The Name of the Spice

The sun burts through the clouds and clearly remind em’ …-Mos Def

Took me a few to get out of the room this morning but I felt it was time to get going to get out of the room with no windows. So after taking a few more moments to freshen up and pick out my hair which was flat in the back from dreaming I grabbed my 2 bags and forwarded to the lobby of the guesthouse hoping for a bus ticket to Sihanoukville.

Leaving my luggage with the receptionist since I had a ten minute wait for the bus ticket vendor I stepped out to get candy from a local shop. Sisowath Quay St. is different from night to day. Gone are the flambouyant nightlife watching western men in collard shirts, shorts, and leisure sandals arm and arm with Vietnamese and Cambodian slaves with numbered chests. Gone are shirtless men and men with shirts standing outside looking like predators shaken predators the stinch of decietful attitudes and obvious emptyness smelling up the corners.

It was a joy to feel grandfather sun and the wind on my face. Tonle Sap was flowing in a channel nearby, the trees standing in concrete blocks but standing non the less. The children I saw, a little girl with a bowl asking for change in cambodia change isn’t metal but paper. Children approached me as I walked to the store seeking a sweet change from the hot spice I remembered.

I bought seven bracelets from a girl who walked with them on a hanger. A little boy approached me asking me to buy postcards I told him I didn’t want postcards but he was consistant so I asked him if he wanted a dollar he said tank yuu, he was probably five years old, and walked to his friends.

In the store for the candy I sought I couldn’t believe the prices, they were of or about the same as in an american convenience store. Cambodia’s second currency is the dollar I read and heard. I didn’t know the price of items in Cambodian riel because they had dollar prices on them, then I was told why…

Before I’d purchased the bracelets before I bought gummy bears I smiled walking by two women. One an older sistah in a beautiful outfit. I hadn’t seen many sistahs at all in S.E. asia, especially older ones. As i crossed the street to pick up my bus ticket she smiled in recognition and said she was happy to see me. We touched hands and she and her friend invited me to sit with them. The story began with pleasantries like hello, what are you doing, where are you from, where are you going, where have you been? Then I found out I was sitting with sculptor Sana Musasama, a New York based artist who travels in Cambodia working to help heal women who are or once was a sex slave. The art they do together might orient towards crafts such as this years project handmade dolls. Every stitch like stitching themselves whole again. The women she works with didn’t have a childhood and probably never owned a doll since many of them started as slaves when they were seven years of age. Sana and her friend, a Vermont based glass blower who helped to craft the eyes of the dolls began to inform me of where we were sitting…

The western men we were seeing were called johns some of them thought they were helping the economy by being there, hence the high prices in the stores the area was mainly for them. The children selling bracelets and postcards weren’t supposed to be there that was the security gaurds main task, to keep the beggars away so that the westerners didn’ see ‘that’.

It appeared the spice I felt the night before was called rage, anger, and grief. The wind helped more than me to calm down it also touched Sana’ friend who before then wasn’t feeling so good because of the atmosphere of the area. Sana and her friend knew the feeling of wanting to cry, wanting to love, and wanting to kick someones FUCKING ASS!!!.

It’s a task to compose at times what helps is to name the people I love who are closest to me, it’s calming to call their names one by one like I love my mom…and so on.

At the bus station a man I could barely see because he was in the nearby store stood and waved to me. My first instinct was now what…but as I walked by the door waiting everything became clear. Sort of like when you’re having a conversation and a word registers a little later. A vision became clearer. I walked into the store to see a black man eating his food. He stood and cleared a space for me offering what he was having. An african brothah in Cambodia he was so happy to see a sistah. Pleasantries again then we started to speak of foodweb stories and my interest in Africa and what he was doing in Cambodia. He told me the east and the south of Africa was probably better the west not so good. He shared with me that my hair was like his sisters and that I probably would go unnoticed in his country of Nigeria. He said he would support foodweb stories by visiting a website and sharing information with his collegues. We went outside to get catch our buses me with his card he with foodweb stories written on a small sheet of paper. We said we’d keep in touch. Today I realised  the stories are there waiting to be shared just look for the inviting smiles and feel the energy as you walk to the unknown if it feels good take a chance. There might be a story there. Its sad to see the way men are with women here in this country. As I was standing by a booth a local man walked by with his cigarette and blew the smoke also in my face as he continues off to what he was doing. Cambodia a rich land looks barren in certain places feel hot in others and its not just the dry season.

