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A Piece of the Story – from Book 2

March 17, 2013

A New Tale – Old Flow. Like spokes jutting out from a wheel of life starting to turn haphazardly. A new yet older type of spiritual path-work set in.  Not from any union of men but from a few motivations lower.  A man wandered by a brook counting toadstools along the way. Strolling through the grass he motioned to a rock, “may I sit?” The rock replied “of course you may, why would you ask?  I am only a rock but since you did I will allow you to.  You say…”  the rock continued.  A rain soaked path and trees dark dark and bare were like silhouettes on the landscape.  Clouds overhead now blocked the sun, a cool breeze enamored none.  Branches began to sway in the northern wind.  No gateway parted here to a hemisphere unknown to man, for the north in the spirit-world has nothing to do with land and it bends un-sweetly to suffer not the minds of man for none go there. But nearer by that north wind thought to shatter hope forthcoming.

That Man’s ears began to ring with a peripatetic brook now babbling.  Looking out at mid-stream song he began to sway.  Never-conscious loses hope as many a year swept by.  He sat and fumed with bitterness his path.  Missing the shadow creeping near he uttered a curse contaminating the past.  No fame for Caeli that butter tart!  He completed his Hex.  Then he began to snarl instantly, his very soul changing  with the curse he uttered.  A scepter nearby froze mid-stream waters, what was that?  Who is near?  Fear he played with that day.

Hills in the distance began to fade replaced now by a row of heads with pointed ears but he did not see those, did he.  That Man’s mind now went forward like the shadows of the trees he had spoke to in whispering winds.  Margins’ err tiding him he opened his sack.  Gathering toadstools he changed them that day by Hex.  Then he walked backward step by step as the emotive stares now in his sack began to whisper.  Keeping time with steps those hideous toadstools now were speaking.

Crashing sounds in mid-stream air waves, the leaves on the ground began to move upward in a backward motion circling nature’s current in reverse.  Red Riding Hood approached him – really it was a ghost resembling a Maid beneath the cloak.  “Why walk backwards?” she asked.  “It’s the only way out of the wood,” he lied.  “Why don’t you show me which way you came,” he spoke to the hood.  “You tell me,” she replied.  Walking backward the man and a Shadow margined the wood.  Striving for bitter harmony he left with echoes.

God ever mindful watched this man exit the forest.  Which way was next?  How would this play cast with that Hex?  Just HOW?! Shouted the woods, or was it the toadstools?

 An opening now to a future not his own and slightly changed however.  A path to the medieval times, a different period altogether than Caeli’s past.  How’d he do that?  His shadow helping as the man wandered through thickets of time.  Oh what a fool.  So there was magic in the air…magic had a story of it’s own.  

This is an example of the use of analogy to introduce the concept of how past-lives cannot influence the present one. That magic can influence the perceptions of the practitioner. And for one who seeks to control the future of someone else beware of toadstools, or Heaven for that matter – whichever wrath you fear the most.  For this Writer the future’s just begun and I can’t wait.

L.A. Lachapelle

Small Tales and Visits to Heaven 2 – Book 3 in the writing with new tales.



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  1. Andrea permalink

    Your books are enjoyable to read and I am looking forward to the next book to be released.

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