Browse Free Spiritual Event Listings For: Keith Beasley https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/tag/keith-beasley/ Free Tue, 10 Jan 2023 19:03:22 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.4.2 https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/12/cropped-fsge-logo-32x32.png Browse Free Spiritual Event Listings For: Keith Beasley https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/tag/keith-beasley/ 32 32 The Naturist Nuns – Spiritual Story by Keith Beasley https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/naturist-nuns-spiritual-story-keith-beasley/ Sun, 25 Jul 2021 15:50:28 +0000 https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/?p=13920 It was a cold February morning when they first met and the solar powered central heating had not yet been commissioned. The refectory looked like that at any other abbey, except that the sisters each wore habits of different denominations; from their original orders. The long wooden tables and benches held the remains of their first meal together. It had been simple but healthy: only empty bowls and platters were left. The reporter from Health & Efficiency looked up to the Mother Superior as she began her speech of introduction. This assignment certainly made a change from the usual reporting of the latest naturist club or clothes optional holiday! “Welcome to Laylum Abbey. It's a pleasure to see so many of you here. Perhaps your old orders were glad to see the backs of you…” she paused to let the laughter die down. Sister Susan bit her bottom lip and chuckled. The H&E photographer managed to capture the rising and falling of her shoulders as she remembered the dressing downs she been given by her previous Mother Superior: “Sister Susan, how many times must I remind you. Sex is a sin. We have taken vows of chastity and purity.” “Yes, reverent Mother” she'd sighed. The simplicity of the live she'd taken to, the regular praying, the hard physical work in the garden, even the lack of male company, but every so often she needed touch. She needed to express that part of her that was most definitely female. It didn't seem natural to deny these feelings. Susan shook her head to clear the memories and to concentrate once again on the head of the new order: “We here are real women” She paused again, this time for cheers. “We acknowledge that God has given us breasts. We acknowledge that our...

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It was a cold February morning when they first met and the solar powered central heating had not yet been commissioned. The refectory looked like that at any other abbey, except that the sisters each wore habits of different denominations; from their original orders. The long wooden tables and benches held the remains of their first meal together. It had been simple but healthy: only empty bowls and platters were left.

The reporter from Health & Efficiency looked up to the Mother Superior as she began her speech of introduction. This assignment certainly made a change from the usual reporting of the latest naturist club or clothes optional holiday!

“Welcome to Laylum Abbey. It's a pleasure to see so many of you here. Perhaps your old orders were glad to see the backs of you…” she paused to let the laughter die down.

Sister Susan bit her bottom lip and chuckled. The H&E photographer managed to capture the rising and falling of her shoulders as she remembered the dressing downs she been given by her previous Mother Superior:

“Sister Susan, how many times must I remind you. Sex is a sin. We have taken vows of chastity and purity.”

“Yes, reverent Mother” she'd sighed. The simplicity of the live she'd taken to, the regular praying, the hard physical work in the garden, even the lack of male company, but every so often she needed touch. She needed to express that part of her that was most definitely female. It didn't seem natural to deny these feelings.

Susan shook her head to clear the memories and to concentrate once again on the head of the new order:

“We here are real women” She paused again, this time for cheers. “We acknowledge that God has given us breasts. We acknowledge that our sensuality is part of our being. To deny it is as much of a sin as to deny the beauty of the flowers and trees.” She looked around to see all the smiling faces and vibrant individuals. It was not her intention to build an order of closeted clones. These ladies must be allowed to live fully, to know their true being. Her eyes moved to the bemused reporter and brought her back down to earth.

“We have one major hurdle to over-come” she went on, her face becoming serious: “We are going to be misunderstood. We are going to be accused of holding full-time orgies, we are going to be threatened, propositioned and ridiculed. We must give the outside observers no cause for such accusations. We must show, by words and actions that we are not nymphomaniacs . . . we are naturists.” She looked amongst her flock to get a feeling for how this had gone down. Most of the women sat at the benches were thoughtful. Sister Fiona, she noticed, sniggered; she made a mental note to keep an eye on her.

As the weather warmed up, habits were shed and the sisters wore as much, or as little, as they needed to feel comfortable. Those on duty in the wash-room were well pleased. Maybe a few more towels to see to, but their work load was well down. As the days got brighter and the sun hotter, many sisters went back to wearing their head gear – they made very good sun-shades!

Wendy, the H&E lady, came back regularly to see how they were getting on and to provide a regular feature for her magazine. At first she'd not taken them seriously, agreeing with the sceptics that it wouldn't last, that it would only be a matter of time before some scandal would force this ‘experiment' to close. When she first saw the nuns wearing their wimples, but nothing else, she just stood and gaped. All her years reporting on naturist from Norway to Norfolk had not prepared her for this. There was such a feeling of natural energy that emanated from them. It was not the innocence that she saw in child naturists on the beeches, it was more than that. Besides, these ladies were no innocents. Many knew more positions from the Kama Sutra than she did . . and that was saying something. They were naked and yet they were respectable; just not into ‘that sort of thing'.

