The Moon She Went Away

The sun turned overcast as the moon hid her face

When she didn’t come out one day back in May

The sky wept tears

For an overcast sun meant there would be no more rainbows

The mountains slumped, no longer stood tall and proud

The trees began to die for they had lost their night time storyteller

Their withered leaves hung limply from sad branches

The rivers and oceans turned black in their grief

When they heard that their faithful friend up in the sky

Had gone away one day back in May


All became confused, the cycle of life hung in the balance

The birds flew around and squawked in distress

The patterns they left in the sky no longer beautiful and graceful

Instead they flew with loss of purpose

The flowers stopped growing; their petals fell to the floor

Animals and insects lay down for in their confusion

Immobile they became

The fish flopped on their sides and sank to the bottom of the blackened sea

Even the mermaid who lived deep in the sea, struggled to be


She summoned her energies and rose to the surface

Saw the overcast sun and the tears from the sky

Noticed the empty space where the moon had been

Before she left one day back in May

“Grandfather Sun, your beloved has gone, have you not been to look for her?”

“My heart has been broken, I can’t go on. Look how dimly I shine.”

“Pick yourself up and rise in the sky, there must be a reason she left your side.”


Grandfather Sun realised the depth of his love for his goddess the moon

And began his search for her

He searched the whole of the Earth alone, for life hung by a thread


In his search he began to realise how much he took for granted

Expecting her to be there gracing the sky with her beauty

His forgetfulness must have made her go away that day back in May

He saw the error of his ways

How his focus on the unimportant led his goddess to hide her face

To turn away from him


He spent a week just calling her, hoping that the echo from his heartfelt words would speak to her heart and bring her back to him

She did not come

He sang her songs, sent her beams of light inside which he had placed musical notes that only she would hear and understand

She did not come


The moon was floating out at sea, inside a little wooden boat, bopping up and down was she

She heard him calling her, listened to his songs and danced to the musical notes that he had wrapped in beams of light

She did not move, she stayed at sea

Inside a little wooden boat, bopping up and down was she


When Grandfather Sun had exhausted all possibilities and still she stayed away from him

The mermaid from the sea, once more she came to visit him

“There is no doubt your love for her is real, but sentiments alone won’t bring her back to you,”


Grandfather Sun, thought about her kindly words and sought her council

The mermaid from the depths of the sea, in touch with her emotions

Didn’t speak to him in words but showed him interactions

Of nature being fully present, with no distractions

Then Grandfather Sun he understood why he had lost his goddess

He rose in the sky and in the distance far away

He saw his beloved the Moon floating inside a wooden boat in the middle of the sea

He went to her and bowed his head in shame

For before he had not realised the error of his ways

He met her in that little boat, and sailed with her across the ocean

He won her heart once more

For the only thing she asked of him, was that he be fully present


You may think this is just another story

Take place it did, so very long ago

Before the two-leggeds had trodden on the Earth and set up home

Grandfather Sun and his Goddess Moon, they too had to learn to be

For it was due to this that nature learnt to stand together

And how the Earth became our greatest teacher, leading by example


© Rosi Piñeiro – 27th November 2013


Chestnuts by the Fire

The awareness of how cold her hands were brought her out of her mind as she wandered through the forest. She rubbed them together and put them inside her coat pockets. She shivered and a chill ran down her spine. The damp that permeated the forest was in her bones and the coldness from the wind made her skin feel as if it were going to crack like porcelain.

There was no-one else around yet she felt safe and protected by the trees that stood before her as she passed them on her walk. The birds were singing and from time to time she heard the rustling of foliage and caught a glimpse of the squirrels that played peek-a-boo from the trees.

She noticed the heart shaped leaves waving at her, reminding her that only love is real. She smiled because on this day there were so many of them and she felt as if they were waving hard to get her attention. They seemed to be guiding her on the path so she veered off her normal route to walk towards the heart shaped leaf that was waving at her quite frantically.

She giggled, enjoying the private moment she was having with the leaf. When she had passed it she continued up the path and came to another group of waving leaves. She acknowledged them and thanked them for guiding her. She walked for some distance and was now in the heart of the forest. She wasn’t afraid as she was amongst friends. She came to a tree; an oak tree. Carved on its trunk was a love heart. She wondered who had carved it and what the story was behind such a gesture of love. There wasn’t just one heart, but all the way down the tree, little love hearts adorned its being. She was taken back at seeing so many love hearts and she admired its beauty. Someone had left a beautiful trail of love on the ancient tree, like their very own footprints on the sand, telling a story of their life, now forever carved into the tree.

As she looked around she noticed that all the trees in this part of the forest were dressed in lovely love hearts. Some were plain, some were big and others small. Some of the hearts were adorned with flowers, others depicted hearts within hearts.

She gasped at the sight before her. Then she felt the love that rested there and she fell backwards. Tears came to her eyes and she sat on a tree trunk as she was so overwhelmed with emotion. She looked at the trees for a long time, taking in their beauty. She touched some of the love hearts, running her fingers through their form, and absorbed some of their energy. The trees, in their grace, shared their stories of love with her. Some stories were happy, others sad. Some had happy endings, other endings were tragic. So many were the tears she shed that she used up all her tissues and had to resort to using the sleeve of her coat to wipe them away. She thanked the trees for granting her access to their stories. She was humbled that they would share their precious memories with her.

“Ah, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you. Come and sit by the fire, I’m roasting chestnuts,” came the voice from behind her.
She spun around startled and saw the old woman sat by the fire, roasting her chestnuts. She prodded and pocked the fire with a thick stick and moved the chestnuts around. The woman was very old. She wore a long ruby skirt, which touched the ground and her upper half was covered in a chunky cream jumper over which she had a thick shawl which was so prettily adorned with bright colours. On her head she wore a bright pink bobble hat. The wellington boots on her feet were black with little red love hearts over them.

