The Journey Begins.

The Journey has begun~

Life leads us forever along a journey, have you ever wondered how it is we seem to travel along our different paths, often oblivious to the whys and wherefores of our existence.

Have you never thought back to all those people you met and wondered how they came into your life? I am a great believer that people come and go throughout our lives as our pathways cross, each of us bring something to the other, even though we may never see what that is…

Nothing is ever by chance…

Looking back at my childhood years I remember little, and yet I remember much. I remember my Maths Teacher, Miss Lomas, a buxom woman who retired the year after I left School.. Miss Lomas was also my Music Teacher. Now in her maths class, I was below average, especially in mental arithmetic, ( No Calculators in my day it was long division) and all that working out I often got lost and would peer over my class-mates shoulder in the hope to find where I was going wrong.. But in my Music class I played the recorder and sang in the choir, In my last year at school age 15 I was presented with the music prize on Speech Day, it was the book of music ‘Handles Messiah’ a book which still stands with pride upon my bookshelf today.

Miss Lomas could be a really strict teacher and she scared the living daylights out of me in her maths class, as she would grumble at my results and I would strike red pen through my work as she told to correct my mistakes.. But in her Music class I sat near her piano, and she would always come to ask me to sing Middle C which I would sing in perfect tone, as I’d follow the Music from the music scripts. She taught the class to always wear a smile when we sang, but I don’t think I need to be taught, for I loved to sing and I had a permanent grin in Music Class.

We aspire to the things we love in life.

The school I went to was the Secondary Modern School for Girls, girls and boys went to different schools back in my day, it was only the Grammar Schools where they were mixed, the Grammar Schools were where you went if you passed your 11Plus exam, where the brainy kids went, this exam we sat aged 11 to determine which school we went to for the rest of our school years, needless to say I failed…

I failed I guess because I wasn’t bright at spelling or maths, But I was very good at drawing, and artwork something I took after my Dad for.. This system later got abolished, as Comprehensive schools came in later.

Where Am I going with all of this? Well it’s all about people and Language, and how they come into your life and set your path, and when I arrived at my Secondary Girls School I was shy and a bit of a loner, I wasn’t one for conversation, and didn’t easily mix. In fact, because our family were not well off, we couldn’t afford the proper uniform, something I would always be getting pointed out in assembly as I was told to go to the headmistresses office for not wearing correct uniform, as my Mother had handmade my summer dress and she thought to put a lace collar on my red gingham dress, her sewing machine couldn’t do button holes, (it wasn’t electric but a treadle machine, you older generation of ladies out their will remember some of these) So I had press studs all the way down the front of my dress.. This dress was made three sizes too big for me, and lasted me 3 yrs, as the hem and seems were let out and out. So too were my shoes, Big black ones, that were miles too big, I had cotton wool in the end of my toes, and my legs looked like Mini Mouse out of Disneyland. These too lasted me years and I jumped for joy when the soles wore out, and cried when my dad re-soled them again.

One of those childhood memories looks back with fondness at my English Teacher, Mrs Woodhouse, Now she saw in me something I think, for she would give me tasks to help her, and she saw my love of listening to the stories she would read out..She gently encouraged me to read out loud in class, as I’d turn red faces she saw how I would struggle with words that I didn’t understand and could never spell.. She introduced me to Books, she would take me to one side and take me into her library of books in her store cupboard and pick one out and say –‘take that home, no need to tell anyone else, keep it and read it and let me know what you think when you have finished’.. I would devour those books, they would transport me to a different world.. I would read and I could shut out all of the arguments in my reality, and I would devour their words as the pictures flew across my mind as the characters came to life from their pages.. I would bring them to life, as I would laugh along with them; cry their tears, as I journeyed along their life’s paths, feeling their sorrows, sharing their joys.

Language can take us on remarkable Journeys.

Language communicates our thoughts as we speak and as we write them down. Language is a tool as we weave our stories, share our information and experience, Language throughout our world holds many similarities, as different countries even hold similar words and meanings.

Words get altered in dialect, shortened, lengthened altered added to, omitted, used as slang.. Words are the means for us to communicate.. Whereby in other cultures use their stories as they pass them down verbally through generation to generation, some using pictures and paintings to help explain their past. Some calving out symbols in stone.. While others in History have decided to write and record what they have seen or been told.

Just as my teachers touched my life, I am now touching yours as you read my words, I weave my own images across your mind as I use my words to describe my events of my past history.

I may not have remembered it in accurate detail, as my memory remembers only the good bits and the bad bits,, other bits in-between have got lost. The bits I don’t want to share with you I omit, I don’t tell you.. Or I could just be making it all up and telling you a load of fiction..

You have to decide… What feels right to you?

So too we are taught in school, we are given the tools of language, and told this is Truth, we believe it because we have no cause not to believe it.. But what if some of our History was mixed up when written down, distorted, omitted, added to, and moulded…

Historians, Archaeologists, and Scientist can’t explain some of the greatest mysteries of the world.. We think that Pyramids are just in Egypt, when they are in Peru, Mexico, China, all over… In fact in China they are letting trees grow over them so no one can see them.. Pyramids have been found under the ocean..

Ancient Mysteries are the key to unfolding our Answers

It’s a little like those sailors long ago thinking they would sail off the edge of the world… With knowledge we perceive things differently.. I have always felt a little different.. apart…. something I cannot explain.. This has led me to search, I am still searching.. But I have always had an open mind.. I want those who travel along with here to open their minds, to other possibilities, Nothing is cast in stone.. History is being made every day… I am asking you to take another look with me and

Question The tools we are taught with..

© Sue Dreamwalker – 2012 All rights reserved.