rise from the wall, array themselves into a flying formation and at an unfussed pace headed towards the source of the sound. From a distance the impending commotion reflected two swarms of bees heading straight towards one another. Then it dawned on the ticklish bee that the swarm approaching the village might very well be the very same bees that had abruptly disowned him and were seemingly unsatisfied with just that part of the equation. As the foreign bees approached further and sensed the village bees calmly gathering speed; they concluded they were outmatched, for the bees that were ascending on them were not driven by the same lustful needs, but the pride of the foreign bees would not let them retreat and they pressed forward full of anger and fear. From the village gates the native bees had slipped from view and only the sound of their opponents was audible, the native bees hardly made a sound whilst in flight, their grace was all ascending. After a short while the sound of the bees that were strangers in a strange land dwindled slowly into the ether. And after a moment or two more, our homeland bees came into sight calmly returning, not a comrade fallen or even as much as a scratch seemed to have befallen them. They were of the same peaceful disposition as before and quietly returned to their daily chores as if nothing had just occurred.

The villagers had not noticed any commotion at all, but were not oblivious to such goings on, for it was just a natural occurrence in the stratosphere of their hearts as their faith was in a power that could not be overpowered by anything other than itself.      


Chapter Six…

Celebration Day  

The village our little friend had stumbled upon was a most peculiar place. Peculiar in so much as it was a sea of harmony. This was most unusual thought the ticklish bee as it contained people, in fact it was teeming with people of all shapes and sizes both in character and personality. But they all shared the same base or so it seemed. It wasn’t that the village was without certain things of an unpleasant nature, just that the correct perspective held sway and there was a lightness of travel amongst all its inhabitants. There was a collective faith that pervaded the vicinity of every nook and cranny, an incorruptibility that eluded other societies. It was in lack of a structural hierarchy but moved so effortlessly free of anything that lacked an inherent integrity, it was almost alarming. How could this be? Thought the ticklish bee.

As the days and nights passed in congenial variety, the quaintly surreal village was starting to feel like home to our well-travelled little bee. It was as though he had been excepted with a full heart into its quirky environment without any hesitancy. He had much warm feelings for such an excepting place and was in no hurry to leave. He had put down his hat and was prepared to let it be.

Early one evening a stranger had appeared at the foot of the magnificent gates that led into the charming city. He was a forlorn figure covered in a well worn hooded overcoat, rustic tattered boots and propping himself upright with an ornately carved cane that led to a gracefully conceived serpents head that perched at the tip just above his own concealed head. He cast an eerie moonlit shadow upon the mirth of the gates and was breathlessly still. Although his presence was undeniable and the village centre modestly populated. There was not a shred of acknowledgement of the strangers presence at the gates. The birds were settling down at dusk and their compositions rung out with a more subdued tone, but that was not unusual for this time of the day. He stood motionless for what seemed an age.

Eventually he raised his cane slowly and then slammed the foot of it into the ground below. The ground relented an eerie thud that rung out across the rural metropolis and surrounding area. He stood motionless again for no moment more than was necessary, the birds shimmering poems retained their subtlety. The stranger then slowly pivoted direction and took his leave from those imposing gates. He moved all so slowly, each pair of steps taken accompanied by a sluggish swift of his cane that seemed to swing by his side like a foreboding pendulum.

He disappeared at a snails pace back into the darkening forest as the village quietly settled down for the evening beset in a delightful orange tinged purple light cast by the moon.

The following day the village was business as usual. Another sun drenched morning had the birds in particularly fine voice. The preceding sounds leaped and slithered amongst one another creating a colophony of fineness in the moment. Not a skerrick of ill will was to be conceived or contextualised anywhere. The village truly purred on the good will to attend to the well-being of all. And the people themselves were the fruit from this handsome tree.

There was no mention of the strange visitor of the previous evening, no curiosity to the wanders intention or reaction, nothing at all.

Today was a day of celebration and the fine people of the village were splendidly attired. Both the woman and man were gorgeously groomed and dressed. The woman particularly were regaled in finery expertly designed and modelled with refined joyous smiles. The men looked sharp and slick, some more than others for everyone had a particular form of expression that was unique to themselves and everyone revelled in celebrating the diversity.

