Selador - An Imaginative Story, Ch 9

I have been working on a story, writing it out by hand in this little rough-edged journal, and when I have a little time I add to it. I am continuing to share some more chapters, as some have encouraged me to continue sharing. This will likely be the last chapter I post here to share. If you enjoy this story and are interested to read the rest, stay tuned for more details.

Read the Prelude HERE.
Read Chapter I HERE.
Read Chapter 2 HERE.
Read Chapter 3 HERE.
Read Chapter 4 HERE.
Read Chapter 5 HERE.
Read Chapter 6 HERE.
Read Chapter 7 HERE.
Read Chapter 8 HERE.

Chapter IX

Of differing opinions, they were. She shook her head and took a deep breath knowing it would not suffice. He would not believe her, being too set in his ancient ways, yet Nella tried to sway him.
She took a sip of steaming tea for courage, and tried her persuasion.

"You see, it's delightful if you add just a touch of milk. It adds the kind of sweetness that brightens a morning." She swirled her bowl of porridge, which she had just added a splash of almond milk into.

"I fear it will ruin it for me," Master Nolan pronounced, "who taught you to eat it like that?"

"I am not certain," mused Nella, "it's just a memory that has stuck to my soul, from my past I cannot recollect. Something about adding milk to my porridge makes me happy."

Nella looked up at Master Nolan, who met her gaze. He was pensive. His green eyes thinking.
As Nella had gotten to know him, she recognized that melancholy gaze as his deep thinking face. She knew he was wondering about her past and all that she had gone through. He wanted to discover the answers, as it was his gift to research. He wanted to know where these scattered memories were sourced.

Nella often wondered about Master Nolan, himself, born here in Selador; raised to be a researcher as he was. Is this what he would have chosen for himself? She knew him in the present day, but she didn't know much of his past. He, too, led a solitary life as she did, deeply entrenched in the papers of Selador's history and present. They were often company to each other by way of each of them reading old books in the same room, in silence.

How old was he, anyway? He kept all the looks and airs of a young man, but had wisdom beyond what she would expect of one in their 30's. 

At last Master Nolan smiled, and grabbed the glass milk jug, "Okay, I'll give it a go," and he poured a bit into his hot porridge.

Every once in a while, Nella would invite someone over to her hut for a meal. She didn't mind eating alone most days, but sometimes she just wanted company. Miriam was always great to talk to, but she often busied herself with chores and hardly stayed to sit down with her.

Master Nolan took a bite, "Hmm, it is good. Just a touch of sweetness. Interesting."

Nella smile and scooped her last bite of porridge with her wooden spoon. She had won over another person.

Most days were quiet in Selador, at least to Nella's knowledge. She spent most of her time working in the library or enjoying nature during any respite from work. She was the writer of the realm, so she wrote the daily entries and infused her knowledge by reading all the books of histories, entries, and journals of the past. She wanted to learn more of the realm, since she only entered the place by accident, or was it purposeful, a few months ago. Or how long? It felt like years in many ways. She was not from Selador, and time seemed to pass at a different pace. As much as she read she couldn't find much about the tunnel from which she entered. It seemed to be a mystery. All that was known was that it was a way to enter other places, but no details beyond that.

While Nella worked each day, the realm of Selador proceeded at its pace. The beauty of their homes in the treetops swept across her each day as she walked along the walkways. The wooden walkways linked everything. The huts, shops, artisans all had a specific place that were set amongst the treetops. Each level was used to separate the different aspects of society. A residence level, a shop level, etc. Stairways spiraled gracefully up and down the trunks of ancient trees, hugging them, not harming them. It was more like an adorning. Nella learned that most people were raised to be some sort of artisan or to do a specific job. Perhaps by way of family history, or special skill that children were taught into a craft.

As Nella met people, she heard their stories and memories of her own past floated around in her head. She felt she had no real story to share. Just snippets of memory stick to her. Some good, some gruesome. Her past seemed to be steeped in the past of Selador, as she discovered more about the realm, she discovered more of herself. Deeper she went, down into the depths of the realm that felt more like her own history. The more she wrote, the more she became part of Selador, and she felt her purpose being fulfilled.