She had thought that most of the naturist she met in clubs were natural and above the sleaze, but here it was at another level. She was pondering the difference as the Mother Superior joined here. She looked deep into Wendy's eyes: “Does it appeal to you?”

Wendy stared into the warm, welcoming, face and felt drawn by the sheer love that she saw there. She nodded. Only after five minutes of this did Wendy notice that this religious leader was naked . . except for a pair of sandals which she'd put on for gardening in. Wendy watched spellbound as the reverend mother picked up a basket and seemed to float onto the vegetable patch. Peacefully and with respect, she picked the runner beans that would form part of their evening meal.

Close to the abbey building a shower (solar heated of course) had been installed. As Wendy watched, Sisters Susan and Fiona returned from their task of mucking out the various animals, their bodies splattered with muck of one
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sort or another. The shower was turned on and they let the warm water flow over them. Susan passed a bar of home made soap to her co-worker “Do my back will you?” Fiona took the soap and worked up a good lather on her hands and applied it to the back of the other girl: first briskly, to remove the sweat and grime, then more gently. As the movements of her hands became caresses Susan turned round and gave a deep satisfied sigh as her sensitive skin received a loving massage. Smiling serenely she took the soap back and returned the compliment.

Again Wendy stood open mouthed. Here, in the garden of a nunnery! The reverent mother glided over and slowly shook her head, smiling “Can you think of a better way of loving each other?”

It was Wendy's turn to shake her head. She watched as Susan and Fiona disappeared into the sleeping quarter together, almost dancing in their joy.

“We wont see much more of them tonight” the Mother remarked, smiling at Wendy again.

Wendy looked around for other signs of such sexual exuberance but saw only nuns working away in the gardens, some singing quietly to themselves, others taking a few minutes rest under the apple trees.

“It's knowing how to keep it in perspective, that's the key” her guide explained. “I was worried about Fiona, but Susan's taken care of her. Helped her to put her love into everything she does. She used to be a prostitute you know. She gave her love the only way she knew. Then she had a bad experience with a client and joined a convent in Shropshire to try to forget it all – never did quite fit in there. But look at her now!”

Looking around Wendy saw other nuns busy and happy in their respective activities. They didn't consider them chores. Besides the gardening, cooking and laundry, a number worked in, and for, the visitors centre, that they ran: partly to help with the running costs, but also to help spread their particular message about God and nature.

Each day they opened a different part of the abbey up to the visitors, careful not to over expose any particular sister. There was no rule about dress on open days, it was up to each nun to decide for themselves. The public knew what to expect. Few of the sisters took much notice of the open mouthed visitors. The avowed ladies carried on with the weaving and painting, smiling, laughing and talking to those who wanted to

At first there had been problems. Youths coming to ogle. But the sisters merely looked the young boys in the eyes. Few continued their cat-calls after that. To one or two of the persistent voyeurs an invitation was offered “Strip off and join us”.

“Better to have converts” the Mother Superior had argued … but most of the lads had run away never to be seen again.

Wendy had done them proud with tasteful photos and a very positive series in the naturist press. She'd done quite well out of it, selling her story to the national weekend magazines. It wasn't long before the Sport and Sun were poking around trying to find an angle for their ‘readers.' The sisters took it all in their stride, smiling sweetly at the cameras. They knew that by sticking to natural poses, that they would come across as open people, not as sex objects. They were above board … the gutter press soon lost interest.

As with many religious orders they relied on the skills of their members as painters, and potters. They sold photos and poems, and any spare produce. And they also ran workshops and offered counselling. Gradually they expanded their holistic services to include massage and herbal remedies, relaxation techniques and so on. Their reputation for bringing their visitors back from near breakdown to full health was growing. Professionals from all walks of life came and experienced, first hand, true naturism. Not only the physical freedom of feeling the sun and wind on a naked body, but the mental freedom from expectations. Back into conventional medicine, engineering, even politics, went rejuvenated men and women. Individuals changed for good by their brief stay at Laylum Abbey. In the past they, like their colleagues, would have got angry and frustrated over trivia, now they just remembered the sparkle in the eyes of the naturist sisters. Whatever the provocation, the response was the same … a warm smile.

Over lunch Wendy finally blurted out the questions that had been building up inside: “How? Why is it working so well?”

The Mother Superior laid her hand gently on Wendy's arm and smiled at her. “It's taken a long time. A lot of hard work. By all of us”. Wendy was still looking puzzled, so she went on “These eyes” she gave Wendy a sample of their brightness and sincerity “are windows from the souls. We have all been around on this world, and others. We have seen suffering, we have suffered. We have experienced desire … and the pain of loss. We have learnt that as everything is important, so nothing is that important. We live to love others, to share our knowledge. To help others to see the beauty in all things.”

Wendy felt the weight of the world lift from her shoulders and she cried. Tear of relief, of freedom, flowed freely. Her new friend gave her a long reassuring hug. She searched around for something on which to dry Wendy's cheeks:

“That's the one problem with going naturist” she said “There's nowhere to put a hankie!”

