Outside a slim moon hovers over the earth. It sheds little light but holds its position firmly. The moon knows that another time will come and it will once again widen its edges to send a dim and pretty light out over the world.
I am still coming down to my little writing studio—the warm weather has made it possible to stay here. No snow. No extreme cold. Tonight I feel a little bit like that sliver moon. Everything in me wants to see a world turn on its axis to a place where light wins out over darkness. When I wrote Albert’s Manuscript, old Albert was telling me the story of how he was taken to another realm and shown the truth of it. In this realm, the Elders showed him how a mighty wind would blow for a thousand years, and during this time, the people of earth would be blown from one nation to another, uprooted, tossed . . . landing in unknown places.
When I wrote this little book, I thought perhaps we were reaching the end of the wind of a thousand years. And then Paris, the great migration–and today on the news I heard many of the governors across our nation speak out against allowing any refugees to enter their states.
The wind has not died down but may be reaching its hiatus.
Here is a little piece of Albert’s manuscript where he meets First Man and hears about the wind of a thousand years.
One day another tribe came from the south and attacked my family’s village. Their storm was violent and quick. When the dust settled, my small body lay on the ground, broken, bloodied, sandwiched between the dead bodies of my parents and surrounded by my dead village. Death was all around. This event so shocked my young spirit that it left my body and fled to a high rock pinnacle above the dead village. I perched there, staring down at the horrible sight below. I sat, still and unmoving, watching as the carrion birds and the wild dogs below cleaned the bones of my relatives.
For decades the sun rose and fell, and rose and fell until it had bleached the bones white. Still, I sat. I didn’t know enough to travel alone to the ancestors and none came to claim me. It was not known to me until much later that this long period of stillness, perched and waiting, was my initiation into becoming a Watcher. I also didn’t know that in other parts of the world similar terrible events were unfolding and being witnessed by other Watchers across the earth.
The Wind of a Thousand Years had begun.
Eventually, the rock on which I perched began to grow. It rose so high above the earth that soon I could see other nations of people living on other lands. I could see far south into wet jungle lands and torrid areas. I could see north to frozen, icy lands where bands of people in small clusters were moving across snow and ice in their fight to survive the harsh land. I could see east and west across great bodies of water to other lands, and everywhere I cast my eyes, the people were moving; walking, walking out across the land. As my perch grew higher yet, my eyes could no longer see the bare bones of my parents but only the travelers which I later came to know as The Walkers.
I no longer shivered, no longer curled into my spirit body but looked out upon the world. As I looked out, I grew curious about the massive, moving bodies of people. I wanted to understand what was happening. My questions grew—just as yours have, Albert.
Finally, I stood high up on my rocky perch, raised my arms up to the heavens, and prayed. It was the first time in all the years of watching that I had asked the ancestors to show me what was happening.
And then, a miracle.
They came for me. The ancestors came and took me home–much the same as they came to get you, Albert, and for a similar reason—to teach me how to see. And how to interpret what I had seen so that one day, a thousand years later, I could tell you this story.
A good friend of mine recently read Albert’s Manuscript. He said when he finished the book he was wondering what now. He felt the book wanted to do more, to take the ideas into action somehow. In the story Albert learns about the four kinds of people, The Walkers, The Watchers, The Weepers, and the Weavers and that his (and our) job today is to help the Weavers learn to weave.
I want to explore this more within my next few posts. Sometimes a story has prophecy and wisdom embedded in it that we can’t always see until it is time. I want to put this knowledge into action somehow. Stay with me and we’ll explore it together.
It was Albert’s story that generated The Bead People and their movement around the world. An astounding 10,000 have already gone to over 40 different countries that we know of. Maybe they have more work to do. If you want to read Albert’s Manuscript, I finally did get it into print. You can order it at http://www.amazon.com/Alberts-Manuscript-Wind-Thousand-Years/dp/1937238016.
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