She had discovered the reason for the water phenomenon, many waters, which rushed through the woods every day, and since that discovery, her work has been to slowly correct it, word by word, day by day. What was done by ill intent by a native, was deepened in bad intent by a man called Tive. Nella worked to correct it, reverse it. It was a process that could not be unraveled at once. For each piece of negative wording added to a daily entry, she had to undo it. Every new entry was a step in the direction of opening up the realm of Selador to a whole universe. Once the repair is complete, the tunnel would be accessible, as well as the rest of the realm. Nella's purpose in arriving was to help fix it, and her work was almost complete. Her careful attention with words and each entry was about to alter Selador in some way. She did not know what that would look like.

One morning she arrived at the library early; the misty atmosphere was particularly thick. The fog seemed to encase all the trees and huts. Birdsong echoed but nothing could be seen beyond a close tree limb. On her walk to the library, she passed a few of the guardians, the protectors of Selador. The same men who had found her on the ground and saved her by getting her up to the village. Since the time was approaching that the realm would soon be opened, the guardians have had additional training and presence around as they prepare for the unknown.

Nella noticed they have all looked more diligent. Their jobs were about to get tougher. If Selador was suddenly swarmed with new people, how would it change? Or if natives leave? Will the village flourish? These were daunting questions that Master Louver was dealing with, along with Lady Cora and the board.

Summer Sound

The sound of a mower is summer to me.
In the dusky hour, when the sun gets low
and the heat at last gives up its hold,
out comes the mower, to graze the lawn.
No sentimental song is the sound of mowing
and yet it satisfies, the blades knowing
to slice and prune, for a shapely yard,
beauty can henceforth grow less abated
by weeds and leaves. Make the way by pruning.
May the hum of the mower stay steady
But for the heat of summer, I'm not ready.

Landscapes of the Night

The day is ended, the night touches all we see -
Darkness growing deeper as the hours go -
A quiet stillness hums in the air, no footfall,
No barking dogs, no hooting owls as they know
The landscapes of the night.
From my lamps, a soft light.
The comforting contrast to the deepest dark
Seeking the warm glow, to know, where you are -
Thus far, here in my tiny spot, a lark
On a globe, spinning in the heaven among stars.

All Manner of Thing Shall Be Well

I often wondered why by the great foreseeing wisdom of God the beginning of sin was not prevented...."It was necessary that there should be sin; but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."

- Julian of Norwich

My mind is pondering many things.
A book-ful of things.
This book has been melding into my soul in the best of ways.

Reading Julian of Norwich is opening my heart to new (very old) insights that cause me to pause and wonder. Why had I not mused on that before?

Julian, in fact, had some divine revelations when she was very ill almost to death, which is what she writes about in this book. She details all the visions she had, with sheer joy and encouragement. Her life was lived in solitude and devotion. My life certainly isn't so focused on God, as hers was. I am not always in solitude, nor in total devotion. Life gets in the way, distractions, work, people.

Even while I am one who prefers so much quiet time, solo time, I do not get to fit in as much as I would like. And it's not always spent in a devotional time. Whenever any of us has a spare moment, the world says - don't you want to shop, nap, work more, or watch television? 

When Jesus said to some people to leave everything and follow Him, it says a lot about how difficult it is to focus meaningfully on God while living in the "normal" cultural life where all time is spent in distraction from distraction by distraction (to borrow from T.S. Eliot, who borrowed often from Julian). 

I suspect Jesus is making a point that it's not easy to follow Him, it never will be. It requires a lot of us, which means we have to put other things behind God. Everything else, in fact. Yes, everything.

Julian's "shewings" are passages of beauty. Her imagery, her depth, her simplicity. I will reach for this book often, for comfort, reminders, and encouragement to be more intentional in my time with God. To aim for that devoted time of quiet and solitude with God. Jesus needed quiet time away from others, so do we.

We cannot all be 13th century mystics tucked away in solitude, but we can incorporate pieces of the wisdom and daily times of quiet to ponder the wonders of God.

For like as the blessed Trinity made all things out of naught, right so the same blessed Trinity shall make well all that is not well.
- Julian of Norwich

Travels with Mum

Happy Mother's Day!

Most mornings you would be able to find us at a coffee shop with a cappuccino in front of me and a mocha in front of her, and journals out for some writing. This is the best way to start the day, as we rummaged our thoughts and let them spill onto pages from the previous day's adventures, which left us open to a fresh page for the new day.