“Come and sit with me. You must be very cold. I have some hot tea that I think you could do with,” she said.
“I know who you are,” said the old woman staring at her chest.
“You do?” replied Eva.
“Your heart has just told me,” she replied, smiling at her.
“I thought you were staring at my breasts,” giggled Eva.
“They kind of get in the way, but no, I was reading your heart, but forgive me for staring,” said the woman.
“I’m Eva.”
“I’m Wendy, keeper of this forest.”
“I haven’t seen you here before,” said Eva.
“That’s because you’ve never been to this part of the forest. I tend to this cemetery,” she replied.

Eva looked around for she couldn’t see any headstones or anything resembling a cemetery. Wendy noticed her confusion and remarked, “Not the type of cemetery you’re thinking of. This cemetery houses something quite different. This is a love cemetery.”
“A love cemetery!” exclaimed a surprised Eva.
“Each of the trees that you see here contains the record of how much each person has loved in life. It’s a beautiful place isn’t it?” said Wendy staring deeply into Eva’s eyes. Eva held her gaze fleetingly then looked away.
“Yes,” replied Eva.
“Some people before they pass remain either quite unconcerned by the legacy they might leave behind, or believe that little remains of their time on this Earth. How well they’ve loved always remains and is recorded on these ancient trees for they are the providers of the oxygen we need to breathe into our lungs; the closest organs to our heart. When we turn to dust and return to the earth, the roots of these trees pick up tiny vibrations of encoded information and create the beautiful markings that you see on these trees. Rather fitting don’t you think?”

Eva was so astounded at Wendy’s words and could only nod her head.
“When it’s time to incarnate again part of the Soul preparation is a visit to your tree so that you may see how well you’ve loved in your previous life. All souls do this.”
“Is my tree here?” asked Eva.
“Of course dear. It’s that one over there.” She pointed to a beautiful yew tree.
“My very own tree. Can I touch it?” asked Eva.
“Be my guest. It is yours after all. Don’t stay too long, the chestnuts are nearly ready.”

Eva walked over to her tree and looked at its trunk. There was not one single heart on her tree. She walked back to the fire disappointed that its trunk wasn’t adorned with hearts.
“Remember what I said dear Eva, the hearts only appear when you pass over into Spirit.”
“Yes, I remember,” said Eva relieved to be reminded that the record was kept after the earthly transition and not before.
“Perhaps you need something solid to remind you,” said Wendy. “It can be easy to forget whilst you whizz here and there living your life. Love all too often takes a back seat to our distractions.”

Wendy handed her chestnuts which they ate by the fire in silence. The tea was sweet and helped wash them down. Eva was deep in thought and after some minutes of silence, asked, “How will I know if I am loving well?”

“We will come to that, but first let me tell you that if you don’t love well, your heart will resemble a chestnut’s prickly outer casing. Now, notice how the heat from the fire opens the shells and makes the inside of these chestnuts soft. Finding your passion in life, that which sets your heart aflame will help to keep you heart open and soft. Find your passion and follow it.”

Eva listened intently to her words and had much to think about.
“It will be getting dark soon and you don’t want to get lost in the forest at night,” said Wendy.
“Yes, I ought to head back,” said Eva standing up.
“Before you go Eva, pick up a conker, there are plenty still in their shells.”
Eva bent down and picked the smallest one on the ground.
“Open it,” said Wendy.
Eva carefully removed its prickly shell and inside was the shiniest conker, in the shape of a heart.
“Oh look, a heart shaped conker.”
“Indeed. Keep it with you and look at if often and remember that how much you love in this life will be recorded. Everything leaves a record, but love leaves the most beautiful record of all. Make love your priority and your tree will be full of love hearts,” added Wendy.

Eva put the conker in her coat pocket and thanked her for the hot tea and chestnuts.
“Before you leave Eva, go and speak to your tree. I believe it has something to share with you.”

Eva walked towards her yew tree and placed her hands on its trunk. She listened and it began to speak to her, “Inside every conker lies a chestnut. Inside every chest, there too lives a nut which you call the heart. A heart can be soft and supple or as hard as a nut. To the extent that you love, is the extent of the softness or hardness of your heart. Love well Eva and your heart will not only open like the petals of a flower in bloom but you will leave behind the most beautiful tree.”

Eva thanked the tree and as she played with the heart shaped conker in her pocket, she promised herself there and then that she would choose to love well and make that her biggest priority.

© Rosi Piñeiro – 24th November 2013


I Loved You


When the stars were formed

I loved you

When the rivers flowed into the sea

I loved you

When the sun and moon were birthed

I loved you

When mountains grew to meet the sky

I loved you

When trees took root beneath the earth

I loved you

When planets and galaxies were welcomed in the Universe

I loved you


I searched for you amongst the stars

I did not find you

I swam in the river and out to sea

I did not find you

I flew to the sun and dreamt with the moon

I did not find you

I climbed all the mountains and reached the sky

I did not find you

I followed the roots of the ancient trees

And journeyed deep beneath the earth

I did not find you

I went to every single planet

Visited all the galaxies

Yet still I did not find you


I focused on the outside

But there I didn’t find you


Then I looked inside my heart

Where I had always loved you

And there at last I found you


© Rosi Piñeiro – 19th November 2013


The Keeper of Stories

Autumn had once again paid its yearly visit to the ancient tree.  In the past, the tree had not found this time easy, as this season taught its lesson of letting go, by the shedding of its leaves.  It never wanted to see its friends fly away and would hold onto them for as long as it could; little realising the futility of its fight.

