"I pray the Angels are watching over you...keeping you safe and making you happy. This is something I used to hear my Grandma say more times than not when it came to neighbors who were going through a hard time or a child who always seemed to be unhappy. There were even a few times that it was directed at me. Looking back I can see why." This was the beginning of yesterday's session.

Today I spent the day within my memories of my Grandma's attic. I felt like that little girl who was so tired of hurting. Grandma's attic has called to me bringing back vivid memories. Come with me... into my memories...


into Grandma's attic....share these memories with me....

"The roof is peaked high in the middle. There is a double bed with an antique quilt on it when you first go up the stairs. I always loved to curl up there and read. My sanctuary...no one hurt me there. Straight past the bed by the window on the right are three secretary bookcases filled full of books. Poetry, short stories, cook books...all kinds. Let's see which one calls to me this morning. How about Blake. He was always one of my favorites...him and Poe. The Raven was my all time favorite. Here is one of Blake's that I used to read as a child. Morbid...yes...but oh so fitting as I had grown up. Never free...always crying...never allowed to simply be a child...never allowed to find joy in life and openly share it with the world....except for in Grandma's attic. My safe haven...my world where I could live as who I am without being crucified. Come spend some time in Grandma's attic with me....come see where God set me free."


The Garden of Love

I laid me down upon a bank,
Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank
Weeping, weeping.

Then I went to the heath and the wild,
To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguiled,
Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut
And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

William Blake