Paranormal Love Stories

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In Our Love Stories Series

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Home- True Stories to Fascinate and Amuse You

The Knight of Cups

Love on the Bus

Heart Song! A Past Life Reconnection

I'll See You In My Dreams

Love Crosses the Dimensions of Time and Space

Searching for John Wood

A Meeting of the Minds

we met on the highway

A Miracle of Healing

Two Very Special Love Stories about Loving Moms

The Power of Faith and Prayer

The Princess and the Nun

Sisterly Love Has Real Power

Solquesto: Search for truth or search for Soul

Saint Valentine's Day

The Windmill


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Solquesto: Search for truth or search for Soul

a continuing celebration of Love by Victoria Pitt.

The Mystery Mountain Range lies half in sunlight and half in shadow tonight. Clouds of grey and white cling to the mountain tops. The ragged tree topped mountain crests are without shape or form hidden in dark mist. A partial rainbow touches the valley floor and fades, blending in with transient fogs.

The calendar has said SUMMER, my view from the computer keyboard says differently. It is cold. Slipping into sandals this morning I resorted to warm socks first and a warm sweater over my jogging suit. The dogs lie dejected and flat to the covered cement patio with open eyes they join my search for warmth and sun. Alan writes from England and tells me of his rain. Friends in the Shuswap area have been evacuated from their home and the world seems in tears.

Last evening I went to visit friends and felt snug in their warm log and straw bale home. We sunk into deep leather chairs and talked. In passing hours we talked of changing times and family and of the future. Two Manx cats and their Kerry Blue Terrier, slept on warmed terracotta tile floors. Herb tea clutched in colourful heavy pottery mugs warmed our hands and helped us to talk the world to right again. The planet, Venus had finally lit the sky and beckoned to me to start my journey home. Reluctantly I left the warmth of both the peace and the love in that home.

They call it Solquesto: Search for truth or search for Soul. It certainly was a place of sanctuary. The night sky was filled with drifting cloud and the one bright planet. I drove carefully watching for the Spirit Owls whose glidepaths cross my own, as they drift in their silent search for prey. I observe their eerie flight without any beginning, nor seemingly any end. A doe and twin fawns cross cautiously in front of my slow moving vehicle. They seem to lift legs in single cautious steps and I respect their journey and halt the car. It is a darkened back road with little traffic. Tonight I am an interloper, but I watch the anxious doe guide small charges to her perceived place of safety. She turns and waggles her ears at me through dimmed headlights and I wonder if I have been thanked. They disappear through a fence and into the safety of the deep bush and I mindfully reclaim the road. Light cloud that cover the moon, breaks, and rays of brilliant prismatic colours shine on jagged opaque vapour that drifts on its wayward journey. For moments the clouds hang silver and then close to re cloak their secret treasure and I am left with a solitary Venus hanging above dark mountains. The road is a mere corridor for my convenience.

The moon is considered a feminine spirit by the native Indians. She is revered Grandmother. Briefly I had seen her soft smile over the valley. I wondered if it was the smile of amusement as she watched those below struggle against the forces of her daughter, Mother Earth. Unbaled hay lies in saturated swaths, but crops rise high with well fed vigour. Cattle, cold, but well grazed, and for now, content, chew their cud by transient moonlight. They have left the safe haven of their loafing sheds to lie beneath open sky. To me they seem merely mottled shadows placed randomly in verdant fields.

When I arrived home, to the tumultuous greetings of my Cockers, who hurl themselves at me in great accord, I kneel and embrace each one. We retire to the sofa to finish watching the night sky together, but I have left Venus on her own and face another direction. Scattering clouds expose random stars. I am warmed by small buff bodies. Had I not just driven the winding country road I would have said the valley slept. I tell the nuzzling faces of my journey and adventures and assure them the night is full of vitality and forces. We are safe and protected. On the morrow I tell them I would welcome the elusive Grandfather Sun. I will sing my Spirit Song, I will be at one, I will share my energy, Like Earth, Moon and Sun.

I have read that each of us has an hour of power. It may be the moment before sunrise, high noon or after the moon rises. This is the time we re charge our energies and learn how to face life. It is the time we claim our power and feel our strongest, our happiest and our most courageous. It is at this time we recognize and give thanks for our blessings. How wonderful to not restrict ourselves to just that one hour. High upon Sacred Mountain, With unrestricted view, The clarity of vision, comes to us anew.

In the Native American Culture, all things are considered to have a life force and are owed respect. All things represent the extension of the sacred mysteries of life. There is honour in each spiritual essence. Can we always be aware and revere the sanctity of this universe? My country celebrated its 132 birthday as a united country on July 1.The United States celebrated over two hundred years of unity (Is it 223 years?) on July 4th. We are neighbours and we are friends. There is a reliance and a reverence in that unity. May it never change!

Cora Cocker is in residence. Yes, I am on Clumber countdown. Just days away actually. My oldest son, (He is the one that is older than I am!) his wife and three children arrive next week, I haven't seen any of them for two years. Alan arrives a month from now. How much excitement and joy can a person have in their life? Take care everybody, Victoria Pitt  

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