If you liked this story, you'll love this! We've compiled a list of the top 10 spiritual stories that our readers love. You can read them here.

This spiritual short story written by Keith Beasley shows how beautiful life becomes when we are are true to our selves, and that as we become one with that inner-most self, those who observe us become more respectful while expanding their own boundaries, and sometimes even thier expanding their consciousness. If you enjoyed this spiritual short story, then you might also like the book The Fifth Sacred Thing.

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Returning Home – A Spiritual Story by Keith Beasley https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/returning-home-spiritual-story-keith-beasley/ Sat, 03 Jul 2021 05:08:19 +0000 https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/?p=13753 The year was 2012… a period long predicted as a time of significant and positive change. The Mayans, many centuries before for example, in their much respected South American civilisation, had known that 2012 (in our western calendar) would correspond to the end of a long painful period of change. In 2012 a new world order would finally be in place, they said. The aging man smiled peacefully, from deep within, as he took his seat on the rostrum. For the sake of tradition and effect he'd agreed to use the traditional ‘throne' although he knew it was no longer necessary as the symbol it once was. All over the world families chose the Global Peace Channel and were able to see, hear and sense the event, as it happened. Thousands of millions more merely sensed that a small, but significant piece of the jig-saw puzzle of the new order was now firmly in place. The date was the 12th of December… the 12th day of the 12th month of the 12th year of the 3rd millennium. A few months earlier the Dalai Lama had made his way quietly and without fuss back from his exile of over sixty years to his homeland… Tibet. His country, the land of which he was spiritual and cultural ‘leader' was finally restored to an independent country… just at the time when the super-powers, India, China, Europe and America had all finally put their hearts and money where their voices had previously been: in the United Nations and the theory of ‘one world'. It had been a long, slow, change… for the world and it's people. The Dalai Lama reflected on his years in exile and his own lessons as he'd taught… and learnt how to live as a Buddha in human form. Tears...

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The year was 2012… a period long predicted as a time of significant and positive change. The Mayans, many centuries before for example, in their much respected South American civilisation, had known that 2012 (in our western calendar) would correspond to the end of a long painful period of change. In 2012 a new world order would finally be in place, they said.

The aging man smiled peacefully, from deep within, as he took his seat on the rostrum. For the sake of tradition and effect he'd agreed to use the traditional ‘throne' although he knew it was no longer necessary as the symbol it once was.

All over the world families chose the Global Peace Channel and were able to see, hear and sense the event, as it happened. Thousands of millions more merely sensed that a small, but significant piece of the jig-saw puzzle of the new order was now firmly in place.

The date was the 12th of December… the 12th day of the 12th month of the 12th year of the 3rd millennium. A few months earlier the Dalai Lama had made his way quietly and without fuss back from his exile of over sixty years to his homeland… Tibet. His country, the land of which he was spiritual and cultural ‘leader' was finally restored to an independent country… just at the time when the super-powers, India, China, Europe and America had all finally put their hearts and money where their voices had previously been: in the United Nations and the theory of ‘one world'. It had been a long, slow, change… for the world and it's people.

The Dalai Lama reflected on his years in exile and his own lessons as he'd taught… and learnt how to live as a Buddha in human form. Tears came to his eyes as he prepared to speak. He knew that all those years of acceptance and experiencing of pain had been worthwhile. As the tears flowed he held his hands in prayer and bowed. Knowing that the eyes of the world were on him merely enabled the relief and joy to flow even more freely.

He raised his distinguished head and looked around… both proudly and with the deep humility that had marked him as one of THE great inspirations of the late 20th and early 21st century. Throughout the world all those tuned into him, in whatever way, felt he was looking at them, individually. He was. So too was he speaking to them directly. Yet no words were said. The enlightening process that he and so many other had been pursuing on the preceding decades now made words unnecessary. He and they knew they could never describe the joy and peace and sense of one-ness that so many humans now shared. His enthronement was just one small symbol of the now complete change.

Back at the turn of the century such times were but a hope. But at least then the Chinese were allowing visitors into Tibet. True, their intent was to bring in the pound and dollar to pay for their ‘standard of life' changes in the huge country. China was becoming westernised and those in power exposed to so many influences. The tide of one-ness had passed it's point of no return. There would be many changes, at all levels. Materialism and globalism still had a way to go before they burnt themselves out, but deep in the hearts of many, even then, was a new way growing and developing. Whether working to Free Tibet or find true freedom in individual minds, the critical steps had been taken. Day by day the light was dawning. The journey home was well underway.

This spiritual short story written by Keith Beasley shows how beautiful life becomes when we are are true to our selves, and that as we become one with that inner-most self, those who observe us become more respectful while expanding their own boundaries, and sometimes even they're expanding their consciousness.

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Final Set: Wimbledon 2012 https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/spiritual-short-story-560-final-set-wimbledon-2012/ https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/spiritual-short-story-560-final-set-wimbledon-2012/#respond Sat, 18 Feb 2017 18:47:28 +0000 http://www.spiritual-short-stories.com/spiritual-short-story-560-final-set-wimbledon-2012/ "Nine games all, final set".

