The little boy stumbled through the forest. He was sure that wild animals were chasing him, and wanted to eat him. As he crashed through the undergrowth he suddenly emerged into a clearing. He looked around, fearing that he could hear animals, but all was quiet.
The little boy walked further into the clearing. He saw a small stool with a book on it.
He stopped, and looked around wondering who had left the stool, and the book there.
He walked over to the stool, and picked up the book to look at it. Without thinking, he sat down, and opened the book. He started to read aloud. The only sound in the clearing was the little boy’s voice.
He had forgotten about his earlier fear, and he had also stopped imagining that he could hear animals after him.
Once he had finished reading the story he put the book down, and he said to the clearing, “I’ll come back tomorrow to read again.”
The little boy left the clearing and reentered the forest. He wasn’t afraid anymore. It was if he had a new found confidence, and manner.
The next day he returned, and found a different book on the stool, and as before, he sat down, and started to read.
This went on for a week. After seven days animals started to come through the undergrowth, and entered the clearing. When they saw the boy, and heard his storytelling they would stop, find a place to sit down, and listen to him.
One day he heard a roar behind him, and the little boy turned around, coming face to face with a tiger. “Shhh!” he told the tiger, and gave it a smack across the nose.
The tiger was taken aback, but he did as he was told and he went to a tree. Then he too, sat and listened to the little boy.
This went on for many years, and some animals died never to return, while others grew old as the little boy did. One day, when the little boy was no more but a little old man he died as he was reading one of his stories.
The animals looked up, and listened to the silence.
Wild dogs howled, elephants trumpeted their calls, birds tweeted and chirped, monkeys chatted and tigers roared as one.
The tiger, who many years ago the little boy had smacked across the nose, carried the little boy, and laid him to rest under his tree.
The animals lined up to pay their respects to the little boy who had devoted his life to reading to the animals.
As they lined up they were watched by God, Buddha, Allah and Ganesha, standing off to the side, who had tears in their eyes, not because the little boy that had died, who now stood next to them, but because as each animal came to the body of the little boy, each animal would lay their head down on his chest, and shed tears over the boy’s body.
Finally a small baby elephant came, and laid his head, and trunk down on the little boy’s body, and his tears flowed over the little boy’s chest.
When the animals had left, there was an eerie silence over the clearing.
Many, many years passed until one day, a small girl come running through the bushes, with a frightened look on her face. She stopped, and looked around the clearing. She saw a small stool, and so she walked over to it, wondering who would leave such a thing here in the forest.
She sat down on the stool and looked down. She saw a box full of books.
The little boy smiled.
― Anthony T. Hincks
Lift up thy arms and call my many names,
I am known as Innanna, Diana, Demeter, Isis, Neth, Brid, Astar, Hecate, Selene.
Beyond death I am but eternal even the passing of the seasons.
I am inside you, your mother, and your sister.
I have been with you since the beginning
and I will be with you in transformation of spirit.
The weak and the lost the hungry and the sick are all my children.
From my womb comes all life .
Beckon unto me in times of need
for I hear you my child.
I am the Earth on which to rest your weary body,
I am the water that washes away the tears of humility,
I am the air in which you breath in the breath of life ,
and I am the fire that burns deep in the passions of humanity.
I am all you see and all that you have yet to discover.
My arms are the tree limbs out stretched
and open to receive into my soul your knowledge,
my roots run deep,
as my devotion has no boundries.
The wise ones who’s beckons I have known,
from above and from below.
Found at: The Witches Eyes
Some scholars speculate, based on common legends between various cultures around the globe, that the old practice of “wishing upon a shooting star” originates from a time when people believed that the gods would occasionally open the dome of heaven to peek in on what the mortals were doing on Earth. This opening of the dome released a star, and if one made a wish while there was still light, and before the dome slammed shut, the gods might hear and grant the wish.
In Switzerland, it was thought that shooting stars possessed the power of God and could ward off pestilence.
The Swabians believed a shooting star foretold a year of good luck.
In Chile, a shooting star is also an omen of good luck, but one must quickly pick up a stone to guarantee the luck.
In the Philipines, one must tie a knot in a handkerchief before the light is extinguished to capture the good luck of a shooting star.
Some people of Hawaiian or Japanese descent believe if you see a shooting star coming in your direction, you must open the collars/breast of your kimono to admit the good luck.
Also in Swabia, a person seeing 3 shooting stars in one night was doomed to die.
In Lithuanian folklore, it’s believed that a spinner spins a thread for each new life and attaches it to a star. At the moment of a person’s death, the thread breaks and the star falls to Earth.
The Seneca believed that pointing to a shooting star would reveal one’s location to the star, with ill effect.
Some Hispanic cultures believe that one must utter “God guide it” upon seeing a shooting star to avoid bad luck.
The Baronga culture would spit on the ground upon seeing a shooting star and cry out “go away, go away, all by yourself” to avoid bad luck.
In some parts of the Catholic deep south US, it is believed that shooting stars are souls leaving purgatory for heaven.
In Catholic Germany, it was believed that a shooting star was a suffering soul seeking prayers from those who observed it. If one recited “rest in peace” three times before the light extinguished, then the soul would be delivered from purgatory.
In some Philippine cultures, it is believed that shooting stars are the souls of drunkards which return to Earth at night to sing “do not drink, do not drink“. Each day they attempt to climb back up to heaven, but fall down each time.
Some Muslims believe shooting stars are fireballs thrown down on devils by vengeful angels.
Some old Russian cultures believe shooting stars are demons who were transformed and chased out of heaven.
In Austria, upon seeing a shooting star near one’s house, the children were brought inside and sprinkled with holy water.
It was thought in some Germanic cultures, that shooting stars were fire-breathing dragons, if you insulted or cursed one of them, they would rain stinking cheese and rubbish down upon Earth. Some believed in influencing the dragon with an offering, whereupon the passing dragon would leave a gift of ham or bacon. The fire dragon also carried money which it would sometimes drop, making people rich.
In Polish folklore, it’s thought that a falling star would drop one of three things – a treasure, a gelatinous mass, or cow dung!
Found at Telescope Reviews
“This is June, the month of grass and leaves . . . already the aspens are trembling again, and a new summer is offered me. I feel a little fluttered in my thoughts, as if I might be too late. Each season is but an infinitesimal point. It no sooner comes than it is gone. It has no duration. It simply gives a tone and hue to my thought. Each annual phenomena is reminiscence and prompting. Our thoughts and sentiments answer to the revolution of the seasons, as two cog-wheels fit into each other. We are conversant with only one point of contact at a time, from which we receive a prompting and impulse and instantly pass to a new season or point of contact. A year is made up of a certain series and number of sensations and thoughts which have their language in nature. Now I am ice, now I am sorrel. Each experience reduces itself to a mood of the mind.”
– Henry David Thoreau
“Together the magicks swirled and danced around us, invisible but tangible, like an breeze. This wasn’t defensive or offensive magic. It wasn’t used to gather information, for strategy or diplomacy, or to fight a war against supernatural enemy.
It simply was.
It was fundamental, inexorable. It was nothing and everything, infinity and oblivion, from the magnificent furnace of a star to the electrons that hummed in an atom. It was life and death and everything in between, the urge to fight and grow and swim and fly. It was a cascade of water across boulders, the slow-moving advance of mountain glaciers, the march of time.”
― Chloe Neill,
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