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Quote by Tim Ray

“Nou, Stanley Donne legde ons uit dat alle godsdiensten ter wereld, occulte broederschappen, alle mystici en sjamanen, of het nu Rozenkruisers, Ridders van de Ronde Tafel, Egyptische hogepriesters, Tibetaanse boeddhistishce monniken, Zuid-Amerikaanse naguals, Indiase yogi's, Keltische druïden of discipelen van Jezus waren, allemaal hetzelfde doel nastreefden, namelijk om het bewustzijn van het individu dusdanig te vergroten en te verheffen dat hij of zij uiteindelijk tot een kosmisch bewustzijn komt en toetreedt tot hogere dimensies.”

Quote by Tim Ray

Book:De gelofte
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De gelofte

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Tim Ray

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“Leo offered his arm and Cassie took it. Sister and brother strolled aimlessly for a few moments. “Perhaps we have not suffered enough to earn happiness?” Cassie glanced up at him, relieved to note the teasing twinkle in his eye. “I should be happy to make you suffer with a well-placed kick to your backside if that’s what you wish.” Leo laughed. “I shall pass if you don’t mind. Besides, I am barely nine-and-twenty and have plenty of time left to enjoy myself before the need truly arises to settle myself with a wife.” He sobered. “You, however—” “Don’t say it, Leo,” Cassie said firmly. “Or I shall be forced to deliver that kick and a great deal more.”

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“I knew you’d know,” Mom said in a stabilizing, more confident, yet still husky voice. A smile broke across her face in the simple relief of her only remaining child not being shocked by the death of her youngest. She smiled genuinely, perhaps for the first time since cradling Dustin’s body as the fire truck alarm blared towards the house in response to her 911 call. Her son had died that morning in her arms as she tried resuscitating him with her own breath, but the first indication of her daughter’s reaction was calm. The child raised to expect death met the first moments of the news with seeming serenity.”

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“Strained Relations by Stewart Stafford Brother, you have flown from me, Too often and to that blinding maze, As capricious as the wind that blows, No visible shared blood between us. Are you not my mother's and father's son? If the fault lies with me, then tell me so, Or let the bloodied bandage fall from you, So the wound heals without reinfection. You picked prized strangers over family, More damaging self-flagellation as hubris, They let you down as parents an infant, Still, you chose a messy path of pain. The only glimmer of light in the next life, Is we two reuniting together again, brother, Or shall you flee to fellow astral travellers? A last dagger thrust in the permafrost cold? © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

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“Save for the accident of her low birth, Peg might have been a person of fashion; a vibrant beauty, painted by an academician in oils. Intending to make a quick end to it, I started mixing the lily green I had made especially from crushed flowers, hoping exactly to tint her eyes, rattling my tiny brush in the jar. Then I subjected her to my closest gaze. "Your eyes," I said, musingly. "They are a very unusual green; in different lights they reflect brown and blue. Do they perhaps reflect whatever light falls on them?" Peg replied that she couldn't say. "Do, please, sit very still." I looked very hard, then used my green with a wash of yellow ochre to tint the iris, and a ring of burnt umber. A pinprick of white titanium gave them startling life. I was happy with them; surely even Peg would admire her lively cat-like eyes.”

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