Minstrels provided the music skilfully drawn from hand crafted instruments exquisitely decorated and carved in infinite detail. Swiftly exchanging notes and flourishes with divine technique. The mood was indeed ecstatically relaxed and blissful. No one man or beast was unaffected by the sumptuous display of joy. Dancers moved with such succinct dexterity, the cling of the women’s earrings and jewellery jostled with intensity as the musicians responded in forensic detail, tellingly credentialed notes fell from their instruments filling out the canvas in salient detail. The ecstasy was infectious, and not a soul was spared its contagion. The fever worked its magic well into the night and following day. By morning the town square had been swept clean of all its frivolity, just the lingering scent of a night well spent hang on the breeze. The morning presented as it always did, everyone resplendently refreshed and invigorated by the previous night’s festivities as the day got under way.

Chapter 7…

The Five Sisters of Wine

The village was a buzz as usual, the winemaker was toiling, spruiking his wares rather than tending the vine. He was mostly retired now from the hard slog in and around the vineyard. His five daughters ran the show nowadays, all beautiful, talented and hard working. They were each a year apart in age. The winemaker himself was content to sell the wine his daughters produced. He enjoyed mingling with the villagers and exchanging pleasantries as they tasted and purchased bottled wine by the dozen. The vineyard was within the village walls and was the oldest part of the village. The village in fact had sprung up gradually around the vineyard originally established centuries before. All the winemaker’s daughters were unmarried and completely content. They were all of generous intelligence, all were genial and kind, some more outgoing than others, they were radiantly alive.

The village had everything it needed, it longed for nothing, there was a richness within its walls that could not be depleted, a contentment hang in the air of such sweetness, that it was futile to resist its relaxed charm. All needs were met in time. And a mature and selfless balm was applied to all situations and circumstances. The villagers would laugh with good nature at all that was not happening and gently attend to what was with genuine curiosity and awe.                        


Chapter Eight…

White Bird

The ticklish bee was awoken one fine afternoon by a flock of sheep of all things. He liked to loaf high in a certain tree close to the city walls that harboured a natural arrangement that the industrious bee liked to laze in like a hammock. The tree was ancient and massive and our little friends hideaway was nestled way up high. It offered panoramic views right across the valley and he enjoyed very much dozing off to the sights and sounds way below. The flock of sheep was small, perhaps a dozen grazed over the meadow at their ease, all diligently watched over by a kind old shepherd. The sleepy bee had noticed them on the odd occasion and was always intrigued by the old man’s sense of ease. The shepherd would often perch on a certain crest within clear view of the village and carefully remove from his shoulder bag some cheese and fruit that would be calmly sliced with a pocket knife and eaten graciously. Sometimes after eating he would tip his hat forward rest his back on a slight incline and enjoy a nice nap in the sunshine. The flock would never stray far from his council, some would stretch out by his side and enjoy resting in the afternoon sun. He would usually rise after a short rest and lead his flock out of the valley, their trust in him anchored them in a safe harbour.

Trust was the key to the heart of another and the little village thrived on such investment in and of its community. To receive the trust of another was a compliment of the highest order and that trust was nurtured accordingly. This was the foundation on which the village firmly stood. It was solid enough to withstand the most unpleasant weather and inclement conditions. It stood unmoved under all forms of attack. Faith was its central pillar and of faith it did not lack.    

As the sheep and their shepherd slowly disappeared into the distance, The ticklish bee noticed the village baker heading out of his bakery to enjoy his daily afternoon snack. He usually preferred a certain spot within the village that was elevated and allowed the space to open up in front of him creating a delightful vista. He loved to gaze over the view as he generously shared his apricot tart with the squirrels and birds who came to greet him each day. They would come each afternoon to share in his fare and congenial company. He was a humble affectionate man. His white moustache was of the plumpest variety only outmatched in length by his broad illuminating smile. This particular afternoon he was drawn to another spot other than his usual, not far from his shopfront. A humble bench facing an expansive tree under which a group of smaller trees rested with various flowering shrubs delightfully filling out the space.