The wind accompanied Autumn and came silently at first.  It saw and felt the struggle of the tree.  It blew its energy through it and gently shook the branches.  The young tree, with much to learn, fought the wind attempting to cling onto parts of itself. Yet one by one, the leaves bid the tree farewell and were carried by the wind to their resting places; homeward bound to their Earth Mother who awaited their landing onto her soft bosom, with anticipation and great expectancy.

Then came the rain and washed away the trees sadness.  It felt for the young tree and cleansed away its sorrow.

“Don’t be sad dearest tree,” it would whisper whilst it soothed its pain.  “Every season comes with its own blessings.  What it takes away will be replaced with something new.  Loss is only ever temporary.”

Every year the young tree spent the whole winter exposed to the elements, having lost its leaves.  It longed for the new season to appear so that it could grow new leaves.  The older trees accustomed to loss, were empathetic to the trees struggle.

“How long will it be until my leaves grow back again?” it would ask them.

“In time,” came the reply from the mature trees.

“But how long is that?” it would then ask them.

“Be patient, soon new leaves will cover you,” they would respond reassuringly.


But the tree missed its friends and the passing of the seasons felt like an eternity.

One day, a young girl stopped in front of the tree and fell to the ground by its trunk.  She was sobbing uncontrollably, wiping her warm travelling tears with her cardigan sleeve.  She began to speak to the tree but it didn’t understand the words she spoke.  After some time, when her tears subsided, she took a red ribbon out of her pocket and played with it in her hands, touching the whole length of it, as she spoke words into it.  She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then reached up to one of its branches and secured the ribbon to it.

The tree had received its first gift and understood the language left on its branch.  It spent its days admiring the ribbon as the wind made it dance on its branch.

Weeks passed and an older woman stopped by the tree, placing her hands on its trunk.  She too left a ribbon on one of its branches; hers was a green ribbon.  She placed what was in her heart into its fabric and secured it to another of its branches.  The tree understood the language left on its branch.

Over time, more people turned up and they too left their stories on its branches.  They wove their stories and memories into the ribbon before tying them to the bare branches of the tree.  The tree understood all their stories, and kept their memories safe.

Now, when the time came for it to shed its leaves, it would simply let them go.  It would never be lonely again for it had been entrusted with what was held so dear; the hundreds of coloured ribbons that danced in the wind, hanging from its branches.  Everyone knew about the wish tree and people came from far and wide to visit this most ancient keeper of stories, memories, hopes and wishes and they too would leave their stories on its branches.

Now when the wind comes dancing in and out of its branches, it carries within it what is held so dear, and takes it to the place where magic becomes manifest.  No-one knows where this place is, as only the ancient keeper of stories holds that secret.

© Rosi Piñeiro – 20th October 2013


Earth Song

Our sacred Earth Song, encoded in our DNA, beats to a rhythm so unique, as it patiently awaits the passing of the seasons so that it may share its long lost song.

No-one holds the exact same song. Kept safe inside each heart, tucked away and held so dear it is tended to by the heart bird living within our sacred temple.

It whispers of the life we long, of all th…e dreams that could come true. A keeper of the highest vision, of all we are and can become; long orchestrated by ourselves before the time of our incarnation.

Some Earth Songs, set to mute, silent is the tune they play. Seeped in blood, the wounds we carry, drown out the songs, unheard.

The heart birds, once white feathered now covered in our blood. Their feathers work to stem the flow of red running through our anguished rivers. Tirelessly they toil, flying in and out from within our mournful hearts, cleaning the blood from their dripping wings under the healing waterfall.

They bring back droplets of the soothing water; carried in their tiny beaks where they administer with gentle care, love to soothe our aching hearts. Then whilst we sleep, having entered dreamtime, where the stars and moon become the storytellers, our heart birds sing to us our forgotten song of remembrance; our individual lullaby.

We recognise its music, for it contains within its song, everything we need to know. Ever so gently it whispers “remember, remember”.

As we listen to our hearts we will hear the soothing lullaby that was gifted when we came, our very own Earth song, that only we can hear.

© Rosi Piñeiro – 7th October 2013


What ‘lies’ behind Conditioning

From the time of our birth we abide by the rules and regulations set up by those in positions of authority and can conclude that they are necessary to maintain social order. The absence of which would surely cause havoc and chaos leading to a breakdown of ordered society. It would be fair to say that most law abiding citizens are respectful of these established laws and can appreciate the benefit and protection they are afforded by having them in place.

Statistically more of us abide by them than flaunt or break them. We may argue that some laws are oppressive, controlling and plain unnecessary but the majority of us would probably reason that on the main, they are effective and essential. Certainly at this moment in time, given our level of consciousness and awareness, it would appear to be the case.

What is perhaps more oppressive and suffocating to the human spirit is the amount of conditioning thrust upon us from the moment we take our first breath. We can be thankful that we are unaware of its manifestation in our life until much later on, when we begin the conscious journey to break the spell it has cast over us.

Children learn very quickly what is expected of them by their caretakers and elders and in their eagerness to please and seek approval, are malleable. As they go through life, more conditioning is added as those they encounter in their daily interactions have their own expectations of how to behave, how things ought to be, their lists of do’s and don’ts and what they find acceptable and unacceptable. Given its elevated position, conditioning, like a stalker, can be found around every corner restricting our every move and scaring the crap out of us.

Faced with such an oppressive landscape one cannot be blamed for ignoring the internal wisdom we are all inherently born with. We favour listening to the mind and following its dictates for that is what society teaches us to do, and to be fair, it has taught us rather well, yet little attention is paid to Soul wisdom. Consequently we are not firing on all cylinders.

