Category Archives: Expression

Sea of Consciousness

Inspired write this after meditation with reflection , I hope you enjoy this and take time to see how it relates to your life.

The waves of time washes the ideas of all souls.

The light of day flashes across the restless seas.

Fish swim , birds fly and the mermaids watch them go by.

The quest for life follows the tides of time 

Below the deep waters hides the answers of a hungry mind.

The sea of consciousness is never still, day and night

Up and down swirls the currents left and right.

The child is born from a chamber of darkness

It swims with dolphins and whales in search of light.

The land is full of yesterday memories of gold and mire

The man and woman are desperate to reach the land of desire.

Storms drown the sails of a solider ship 

The enemy jumps below the waves to escape it.

The sea of consciousness rocks the balance of life

Right or wrong grab hold of love and  hungry strife

The fish asks the turtle which way to swim

The crab buries below the sand thinking it’s dim.

Shark fools the whale dark waters of uncertainty 

A child is the master of the sea creatures destiny.

Wise man dives holding his breathe to discover below

Strangers lose their direction and are afraid to go.

Water of infinity flows through reality all around

A drop , then a stream, then a river, into the ocean of life is found.

Splashes with ripples of insight from the mouse to the mighty tree

Sea of consciousness wraps its fingers around the web of energy.

Heaven and earth holds all the thoughts and dreams

The knowledge of yesterday is the beginning of the stream.

Enter The Darkness to Find Light

Enter The Darkness Find Light

What you see is not the picture of the world

What you hear is not the sound of truth

What you taste is not the delight of kings and queens

What you smell is not the sweet fragrance of life

What you touch is not the spirit of essence

Enter the darkness and forget the past

Shut the door of tomorrow pleas

Welcome this second before the clocks stop

The only truth you know is not true

The lies and deceptions of the mind cause you sorrow

Enter the darkness to find the light

The world of yesterday is just a dream

The fantasy of tomorrow is another story

The book of life has new stories to be told

The sacred texts reveal only the beginning of the end

Knowledge of you is the profound truth

The secret of light comes from within

Open your eyes to see the truth of life

Listen to the wisdom and silence of nature

Taste the sweet taste of vitality

Smell the fragrance of beauty you have

Touch the desire of the present truth

Enter the darkness to find the light within

You are perfect and have no sin

The love and comfort wraps around your soul

Wake up to reality of passion and love

Because the light of truth is you

Meditation

Inspired to write this after a meditation. The practice quiets the mind to unravel the web of confusion in daily life. The mind or ego works effortlessly to complicate life that can lead to added stress. The beauty of regular meditation grounds the present reality. We like to think or the ego believes it is in total control but that is an illusion. Life is wonderful gift with experiences that shapes our perceptions but isn’t the complete picture of reality. Thanks goes to the continuation of life not just in ourselves but to the whole cosmos.

The portrait

I am resurrecting some of my old work from 30 years ago that I haven’t published. This is just first two chapters of a short story, I hope you will all enjoy. As a writer i see and hear all the characters in my imagination like a film producer hopefully the reader can have a feel for it.

Chapter one 

An old eccentric gentleman laid on his deathbed, ordering his maid to fetch Mr Lawson. He slowly sat upright on his four posted bed, gazing his eyes at the magnificent oil paintings from all over the world in his bedroom. He could hear a knock at the door downstairs. The footsteps became louder and louder as they came neared to Mr Hamilton’s bedroom. There was a gentle knock on his bedroom door.

“Enter,” cried out the cantankerous silver fox with an anxious look on his face.

“At last, my young fellow, where have you been? Don’t you know I will not be around much longer?”

“Well, Sir I’m extremely busy with a commission, I have a date to complete it by, or I don’t get paid. Every spare moment I’m working Mr Hamilton,”

The old man sighed and shook his head in disbelief.

“Well, I’m asking for a last favour before I go. You are one of the best artists I know. I will reward you with a large sum of money and through my art collection you will receive recognition from many sophisticated gentlemen. They will give you an income and commissions. I have this one obsession in my life with paintings, especially unusual ones. I want you to paint a portrait of me.”

