The Promised Land

                                                                    The way to heaven perhaps?
 

 

Dear Reader,

A very dear friend of mine was dying but quite happy about it since she thought that being dead was a great big adventure that she would enjoy. A few days before she died a very strange thing happened to me. 

In the middle of the night, at about 3 am, I was awakened by a voice in my head dictating the following prayer/poem.  I stumbled into my study and managed to write the words down but the next morning I remembered very little of it. I was a bit shaken for a few days but thinking about it I am sure of one thing.  This was the voice of Jesus Christ, or some Higher Being or perhaps a Guardian Angel.  Certainly this sort of thing has never happened to me before or since.

 I believe it is called channelling and has happened to various artists over the years.  Rudyard Kipling  thought that sometimes a voice told him what to write when working on his poems.  This is quite different from thinking and telling yourself what to write.

I telephoned my friend and read it out to her.  She loved it and wept.  

See what you think.

The Promised Land

 

I cannot see the distant place

It’s out of reach for me.

I cannot see the distant place, 

misting to the sea.

 

I cannot hear the singing birds

or see the mountain range,

I cannot speak my Christian name

since my body starts to change.

 

I will not know what happens next,

Or where I might be,

I cannot see the distant place

It’s out of reach for me.

 

Lord and Saviour, hold my hand.

As I drift into the Promised Land.

 

                                                                                         *

From John Everett Millais  October 16th 1851 in Surrey

 

'Worked on my picture; painted nasturtiums; saw a stoat run into a hole in the garden wall; went up to it and endeavoured to lure the little beast out by mimicking a rat's or mouse squeak...Succeeded, to my astonishment. He came half out of the hole and looked in my face, within easy reach.'

 

 From Francis Kilvert  October 18th 1878 in Gower Peninsula, Glamorgan

'St. Luke's Day.  This week has indeed been the summer of St. Luke.   Five of us drove in the waggonette to Oxwich Bay ....We had a merry windy luncheon on the bank near the churchyard gate, and great fun and famous laughing.  An E. wind was blowing fresh and strong, the sea was rolling grey and yeasty, and in a splendid sunburst the white seagulls were running and feeding on the yellow sands.  A wild merry happy day.'

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If you have time and the inclination do give me some feedback on the poem.  I would love to know what you think.   email address:  

patricia.huthellis@googlemail.com

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With very best wishes, Patricia