Is this forgetfulness and lack of wise direction reflected in a society that is making decisions without full use of all its faculties? We only have to look around at the wars, violence and deep unrest in the world for our answer.

Cultures that are more in tune with nature and with themselves, such as Aboriginals and Native Americans make decisions based on mindfulness and engaging both sides of the brain. For Native Americans, their prophecy “For seven generations”, underpins any decisions they take. Considering the impact their actions will have seven generations into the future, places on them a responsibility that cannot be ignored, resulting in considered decisions which lead to considerate actions. A wise philosophy that Western cultures ought to adopt instead of the preferred, ‘act now and pick up the pieces later’ mentality that is all too common. This approach to decision making engages left brain thinking and whilst quicker and more convenient, results in inconsiderate, premature decisions leading to implementations that are focused on short-term gains, which can invariably give rise to catastrophic events and results.

Our addiction to left brain dominance does not allow for the engagement of the right brain, with its more direct link to the heart. It is under-used due to the widespread cultural favouritism to left-brain thinking. Left brain dominance is the dismisser of dreams, right brain consciousness welcomes the messages given during dreamtime, and sees them as allies on the Earth walk, gleaning insight and information that guide and steer us in the ‘right’ direction. Left brain thinking can have us going round in circles, fumbling around in the dark; right brain thinking lights the path so we can find our way, with its direct link to our Soul wisdom, whom imparts a message of balance in all things.

Add into the mix fear and unresolved trauma, and let’s not forget a lifetime of conditioning and we now find ourselves inside a landscape with no map, that we can’t easily navigate. We have to resolve these things within us if we are to truly embrace all of who we are.

Yet even without a map, each of us holds the key and can enter into our own personal landscape and explore its terrain. Some will open the door and quickly close it again, happy in their decision to bury their ‘stuff’; others will venture in but won’t stay too long, for the fear and the pain is too much for them to bear. For others their exploration will go deeper and they will do some of the work and go part of the way. Then there are the brave warriors, the warriors of the heart, who will go past the pain and fear, compelled into lifting the lid on their own neurosis. As they get in touch with their truth, the pain diminishes; loses its sting and the light begins to shine brighter than the darkness. When love is seen as a stronger force than fear and there is an understanding that pain stems from wrong thinking, the truth of who and what we are is revealed.

We can only come from a place of true love when we have resolved our own pain and conditioning, paving the way for clarity about our divine essence. If we were all to collectively awaken, peace would come very quickly. Our forgetfulness of this spiritual truth has given rise to all the darkness in the world. As we stir from our long period of amnesia, heaven on Earth will become manifest and would become as in the lyrics of a Louis Armstrong song, “ a wonderful world”.

© Rosi Pineiro – 3rd October 2013


Investing in Our Dis-ease

What would happen if we invested more time in affirming that all is well? How would our energetic vibration change? Consider illness – we can be ill, feel ill, think ill; but all the while aren’t we perpetuating the belief that we are unwell, that we are sick and keeping ourselves stuck in that pattern?

How would our healing accelerate if we came from a place of wellness? Consider affirming that all is well, right here in this moment. How does that change how you feel?

Are we investing in our illness by continually using the label that we have x, y or z? What if we affirmed that ‘I radiate health’. Would our reality not begin to mirror this belief?

How does being sick serve you? Consider that question. What would you stand to lose if you got well again? It is my belief that many people have unconsciously invested in their illness. It serves a purpose, perhaps a hidden purpose, but a purpose nonetheless. What if we were to strip it right back, to its core, would we not find that all dis-ease is a call to love; to love and to be loved.

In my healing work, essentially what I am confronted with time and time again, (including my own self-healing) is a lack of love. In these places within us where the light doesn’t shine, dis-ease manifests. All healing is a call to return to the Self, to ultimately return to love.

We have a choice to stay rooted in our sickness, to label it and to derive energy from its manifestation. Or we can shake the pattern that has become manifest by refusing to invest in that vibration, and instead affirm that health and wellbeing are our birth right. How would things change if we took back the power that we have given away and invested in our healing instead of our illness or disease?  

© My ponderings for the day – Rosi P 🙂


The Voice of Love

Troubled thoughts and feelings began visiting him unexpectedly and without warning some months ago.  His frequent nightmares were accompanied by insomnia.  In these nightmares he was dying, either at the hands of another or due to an illness that had befallen him.  They were becoming more graphic and disturbing and now he was wondering if he was losing his mind.

Daniel was a wealthy businessman and didn’t want for anything.  He was a bachelor and women came in and out of his life frequently.  He wasn’t an unkind man, could be thoughtful and had mastered the art of charming the ladies.  His biggest character flaw was that his actions lacked true consistency and he would soon tire of being thoughtful; giving way to dismissiveness and aloofness.  One could say he didn’t live his life with mindfulness and his main concern aside from getting laid regularly was making money.  That, he was very good at.  He was so preoccupied with maintaining his bank balance that he didn’t notice the changes in the seasons or the beggars sat on the street corners who admired his expensive shoes as he walked past them.  The way he chose to live his life had numbed him to much of the beauty in the world. 

The armadillo armour he wore remained tightly in place but cracks were beginning to appear.  For weeks he had been walking to his office instead of being driven there by his chauffeur.  Lack of sleep and the nightmares were taking their toll on him, so he reasoned that the walk into work would clear his head a little.  He walked the same route and passed the same shoe shop every morning.  The expensive brown leather lace up boots had been expertly crafted.  Being a man who had been taught the importance of having nice shoes by his father, Daniel noticed the boots as he walked past the shop window.