“I am honoured and grateful for such a privilege when should I start?” Mr Lawson replied in a young, enthusiastic tone.  

“I want you to do a sketch of me now and start the painting after I have died.”

Mr Lawson pulled his chair next to the bed of the idiosyncratic disintegrating man. He sketched the dying frail man. He had a large round head with a puffed-up face, with grey straggling hair receding from his brow. He resembled the countenance of an old bishop with his white silk bedclothes covered by a red silk dressing gown wrapped around him. 

The young artist finished the sketch of Mr Hamilton in. It reminded him of the artist Rembrandt. Mr Hamilton, in between his gasping breaths, said “I will pay you £500 now and you will receive the rest when you finish the portrait”. Mr Hamilton closed his eyes and died peacefully, knowing that his last wishes were being fulfilled.

His only son William and his family attended the funeral of Mr Hamilton with a few distant friends and acquaintances. After the service, the family gathered for the wake of Mr Hamilton drinking potent cocktails with homemade cakes prepared by the estate cook. Mr Hamilton, grandchildren running around the large house, interrupting the Solemn atmosphere. Jack and Sarah didn’t understand the death of their grandfather because he was always busy with his own life here and there buying and selling paintings. The children just loved the large house with many winding corridors and hidden rooms. You could hear the echoes of the children as they spent their energy in pursuit of hiding from each other.

There a few many tears because Mr Hamilton was not a gentle or jolly man. The only occasions he was in a good mood were by the influence of alcohol after a purchase or sale of a painting. The Butler rang a large hand rang bell to break up the chitchat of all the guest.

The butler said in an eloquent and funereal voice

“Mr Barlow has arrived, and he is waiting in the study, please make your way to the room please”.

William called his wife Catherine together with his children, Jack and Sarah.

“We have some important news, so please behave and respect your grandfather as we listen to his instructions he has left.”

Everyone in the room stared at Mr Barlow anxiously in anticipation for him to start.

“Is everybody here, the servants, the family and friends?”

Mr Barlow put his briefcase on the table and carefully gathered the documents, carefully attaining to the late Mr Hamilton estate and possessions. He looked up with a smile and spoke.

“Please excuse all the unnecessary formalities and I will get straight to the point for brevity. William Hamilton is the sole benefactor it includes all the estate and all the possessions within. There will be no need to worry about servants, as you will continue in your relative position. There is one final clause. When young Sarah Hamilton comes of age, she is the sole owner of the estate paintings BUT must remain in the perspective places in the estate.

Chapter Two

From Paper to Canvas

Mr Barlow spoke privately with Mr Lawson, the young artist who came to pay his respects to the family and the late Mr Hamilton. The family barrister handed James a letter from the deceased Mr Hamilton. The letter read in part “When you completed the portrait, I will pay you the sum of £5000 “Mr Lawson quickly scan through the rest of the letter.

“I can’t do that” with this shock all over his face. 

“Do you want the money” replied Mr Barlow angrily?

“Oh yes, but how can I do that without being confronted by the police or offending the family?”

“Leave it to me, Mr Lawson, I’ll be at the crematorium later, and I will see you later tonight”.

That evening, young James worried about the whole situation and the problems it could cause him. You could hear footsteps coming up towards the attic, towards his studio. The sharp, clear, precise footsteps slowly walked along the final hallway. Bang Bang.

“Who is it?” The frightened artist said frantically.

“It’s Mr Barlow” he replied softly.

“Come in. I have been contemplating what Mr Hamilton wanted me to do. I’m not doing it regardless of the money.”

“Oh, you must, because you said yes to Mr Hamilton before he died to do the job. I have a sketch to prove it.”

“I know that, but I never knew about him actually being in the portrait,” confess the worried artist.

“You know that Mr Hamilton liked unusual paintings, and no one else would know. Just think about the £5000 pounds. It would give you a good start to your artistic career. You could develop as an artist and concentrate on your art without worrying about selling your painting like Van Gogh.”

The young artist loved painting because it was his gift to the world and filled his soul with peace and inspiration. 

He then said in an anxious and trembling voice,

“I hope you have the ashes so I can start straight away before I change my mind.”

