As I have come to see it, the world consists of mounds of information, much of it digital. Our days are spent encountering, reacting, and sifting through it. Our conscious genius pulls together threads from which are crafted uplifting, foreboding, humorous, and tragic stories. We live inside these stories alone or with like-minded people. Most of the time our minds simply tweak and update unfolding dramas of consensus reality or a particular flavor of alternate reality; it’s an efficient, largely automatic process.
Rarely do we toss out whole plot lines and start from scratch. Why? Well, there would be so many subplots left hanging and so many question marks around our relational identities that the uncertainty of getting everything sorted out means it’s generally easier to keep on the established path. Jettisoning a comfortably broken-in outlook is a very messy business; and how often, really, do we feel the need to, or empowered to, rip apart the boxes we inhabit?
Each of us has the ability to craft amazing stories out of fascinating facts and extend invitations to loved ones and complete strangers to come inside and look around, sit a spell, and make themselves at home. There is, however, no way to compel another person to hang out in the story you made. You can’t even force them to cross your threshold. Exhort and cajole all you want, the stories we inhabit remain a personal choice, as they should be. Just as you wouldn’t want to have to live inside someone else’s ill-fitting story, the same goes for everyone else. It’s a hard truth. It can hurt.
Our acceptance of the primacy of the digital world has meant that the velocity and intensity of social physics has changed. My experience of these changes have been dramatic and potentially catastrophic, at least in the short run. The web3 protocol layer system seems intent on launching us all into a digital-twin simulation cloudmind whether we’ve elected to participate or not. Left in the wake of this century-long noetic campaign is the wreckage of once deeply-held relationships, relationships with those who are (or were) close to us in heart – actual physical hearts, not emojis, up-votes, and clicks.
There are too many digital stories, too many doors, too much unease with the masses either searching for answers or working really hard to avoid seeing the holes being torn in the fabric of what we once understood as “reality.” Our story rooms may now be filled with people from far flung corners of the globe. These are people whose heart fields we’ll probably never have the opportunity to feel directly – no mingled auras from warm embraces, conversations over cups of tea, shared meals, card games, porch sitting, bonfires, jam sessions.
In some cases, those whose heart fields we shared in the actual world have wandered off to the digital rooms of sirens, forsaking old connections for greener pastures. The transformation, turbo-charged by the lockdowns, happened with ferocious speed and offered little chance for redress, remedy, or reconciliation. We didn’t know what hit us. Then it was over, and everything had changed.
This is the first Christmas I’ve ever spent alone, totally alone. I was cancelled for breaking out of my box, looking around, asking questions, and imploring people to start having conversations about emerging technology and cybernetics and finance and consciousness and gaming before we go the way of the Lotus Eaters. Maybe I was cancelled for my intensity. I don’t know, the only thing I was told is that it was about “my research.”
I’ve made it through a tearful week. Lots of tears shed during my Christmas Eve read aloud finishing “Momo.” I apologize for the five-month gap, but I know in my heart I was supposed to read it last night. I keep saying time is not what we think it is. In the end of Ende’s story, the hour-lily wielding Momo and the tortoise Cassiopeia save the day and defeat the time bankers. The children return to the amphitheater for free play, grown-ups shelve their Taylorist tendencies, the town’s humanity is restored, and Momo doesn’t have to be alone anymore.
The “Momo” read-aloud playlist here.
I feel we are on Earth, sparks of God’s divine creation, to experience, falter, learn, and feel in the depths of our souls. The holidays are a season of big feelings – even more so when you’ve lost a loved one to the great beyond and other loved ones to the pit-traps of sinister social physics. The afternoon was mild here in Philadelphia, and I took the opportunity to fill my basket with gatherings and head out to the Kelpius Cave in the Wissahickon- alchemy of the soul. What better balm could there be than to lay out a heart-felt intention to close a rocky year?
