This is a story that has, over the course of the last 18 months, slowly come through my hands on to the keyboard. A story that has a life of its own. I'm writing it, but I'm not writing it. A surreal experience as it heads into spaces I never imagined or even thought to share. It has been and continued to be, like the channeling, an inspiration and a joy that has stimulated my senses as I it reveals itself as I type it. It is an honor to be the vessel for this creation. Like all creations it wants to be shared with the world. So instead of waiting for a finished product I have decided to share my process posting everyday until it is finished and share it virtually unedited. I have no idea where this is going though I am excited to, along with those that choose to follow it, find out. I believe when stories write themselves it can only come from the heart. From God. The bliss is the opportunity to experience that energy and its life force as it unfolds through us almost effortlessly. In my experience it is in that space that we discover the most play, the most pleasure and the most magic. It is currently untitled.
This is perhaps my 10th time writing it. I will catch all of you up on what has come through so far eventually coming back to real time. It has already been taking me to unknown lands through endless play, mystery, and magic while riding the tethers of sensuality, time, space and love. Perhaps it's greatest gift is that it has inspired me to create again. To share again. To feel alive again. A sense of excitement that I thought was gone yet the flame of inspiration and creation can never be extinguished. Only temporarily dimmed as we embark on our journey to write, create and live great love stories. Enjoy.
A STORY IN TIME (Day 1)
The endowment was large. Her family was affluent and had a long history in the area spanning back hundreds of years. Though what made her disappearance that much more unsettling, yet unsurprising given the family’s past, was how she disappeared.
The most famous member of the family was a young beautiful woman named Isadora. She lived in a time when things were unpredictable and frightening, but what that really meant is mysterious and misunderstood. What happened long ago had once again cast shadows and mirrors on the house that sat nestled in the middle of this timeless town.
The large iron gate that surrounds the lush four-acre property stands quietly yet penetratingly deep in the ground covered in vines that intricately wrap, straddle and weave on and around the unshakable metal. What was unclear was if the gate was here to keep people out or to keep something in
or perhaps something else.
Was there something more.
Maybe they just wanted people to write stories. An easy thing to do in a town called Salem.
Ever since that time, less and less has been known about the Leuruna family. Understandably guarded and private yet congenial, gracious and gregarious with their presence, money and social graces. A cog in society, they were deeply respected yet a mystery. They were known for making everything about everyone else in the most caring and authentic way. People formed their own stories not because anything happened as much as because of the quiet. Because when it’s quiet stories can be heard and crafted feeding into a frenzy of juicy storytelling and imagination.
Originally built in 1684, it was one of the few homes and more suspiciously, the only one in the area that stood unscathed after the great Salem fire of 1914. Just another log on the fire feeding the flames of curiosity. Mystery, the act of not knowing, can cause more tension and fear then knowing, but it also creates more excitement and creative thinking. The family enjoyed the stories they would often hear in the form of whispers around town about their supposed dark magical, at times deeply sexual and even multidimensional presence. From one perspective they were all correct, but they didn’t know how right they were or how much further they would have to go to know the truth.
Even today, its original structure still exists now nestled in the heart of the property. Extensive wings have since been built on various sides reflecting different eras of architectural history. With attention to great detail, each extended limb carefully and creatively transitioning into another. The house was an intricate and dynamic work of art, symbolism and history.
To understand how we got here we would have to go back in time. To Isadora.