“Give those boots to Jesus,” said the voice.  Daniel looked round expecting to see someone next to him but there was no-one else standing there.  Everyone else was walking past the shop.  He heard the voice again, “Give those boots to Jesus.”

Daniel didn’t take much notice.  Sleep deprivation was playing tricks on his mind.  He didn’t think about the voice again until the following morning when he heard it again as he passed the shoe shop.  But Daniel had convinced himself that the voice was a figment of his imagination.  He relied on his trusted friend, logic, to explain the voice, for logic was his closest friend and ally.  On a normal day, logic had no time to ponder the deeper mysteries of life.  It had other concerns. 

He heard the voice every morning as he passed the shoe shop, where the boots remained in the shop window.  He wasn’t a religious man and didn’t believe in Jesus or any gods and only visited places of worship to attend weddings, funerals, and the occasional christening.

Weeks went by and the nightmares and lack of sleep had not abated.  The voice had also become insistent until finally Daniel entered the shop and asked for the boots in the window.

“We have more in the back.  These are the display pair,” said the young shop assistant chewing gum and blowing bubbles.  She was a fresh faced girl, in the prime of youth.

“I’ll take the ones in the window,” said Daniel.

“If you say so,” replied the girl.  She came back moments later with the boots.

“What size are they?” asked Daniel.

“Size 10,” replied the girl.

Daniel was a size 11.  He was in a hurry to leave the shop.  His best friend logic was rapidly convincing him to visit a shrink and put the boots back.  “You really think these boots are for Jesus?  You have got to be kidding me.  Don’t tell anyone, they will lock you up and throw away the key.”  Daniel paid for the boots and hurriedly left the shop.  But logic wasn’t finished with him yet.  “That £250 quid could have been put towards the shrink fees,” it commented impassively.

The voice was silenced after he had purchased the boots.  Instead he began to see the word ‘Jesus’ everywhere.  He wondered if there might be some truth to the stories that Jesus would return.  He would after all be needing footwear.  Logic smacked him around the face and laughed at him.  What was he thinking?  He didn’t know what to think any more.  Logic spoke with such reason, he ought to listen to his trusted friend, forget about the boots and things would return to normal.

He was by now beginning to regret his decision to buy the boots.  They were causing him nothing but worry.  He didn’t want to think about the wretched boots any more.  He needed to get laid, that would take his mind off them.

His chauffeur was driving him home that evening when he saw the poster outside the church, with the words, “Jesus needs you.”  He got so drunk that night that for the first time in his life he skipped work the following day.

“Are you ok Sir?” enquired his butler.  “Can I get you anything?”

“Are you a religious man George?” Daniel asked him.

“Excuse me Sir?” asked George a little taken back by his question.  He had never asked him a question of that nature.

“Are you religious? Do you believe in God?” he repeated.

“Yes Sir I do,” said George.

“How do you know if God is real?” asked Daniel sipping the strong black coffee George handed him.

“You have to trust that still small voice inside of you,” said George.

“Many men have been put away for admitting to hearing voices,” said Daniel.  He was feeling slightly better after the coffee.

“Yet there are also many men who make listening to that voice a priority.  I think that for them it’s as normal as breathing,” said George, filling up his cup with more of the strong coffee.

“Perhaps you are correct,“ said Daniel swallowing two headache tablets.

“My son calls it the voice of love.  I asked him one day how he knew it was the voice of love and he looked at me as if I had asked a very silly question and simply replied, “Because it’s always loving and it helps me, like a best friend.”

“Your son is very wise George,” replied Daniel, as he pondered the reply.

“Thank you Sir, yes he is.”

Daniel continued to walk to work and still experienced nightmares; averaging four hours sleep a night.  He began to notice much more on his morning walks and slowly engaged with his surroundings.  He now looked forward to these walks very much.  Today he noticed the pretty girl walk past him and his first thought wasn’t to wonder what she would be like in bed but instead he found himself wondering what she did for a living and what she might be like.

Finally Daniel told his butler about the voices he had heard.   He hoped that George would be sensitive to the information as they had known each other for a very long time.

“I don’t know what to think George.  What do you make of it all?”

“Well Sir, like I said, you have to trust that voice inside of you,” replied George.

“This stuff is crazy though.  I’m hearing voices and buying boots for a guy called Jesus, perhaps ‘the’ Jesus.  It’s crazy shit,” said Daniel.

As George was leaving to go home that evening, Daniel stopped him and said, “Would you ask your son?  I would be interested to know what he thinks.”

“Of course Sir, I will tell you tomorrow what he says.  Goodnight Sir.”

“Goodnight George,” replied Daniel.

George arrived promptly the following day as was his custom.  Daniel was eager to see him and to ask him what his son had said about the boots for Jesus.  George’s son was eight years old; a child much wiser than his years.

“Good morning George, tell me, what did your son make of this Jesus business?”

“Morning Sir.  He didn’t have much to say about it.  Although he did say that Jesus had no need for boots,” said George.

“He did?” remarked a perplexed Daniel.

When I asked him why he thought Jesus didn’t need boots, he said because Jesus is in heaven, and in heaven no-one needs boots.”

Daniel spent the whole day thinking about what George’s son had said.  He could at least console himself that the boy hadn’t laughed; there was a small comfort in knowing that. 

Since he had started walking to his place of work, Daniel walked the exact same route every day.  There was a chill in the air and it looked as if rain would be paying a visit before the day was out.  As he walked and pondered the strange occurrences of late, his thoughts were interrupted by someone shouting “Jesus, look where you’re going man.”  Someone had nearly been run over.