Mum and I have been able to travel to some amazing, awe-inspiring places in the recent years. God has been so good to give us such trips. They have been true gifts. Iceland, Scotland, England, Wales, and Norway. These are not tiny trips, they span the Atlantic Ocean, the North Sea and venture into other languages and cultures. It is a dream to be able to visit some of the most beautiful countries in the world. I may be a little biased, of course. Getting to visit places in the world mum would never venture to see is a joy for me to experience. These are adventures special and treasured.

I love to see my mum awaken with a childlike sense of awe and wonder when we travel, especially to new places she hasn't seen yet. These nature scenes and architectural sites of beauty we get to visit. We take in the sights and sigh with the ultimate feeling of blessing. 

Exploring depths of imagination and thinking is essential when I travel, and I "force" her to enjoy it as well. Things such as - author talks, book events, literature related history and visits. She tags along and realizes that she enjoys the sessions immensely. 

We will gladly catch the next GWR train out of Paddington Station (as we did here to go to Oxford from London) and to many other stunning towns. So, where are we going next, mum?

Our Chief Imagination

I am reflecting on a thought that has been gripping my mind and musings for a few days now. A revelation that has certainly crossed my path before, and yet I either wasn't paying close attention as I should or I just didn't give it the time to work itself into my deepest interior.

We study those who have kindled our imaginations and set the course of writing for centuries. From the beginning of the written word, we study those authors, who inspire us. However, our chief imagination as Christians is not a loved author of the past. It's not Shakespeare, or Donne, or Milton, or Dostoevsky. It is Christ himself. 

Christ is the one who sparks our imaginations. He tries to get us to think. Jesus tells stories and prompts us to imagine the kingdom of heaven through those stories.

I feel like I could dwell in all the examples of this for a few months at least - Christ as the chief imagination. He was, after all, human, so he had the brain we have which was made to create and imagine. He used his own knowledge of the heavenly realm to reveal little snippets for us, to stretch our own thinking to an eternal perspective.

I am reading through Mark at the moment, and Jesus is talking with his disciples about the feeding of the four thousand they had just witnessed, and how Jesus had made much out of the little they had, fruitfully multiplying that small amount faithfully given, but they don't seem to understand. He says to them:

Do you have eyes and not see, do you have ears and not hear?

Don't you understand yet?

Mark 8.18, 21

Jesus is trying to get them to pay attention. To think. To use their imaginations. What is the heavenly kingdom like? I imagine Jesus saying - Well, imagine such a meager amount of food given in faith and love, and think about how I expanded it to nourish and be a blessing to others. Now how could that be translated to your present day as a way of building God's kingdom here on earth?

I search all the writings and books of the old writers of centuries past who embrace imagination as a truth bearing torch, and newer writers of our present day who aim for the same. I seek all the deep meditations of poetic imagination and thinking deeply on meaningful creative ventures. And here is Jesus, the master of it all! 

I love that Jesus encouraged the use of imagination as it was given to us all for a reason! Perhaps to help us get a tiny grasp of what the kingdom of God is like. For that requires a lot of imagination on our part.

An Evening Soak

An evening soak
Heavy rain glistens against a grey-tone sky
Contrasts rise sharply as sun sets
and darkened clouds release the flood
that soaks and soothes the earth,
the air, the plants, the soul.
It's more than just rain.
It's atmosphere.

After work I ran some errands, including that essential grocery store stop, but as I went about the sky was looming. Darkened and threatening, the clouds seemed to grow taller and thicker. They built up the moisture and heat from the day, storing all that energy inside the darkened mist above land. I knew a storm was coming, but I was trying to beat it. You never know with weather, though, as it could sweep in suddenly, or it could linger over the same spot. 

I entered my home with my bags of groceries, and the wind was starting to gust. I was putting the last of my groceries away when the storm landed on my neighborhood shores. It felt so soothing to be home as the storm arrived. The comfort of making it back and getting inside to enjoy the stormy evening is always a delight. The atmosphere inside becomes a thousand-fold more cosy. All the hygge elements come forth - warm and dry environment inside contrasting the stormy weather, candles lit invoking peace and light, water boiling for a cup of tea, a sweater pulled on to warm my arms. 

I curled up on my sofa with a book, and let the weather do what it is there to do, and enjoyed it with thanks to the Lord that the land can be so refreshed from the rain, and that I get to stay safely inside during the evening soak.