When I thought that I was going to decamp to Seattle in the summer I took all of my precious nature materials with a friend to Valley Forge and created a magnificent spiral between Mount Misery and Mount Joy. Since I returned, I’ve accumulated a few more items – feathers and quartz from Arkansas, acorns from Laurel Hill cemetery, dried flowers from birthday carnations I bought myself, and gifts from friends across the country. I took them with a candle to the park and lit up the darkness and asked God for guidance to do the next right thing.
Once you’ve ripped up the boxes you really need a divine compass.
The coming year should bring new opportunities in Hot Springs, Arkansas after we sell the family home in the spring – fingers crossed someone wants to pay a good price for a well-loved 1880s row house with many original features. I’m hoping 2024 will be gentler than the clear-the-decks tsunami of the past six months. I met my husband when I was twenty. We grew up together. This divorce is my first break-up. I know that sounds ridiculous, and yet it’s true. I am my own person, and I know my own mind. That said, I’m going to have to craft my own new traditions and ways of doing things as a single person and doing that feels overwhelming right now. Will I ever celebrate Christmas again? It’s hard to say. It’s also been two years since my child has spoken to me. Prayers for reconciliation would be welcome. I still love my family. I am fine with them living in the story of their choice. I think we could create a shared space that bridges our separate boxes.
Despite the waves of difficultly I’ve been navigating since 2019, I know I would die a dysfunctional person had I elected to live the rest of my life inside stories I knew to be fundamentally flawed in their incompleteness and injurious to my spirit. So, I’m just going to put one foot in front of the other and try not to be afraid of a future with a lone heart-field.
I’m Jerry Hawver’s daughter, and Hawvers “git er done.”
Merry Christmas everyone. Thanks for stopping by my story, even if we can’t mingle our actual auras. May the new year bring blessings to you and your loved ones. Our power is in the heart – hugs all around. Hug your people as much as you can while you have them near you. It’s a sad day when you have no one to hug.
A light in the darkness.
Stones and brick, rubble from the floor of the “cave,” outline the heart. A ring of soft pine needles mingled with dried purple carnations and white Alstroemeria sprinkled with green leaves gifted from California and the last of my creosote gifted to me last year by Dru in Tucson for my birthday – it smells like the desert in the rain.
The next ring was an outline of pinecones gathered in the park with ferns and white pine sprigs and gifted dandelion seed heads that lit up the dark like stars.
I used a large stone as a centerpiece to hold many assorted lovely things lit by a candle.
A soft, leathery buckeye casing holding a spiral shell and manzanita berries with some Arkansas quartz below it.
Quartz and a shed snakeskin for sparkly new beginnings.
The last sprig of sage from Standing Rock gifted to me by Jason with a bit of fungus above it and acorns from which mighty things grow.
And an oak leaf for strength and fortitude.
River pebbles – may the rich tapestry of our experiences, both beautiful and challenging, rub us to a polished crystalline smooth symmetry.
May we have the wits to find our way through the worm holes and arrive on the other side.
Smoke from a wrapped mullein leaf gifted to me by a beautiful family in Washington state, thank you kind herbalist and standing farmer.
And this ridiculous figurine was already there when I arrived, in a niche made from where a portion of the wall had fallen away. I have no idea of the meaning behind it, but I suspect the trickster energy was perhaps expecting me. Bittersweet.
Philadelphia has brought me a depth of understanding my life would not have had if I had landed somewhere else. While I am grateful for its many stories, I see it’s time to move on. Goodbye for now Kelpius Cave, ritual anchor for the Nephele era.
Merry Christmas Alison – thank you for this post. I’m thinking of you ❤️🎄✨
Bona fide by means of soul jettisoning, a fascinating story. Once again, wishing you a warm and happy Christmas Alison. Arkansas will create new evocatively embracing chapters in the next story & the stories after that.