For some reason, the words they spoke struck a chord with him and he resolved to pay attention.  Those words could have been meant for him as he realised that he didn’t pay much attention to anything.  He decided there and then to focus on just walking to work.  He heard the usual sounds of city life, but above those noises he heard the birds singing, noticed the love hearts someone had chalked on the pavement and it seemed that mindfulness rewarded him for he didn’t step on the dog poop as he turned the corner.

The next day he continued to observe his surroundings and saw things he had never seen before.  Yet he passed the same streets day in and day out.  His mind had surely been preoccupied with many things and he now questioned the importance and validity of some of those preoccupations.  The boots were now inside his briefcase after he had put them there that morning.  He didn’t really know why, he just felt more comfortable that they were with him.

The days turned into weeks and Daniel was having fewer nightmares and sleeping a little better.  He continued to walk into work carrying the boots inside his briefcase.  It was on this particular morning that he noticed the man leaning against a shop window.  He was sat cross-legged on top of a piece of cardboard, and his clothing had seen better days.  His cap was bright red and shone like a beacon on his head; the only colour to stand out from the many shades of dirt that adorned his person.  By his side lay an accordion.  He looked up at that moment and smiled at the woman who had given him some of her loose change.  All his front teeth were missing. 

Usually Daniel wouldn’t notice the homeless man; he knew that statistically there were homeless people in the city, but he had become adept at blocking them out, to the point where he didn’t really see them anymore.  But today he did see the man and as he got closer, his gaze travelled to his feet.  The man wasn’t wearing shoes.

Daniel came to a stop in front of him and threw some money into his paper cup.

The man looked up at him and smiled saying, “If you stick around, I’ll play you a little tune on my accordion.”

The man didn’t wait for him to answer and Daniel felt rude walking away, so stood awkwardly as he played a tune he recognised, ‘Always look on the bright side of life’.  He wasn’t a bad player at all.

“Here, thanks for the coins.  A hot cup of coffee, that’s what I’ll be buying with them coins,” he said.

“I notice you don’t have any shoes,” commented Daniel.  His socks looked pretty new, but the absence of shoes was a sight he didn’t like to see.

“Bloody bastards them lads, held me down some weeks back and took them off me,” he said.

“I may be able to help you,” said Daniel.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you have a pair of shoes in my size in that there briefcase of yours,” said the man half-jokingly flashing his toothless mouth.

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I am going to do.  I hope you don’t mind that they are boots,” said Daniel.

“I would be happy with slippers,” said the man humbly.

Daniel snapped open his briefcase and took out the brown leather boots handing them to the man. He couldn’t wait to get rid of them after all the bother they had caused him.

“Now, those are a fine pair of boots.  Finest pair of boots I’ve ever seen,” said the man as he looked them over.

“What size are you?” asked Daniel.

“Size 10,” said the man.

“Well, as luck would have it, size 10 they are,” replied Daniel.  The coincidence didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“What a mighty fine pair of boots, I am in your debt; stick around I’ll play you another tune,” said the man.

“Oh you’re welcome, glad I could help and that the boots have finally found a good home,” said Daniel walking off to the sound of the man’s accordion playing.  Then he stopped rather abruptly and turned around and said to him, “Hey, what’s your name?”

“My name is Jesus.  Jesus Jones.”  The man saw the shocked expression on Daniel’s face and humorously retorted, “Don’t be getting any ideas about washing my feet. This Jesus ain’t up for any of that funny business.”

He promptly went back to playing his accordion.  Daniel chuckled under his breath and continued walking down the street, whistling ‘always look on the bright side of life’.

-The End- © Rosi Piñeiro – 11th September 2013


Paper Boats

She stood and watched as the paper boat containing the hundreds of words she had written sailed down the river. The words had been hard to write, as emotions poured out of her. Some of the paper boats she created recounted tales of happier times; some held a record of the sad events in her life. The theme was always the same, as she remembered the people who had once been in her life, but were now no longer in her present.

She created the boats, not wholly out of remembrance but out of her wish to let go of the attachments that kept her bound to her past. She had grieved each and every loss, a bereavement to her heart, for in a sense their physical departure was like a death. The paper boats she sailed down the river were breaking these old connections to her past.

Yet remnants of the paper boats always came back. Sheets of paper floated on the water, the ink barely visible. She couldn’t understand why fragments of the boats kept on re-appearing. She wanted to break free from the attachments, for the boats to disappear down the river and never return. She tried making the boats out of cardboard but they too would return to the place where she sailed them from.

She found the bottle in a little antiques shop. The glass was clear, the outside engraved with flowers and berries. It had an unusually wide opening and its cork lid was still intact. As she paid for the bottle, something gold caught her eye. She thanked the lady at the counter and walked towards the gold item. Resting inside an old box on a bed of velvet material lay a beautiful pair of gold scissors. The handles were in the shape of birds in flight and embedded into each of the birds eyes were tiny marcasites.
“Aren’t they beautiful,” said the shop assistant.
“Yes, they are lovely,” said Gabriella.
“Perhaps you should treat yourself to them,” answered the shop assistant.
“Oh I mustn’t. I have scissors at home, I really don’t need any more,” replied Gabriella, placing the scissors back into the box.

For the next few days Gabriella created paper boats small enough to fit inside the glass bottle. She could fit six boats comfortably inside it and when she had put in the last boat; she replaced the cork and took the bottle down to the river, where she watched as it bopped up and down on the water. The next day she wasn’t expecting to find anything, but the glass bottle with the six boats was on the river bank. She was perplexed and confused. She looked around thinking that perhaps someone had been observing what she was doing and was playing a practical joke on her, but there was no-one there. She retrieved the bottle from the bank and walked home with it.

