In addition to my poetry and short stories, I have been in the process of writing a series of books over the course of five years. They center around a woman named Anemone. She lives in a large house called Grassington Hill House on a dark moor in England (a recurring theme in much of my writing). In the first book, the reader is taken on a tour of the works of art in her house, most of which concern food and flowers. In the second book, the reader is invited to stay in the house with the narrator of the book and Anemone's cat, while she goes to the places where coffee, tea and other things are grown which would be used in a tearoom. In the third book, the tearoom has become a reality and the reader is invited back once again to the house. This book has recipes from dishes which were mentioned in Books One and Two. In book Four, the reader is invited to explore a maze located on the grounds of the house. Within this maze, spirituality is explored, but not in a conventional sense.
Following is a rough beginning to Book Four. . .
There is a maze, a living labyrinth, on the grounds of Grassington Hill House. The mystery of the moors has seeped into each small leaf and twig of its boxwood hedges. In it, you may hear the voices of ghosts, long-passed into the next world. Or you may hear the voice of your most beloved. Or the voice of the person you have yet to be. The angel you are and the angel you will be follow you through, ensuring your safe passage to it's center. Let them take your hands, close your eyes and just be.
As you wander, or are guided, through, you will find various items. May they point the way to your ultimate enlightenment.
Prayer labyrinths have been used for centuries by people wanting the find their path to their higher selves, to enable them to hear the voice of God. This labyrinth is not strictly religious, but not entirely secular either. Anemone has designed and constructed it based on her journey to her higher self and all she asks is that you leave your heart and your mind open as you enter.
May your way be lit by the candle of your own knowing of what is right and good.
A poem found within. . .
The angel you are and the angel you will be haunt me.
I have only to look in your dark and precious eyes to see them.
I have only to hear your voice somewhere in my day.
I have only to feel your touch, no matter how fleeting.
(I love it when you touch me so briefly, I am barely aware you did. It is as if you have whispered a secret to me so quietly that I barely hear it, but I feel it with my heart instead.)
Each day, I see the angel you are:
The kind angel,
The wise angel,
The funny angel,
The angel who doesn't want anyone to know all his motives, his secrets, his thoughts.
I feel blessed by the angel you are
And miss you when you are not in my presence.
Each day, I see the angel you will be:
The teacher angel,
The preacher angel,
The child, the man, the prophet I know you will remain all your life,
And the angel I have yet to imagine and cannot wait to know,
Knowing each day that you are more this new angel than you were the day before.
Please step quietly and slowly here in this place. There are clues to your enlightenment left along the way. If you rush, you may miss them.
Another short poem . . .
I awoke to the sight of your beautiful dark body in the morning light.
And for a moment, I thought I saw the places on your back where your angels wings had tried to grow.
But God wasn't ready for you to leave this earth yet
And decided instead that you should begin your angel path here with us instead.
All writing contained in this website © 1998-2005 by Betty A. Parker