💛
Hull beautiful woman and fellow traveller. Thank you for all that you see and interpret and share with us about our rapidly evolving world. Each time I read your story my heart breaks open a little more. I’ve spent a couple of Christmases on my own, through choice rather than circumstance, and though not happy memories, they were in their own way pivotal in moving me onto the next stage in my life here ….. So, thank you Alison. I hope all that is true and deeply spiritual and restorative finds its way to your room of life in 2024… Much love and admiration, Lesley Gillett, Maleny, Australia
Beautiful and heartfelt sharing of what you are going through, Alison. You are a voice in the wilderness and many are touched by your words, more than you know. I pray that you reconcile with your daughter and wish you the best in your new endeavors. Beautiful heart-shaped natural art in the cave.
Merry Christmas, my friend. I’m looking forward to seeing your new beginning. Hope springs eternal in Hot Springs! Sending you hugs from Texas. 2024 will be one for the books!
Merry Christmas dear Alison! Just letting you know that you are in my prayers. Also praying for the eventual reconciliation with your child. I’m sorry telling the truth has been so painful, however it must be done. It definitely isn’t for the faint of heart though, isn’t it?!?! Sending my love and blessings from God. May He wrap you in His loving arms and give you the peace that surpasses all understanding. ♥️🌲♥️🙏🏼
Love, Carolyn Radillo
“For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us; And the government will rest on His shoulders; And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace. There will be no end to the increase of His government or of peace, On the throne of David and over his kingdom, To establish it and to uphold it with justice and righteousness From then on and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will accomplish this.”
Isaiah 9:6-7
Thank you for your work and insights.
You bring beauty and meaning to everything you touch, and make. Thank you for this. Though we may never meet in person, my heart is with you as you journey inward. You’re not alone. You have allies everywhere who see your pure heart, fine mind, and search for ever-unfolding truths.
Merry Christmas!!! Thank you for everything ❤️
Prayers for reconciliation with your child have been sent; you said you’d welcome them. I have spent a bunch of Christmases alone; I imagine your first might be/has been difficult. “Stories” (etc.). Like, whatever. You helped me feel less isolated with your smart cities/digital twinning (and, of course, much more) insights, analyses, speculations and conclusions(?). Some of those things were things I had bern perceiving for a at least a few years; I appreciate you articulating some, and teaching me further. Of course, I’m using a portable digi-device to send this, though I dislike that fact. I intentionally avoided having one at all for over a decade, until someone gave me their old one. I’m not sure how much the lockdowns turbo-charged things, as you said. Things were going in a not-my-first-choice direction for a while before that — msybe they just turbo-turbo-charged things. Love to you. P.S., I like your hearts.
Merry Christmas, Alison. I’m grateful for your Mind – far ahead of its Time – and for your valuable work.
Thank you, Alison. I have enjoyed your posts, especially this one. I can relate to many parts of it.
Wow that is a big load of nature treasure, love it all. I hear you loud and clear and I have spent last 2 Christmases thinking I would never celebrate it again, but this year it is back. It will get better and although I am in Ireland and we will probably never meet as you say, please know that I feel ya I too am a bit intense and am sending love, hugs and prayer your way.
i have replied twice, given that the first comment did not appear. I just saw another comment, subsequent to mine, appear, yet my comments are not appearing. This is a test: Am I doing something wrong in submitting my comments? (My first dealt with “Alone at Christmas” article) Love and Thanks to you, Alison.
The first time someone comments I have to approve it – it’s a spam thing. I am just waking up here on the east coast.
I didn’t see any other messages. I’m sorry.
Merry Christmas.
Well, if your prior Christmas seasons were anything like mine, they were full of near constant heartburn. Heartaches might be worse, but there might be some benefits to being away from everyone and the glutenous temptations that come with the season.
All the best in Arkansas and in the New Year!