“Don’t worry, everything will turn out fine and nobody will have to know about it apart from me, you and the late Mr Hamilton.” 

Mr Barlow laughed as he walked out of the door. The Young artist couldn’t sleep all night with some ashes of Mr Hamilton left in his studio.

The next morning, after a restless night, James awoke from his nightmare to a bright day. The morning sun shining rays through the studio, giving the atmosphere a warm glow. Before he started his day, he always had a cup of coffee and pondered on how to accomplish this new weird task. He knew the larger the portrait, the easier it would be to mix the human ashes with paints together, so he did a life-size portrait.

James mixed small quantities of Mr Hamilton with few pigments. He experimented and concluded; greater the quantity of oils would help dissolve the two components with better results. He did a sketch on the canvas and started with Mr Hamilton’s eyes. The artist brush came alive as it stoked the canvas, James could feel Mr Hamilton words and whispers flow his arm into the paint brush. The echoes of the capricious egomaniac ashes knew where to go on the painting. James could hear instructions from a grand master watching over his shoulder. James turned around, and no one was there. Then he heard another voice, “Come on you fool, you need to finish this painting”. He thought he was going mad and deep down he knew it was the spirit of Mr Hamilton in his presence. When James left the studio, the voices would stop, and he could refresh his soul from the assertive old man.

The portrait was now resembling the features of the old man’s skin of a rugged landscape with a history of war and peace. The size of the portrait height of 6 feet and by the width of two feet. The young artists had a busy schedule to complete several. James declined new commissions and other activities. He wanted finished Mr Hamilton to stop the anguish of relentless voices in his studio. The old man would continue to haunt him, and resolved to finish it. The portrait had a suspicious glow around the eyes as if we’re starring back at you. The portrait was alive with encounters, wrapping his tentacles through the inner being of a person’s soul. James knew this was a supernatural, paranormal painting, and he understood the experience because of the portrait had traces of Mr Hamilton’s soul in the oils mixed with his metaphysical ashes.

Mr Barlow came to studio after 18 months of hard magical and ghostly experiences for the young artist.

“I swear I saw his eyes move then,” said Mr Barlow as he entered the dark room that evening.

“You must have of had to drink,” said James. He didn’t want to confess all of his uncanny experiences because he just wanted to get rid of the portrait and have his £5000. 

“it’s fabulous, my good man I’ll collect it tomorrow afternoon. What did you say, James?”

“Nothing”

Mr Barlow thought he heard a voice, and it reminded him of Mr Hamilton, but he dismissed it.

James said with a sigh, “I’ll be glad to see the back of it “

The thieving magpie

This is a short story I wrote about 28 years ago, enjoy.

Photo by shravan khare on Pexels.com

It was a cold wet morning in December and the birds making a noise heard outside amongst the rustle of the wind as it brushed against the naked trees. A middle-aged woman awoke from her peaceful rest to another repetitive day. Her husband was away to a demanding day at the factory, supervising all the local working classes. She drew back the curtains slowly to inspect the garden with all its commotions of collaborations between the natural beauty of wildlife. The squirrels were covering their supplies while the Robins were hopping around in search of food. The other birds flying from tree to tree spying out the land while the magpies were looking for an innocent victim to devour or steal from.

The woman’s name was Mrs Emily Redgrave, a wealthy mistress of the Howard Redgrave, an influential business manager. He was a devoted husband of Emily. She walked down the stairs in her silk dressing gown towards the front door to collect the milk. She opened the door and noticed that the birds have been at the milk again.” Those wretched birds why can’t they just leave my milk alone”.

Miss Redgrave had a regular visitor every Thursday. A so-called friend from years ago who attended the same school. There was once a close relationship like a sister, but over the years they drifted apart. The conversation would start with the mundane events in life. It would lead to a heated argument about each other’s life in competition. Mrs Redgrave knew there was a jealous heart in her friend Helena Foster but dismayed it as an insecurity and lack of experience. The clock struck 11 and not a minute after, there was a knock at the door.


“Hello Helena, please come in from the cold and rain. Even in this shocking weather you always arrive just after 11.”