As Rodderer and Feddic made their way to their respective chairs their paths crossed at the net. As they got closer to each other their pace slowed and they looked at each other keenly. They stopped. The packed Centre Court crowd went quiet, suspecting a subtle psyching out of the combatants, not wanting to miss a thing. They were not disappointed. Surprised yes, shocked even, but not disappointed by the drama of what happened next . . .

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“Nine games all, final set”.

As Rodderer and Feddic made their way to their respective chairs their paths crossed at the net. As they got closer to each other their pace slowed and they looked at each other keenly. They stopped. The packed Centre Court crowd went quiet, suspecting a subtle psyching out of the combatants, not wanting to miss a thing. They were not disappointed. Surprised yes, shocked even, but not disappointed by the drama of what happened next . . .

The final two contenders for the greatest tennis prize of them all seemed to be grinning slightly . . . at each other. They then nodded wisely and offered a hand to the other, shaking it warmly. Before the stunned crowd could utter even a gasp of astonishment the two men, racquets dropped to the ground, were in a firm hug of such mutual respect and admiration that the audience were still too moved to react. Even John McEnroe in the BBC commentators box was at a loss for words.

It was, or at least seemed like, some minutes before any sound could be heard from the hushed grounds of London, SW19. Then, slowly at first, a warm, appreciative, applause began from one corner of the stands. The sound expanded in depth and breadth until the whole arena was resonating in a thunder of thanks. The players responded by holding each others hands aloft in a shared victory salute.

The next to move was the umpire. Quickly descending from his chair he rushed to meet the match referee who was dashing purposefully around the baseline. They gesticulated to each other then nodded, careful not to let slip any words the net mics might pick up. Ascended back into his position the umpire cleared his throat into his microphone:

“Ladies and gentlemen. Please.”

Reluctantly the noise of the throng died down and they waited with baited breath for the official verdict.

“Set, match and championship tied. The 2012 Wimbledon Mens Champions are Rodderer and Feddic”

The two players once again held each others arms aloft and smiled, as much with relief. At last the world of sport had been able to admit: there CAN be more than one winner.

This spiritual short story written by Keith Beasley shows how beautiful life becomes when we are are true to our selves, and that as we become one with that inner-most self, those who observe us become more respectful while expanding their own boundaries, and sometimes even thier expanding their consciousness. If you enjoyed this spiritual short story, then you might also like the book The Fifth Sacred Thing.

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And The Lion Shall Lie Down With The Lamb – Spiritual Story by Keith Beasley https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/lion-lamb-spiritual-story-keith-beasley/ https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/lion-lamb-spiritual-story-keith-beasley/#respond Sat, 18 Feb 2017 18:46:34 +0000 http://www.spiritual-short-stories.com/spiritual-short-story-281-and-the-lion-shall-lie-down-with-the-lamb/ "Baeaa". Clem's bleating was pretty much like that of any new born lamb. He too wanted his mothers milk. And, like generations of sheep before him, once fed Clem would go gambolling around the field... full of the joys of spring. He was the 'new life', the miracle of birth, the sign of a new time of joy and hope.

Unlike the play of his parents and grandparents before him however, Clem's skipping and jumping was...

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“Baeaa”. Clem's bleating was pretty much like that of any new born lamb. He too wanted his mothers milk. And, like generations of sheep before him, once fed Clem would go gambolling around the field… full of the joys of spring. He was the ‘new life', the miracle of birth, the sign of a new time of joy and hope.

Unlike the play of his parents and grandparents before him however, Clem's skipping and jumping was a bit more purposeful. Yeah, he was enjoying himself, finding out what his legs could do, bouncing around like any bundle of energy just released into the world. The difference was that Clem knew all this.

As he grew and developed Clem was always the first to the gate or pen when Shep the dog or Farmer Trelawny, on his strange roaring, rolling, shiny, ‘quad' came to round up the flock. He soon knew what other animals lived in the surrounding fields… and knew to be wary of the ‘big quads' that sped along the hard black tracks alongside the fields.

One day Clem, leading the flock to the food trough as usual, saw that Farmer Trelawny wasn't alone. With him was a shorter, slighter, human – who smiled and laughed. They seemed very close these two humans. He called her ‘Janice' and she called him “Dad”… as she helped her father with their straw and feed. After a few days of this, Janice noticed Clem too:

“How come this one's always out in front?” she asked her father.

“Beats me. He seems well, just more intelligent than the others”

Janice stroked Clem on the back. Mmm that was nice! Maybe there was more to these humans than feed when the grass stopped growing!

Cleo was listening. Listening hard but contentedly to her Aunt's stories. As always fascinating… full of intrigue and action. Often they seemed, at first, to make no sense… but then, these were true tales… about humans… and if Cleo had learned anything in her first few months it was that human beings were strange creatures. Sure, like her own feline species, they'd fight to control territory and to get the best mate… but they did so with strange sticks that spat fire… or they'd snarl and roar, in their own way, at those they were in dispute with.