Meanwhile, in Clown World… https://www.facebook.com/bookofours
Above is the latest post from “Book of Ours” on Assbook, which is just something she shared from another “Assbooker”, Matt Schrimpf. In it he shares portions of Alison’s Christmas blog post. I am interested to see if I get any replies to my comment provided below that post (shared here below):
“Chuck Finney-
“I assume the first part of Schrimpf’s post is pertaining to himself leaving this platform? Alison left this Skinner box quite a while ago… leaving this “community” with a false impression about her exit being driven by “ego” and “intolerance”. Here is a link to her actual post https://wrenchinthegears.com/2023/12/25/my-quiet-christmas/… and under it are many supportive replies from those who saw past the rhetoric coming from alternative gatekeepers (like Brose and Bush). It was those gatekeepers who drove her from this platform, as they all chose to turn away from the deeper criticism and conversations she was levying about blockchain, and instead perpetuate the false idea that it was all just a personal attack on them.
I think the perception that most came away with about that Soap Opera, (such as what persists in the form that was shared in the comment earlier by Jared), show how effective that gaslighting operation was. Come to think of it, the way this post reads leaves me feeling like I am being gaslit about Alison’s mental state.”
Hopefully I’m not just providing fuel to the ongoing saga or “triggering” anyone. Just thought it was important to give some contrary thoughts in that thread.
They’ve created their own story. I leave them to it.
“Nothin’ shakin’ on Shakedown Street
Used to be the heart of town
Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart
You just gotta poke around“
Shakedown Street, Grateful Dead
Julia Mossbridge: On Unconditional Love, Time Travel, UFOs, the Multiverse and Everything
https://youtu.be/GmEgKt2f-1k
It’s a beautiful pain story. I almost feel like a voyeur reading you, and I am grateful you are on this earth at the same time as me (and my own losses.)
May you flourish as a spirit listener, May you be at peace with the river of life, and may Hot Springs welcome you with open arms 💜
“ I have been sustained through challenging times by trusting that states of mind were as transitory as life itself, as breath itself” Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche
Thankyou, Alison, for sharing your knowledge and your love of nature with us. Suffering is part of our shared humanity &, if we pay attention, it is a good teacher & friend. You will make it through this time of challenge and you will be stronger for it. Sending you hugs
Thank you for that beautiful heartfelt share. Virtual hugs. 🎄✨❤️
Dear Alison,
Thank you for your willingness to share your deepest thoughts, insight, and research with us and for giving us food for thought as to how we live our lives. I pray for reconciliation with your child and for a new way to be in peaceful relationship with your former spouse. I always appreciate meeting you along the way. If life has taught me anything, it is that peace can come to us in unexpected ways. I am holding you in prayer as we soon begin a new year and hoping you find peace and joy while remaining true to yourself.
With love and admiration,
Eileen
This is a beautiful post, Alison; thank you.
💛
We too left our families behind in the Northeast and moved to Arkansas…my wife, son (12) and I. Yesterday, we created a feast and it was beautiful. Sometimes our souls need to journey away from all that is comfortable to find their true path.
A long distance hug from Portland Oregon. I too was alone this Christmas, mostly. I have the good fortune of good connections with sons though not as strong emotionally as I would like. Today a longtime friend introduced me to the concept of “serene melancholy” and I’m incorporating it into my strivings for the new year. I’m not as solidly connected to the earth as you, but have been a reader/follower of your works for years and wish you well on the next part of your journey. I look forward to sharing the adventure through your writing and maybe we’ll meet someday. Extra hugs too!
Beautifully (and poignantly) said Alison. I have a friend who has your story in parallel who now lives in Montana. She sent me a video entitled How Pain Prepares You for Your Purpose and the line that stuck was: “Pain alone does not make one different, but one’s willingness to transcend it does.” Hugs
May some of this weight that you and so many of us have been feeling these past several years be lifted in 2024. I’m pickin’ up good vibrations. 😊
Thanks for sharing your discoveries and insights as well as your struggles. It has been an honor to work with you. Looking forward to great things ahead.
Onward!