She had been thinking about her harp a lot in recent weeks. It stood in the corner of her sitting room untouched, where it had remained for many years. In her youth she had been an accomplished harp player and played every day. As the years went by and she had collected many disappointments her playing had become more infrequent. She no longer liked the sounds it made, until she stopped playing it altogether and now it sat gathering dust, neglected. She looked over to it and made a mental note to give it a good dust and polish.

The knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She was still in her pyjamas and pink dressing gown as she ran down the stairs. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror; her hair was all over the place. She tried to pat it down but it had no wish to comply. She giggled and opened the door.
“Parcel for Gabriella Hart. Please sign here,” said the postman, handing her the signing device and pen. She signed where he had indicated.
“It’s a big box, can you manage?” he asked her.
“Yes, I think so, thank you,” replied Gabriella, attempting to control her hair with one hand.

She closed the door with her foot and placed the box on the floor and opened it. She lifted the wooden boat out of its box and looked it over. It had a red fabric sail and a little door opened to the lower deck. This was the perfect space to house her paper boats. It was a proper boat and it would sail away down the river. It wouldn’t come back. She took out the paper boats from inside the glass bottle and put them inside the wooden boat, closing the little door to the lower deck.

She dressed quickly putting on a hat to hide her unruly hair and her walking boots and headed off to the river, carrying the wooden boat. She mentally released the boat as it sailed down the river and only returned home when she could no longer see it. The next day she popped back again to satisfy herself that it hadn’t returned. She was certainly not expecting to see it there, but there it was, on the river bank.

As she walked towards the boat, she wondered if this were a sign that perhaps part of her was reluctant to let go of the past and her attachments. Her dreams of late had been vivid and those she still had attachments to kept appearing as recurring themes. She knew this was normal as her dreams often contained messages and would highlight areas for healing and resolution in her waking life. She was still missing something, she was sure of it. Then she saw them. The beautiful golden scissors with bird handles were inside the wooden boat. It wasn’t uncommon for things to appear when she needed them and she received many gifts from Spirit through the years, so seeing the scissors in the boat didn’t faze her. Instead she wondered what purpose they had. Her thoughts that day would return often to the gold scissors but she was none the wiser as to their purpose.

When she got into bed that night she asked to be shown their significance. In her dream she saw how forming significant relationships of the heart created energetic links to those people, specifically through the heart and sacral chakras. She observed through a series of scenes that as people enter and leave one’s life; often there remains an energetic connection to them. These energetic connections resembled thin ribbons of light. She saw how leaving her energy behind was stopping her from moving on and enjoying her present. She was still bound to the past.

When she awoke, she remembered the dream and understood why the boats kept returning. She also knew what the scissors were for.

She took them out of the box and began to cut the thin ribbons of light from her sacral chakra and did this every day for some weeks until she began to feel lighter. As this feeling of lightness grew, she felt ready to return the wooden boat to the river. There was no need to check whether it had sailed away, she already knew it had sailed out of her life for good.

One evening she worked late into the night securing the thin ribbons of light onto her harp. It would once again play its sweet music. Her memories and experiences would always remain in her heart and added depth of feeling to her music, but the energy in the strings could only belong to her. Now her harp had its special strings, she had the freedom to create new music as she stepped into her future and the unknown, free from the past.

-The End- ©Rosi Piñeiro 30th August 2013


The Wish Catcher

In the village she was known as the butterfly catcher.  Her name was Arianna and she spent every summer catching butterflies.  Her hair was long, the colour of cornfields and she wore it in plaits, tied at the ends with red ribbons.  Her fringe fell slightly over her eyes yet it didn’t seem to bother her.  When anyone asked her what she was doing, she would simply reply “catching butterflies of course” or “searching for my wings.”

Most of the villagers laughed but it didn’t matter to Arianna.  Some even took time out of their day to point out that she didn’t have any wings.  “Humans don’t have wings,” they would tell her, laughing and shaking their heads as they went on their way.

She housed the butterflies in her greenhouse that she had filled with many plants and flowers.  She only ever kept them for a few hours before setting them free.  That gave her enough time to observe them in flight, where she would paint or draw them, especially their wings.  Every butterfly was unique, each wing a creation of patterns and colours; wings that danced an exquisite dance.  She observed that each butterfly flew differently; each with its own song that it would sing whenever it moved its wings.

Sometimes she would take her paintbrush and draw butterfly wings on her arms or hands.  Most she painted over her heart, so strong was her wish to have her own wings.  Many times she danced with the butterflies in the greenhouse.  She would imitate their flight dance and very occasionally she fleetingly felt wings on her back accompanied by the sensation of flying.  Her frustration was that the feeling would leave her as soon as she felt it.  She longed to capture the feeling for longer, yet it always eluded her.

Still, she reasoned, perhaps she could put all these fleeting moments together and experience flying with her beautiful wings for longer.  If she continued to study and paint the butterflies, she would absorb their energy and medicine and her own wings would grow.

As the years passed and the seasons greeted each other like long lost friends, Arianna continued to catch, study and paint butterflies.  She had learnt to piece together the many fleeting moments and her beautiful wings began to manifest.

The angels in heaven observing Arianna were full of joy.

“It won’t be long now Tobias,” said Ariel.

“You’re right Ariel.  Very soon,” he replied. “Any day now.”

“Yes, any day now,” answered Ariel, stretching out her magnificent white wings.

“Do you suppose she will remember to come here?” asked Tobias.

“Oh yes, her wings will bring her here,” replied Ariel.

“Let us prepare for her homecoming then,” said Tobias.