Not that different she supposed… except that once her father had won or lost a fight, that was it. Honour satisfied… he'd get back to hunting and enjoying the feast afterwards! This humans, by contrast, never seemed to stop snarling at each other. Cleo made up her mind to learn from these upright animals… life was too short to spend it arguing!

Her aunt had satisfied her thirst from the nearby pool and restarted her latest tale of African mystery: she told of their fellow rulers in the land of scrub – the towering, the wise, elephants. Long ago they'd begun to suffer at the hands of the humans: nobody quite understood why, but the uprights seemed to want the tusks of the massive grey beasts… and they did all sorts of barbarous things to get them. As with many stories about man, it seemed to make no sense to little Cleo… but she was beginning to understand her aunt's message… that there was no point getting annoyed by it all. It's just the way things were. All would be well… in time.

And so the centuries went by and young elephants too heard the story of how their parents had been killed at the hands of the uprights. Deep within they knew that so long as they had ivory in their heads they'd be prey. It was time to change. Tusks became shorter: no longer a sign of ‘the fittest' but of the one most likely to be shot. It took many generations, but the elephants that Cleo saw around her were tuskless… and allowed to roam the plains, without attack from men. Cleo smiled at her aunt and snuggled up against her to sleep. This world did make sense after all!

As she grew and developed, Cleo noticed that it wasn't just men who came with their shooting sticks: a softer sort of human also visited their lairs and savannahs… and they came in hard, shiny things that seemed to roll along the ground… yet could move as fast as their cousins the cheetahs. She noticed that they'd point strange objects at them that would glint in the sun… and that if they happened to see her, Cleo, as they did this they'd smile and sometimes cheer.

This, thought Cleo, was a different side to mankind. She watched and listened, taking it all in. Soon she learnt that she could really make these new ‘light' hunters happy by getting closer to them. She found that they'd stop and watch her for hours if she'd lie and preen herself… and it all felt so safe!

Over the next few days Clem and Janice got to know each other. They may have been different species, with very different day-to-day lives, but both felt an affinity for the other… a deep connection and understanding than transcended labels. Farmer Trelawny would turn around to see his daughter knelt next to his ‘wiser than usual' sheep… as if talking to it. He shook his head and smiled bemusedly… it wasn't the first time his special daughter had done strange things!

And then one day Janice gave Clem an extra long and intense hug. He'd heard her and her dad talk about a ‘safari' – whatever one of those was – but knew she wouldn't be around for a while. Oh well, the attention was nice whilst it lasted.

The Landrover lurched forward through the tufts and mounds of the savannah. Janice held on tight to the roof opening. It was all rather different from the Yorkshire dales she was used to! Or was it? Some of the animals seemed… well, to know her! She'd expected that ‘wild animals' would somehow be different from those on her dads farm, but saw the same sort of grazing behaviour amongst these various breeds of deer as in the Frisians back home… and a mother lion has the same concerns as a mother sheep! The thoughts took her mind back to Clem. She smiled as their vehicle came to a halt and her guide pointed 30 yards ahead of them.

Talk of parental concern! A lioness lay with her two quite large cubs. The lions looked at the humans… and the humans looked at the lions. The larger of the two cubs seemed to not just look at Janice but into her. A tingle ran up her spine and she had to swallow hard to keep her heart from her throat.

“Almost human, that one” volunteered the guide, seeing her fascination. But Janice didn't hear him. She'd got out of the 4 wheel drive and was walking calmly towards the small family group of lions. They didn't stir; the mother licking behind the ears of her 2nd cub. Cleo edged away from the couple, slowly standing… all the time facing Janice. She was aware of a hand waving in front of her face. The guide cleared his throat and smiled broadly: “Time for some elephants?” They moved on.

It was a few years later. Janice was well into her veterinary training and deciding which research project to join. She was spending a few days on the family farm whilst she collected her thoughts: would she join the genetic research team, helping the development of Dolly into the perfect sheep? As she approached the gate to the top field she spied a familiar woolly mass… and cringed. How could she even consider such a job! Here was Clem… how much more perfect could any animal be?!

As she stepped over the gate and started walking towards the now impressive ram, so Clem started towards her. Her mind flashed back to the safari and her walk towards Cleo… yes! here she was again. They reached each other and Cleo let the young vet stroke her.
“Baeaa”. Clem brought her back to the Yorkshire Dales, and she found her hand deep in his shaggy coat. They looked at each other and she nodded, sharing her decision with her sheep friend.

“Yes! That's it! I'll take that post at Bramfield! When it comes to assessing the intelligence of animals I reckon I know a thing or two!”

Over the next few weeks, as she settled into her research role, Janice realised that there were two schools of thought in this line of work: the ‘animals are like us, aren't they clever' variety and the ‘we've got a lot to learn about ourselves by observing animal' sort. She was relieved to find that most in her team were of the latter persuasion!

It wasn't long before she felt sufficiently at home to share her experiences with Clem and her ‘dreams' of the young lion. Pat, her supervisor beamed. “You too!” He'd also been sensing a particular connection with certain animals. “I wasn't going to mention it, but I have had some ideas on what we could do with our latest grant. We'll probably be labelled wacky but…” he looked at Janice who was nodding eagerly at him. “OK! We'll do it!”.