Dear Alison,
My art teacher in college once told us “thinking outside the box starts with having passion for your ideas.”
Your passion is revered by many and the integrity in your research brings a depth of contemplation that should be more widely embraced. But as you say in your post, “There are too many digital stories, too many doors, too much unease with the masses.” We are all so overwhelmed, each walking our own little labyrinth instead of trying to collaborate and walk together. Sometimes I just lay down on the dirt and look up at the sky and ask “what is happening to us?”
Holding a candle in the Kelpius Cave is not just illuminating — it is also brave.
May you find continued strength and renewed bravery in 2024. Keep the candle lit and we will come find you!
I will keep a candle with me, just in case. Thank you.
Out of Momo or the battle for time
Guido, the guide tells the tourists coming to the ancient ruin – and for Momo …
————————-
” Guido, incidentally, had never told the same story twice since Momo’s arrival on the scene; he would have found that far too boring. When Momo was in the audience a floodgate seemed to open inside him, releasing a torrent of new ideas that bubbled forth without his ever having to think twice.
On the contrary, he often had to restrain himself from going too far, as he did the day his services were enlisted by two elderly American ladies whose blood he curdled with the following tale:
‘It is, of course, common knowledge, even in your own fair, freedom-loving land, dear ladies, that the cruel tyrant Marxen-tius Communis, nicknamed “the Red”, resolved to mould the world to fit his own ideas. Try as he might, however, he found that people refused to change their ways and remained much the same as they always had been. Towards the end of his life, Marxentius Communis went mad. The ancient world had no psychiatrists capable of curing such mental disorders, as I’m sure you know, so the tyrant continued to rave unchecked. He eventually took it into his head to leave the existing world to its own devices and create a brand-new world of his own.
‘He therefore decreed the construction of a globe exactly the same size as the old one, complete with perfect replicas of everything in it – every building and tree, every mountain, river and sea. The entire population of the earth was compelled, on pain of death, to assist in this vast project.
‘First they built the base on which the huge new globe would rest – and the remains of that base, dear ladies, are what you now see before you.
‘Then they started to construct the globe itself, a gigantic sphere as big as the earth. Once this sphere had been completed, it was furnished with perfect copies of everything on earth.
‘The sphere used up vast quantities of building materials, of course, and these could be taken only from the earth itself. So the earth got smaller and smaller while the sphere got bigger and bigger.
‘By the time the new world was finished, every last little scrap of the old world had been carted away. What was more, the whole of mankind had naturally been obliged to move to the new world because the old one was all used up. When it dawned on Marxentius Communis that, despite all his efforts, everything was just as it had been, he buried his head in his toga and tottered off. Where to, no one knows.
‘So you see, ladies, this craterlike depression in the ruins before you used to be the dividing line between the old world and the new. In other words, you must picture everything upside down.’
The American dowagers turned pale, and one of them said in a quavering voice, ‘But what became of Marxentius Com-munis’s world?’
‘Why, you’re standing on it right now,’ Guido told her. ‘Our world, ladies, is his!’
The two old things let out a squawk of terror and took to their heels. This time, Guido held out his cap in vain.
Guide’s favourite pastime, though, was telling stories to Momo on her own, with no one else around. They were fairy tales, mostly, because Momo liked those best, and they were about Momo and Guido themselves. Being intended just for the two of them, they sounded quite different from any of the other stories Guido told.
One fine, warm evening the pair of them were sitting quietly, side by side, on the topmost tier of stone steps. The first stars were already twinkling in the sky, and a big, silvery moon was climbing above the dark silhouettes of the pine trees.