Arianna was lying on the floor observing the little white feathers around her.  Earlier that evening her back had felt as if it were breaking in half.  She had spent the last hour in pain and when she awoke she saw the feathers.  Some were still floating down onto the floor where she lay.  She couldn’t move for quite a while.  Then it happened, something moved behind her.  She stood up and placed her hand on her back.  She felt something that wasn’t there before.  She ran to the full length mirror and looked over her shoulder.  She gasped and stared.  Big white feathers grew from the centre of her back.  She was so excited to see her wings.  They were pure white and so soft to the touch.

She spent what seemed like hours observing them in the mirror.  They were still in a downward position and she couldn’t get them to work.  She remembered the butterflies as they left the chrysalis for the first time and discovered their wings of flight.  She concluded she would have to relax and take her time, her wings required her to be patient.


By the end of the week Arianna had full control of her wings.  They were so big, the first time she fully stretched them out, all her ornaments had been knocked off their shelves.  She had to wait until nightfall to go outside and fully extend them.  Within a month she was flying longer distances.  As she flew she noticed different colours hovering above the homes of people.  Some colours were brighter than others.  She wondered what, if any meaning this had.


Tonight she decided to fly to the moon.  It looked very far away and it was calling her, so she flew higher and higher until she touched its surface.


“Keep on flying higher Arianna, higher, higher,” it said.

Arianna rose even higher, her wings reflected on the moon’s surface.

“Keep on flying until you reach the stars,” whispered the moon.


That was a very long way away but she obeyed and continued to fly ever higher.  The stars grew larger and brighter, the closer she flew towards them.


Tobias and Ariel were waiting for her, floating on a heavenly cloud.

“She’s very close now Tobias,” said Ariel in excited anticipation.

“That she is Ariel,” replied Tobias, eagerly awaiting her arrival.


Arianna noticed the cloud amongst the stars and flew over towards it.  She caught sight of the two magnificent winged beings, wings outstretched, resting on the cloud.


“Welcome Arianna,” they greeted her in unison.

“Hello.  Look at your wings!  I’ve only recently been given mine,” said Arianna, happy to meet others who had wings.

“Now that you have your wings, it’s time to get to work,” said Tobias.

“We’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” said Ariel.

“You have?” asked Arianna.

“Yes and now you’re here, let us begin,” said Tobias taking out a black pen and putting up a whiteboard.

“Is that really necessary Tobias?  Arianna just needs to remember, there is nothing you have to teach her,” said Ariel amused at Tobias.  He was a very gifted teacher.

“I do have one question.  What are the different colours that glow above people’s homes?  It’s a very strange thing,” asked Arianna.


Ariel and Tobias looked at one another and Tobias marvelled at how wise Ariel had become.

“It’s good that you have noticed,” said Tobias.

“Each of those colours represents the various stages to the formation of people’s wishes and dreams,” answered Ariel.


They told her there were seven stages to the creation of wishes, represented by the colours of the rainbow.

“That’s how you will know when the wish is ready,” said Tobias.

“Ready for what?” asked Arianna.

“Ready for you to bring it up to heaven,” replied Ariel.

“Me?” questioned Arianna.

“Yes you.  You are an earth angel with a very important job,” said Ariel.

“In heaven we call you Wish Catchers.  You fly the skies at night catching the wishes and dreams of those on earth,” said Tobias.

“Now that you have your wings, you can start tonight,” said Ariel handing her a net of light.

“Sweep the wishes into this net when the colour changes to purple.  That’s the colour of wishes ready be taken to heaven,” said Tobias.

“What do I do with their wishes?” asked Arianna.

“That, you will have to figure out yourself.  For only a true wish catcher will know what to do,” said Ariel.


Arianna flew back down and looked for the colour purple hovering above people’s homes.  When she saw the purple light, she flew closer and scooped it up in her net.  She had no idea what to do next.  Then she remembered how she had always sensed she had wings.  She had never stopped believing.  She had nearly given up on numerous occasions but had followed her truth and the belief she held had manifested her wings.


If she really was a wish catcher, she must know what to do.  The purple light was still in her net.  Of course, it was so simple.  She flew upwards, waved to the moon as she passed it and carried on going until she reached a star.  She placed the net over the star and watched as the purple light fell into it, much like fairy dust.  The star now shone more brightly and sparkled, full of someone’s dreams and wishes.  It was a beautiful sight.


“She will make a fine wish catcher Tobias.  Now she understands what it takes to believe in her own wishes and dreams, she can be entrusted with those of others,” said Ariel.

“Sadly not all make it.  Some quit just before their wish or dream can be delivered,” said Tobias.

“There’s always a tomorrow, to manifest more wishes,” said Ariel.


They fell silent and watched as Arianna, their newest wish catcher worked tirelessly through the night delivering the precious wishes and dreams of those who believed enough to make them happen.


“Look Tobias, she is just about to experience a wish being granted,” said Ariel.

“This is my favourite part,” replied Tobias.


Arianna watched as the shooting star travelled across the skies, as a wish was granted.  She wondered who the lucky person was and what wish or dream had come true for them.  Of course, that didn’t really matter.


A few weeks later, the village folk noticed that Arianna had stopped catching butterflies.  Mr Thomas, the postman stopped her the following day and enquired as to why she wasn’t catching butterflies.

“Good morning Mr Thomas, oh that, it’s no longer necessary.  I’ve got my wings now.” 


She didn’t of course share with him she was an angel wish catcher; no one else could know that.  She giggled, as she walked down the lane.  Being a wish catcher was the best job in the world.


The End – Copyright – Rosi Piñeiro – 4th August 2013