“Well, my sweet friend, when you live alone like me you don’t have the pleasure of looking after a handsome husband.” said the spiteful lady as she wiped her feet on the doormat.


“Oh, please come into the lounge and have a cup of tea with me.”

“How is Howard?”


“He seemed very anxious the other day at the wedding in Florence. Because of pressure from work, he’s had very demanding contracts to meet, and the employees are revolting with accusations.”


Helena replies subtly as a cunning leopard hunting her prey, “Your husband needs reassurance and support. What have you done for him recently apart from looking after the house? I’m not surprised. Have you been neglecting him? If you don’t watch it, he will leave you or even do something worse.” Mrs Redgrave couldn’t understand and can’t believe her ears from a friend.

“I’ve been so caught up with the wedding of our beloved daughter I’ve been feeling very low recently.”
“Don’t worry too much, my dear. I will be here to look after Howard and you. We can be one big happy family.” The hunter smiled to herself, thinking if only she could have Howard all to herself.


Miss foster left the house and Emily wept bitterly with a heart open with a violent storm of sadness. The tears were falling down her cheeks like the rain outside. The rain lashed against the window, slowly drifting towards the ground in confusion. Losing her daughter in marriage caused loneliness in the Redgrave home. She didn’t know where to turn for support because her husband was under a lot of pressure. Her life sank into a deep depression and melancholy.

The noise of the machines was chattering away like a mechanical orchestra at a steady pace in the factory. The occasional break as the machinist finished one rotation. Men with solemn faces and worn-out hands working precisely with the huge machines. Rain was tapping on the huge, corrugated roof, and drips of water descended into the buckets dotted around the factory floor. In the building’s corner’ was an office elevated above the factory floor like a prison guard’s control post. You could see two men shouting and waving their hands. It was Mr Redgrave and Mr Jean Mitchell, a French investor. 

“Mr Redgrave, if you don’t reach your targets on time, we will have to do something drastic to you.” said the Frenchman emphatically. 


“I’m at the limits already and my men can’t work any harder without revolting.” Mr Redgrave said pleadingly.

Later that day there was a general meeting for all the workers in the factory, from the cleaner to the supervisor. All 300 men gathered in the large dining hall with anxious looks with envious hard faces. “Men, we all know the tremendous competition we are against to survive. First, we will have to make cutbacks, with one hour a day. Redundancy will have to be made and lastly reduction in wages. With that it caused an opera of tragedy, with the men shouting, “traitor traitor traitor” and stamping their feet. There was animosity against Mr Redgrave saying “all he was concerned about was keeping his job to please his wife, what about our wives and our families. The volatile anger immersed with emotional outburst towards Mr Redgrave and his and wife life if they lost their jobs.

The factory supervisor went to Mr Redgrave’s office to speak to him privately. “What would you do then, Mr Ballard, I have targets to meet or all of us would be out of jobs? 

James, the factory supervisor, replied, “Whatever happens, don’t fire anyone. We all will work harder. We’re also willing to have a reduction in wages that must include you and the other supervisors”. 

Mr Redgrave replied “We have to get rid of at least 5% of our staff to make a profit and that’s final” James Ballard slammed the office door and walked down the stairs. 

That evening on the way home from work Mr Redgrave pulled in to see Eleanor foster the only friend he could think of he had left to turn to. “Sorry to disturb you Helena, can I come in for a couple of minutes, please?” 


“Oh, please come in, my dear. You look exhausted. Put your feet up and I will make you a lovely hot drink of coffee with a wee bit of dram.” Helena had devious eyes with a snide smile while she was making the coffee. As she was making the coffee, she filled the cup half full of strong whiskey. “They you are my dear take your time I’ll make you a quick snack”. She put more coal on the fire and pulled the curtains closed. 

“Don’t worry Helena, Emily will have my dinner ready as soon as I arrive home,” Howard said as he relaxed and yawned. Before he knew it, he fell asleep in the comfortable chair next to the blazing fire.

It was about 10:00 pm and Mr Redgrave had been in a deep sleep for several hours at Helena’s home. He woke up bewilder and confused. He was like a cat after a cosy rest next to the fire, not wanting to move. “What time is it, Helena?” Howard asked anxiously.


