Rebecca Clarkson
Bio
interests: sociology, philosophy: psychotherapy: anthropology, astrology, astronomy, history, geography, spirituality, theology, nature, beauty, photography, art, music, creating, writing, researching and FEELING IT ALL!
Stories (12/0)
A MARIGOLD, I PRAY TO BE.
“What you say about the dead make sure you say about the living”, the man at the podium spoke loud and clear. “You know, you say love is love, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they are all just words”, he continued. Nesim looked around, the whole place had their heads bowed, tears streaming down their face, he did not know any of them, yet his heart was being torn from his chest. The man continued “Life does not wait for the dead to arrive, and you my friends should be no different, tomorrow is a new day and there are no yesterdays, just some other day, a long-time ago we shared in this journey of life”.
By Rebecca Clarkson3 years ago in Fiction
The Hidden Secrets and Metatron's Gift!
"Come Harmonia", Beckha ushered as the white crested sea eagle, flew above her. She noticed Harmonia held a suspicious package wrapped in brown paper in the grip of his talons. Beckha was out in her garden, communing and singing with her adornment of trees, flowers, and birds on that sunny yet fresh morning when Harmonia appeared. It was the light breeze that came up and brushed past her when she looked up and saw Harmonia approaching. In her garden, Beckha knew there was nothing more beautiful than her own creation of heaven, here a place where she could just lay in the arms of nature and everything she touched, smelt, tasted and felt was blissful beauty and whispers of The Beloved’s love. She delighted in orgasmic wonder as Harmonia circled and circled, each circle like the gentle caress of The Beloved’s hand across her beckoning body. Beckha watched as Harmonia descended toward her, their eyes gazing deep, Harmonia seeming determined, like Beckha was his next prey. However, Beckha knew Isaiah 40:28-31, and there were many rooms in my father’s house, to which Beckha lived now, all from the safety of her heart; she knew she was safe as Harmonia got closer and closer. Beckha smiled as Harmonia swerved just missing her, as he gracefully swooped to the side. The suspicious package dropping right before her feet. Beckha then laughed, "I've missed you Harmonia". Harmonia was Beckha's ally and messenger of the higher realms, however this suspicious package wrapped in brown paper, were not usually how messages arrived.
By Rebecca Clarkson3 years ago in Fiction
Sweet tasting fire.
“Ever finger a piece a chocolate cake with your fork”, she whispered to the fire. Beckha watched as the flames danced, creating faces, people and animals and all sorts of magic, the flames almost seducing her like a lover. Like seduction, it can be a daily practice playing with fire or it can be a devotion like Agnihotra at the exact time of sunset or sunrise. Fire, no matter in play or devotion is a beautiful element, both ferocious and mystical. Alluring yet fearing. A bushfire can destroy many lives, many homes, many existences and yet bring forth the moment of rebirth and the sweetest regeneration to the earth. Even the smaller fires, the one which Beckha watched holds an ancient wisdom that beckons her intently. “You know like you finger the cake because you feel so wistful, you just watch the fork go round and round and round” she continued, streams of tears falling down her delicate face. The Wheel of Samsara. The breeze blew softly as if to agree. Beckha nodded in acknowledgement and ran through the tears with her finger, making a diamond shape across her face.
By Rebecca Clarkson3 years ago in Fiction
Dystopia
I AM BECKHA, INTERGALTIC ANGEL OF TRUTH, I transmit this message from Galactic Council and the Akashic records under the protection of Archangel Michael and his army of angels by the power of three (mind, body, spirit), with unconditional love for the highest good and heart of all beings, with my free will.
By Rebecca Clarkson3 years ago in Fiction
I AM YOUR LOVER
I am the One, the one, that you feel to the depth of your toes, the one that awakens your heart, you feel me in every breath you take. You hold me deep in your warm embrace. Our bodies dance together, like the beauty of the ocean in the light of a deep red full moon. The ease and grace in my words will break your heart into beauty of what I see in you. I will hold your hand in darkness and dance with you to the light. I will laugh with the craziness and celebrate all that is you. I will see your darkness as a pain in your heart, but I will not make it mine. I Am. I Am. I Am. I am your lover, I encompass it all, great and small, in that moment our bodies unite, in fire, an intertwining flame of wonder. I am in you and you are in me. The fire burns intenstly bright, rising like a Phoenix in the night. Together the flames touch the sky, burning down to ashes where there is no you and there is no me, just in this moment as life should be. .
By Rebecca Clarkson3 years ago in Futurism
Divine Love
Boom! Boom! Boom! The onomatopoeic sound filled the room, Beckha’s eyes opening slightly whilst her ears adjusted to the echoic noise as she woke. She inhaled deeply, she could smell the mix of lavender and frankincense, that she often had diffusing throughout her bedroom. The gentle smell satisfying Beckha’s nostrils as she drifted into the sensuality of life. Her white silk sheets softly covering her naked body, she felt their love as she playfully rolled from side to side. She giggled and enjoyed the sensual caressing of their silky lustre across her buttocks, she rolled to play a little more, as her smooth skin and the silk collide in sensual wonder. Beckha wondered if that was what spiders felt like with their butts full of silk. Is that what they did when they ran their little legs together as the spun their webs. She stopped mid roll to gaze upon her chairs. As antiques go, the two green velvet chairs each side of the bay window were her favourite pieces. They were the only thing Beckha stayed attached to; everything and everyone else, long gone. She traced each leg with her eyes, caressing the carved wood like a lover in waiting, she knew how they felt, and they always held her beautifully. Beckha pretended sometimes that she was the craftsman, creating such splendour with her decorous hands; how she loved those chairs. Her morning ritual: think of all the beauty she has seen and fill her existence with it, she was always happy, happy all the time, unless of course, if she wasn’t.
By Rebecca Clarkson3 years ago in Fiction