Mr Trelawny had been more than happy for Clem to join the research project, though had raised his eyebrows slightly higher than usual as Janice had asked him “You don't mind if we take him abroad, do you?… Africa?” What could he say! He knew better, by now, than to argue with his astute, if eccentric offspring.

Using the contacts she'd made during her earlier safari, Jan had had no problems finding a Kenya guide and team to join their project. These people living amongst the lions and knew that things were changing. Just as the American Indians had their while buffalo as omens, so too did the locals here see the wildlife around them as a sign. The world was changing and the animals in their part of Africa were leading the shift.

Pat and Jan, with Clem curled around her ankles, sat with their Kenyan guides at the end of their first full day together. The plans were going well: they'd been keeping an eye on Cleo since her actions the previous years and, last week, she'd been spotted only a few miles away.
“She knows we've come for her” said Janice. The others nodded in agreement and they all fell silent, minds reaching into the darkening sky with the smoke from their camp fire. One of the scouts began an ancient tribal chant. Quickly that picked up the strange words and joined in, even Clem deeply connected to the sound.

A gentle rustle behind them alerted Jan to an approaching guest. As they all carried on singing Cleo joined them, completing the circle around the fire. Pat, like Jan, opened his eyes long enough to see it and smile, but said nothing. There was nothing to said. Words would only spoil the experience.

Eventually the chanting stopped and Cleo quietly disappeared into the night. Pat shivered and threw a large log onto the fire. “Tell me” he inquired of the guide “what does that chant translate as?”

The answer didn't really surprise him: “the lion shall lie down with the lamb.”

This spiritual short story written by Keith Beasley shows how beautiful life becomes when we are are true to our selves, and that as we become one with that inner-most self, those who observe us become more respectful while expanding their own boundaries, and sometimes even thier expanding their consciousness.

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Poor Celain – A Spiritual Story by Keith Beasley https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/poor-celain-spiritual-story-keith-beasley/ https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/poor-celain-spiritual-story-keith-beasley/#respond Sat, 18 Feb 2017 18:46:28 +0000 http://www.spiritual-short-stories.com/spiritual-short-story-261-poor-celain/ Tibeta was, as usual, doing her best to keep a low profile. With her head down she sat behind the counter of her aunt's china shop. Surreptitiously she was reading her favourite ancient parables, but carefully enclosed in one of her aunt's books on business etiquette.

She knew that if Celain caught her reading this forbidden material she'd...

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Tibeta was, as usual, doing her best to keep a low profile. With her head down she sat behind the counter of her aunt's china shop. Surreptitiously she was reading her favourite ancient parables, but carefully enclosed in one of her aunt's books on business etiquette. She knew that if Celain caught her reading this forbidden material she'd be for the high jump.

As Tibeta had grown up, she'd learnt that the only way to get any sort of kindness from Celain was to obey her to the letter. There was just no argument with this strong, hard, woman who had taken her in when her parents had died suddenly. Her mum's sister she may have been, but there the resemblance ended: no gentleness, no openness, just a stern, over-bearing presence.

Things had improved slightly when Celain realised that Tibeta was actually a real benefit to her business: having a patient, smiling, face in her shop had encouraged the customers to not just come in but to stop and buy from her extensive range of pots and ornaments, ancient and modern. But, despite the increased sales, Tibeta herself benefited little from the store's profits… despite her aunt's assertions that she should be grateful for everything she had.

In speaking with her customers, especially when Celain was out buying stock, Tibeta had began to realise that she was not so alone with her feelings as she'd thought… nor did she need to fear having nowhere else to go or work. On a number of occasions her clear voice and wise words had been complimented and recently she'd even had the boss of their main competitor, Pots-R-Us – a much larger chain of stores, ask her to work for him!

As Celain sensed her niece's growing frustration and freedom of thought, she clamped down even more on Tibeta's physical freedom: she tightened the nightly curfew and took away her house key… which made Tibeta even more determined to break free. But Tibeta knew there was still no point trying to reason with her aunt, or to stand up to her physically, so she watched and waited. She'd also managed to obtain, through Caroline, one of her regular customers, some books on happiness… and on the root causes of misery.

Whilst reading this ancient wisdom and modern psychology, Tibeta began to see that her aunt really couldn't help the way she was: Tibeta herself could just remember her dictatorial grandfather and the way he rigidly controlled everybody and everything. She shuddered to think of him. Poor Celain she thought, sadly. Then burst out laughing at her own pun: porcelain! How appropriate for the owner of a china shop! Tibeta's mind took the parallels deeper: how fragile they both are! she realised. Just as all the plates and vases would chip at the slightest knock and break apart so easily, so her aunt would snap at the slightly thing out of place. Anything disturbing Celain's precise boundaries and she'd go to pieces too! All her toughness was just a front, like the glaze on her finest china pieces.