“It has just passed 10, my love. Why don’t you have a quick coffee before you go.”


“I must get straight home. Emily will worry about me.” Howard quickly slipped his shoes on and searched for his coat in the dimly lit room.

 
“I’ll get your coat. Are you sure you don’t want another quick coffee to wake you up?”


“No, thank you again Helena I must shoot off. Why did you let me sleep? Howard asked cautiously.


“You looked contented, like a baby in his mother’s arms. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Mr Redgrave walked down the gravel path towards his car in the winter rain underneath the dark night. When he came in proximity to his car, he notices that all four tyres slashed. He was cold and annoyed, waving his arms in the air shouting and cursing while kicking the car. He walked back up the path. Helena was smiling as she watched her victim staggered back.

“I’m going to have to use your phone to let Emily know what’s happened,” he said while panting with fear and frustration. 

“It’s not working, my dear I think the storms must have disconnected the lines”.

“Are there any telephones nearby?”


“My neighbours are away on holiday and the nearest telephone is several miles away.”


“I’m going to have to use your car, Helena, please.”


” You can stay if you want to. My car was playing up today when I was visiting Emily.” 
“I can’t stay”. Mr Redgrave tried starting the engine. Once, twice, and up to six times with no response. He was feeling more exasperated and hit the dashboard than a wire dropped underneath the ignition key. Howard’s mind couldn’t understand why this was happening to him. Then he had ago to reconnect the wire. 1,2,3 hey presto it started. Miss foster was amazed he started the car. Her smile turned to disgust, like the transition from Doctor Hyde to Doctor Jackal. 

“Thanks a lot for letting me use your car. I drop it back tomorrow”. He sped off into the night, leaving a trail of smoke from the clutches of the hungry predator.

“Honey, I’m home I’m extremely sorry I am late. You would never believe what happened”. 

Howard slammed the door behind him, securely locking it. There was still no reply. Howard thought Emily must have gone to bed. He crept up the stairs towards their bedroom while removing his wet shirt. He opened the door, glanced across the room to see his beloved laying peacefully. He strolled across the soft carpet floor and realised Emily must be in a deep sleep, because she normally wakes up. The rain rattled against the window; the wind was whistling through the trees with the sound of an owl in the distant. Emily was very silent. “Emily,” Howard said loudly, but there was no response. “Emily, dear, I’m home,” but still no reply. Howard was worried and rushed towards the bed and shook her. “Emily, wake up” he shouted and rocked her and panicked. He was screaming at her, holding her close in his arms. She was cold and rigid. Not one breath was in her body.

The Doctor arrived “Doctor, what happened to her?” asked Mr Redgrave in a distraught state. 


“It looks like a toxin or poison which has caused severe swelling around the glands then she had a fatal heart attack.”


“But why, doctor?” Mr Redgrave sobbed and wept bitterly.


“I’ll have to do some tests and call the Chief Inspector Winslow to tie up some of those loose ends.”


“Are you suggesting murder, Doctor?” Mr Redgrave replied in a high-pitched voice?”


“Well, my dear old friend, it’s better to clear any conspicuous rumours and find the truth of the death of your beloved wife.”

As the doctor left, Mr Redgrave was full of remorse. He was pondering on the fact, if he had never dropped into Helena’s home, he could have saved his wife. He was full of guilt, blaming himself for everything that happened. 


Then there was a knock on the door. It was James Ballard “Hello Sir I’m sorry It is late, but I tried phoning you earlier but there was no reply and I had to see you urgently.”


“What do you want James, why couldn’t you wait until tomorrow when I would be at the factory?”
“I had to warn you of the threat from the workers. I overheard some of them planning to frighten you and your wife.”


“It’s too late, my wife is dead just leave me alone”. 

The factory supervisor left, and Mr Redgrave shut the door. He then went down on his knees, crying in the hallway. After about 10 minutes he composed himself and headed towards his only friend left in the lounge. He opened his drinks cabinet and poured half a tumbler of whiskey to drown his sorrows. As Mr Redgrave sat down in his chair with his whiskey bottle next to him, he looked around at the neat room and saw a cup and saucer on the floor half full of lukewarm tea. He puzzled because Emily was very particular about leaving dirty dishes around the house. 

