We are Never Alone

North of Whananaki, Northland, New Zealand

I have been away staying in the North. In four days and three nights spent amidst remote natural beauty I have been renewed.

Apart from my own experiences I was privileged to witness my dearest friend open to the loving presence of his soul and his group. In a life previously characterised by isolation he experienced first -hand the occult truth: we are never alone.

 I have witnessed such openings before, but never one so poignant to me or so earnestly desired by its recipient. Miraculous too the contribution made by greater lives than ours – the Spirit of the place, elementals divas, along with light bearers of every kind assisted in the process. One dear friend on the subjective side of life facilitated. It was his connection to the place and to each of us individually which propelled an effortless re-birthing. Such blessings indeed.

Such events do not occur by accident. When the heart-felt desire to know one’s Self is earnestly expressed, the Light will come. When the mental activity is focused toward spiritual enquiry an eventual soul connection is inevitable.

Know that isolation and loneliness are features of an habitual focus to past or future. In this present moment where you are – right now- all is well. 

You are not alone far from it. You are literally embraced and supported by All Life.

There is a new writing project underway. In the next few posts I will begin the story of Adam and Mona. The narrative begins in 1875- a year of significant development in technology, mining and agriculture in Northern New Zealand.  The events related are based on fact. Names have generally been substituted for fictitious ones and my interpretation of events is a creative one, even though supported by research. In other words "The Lake" is a work of fiction.

"The Lake District" is the colonial term used for the settlement which grew up around Lake Pupuke, Auckland. This area is now better known as Takapuna.

Feedback at any time is really helpful and especially appreciated at this stage of a draft. Please feel free.

First Extract from "The Lake"

A bar in Thames, Coromandel, New Zealand -  early June 1875

“Stake your wife against my farm manager for twelve months – all services. How ‘bout it?”

Slattery sat back, running his whisky- sticky finger across his moustache. “Unenforceable surely?”

Both men were skinned of ready money and half cut.

Morrison grinned and shouted “Here” gesturing to the barman. “Come and witness this.”

It was all written down on the back of one of Slattery’s trading bills and the signatures witnessed by two of the onlookers. It was legal all right.

A gentleman’s agreement – if you could call it that – and Slattery won.

Slattery Homestead, North Shore, Auckland- late July 1875

A great dark haired man was standing in the office with blood dripping from the torn knuckles of his left hand. The housekeeper, Susan, had shown him in. She would find him a bandage. There had been some sort of accident at the wharf, she said

Mona Slattery stood at her study window watching the southerly  gale lash sheets of pelting rain across the paddocks. She had seen the hired fly drop this man off. 

Rivers formed and dispersed amongst the stone chips on the driveway.

A farm manager Eric’s letter had said- a skilled stockman, a widower- arriving Friday morning.

Mona knew her husband had no interest in farming. The blessing was he hadn’t been near the place for nine months.

She turned listlessly from the window.

Susan’s husband Joe was waiting by the door. A stocky Mayo man, he had been with her family since the start.

“This puts me in an invidious position Joe.”

He drew himself up and nodded his bald head in the direction of the office. “Best get it over then.”

They entered the office to find the man standing with his back to them, wearing a fresh piece of gauze wrapped cunningly about his left hand fingers. He appeared to be surveying the activity around the stables opposite.

 Measuring the man’s height against the window frame she decided he was not much more than 6’6” but those broad shoulders accentuated his physical presence.

 He turned around and rather spoilt the first impression. Black eyebrows almost joined, thick and straight. Thin lips drew an uncompromising line to match. A dour man, she supposed.

 At least he was mostly clean shaven. Mona loathed the current fashion for profuse whiskers.

He was also younger than she had expected- not yet forty by the look of him.

His attention was all on Joe. The unspoken assumptions were perfectly clear.

She was silent, thinking: Eric must have been in one of his wild provocative moods when he organised this piece of social lunacy- bringing such a person on to the property. The whole Lake District would be aflame with gossip before nightfall.

 At least there was the cottage ready for use.  Joe and Susan were here in the house.  Uncle Daniel lived just down the road.

Mona inclined her head elegantly. “Welcome to Homestead Mr Somers.”