May this Holiday Season bring you much joy.
May our beautiful world find true peace and happiness.
And may we all celebrate the spirit of love that is the meaning of Christmas.
Merry Christmas to you all – wherever you may be!
Awhile ago in what is beginning to feel like another life, I wrote a book called, BETWEEN WORLDS. Sculpted from within the mist and memory of Ireland, it tells a tale of a man many later came to call a saint, and a woman remembered, if she was remembered at all, as a sinner. It is an archetypal story. It is also true.
Like many stories locked within the mists of time, it comes laden with baggage and hidden agendas. Agendas, as other writers might tell you, have a nasty habit of not liking their stories to be told. That is, quite obviously, why they have been plopped usually unceremoniously into the depths of that deep dark place sometimes called (at least in Ireland) – the bog.
It is from the bog that they must be retrieved and that, as you may have guessed, is the beginning of what Joseph Campbell would lovingly call – the hero’s journey.
Thus began my quest.
Did I want it? Not consciously. Did I ask for it? Again, not to my immediate awareness. Did I take it on? You betcha.
You see, there was this woman, like an often fleeting apparition, walking around Glendalough – that’s in County Wicklow – think old monastic city, ancient times, power, and yes sometimes light. She was hard to ignore. As was the energy of the place and the sense of whispers and messages slipping forth from the very fabric of the land – the ‘tell the tale – you must you must’ kind. Perhaps you could have walked away from that. Clearly I didn’t.

I’m mentioning it now because, though I have shared the how-I-got-to-it story to friends, I have very seldom spoken of it to others. The book is not yet well known. It’s self-published, it’s in eBook, it’s on the blog, you have to find it.
I could quite simply let it stay that way. It did after all take many years of my life and I could be forgiven for being tired. But it is a story that begged to be told, and told for a reason most honourable, and I, the storyteller, would be remiss if I didn’t give you a glimpse of why.
… stay tuned please
– book cover by Tannice Goddard – Glendalough photo by Kevin O’Kelly (Ireland)
Within this world of sun and shade, sol y sombre,
reside magical moments, the duende of life.
Often tucked within the cloak of contrasts and opposites,
sometimes hidden from conscious view,
they hover like resonant keys
to golden doors
of long awaited stories.
Available to each and every one of us if we will but listen
and then dare –
to taste the fruit of their knowing,
drink from their cup of unlimited possibility,
luxuriate in creation’s abundance,
and know it to be our own.
Aliana Alani (c) 2013
Sometimes love comes like a gentle breeze on a soft summer’s night. Sometimes it’s a bear hug and a big sloppy kiss.
Sometimes the heart opens like the tender flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Sometimes it crashes apart in sheer wonder at the magnificence of it all.
It’s the same with change. Whether big or small, long predicted or just come upon, it always carries a taste of the unknown. It can feel like a tsunami, a whirlwind, or the fluttering ripple of that butterfly’s wings. It’s your picture after all, your change, so it’s up to you.
AS WE USHER IN this new era and level of being, as we welcome in this year to come, and as the heart of humanity opens and breathes life anew, I wish for each of you the greatest joy and unfolding happiness.
WHEREVER YOU MAY BE, whatever you may be doing, may you bring unending love to it and may you throw open the windows of your heart and, with abandon, dance the dance of life in the Garden of Love.