Five hundred years old seeds
Ten years ago, a man raised me by sending quotes from legends about the Holy Fransiscus, which was born around 1180 and as a young man experienced a repentance and left their well -off life to take care of the sick and poor. He walked barefoot and without possessions, In order to mimic Jesus' life on earth. He and his companions became the first beggar monks. Fransiscus saw God's love embodied in the animals, nature and other people. His sermon to the birds and respect for all living have made a deep impression through the centuries. He is appointed to the Protector of the Animal. I read message and became curious, Not on the man, but on French. One day a friend I have not seen in twenty years give a lecture on the Holy Fransiscus in the All Saints Church in Stockholm and I went there.
It was the first step toward my downfall. In the church I met the destructor. In the following years he broke my brain – with good help that I was in acute sorrow after my father's death. The Wanting of the Wanting Saver was mental violence. He slung me into poverty and homelessness. From being strong and free I was long close to going under. Even I see God's love, without being a believer, in animals, nature and people and meet others with respect and listening. Since I didn't know who I had met, I also met my executioner so. He himself said "eat mud" to me when I defeated asked him for help. Eat clay. Idag, After putting it behind me and publishing the book The Wanting Subject, Is it time to write new. But in everything I write I have to find the main characters' names, it has to swirl to.
One day a name flew into the tank and I googled to see if it could grow in the creator soil. An artist was named. LOKE I looked through her work as suddenly a picture burned to.
It imagined seeds falling out of one hand.
I wrote to her. We immediately got in touch. The inspiration for the picture came from the fact that during excavations of an old monastery that had been leveled with the ground five hundred years ago had found some seeds. The herb gardens were the holiest place next to the church room and the monastery gardens were filled with herbs used as medicinal plants. They found the seeds were five hundred years old. One tried to put them, they sprouted and out of them grew new herbs, kraftfulla, obvious.
When I got to know it it burned again in the heart. In the magical way that happens sometimes the picture had come in my way, to my unloaded now, where I ended up after the journey in and out of hell and I needed it. I saved, I bought it.
The seeds that fall out of hand, have been deep in clay. The chance to get light again was minimal. Yet the power was naturally preserved in them, the power to grow again and enter into life. They are not in mud anymore.
Soon they fall in good Mylla. Soon they get light and water.
So what was the name I googled on? Fransisca.