As the young Tibeta came to realise this, so she developed an understanding, and even compassion, for her aunt… and remembered to show Celain gratitude for taking her in and looking after her. Celain didn't really know what to make of this, being so unused to kindness, but in the privacy or her own room, she smiled to herself… and even began to imagine that Tibeta was her own daughter!

At this time their town was playing host to a big basketball tournament. Teams from miles around had gathered, followed by busloads of their enthusiastic fans. And so the streets were full of visitors, many trying to emulate their sporting stars by bouncing or keeping aloft their own basketballs. Needless to say, Celain was not at all impressed by such behaviour and had immediately put up a big sign banning balls from her shop.

One day, as Tibeta was minding the store, a group of five young men, each juggling a basketball, stopped outside the window and looked in. Fit and healthy looking, Tibeta could not help but stare at them. They smiled back and waved to her. As they came to the door to come in, the young lady blushed. Then quickly seeing her aunt's sign she panicked and pointed at it to the boys on the doorstep.

Shaking her head fearfully she pleaded with them not to come in. But the boys, being boys, just smiled all the more broadly and bounced their five balls over the threshold. Tibeta couldn't help but notice that they were all different colours: one red, one blue, one yellow, one green and one black. But that didn't help her. What could she do, her aunt would have a fit… but these young men were really fit too!… and handsome. They were in the shop now, still bouncing their basketballs in-between the displays of vases and plates… and asking her all sorts of personal questions. They were nice guys… and they seemed skilful enough.

At that moment poor Celain appeared at the door: the others had been too interested in each other to notice her approach. OUT she ordered with a vengeful stare and pointing finger. It was all too much for the boys who immediately lost their smiles… and their ball control skills. One after the other the basketballs went crashing into piles of cups and onto priceless ornaments. Within just a few minutes the whole shop was a mass of broken crockery.

As sporting the boys may have been, the shop looked like a massacre site and they could see from the fuming features of the owner that they could be the next victims. They fled. Faster than Tibeta had ever seen anybody run before. Her aunt strode out of the shop after them, shaking her fist.

It was some minutes before she returned and surveyed the devastation. Her jaw dropped and Tibeta could see tears forming in the corner of her aunt's eyes… although she frantically tried to brush them aside. Feeling her compassion well up inside her and genuine affection for the older women, Tibeta rushed to her aunt's side and put her arms around her waist, holding to her. Initially Celain resisted, but not for long. Soon her decades of held back tears had broken through the floodgates. She sobbed. She reciprocated the hug and held her wonderful niece to her, tightly.

The shop was closed, with shutters down, for a week after that. When it reopened, at first glance, little had chanced, Tibeta still sat behind the counter and a similar range of china-wear was on display. But now she read her ancient wisdom openly. Now she had her own key and no curfew. Now she had her share of the profits… to spend on dates with basketball players.

This spiritual short story written by Keith Beasley shows how beautiful life becomes when we are are true to our selves, and that as we become one with that inner-most self, those who observe us become more respectful while expanding their own boundaries, and sometimes even thier expanding their consciousness. If you enjoyed this spiritual short story, then you might also like the book The Fifth Sacred Thing.

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The New New https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/spiritual-short-story-178-the-new-new/ https://spiritualgrowthevents.com/spiritual-short-story-178-the-new-new/#respond Sat, 18 Feb 2017 18:46:16 +0000 http://www.spiritual-short-stories.com/spiritual-short-story-178-the-new-new/ It was a sober atmosphere in the boardroom at Gnuchi and Gnichi. All around the large, oval, glass, table sat the directors and senior managers, each looking as glum as the next. "OK. We all know why we're here" the chairman opened the crisis meeting "accounts 20% down, no new campaigns in the offering, the whole food sector gone soft and the first 6 months loss since this company started.

Come on, I'm paying you lot a fortune, what are we going to do about it?"

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It was a sober atmosphere in the boardroom at Gnuchi and Gnichi. All around the large, oval, glass, table sat the directors and senior managers, each looking as glum as the next. “OK. We all know why we're here” the chairman opened the crisis meeting “accounts 20% down, no new campaigns in the offering, the whole food sector gone soft and the first 6 months loss since this company started.

Come on, I'm paying you lot a fortune, what are we going to do about it?” His key staff all looked down at the blank pieces of paper in front of them. There was a rumble of nervous swallowing and clearing of throats… though no one has anything to say.

“I'm waiting…”

Sir Peter Pepper was not noted for his patience, certainly not with ineffective managers. They all knew that this could be their last day unless someone came up with something… quick. But most had too much to lose and, even though in the advertising industry, had too little courage to speak with any originality. Most, but not all.

Timothy Robbins, known to the others as ‘young Tim', had nothing to lose. He hadn't worked at Gnuchi and Gnichi long enough to have built up a pension, but his TV stardom, that had also given him his job at this, seemingly, prestigious firm meant that he could walk into a job anywhere.

“Ahem. Sir Peter, if I may?”

“You might as well Tim, since nobody else seems to have the balls to say anything. The floor's yours.”