‘Will you tell me a story?’ Momo asked softly. ‘All right,’ said Guido. ‘What about?’ ‘Best of all I’d like it to be about us,’ Momo said. Guido thought a while. Then he said, ‘What shall we call it?’ ‘How about The Tale of the Magic Mirror?’ Guido nodded thoughtfully. ‘Sounds promising,’ he said. ‘Let’s see how it turns out.’ And he put his arm around Momo and began:
‘Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess named Momo, who dressed in silk and satin and lived high above the world on a snow-clad mountain-top, in a palace built of stained glass. She had everything her heart could desire. Nothing but the choicest food and wine ever passed her lips. She reclined on silken cushions and sat on ivory chairs. She had everything, as I say, but she was all alone.
‘All the people and things around her – her footmen and ladies-in-waiting, her dogs and cats and birds, even her flowers – were merely reflections.
‘The fact was. Princess Momo had a magic mirror, big and round and made of the finest silver. Every day and every night she used to send it out into the world, and the big round mirror soared over land and sea, town and countryside.
People who saw it weren’t a bit surprised. All they ever said was, “Ah, there’s the moon.”
‘Well, every time the magic mirror came back to the princess it would empty out the reflections it had collected on its travels, beautiful and ugly, interesting and dull, as the case might be. The princess picked out the ones she liked best. The others she simply threw into a stream, and quicker than the speed of thought these discarded reflections sped back to their owners along the waterways of the earth. That’s why you’ll find your own reflection looking at you whenever you bend over a stream or a pool of water.
‘I forgot to mention that Princess Momo was immortal. Why? Because she’d never seen her own reflection in the magic mirror, and anyone who saw his own reflection in it became mortal at once. Being well aware of this, Princess Momo took care not to do so. She’d always been quite content to live and play with her many other reflections.
‘One day, however, the magic mirror brought her a reflection that appealed to her more than any other. It was the reflection of a young prince. As soon as she saw it, she longed to meet him face to face. How was she to set about it, though? She didn’t know where he lived or who he was – she didn’t even know his name.
‘For want of a better idea, she decided to look into the magic mirror after all, thinking that it might carry her own reflection to the prince. There was a chance that he might be looking up at the sky when the mirror floated past and would see her in it. Perhaps he would follow the mirror back to the palace and find her there.
‘So she gazed into the mirror, long and hard, and sent it off around the world with her reflection. By so doing, of course, she lost her immortality.
‘Before saying what happened to her next, I must tell you something about the prince.
‘His name was Girolamo, and he ruled a great kingdom of his own creation. This kingdom was situated neither in the present nor the past, but always one day ahead in the future, which was why it was called Futuria. Everyone who dwelt there loved and admired the prince.
‘ “Your Royal Highness,” the prince’s advisers told him one day, “it’s time you got married.”
‘The prince had no objection, so Futuria’s loveliest young ladies were brought to the palace for him to choose from. They all made themselves look as beautiful as possible, because each of them naturally wanted his choice to fall on her.
‘Among them, however, was a wicked fairy who had managed to sneak into the palace. The blood that ran in her veins was green and cold, not red and warm, but nobody noticed this because she had painted her face so skilfully.
‘When the Prince of Futuria entered the great, golden throne room she quickly muttered such a potent spell that poor Girolamo had eyes for no one but her. He found her so incomparably beautiful that he asked her on the spot if she would be his wife.
‘”With pleasure,” hissed the wicked fairy, “but only on one condition.”
‘”Name it,” the prince said promptly, without a second thought.
‘”Very well,” said the wicked fairy, and she smiled so sweetly that the poor prince’s head swam. “For one whole year, you must never look up at the moon in the sky. If you do, you will instantly lose all your royal possessions. You will forget who you really are and find yourself transported to the land of Presentia, where you will lead the life of a poor, unknown wretch. Do you accept my terms?”
‘ “If that’s all you ask,” cried Prince Girolamo, “what could be easier!”
‘Meanwhile, Princess Momo had been waiting in vain for the prince to appear, so she resolved to venture out into the world and look for him. She let all her reflections go and, leaving her stained-glass palace behind, set off down the snow-clad mountainside in her dainty little slippers. She roamed the world until she came to Presentia, by which time her slippers were worn out and she had to go barefoot, but the magic mirror bearing her reflection continued to soar overhead.