As he settled down and his usual visitors began to appear ,he placed some morsels of the delicious tart on the bench and below, as his guests were always sure to acknowledge his presence and extend a greeting before helping themselves as they pleased. As he completed this task and glanced up towards the foliage facing him, he was beset  by a deep shroud of silence that seemed to unfurl like a canvas. Then after what seemed a few seconds a bird started to sing. It was situated directly in front of him, this he could sense as the source of the divine sound. It was of glorious proportions, poignant and flowing joyously across an expanding aperture of space. The space itself seemed tantalized and gave itself so willingly to appear to be shifting shape as to accommodate the swirling tenure as it relaxed and unleashed in magnificent geometry. The baker was transfixed, he was able to see the music composing itself as if in a dream. First a pattern then another, then the first, second and third before repeating and adding a forth. Turning in on itself, bending, shrinking and releasing flourishes that would melt and reappear. It was astonishing, he was the music itself, he was all of it.

He was suddenly startled back in to himself, the baker you see. And was intently curious from whence and what the sound was emanating.

His attention turned back to the bird, the bird he hadn’t seen and he slowly started to rise from his seat with the intension of approaching the bushes as he was keen to see what heavenly creature could be creating such a symphony.  

Before he could straighten his back upon having risen from his seat, the bird stopped singing. He froze completely as if caught in a spotlight. He did not move, only his eyes shifted nervously from the seat to the tree and back again. He truly did not know what to do, this was unusual for the baker because he rarely thought about much at all. He decided to approach into the vicinity of the bird to see if he could catch a glimpse of the source of what so overwhelmed him.

But there was a different feel in the air, the magic had seemed to disperse and he was afraid he had disturbed the blessed creature.

He pressed forward tepidly to the side the grove and peered through the deep foliage. He could see nothing, nothing at all and was left deeply disappointed. ‘I’ve frightened it away’ he thought and was left only with his despondent self. Just as he was about to leave he heard a little chirp and looking up expectantly saw a tiny bird. A tiny little bird rather scruffy with an blueish yellow crest that looked unkept. The little bird looked like he was malting, as though he was a cotton ball that had been picked apart and been tossed aside. He was rather unassuming and seemed nervous and self-conscious. The baker was confused “surely not” he said. And returned to his seat feeling rather blue.

The baker retook his seat and was about to head back to work when to his great surprise the bird once more sent his song to the air. In all its glorious fidelity it lit up the sky to stupendous effect. The baker leaned back and with all thought dispelled revelled in the birds gift once again.


Chapter Nine…

The Garden of Light

The gardens of the village were a sight to behold. They truly were magnificent. Seamlessly incorporating the many structures, dwellings and buildings of the settlement, it thrived so harmoniously within and around the architecture that it was futile to see them as separate. A team of gardeners modest in number worked so efficiently together that it was difficult for an outsider to comprehend how so few men could maintain and tend to such a sprawling acreage. This was partly in receipt of the generous and accommodating way all the skilled craftsman of the community freely shared and guided all inquisitive interest in their particular set of skills. The knowledge of the craftsman spread throughout the patronage of the village hence only a moderate team of skilled practitioners were assigned to any particular post of responsibility. Thus the community was reliant on and responsible for all. A self-sufficient eco system of good will woven so commandingly that it could not loosen without retightening itself.

Both ancient and new the subterranean structure and design of the gardens was a truly reciprocal partnership. The lightness of the higher hand was everywhere to be seen and the good folk who toiled so willingly were under no illusions as to the authorship of the  masterpiece they lived within. They saw themselves as the glove and he of the hand. And were delighted to be so guided. They travelled lightly throughout all situations and circumstances as their faith was so acutely aligned to his will that they were at all times in receipt of his mail.

The variety of his work was always freely on offer everywhere. But these gardens were of a divine invitation to sit so humbly in his presence. Often as the body takes its leave of this garden his presence remains, having crossed the threshold of illusion the innermost having cast of the shadow of separation sees that it never has nor could it ever be separated from the care of its maker.                

These gardens were truly of his light and no one was spared entrance to the holy sphere of God. They dissolved all that is of time within time. Who but he could pull that off? They contained every colour and shade of his palate but could not be seen with the body’s wooden eyes. They enabled one to see without the mark of time.


Chapter Ten…

To Be Continued…

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