I had this idea that foodweb stories would mostly be about water, animals, and plants but I’m realizing that I can’t leave the humans out it appears that humans need help and its going to take humans to heal them.

Sana Musama’s website is:

Things lost in the fire

deerbefore we had this bridge

I could walk however so bravely to the other shore

take fruits and found objects and be home before the dark

but when the fire raged our bridge stood between the flames

I want old pictures, oils, and a gifted musical devise

maybe I have use for them

my desire must be curved

my mouth shall not shout out the flames

it cannot

for it is by now old

those were just things along with you

i’ve lost in the fire

Stories in the Desert

Traveling from the east bay since Wednesday Nik and I were blessed with really great information from a man  Mark Hall-Patton,  the museum administrator of the Clark County Museum system. Some may notice Mark from the cable TV show Pawn Stars which happens to be the number one cable TV show currently in America. I loved how accessible Mark was,the way he flowed with ease on the subject of the Hoover Dam was amazing, I have no doubts as to why he would be a wonderful camera personality.

 Mark started the interview speaking of Elwood Mead, the name sake of Lake Mead, the largest man made lake in the world. It appears Mark also wrote a biography on Mead, an engineer turned water technologies designer who used the Hoover Dam as a social water experiment.  Although some of the information Mark wrote in the biography of Mead escaped his memory, especially since he wrote it so long ago, I really appreciated his ability to network  facts and feelings on the subject of the dam in relationship to the towns people around the time of its development. Their feeling was that water isn’t always in the appropriate place and that they should move it to the appropriate place for their benefit, for their societal benefits that is.

Certainly the Hoover Dam benefited the people of the Las Vegas Valley. With out the dam the town of Boulder City wouldn’t be the same. Actually I don’t think it would have been at all. The town was a place of residence for the workers on the Boulder Dam project. Designers brought in landscape architects and the likes to make Boulder City what it is today.

The Boulder Dam later to be lawfully name changed to the Hoover Dam, was a guaranteed job for the men who traveled to the desert of Nevada from all over the United States for a wage of 50 cents to a $1.25. This was a living wage in those times during the depression. While most towns saw decline the town of Las Vegas got a major start due to the economy at that time and the need to put men to work. This reminds me of the economies now and how the government means to put people to work by instituting ecologically damaging projects for the sake of moving tools around to give them money to feed themselves and their families.

When I looked at the Hoover Dam there can be no mistaken, as a woman who is not a fan of the film Metropolis and machine works, I thought How Ugly! but then again the stone masons of the Dam were actually black men from the south who did most of the art you see other than the commissioned artist/designers themselves. There is something to be said about stone masonry over 75 years old without a crack.

The story Nik and I are collecting and sharing  is of the most precious of the desert. The ones most affected by the change of the Colorado river’s flow. The ecosystems. From the invertebrates to the predators such as the Coyote, Mountain Lion, Black Bear, and Wolves. Recently we heard the stories of the Riparian zone watershed ecosystem. The Riparian Zone is where the interaction of microorganisms, animals, water, soil, and plants are. This is the area where the invertebrates lay their eggs which is the base of the above ground foodweb. This is what was taken away with the flooding and redirection of the Colorado River.

For certain, the Colorado River have had natural flood times and the first nations people would plant along the flood plains. They lived in harmony with the ecosystems. and there was no need for plants to rethink their whole life flow based on their actions. That is what plants and animals do, they adapt, and if they aren’t able to adapt quickly enough they don’t survive. I am calling for their survival and that’s by living in harmony with the ecosystem with long range planning of sustainable energy systems. Short term hurts the long term and it is apparent when you look at the Hoover Dam and the surrounding environment.