‘One night, while Prince Girolamo was sitting on the roof of his golden palace, playing checkers with the fairy whose blood was cold and green, he felt a little drop of moisture on his hand.
‘ “Ah,” said the green-blooded fairy, “it’s starting to rain.”
‘”It can’t be,” said the prince. “There isn’t a cloud in the sky.”
‘And he looked up, straight into the big silver mirror soaring overhead, and saw from Princess Momo’s reflection that she was weeping and that one of her tears had fallen on to his hand. And at that instant he realized that the fairy had tricked him – that she wasn’t beautiful at all and had cold, green blood in her veins. His true love, he realized, was Princess Momo.
‘”You’ve broken your promise,” snapped the green-blooded fairy, scowling so hideously that she looked like a snake, “and now you must pay the price!”
‘And then, while Prince Girolamo sat there as though paralysed, she reached inside him with her long, green fingers and tied a knot in his heart. Instantly forgetting that he was the Prince of Futuria, he slunk out of his palace like a thief in the night and wandered far and wide till he came to Presentia, where he took the name Guido and lived a life of poverty and obscurity. All he’d brought with him was Princess Momo’s reflection from the magic mirror, which was blank from then on.
‘By now Princess Momo had abandoned the ragged remains of her silk and satin gown. She wore a patchwork dress and a man’s cast-off jacket, far too big for her, and was living in an ancient ruin.
‘When the two of them met there one fine day. Princess Momo failed to recognize poor, good-for-nothing Guido as the Prince of Futuria. Guido didn’t recognize her either, because she no longer looked like a princess, but they became companions in misfortune and a source of consolation to each other.
‘One evening when the magic mirror, now blank, was floating across the sky, Guido took out Memo’s reflection and showed it to her. Crumpled and faded though it was, the princess immediately recognized it as her own – the one she’d sent soaring around the world. And then, as she peered more closely at the poor wretch beside her, she saw he was the long-sought prince for whose sake she had renounced her immortality.
‘She told him the whole story, but Guido sadly shook his head. “Your words, mean nothing to me,” he said. “There’s a knot in my heart, and it stops me remembering.”
‘So Princess Momo laid her hand on his breast and untied the knot in his heart with case, and Prince Girolamo suddenly remembered who he was and where he came from. And he took Princess Momo by the hand and led her far, tar away, to the distant land of Futuria.’
They both sat silent for a while when Guido had finished. Then Momo asked, ‘Did they ever get married?’
‘I think so,’ said Guido, ‘- later on.’
‘And are they dead now?’
‘No,’ Guido said firmly, ‘I happen to know that for a fact. The magic mirror only made you mortal if you looked into it on your own. If two people looked into it together, it made them immortal again, and that’s what those two did.’
The big, silver moon floated high above the dark pinetrees, bathing the ruin’s ancient stonework in its mysterious light. Momo and Guido sat there side by side, gazing up at it for a long time and feeling quite certain that, if only for the space of that enchanted moment, the pair of them were immortal.”
…HAPPY NEW YEAR 2024! (New stories ahead…);)
You are a blessing and you are blessed. Know that.
What a mighty woman!
“I know I would die a dysfunctional person had I elected to live the rest of my life inside stories I knew to be fundamentally flawed in their incompleteness and injurious to my spirit.” Big hug from the Gobbins, Northern Ireland.
Sending love, Alison. Thank you for all you are and all you do. I, for one, am grateful.
Happy belated New Year, Alison.
Happy New Year! Sending love from New Mexico. You are incredible and inspiring. Thank you for your integrity and your drive. I hope you feel the virtual love. Thank you.
Sending you heartfelt hugs from us here in the west of Ireland Alison x you are not alone and if you ever find yourself across the Atlantic you’d be so welcome by our fire ♥️