A PASSING STORM
THE PROLOGUE
“…and we will all the pleasures prove that
hills and valleys, dales and fields,
and all the craggy mountains yields…”
(William Shakespeare - Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Music)
- o – o – o -
Nothing seemed real to her anymore. She felt as if she was being carried along on a beautiful gossamer carpet and as she floated, her mind was unburdening itself: she was making a fresh start and despite being apprehensive, something, or someone, was telling her that everything was going to be fine.
The tunnel through which she was drifting was bewilderingly beautiful, but it had no definite form. What is happening to me, she asked herself? Disembodied people were reaching out to her in welcome…in fact she recognised a few of them…and what was even more curious, they were all smiling at her.
How could this be? What on earth was going on?
In the far distance, the woman could see a brilliant light and she found herself reaching towards it with outstretched hands. She was like a willing butterfly that was trapped in an ethereal web of exquisite beauty and being transported to a magical place. This feeling of delicious inner peace began to envelop and cosset her as it permeated and insinuated itself into every fibre of her being, until finally all her worries and cares simply slipped away as if they had never been.
Suddenly from within the confines of her mind, she felt an all-encompassing out-pouring of love and a pure, velvety voice spoke to her.
‘You must return, it is not yet your time. You must return…’
The woman felt herself being dragged backwards at an alarming speed…
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