A knock on the door Bang, Bang. It was Chief Inspector Winslow. Mr Redgrave dragged his feet towards the door with his whisky glass in his hand.

“Hello, is this Mr Redgrave’s house?” asked a small old frail man with an educated German accent. He wore a long black coat with a smart Black Hat with drips of water descending from the rim.

“Yes, it is, and I am Mr Redgrave. You must be Mr Winslow?

“You are most correct, Sir, can I come in please it’s very wet out here.”

“Oh, certainly come into the lounge, don’t worry about your wet coat and shoes”. 

He walked along the hallway with Mr Windsor following slowly behind, observing the carpet. “Mr Redgrave, that smells like a single malt whisky, probably about 20 years old?”.

“How did you know that Mr Winslow?”

“You could say if I had a previous life, I must have been a dog or a Scotsman”.

“Do you want a drink, Sir?” Mr Redgrave offered him as he poured another glass while Mr Windsor was looking at the window. 

“Thank you very much, but I want to have my strongest concentration powers of observation being fully alert, maybe after this case is sealed and wrapped up.” 

The inspector turned around, scratching his chin, and had a vacant look on his face.

“Mr Redgrave, what time did you arrive home tonight night?”

“I arrived home about 11:00 o’clock, then I found my wife dead on the bed. Then I telephoned the doctor.”


“Can I look at your wife, please? You can stay in here if you want to.”
“She’s upstairs. I will show you just follow me, Sir.”

They walked upstairs towards the bedroom while Mr Winslow was observing everything as he followed Mr Redgrave. He notices all the rooms upstairs were closed, apart from the bathroom and the bedroom door. He could smell a strong disinfectant that has been used recently. As they entered the bedroom, Mr Winslow looked around as he usually did, looking at the windows and at the door again. Emily laid out across the bed neatly with a silk nightgown on with her arms crossed. Inspector Windsor took off his hat and coat and gave them to Mr Redgrave to hold while he examined the body. 

“Just as I thought, cardiac arrest caused by poisoning Mr Redgrave”.


“Who could have done that, inspector?” Mr Redgrave asked in a state of shock.


“Mr Redgrave, please draw up a list of acquaintances and friends, work associates and anyone you can think of. Also, trace your last week’s activities and yours, and especially your wife, if you can.” 

Mr Winslow left and arranged to call back early in the morning to further his investigations. 


The dawn was breaking, and the sun rose on a fresh winter’s morning frost on the grass, with the spiders’ webs shining in the sunlight. The Chief Inspector walked down the path towards Mr Redgrave’s house. The magpies have been at the milk again, stealing the cream. 

He knocked on the door “Good morning, Mr Redgrave, what a pleasant day break.”


“Good morning Mr Winslow, please come in. Do you want a coffee?”


“I’m quite content now, thankyou sir,” 

They went into the lounge and sat down.

“I’ll have that whiskey now, if you don’t mind,” said Inspector Winslow. 


“Does that mean you will have solved the case with my wife’s death?”


“I am quite convinced. I will have to wait for the coroner’s report and the test on a few things to be 100 percent. I’m rarely wrong. Have you drawn up a list of your wife’s activities and so-called suspects?’ 

The inspector looked at the list and nodded his head, smiling. He takes a sip of the whiskey and looks at the sheet of paper. 

“It looks very interesting, Miss Helena Foster, James Ballard, Jean Mitchel and your employees, etc. There are a few other options you’ve left out. Yourself, suicide and natural causes.”


There was a knock at the door it, was the Doctor and he joined the inspector in the lounge. 

“Hello doctor, do you have the results yet?” asked inspector Winslow. 

The Doctor and Mr Redgrave sat down. The inspector was sitting back in his chair drinking another sip of his whiskey.