Tim looked around the packed boardroom nervously. He saw a few encouraging faces, mainly from the leisure industries sector, where he'd built up a bit of a fan base for his light wit and sparks of genius. “I just wonder if it's time we faced the truth here.”

Many of the board groaned audibly but Sir Peter nodded “and what might that be?”

“Well, it's all ‘been there done that, isn't it? This advertising business I mean. There are no new colours we can use on our posters. There are no new jokes we can bring into our TV campaigns. There are no really new materials we can use to add sparkle.” He looked around to gauge reaction.

He was hit with a range of facial expression from puzzlement to outright antagonism … with a fair amount of denial in-between. But from the face that mattered, the chairman's, he saw interest… even perhaps a smile. Before it could fade, he went on. “But most of all, there are no new products. None. It's all been done before. No wonder we can't get any interest going, there's nothing worth getting enthusiastic about!”

Seeing his boss nod slightly, he continued. “Look, I know that most folk who take notice of our adverts are pretty much sheep, but even they are becoming jaded, worn out by all this, our, media hype. And, dare I say it, some are even becoming discerning!” There was a gasp from at least two old-school colleagues and a sense of shock from the more unaware of the board.

Sir Peter Pepper beamed “You're right. Totally right. Why hasn't anyone else told me this?” As he looked at each of them in turn, his executives all buried their faces again. “Your prognosis is spot on Tim, but does that wise, young, head have any suggestions for keeping this company in profit, or do these truths mean it's time to shut up shop?”

Now the prevailing emotion around the table was one of fear: no job, no money, no status… but not from Sir Pepper nor young Tim. Though coming from very different places and with a lifetime of experience between them, both knew this was an opportunity, a chance to break the mould and make a difference… not just to their own lives, but perhaps to society as a whole.

“It is perhaps a matter of choice” Tim responded. “Punters are wise enough now to see that there is no real difference between brand X and brand Y, they know that this new recipe or that new feature make sod all difference to them, the user. It's time to stop treating the purchasing public as stupid and treat them as thinking, feeling, individuals.” More stifled gasps spluttered from the assembled section heads and once high-flying account managers.

“So what are you suggesting?”

“Instead of advertising things that don't matter, promote things that do. Why don't we put our weight and creative skills behind…”

“Behind what?”

Douglas Daggers could keep quiet no longer. “You mean ‘Green' products and ‘New Age' stuff?” he spat our cynically. ‘Been there, done that'” he quoted sarcastically. His chairman looked at him, weighing up his previously dependable deputy.

“You're fired.”

He let the words echo around the room. “Times are changing, We have to change with them. Douglas, leave now. Thank you.” Douglas looked around at the stunned faces, wanting to argue his case but knowing there was no arguing against Sir P once he'd made up his mind. Mouth open in shock he rose from his chair and made his way to the door, clutching at each chair for support as he passed.

Sir Peter had been through many rollercoaster highs and lows in his varied and hugely successful career. Indeed, his knighthood reflected his highly respected entrepreneurial status… and nose for whole new business ventures. He knew when to changes horses. He nodded at young Tim to continue.

“The trouble with our ‘Green' and ‘New Age' campaigns is that we've tried to use old style advertising on them. But as I've just said, old hype and superficial floss just doesn't work any more… certainly not with the folks who are interested in genuinely useful products, in authentic goods, or in services that encourage and enable us to think for ourselves, to express our creativity and share or co-operate. Humanity is waking up. We're no longer cannon fodder. To survive we have to be part of the emerging awareness of our inner spiritual nature and the one, interconnected, global reality… and to accept responsibility…”

” … for humanity's future” The chairman completed the sentence for him. “Heart and Soul, ladies and gentlemen, that is the New, New. And it has to come from our heart and soul. If a product isn't authentic, we don't promote it. If a service doesn't help the greater good, we don't advertise it. No more campaigns of empty words, no more relying on so-called big names or big budgets. Each job has to feel right.

“Tim, I want you to start a new department working for and with currently unheard of businesses that fit into all this.” Spotting his Finance Director about to jump in he held up his hand for silence. “It may be true that, at present, such companies can't afford our fees. So, we'll subsidise the initial campaigns for each of them. Choose the best and throw our resources behind them.

“And where's the money coming from?” His boss of finances could keep quiet no longer.

“You've heard of “Frenzy' drinks?”

“Isn't that your alco-pop company?”

“Was. Just had an offer I couldn't refuse… from Poca Pola. They might be happy to fuel binge drinking, but not me. I'm committing all the proceeds from this sale to the new project we've just agreed. ”

“You,” he addressed his three section heads, “how many spare staff do you have?” Peter, choose the ones most in keeping with our Authenticity Project. They now work for you.”

“Any questions?”

Needless to say there were probably millions of questions buzzing around inside the heads of his key staff, but none, they knew, were worth asking. Their jobs, their world, had changed.

This spiritual short story written by Keith Beasley shows how beautiful life becomes when we are are true to our selves, and that as we become one with that inner-most self, those who observe us become more respectful while expanding their own boundaries, and sometimes even their expanding their consciousness.

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