He said” well gentlemen, it couldn’t of have been an intruder because all the windows were locked. There were no fresh footprints last night apart from the doctor’s shoes and yours, Mr Redgrave. I notice your wife had a visitor yesterday Helena foster who I paid a visit to last night after I met with you. There was a different type of lipstick on a second cup and a scent of woman’s perfume in the air despite your whiskey. I concluded and realised your wife must have been violently sick because of the smell of disinfecting in the bathroom. My intuition told me it had to come from outside the house because there was no evidence linking you or Helena to your wife’s death. It was unusual to notice a milk bottle top outside last night and spilt milk on the carpet in the hallway. A thieving creature tragically killed your wife when she was physically weak suffering from depression. It’s a rare disease carried by the birds, and it can be fatal in humans. The suspects stole some of your milk and Helena doesn’t drink milk”

Who was it Inspector?


“It was a thieving magpie”.

The Pineapple and the Sweet Taste of Knowledge الأناناس وطعم المعرفة الحلو

This Post is done in the traditional Sufi Style like Rumi stories or parables. I have done much research on the topic and discovered that mystics and many religious teachings have spread their web across Europe from Arabic tradition hence the Arabic translation below (google translate probably inaccurate). The idea came from the word pine apple and there are many symbolic references throughout different cultures. The point of the story is not just words you read on the page but there are deeper meanings from any readers perspective. I am not of any religious institution but curious how perception in the past has influenced religious and state thinking far deeper than we appreciate. Its can be philosophical or light hearted it is the interpretation of the reader.

There was a poor woman who had very little money. 

The woman lived in a city where many said to her “you have to work harder”.

The work she did used all her energy and was tired every day.

One evening an old man gave her a gift.

She asked the old man “what is it?”

The man said to her “truth of the matter is in the eating”.

She looked at him and thought he was mad.

The next 3 days she looked at this strange gift.

She asked her neighbour to examine it.

Her neighbour was an intelligent man with much knowledge. 

He said, “it looks like a porcupine maybe it’s dead”.

“An old man said you can eat it “replied the woman.

The neighbour said, “don’t be foolish, it is too dangerous and difficult to eat”.

The dead porcupine didn’t move but the woman was afraid to touch it.

One day the women asked her boss to look at her dead porcupine.

Her boss laughed at her when she described her gift. 

He said” I am too busy eating and drinking the good things in life examine your gift”.

The next day her boss died, so the woman lost her job.

She said, “how am I going to eat with no money, food or job”.

On her way home she prayed for help to solve her problem.

Just outside her house was a very young monkey who was hungry. 

She felt sorry for the young monkey and gave the monkey the dead porcupine. 

She said, “this is all I have my friend, maybe you can play with it”.

The lady went inside and cried because she couldn’t find a job.

She had no energy to beg for food.

The young monkey opened the gift that the old man gave her.

Inside the gift the monkey was eating the delicious fruit and laughed.

The poor women stopped crying because she heard the monkey laughing. 

She went outside and the monkey gave her a piece of the dead porcupine. 

She was hungry and couldn’t wait anymore and took a bite.

“Thank you divine one for sending the monkey to show me the way to a sweet taste”. 

“I am thankful for the gift from the old man,” said the women.

The next day the woman woke up listening for the sound of the monkey.

She went outside and the monkey and fruit were gone.

The monkey left the head of the porcupine behind.

The poor lady decided to offer it to the gods in her garden.

She prayed and thanked the beloved for his mercy and kindness.

The poor lady on the next day went in search for a job.

She looked all day to find work, but no one gave her a job.

On the way home she decided to look for the old man.

She wanted to thank the old man for her the gift. 

She prayed to the divine from her heart for wisdom to find the old man.

She passed a shop, and a man was sitting next to the door of the shop.

He said to her “I have lost everything, all my money and my family they have left me.

“All I have left is all these dead porcupines in my shop and no one wants buy them”.

The poor woman said, “I have the sweet taste of knowledge and you will be rich again and you will have love again.”

The man said, “you are crazy women, the only knowledge I want is to sell these dead porcupines”.

The woman said “the fruit you desire is hidden, but the knowledge I have will open your eyes because many have laughed, many have rejected, and many have ignored. 

The sweet taste of knowledge is before your very eyes because a monkey will show you that the truth is within.