The Colorado River is the main water source for the Southwest and Northern Mexico. Going through seven U.S. States and two Mexican States into the Sea of Cortez. That was then, the river doesn’t go all the way to the sea at this time and hasn’t for twenty years. It would be a miracle if it did. One of the reasons the waters don’t flow all the way into the sea is because so many people are using the water. The dam was meant to supply about a million or less people with a hydro-energy source but there are millions upon millions of people using the watershed. Since 1944 The U.S. and Mexico has had a water treaty that is something like the water compact between the states where the Colorado River flows, the only difference is this treaty is between two countries. At one point the U.S. was so disrespectful and negligent of the water source by allowing the river to be so saline it caused damage to Mexican farms along the Mexicali valley. Mexico threatened to sue in international court which finally made the U.S. take notice and clean up it’s act in a timely manner. The treaty is unfair at this point because like mentioned before the Colorado River doesn’t go all the way to the Sea.

I hope the collection of foodweb stories will help people to realize the importance of free flowing water and small scale energy sources. By taking into account the Hoover Dam and it’s affects on the Colorado River Basin, people might take notice that they don’t want short term illusions of grandeur but long term energy solutions that are more viable for community development and potential. Community being not only people but animals and the natural environment, theirs and ours habitat. The entire ecosystem thriving and living vibrantly.

While it seemed the desert is empty it is really teaming with life with several watersheds be it an oasis, river, or hot springs. The desert isn’t empty at all but with short term energy solutions some of the deserts once great predators, birds, plants, and microorganisms have vanished from their natural homelands. If they come back it would be amazing. That will take a miracle. I am hopeful.

Foodweb Stories

I have various notebooks I’ve collected and thankfully some I’ve had since high school. All filled or about 75% full of songs, poems, stories, quotes, and ideas. Some of my favorite, now that I type my stories have been the ideas. I love a good idea! This feeling in my belly goes YES! that is wonderful. Some ideas I’ve had I’ve been feeding for some time now such as the biosyntropy education to communities and the recent community holistic therapy program. All mind mapped with various circles leading to other circles. Dreaming while awake is like the eating the best gluten free vegan cookie warm.

A few weeks ago my love Nik and I were celebrating having a similar idea of going on an adventure to collect stories of wisdom from first nation people. I too am a woman with indigenous blood and sacred stories, tradition, and culture is so important to my walk. I have my journal next to me as I type this, I wrote…

travel the Americas in search of great healing herbs, stones, practices, and stories…

Journal entry

I wrote Healing Treasures of the Americas. I wrote to travel by car, boat, train, plane. Whats really lovely is that less than half a year later I was accepted as crew for a tall ship. This note book has had beautiful water marks from having water spilled on it, its been drawn in my little cousins in Texas and its just brimming, still, with those ideas written in it. I love the way I was practicing writing backwards and with my left hand on this page.

Forward to now…  Wednesday Nik and I will go on the first tour of Foodweb Stories. We have so much love of water, of Mother Earth. So much appreciation for the land and adventure that our ideas have joined together to be even more sacred, even more inclusive, and with great purpose. I give thanks for the power of brainstorming as we call it. The power to dream and go venture to have it

Our website to share information is fabulous, we will use social media and our site to share the information. Social Media has developed so much since i wrote those ideas.

We will share the website soon

Meet Yi (Featured in 2pi Journal Vol.2)

Preview of Chapter 2

Rod Luff


Blessed Yi stepped his toes to the house of the Sorceress, who lived outside of the city limits in a dank cabin off a fertile highway and very close to a overtly dirty meadow. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror by her door, he thought twice about knocking or ringing the very worn bronze bell on the splintered wooden porch. Cracked red paint and the precision of a scent of something with many spices caught his sensory attention. This Sorceress had a reputation above par with many people. Yi had overheard some stories with her as its subject in some communities where he ventured. Someone would speak in a quiet knowing tone, of a woman in the woods very close to the city with miraculous healing abilities, who had seen their own grandparents before them. When Yi heard this he knew he could use such potent guidance.

He had never met her, this sorceress, before, but was astonished by tales of her and partly fear crept into his breath as he walked to her screen. How quickly his chest rose and succumbed, and rose and barely succumbed to a normal motion of inhalation and exhalation. The abnormality made his head swarm with a high and then a pain, but he thought of that particular faith of his and remained steadfast on his intent to see her. “Come in!”, she yelled . He nearly jumped. I wish Yi knew that he was feeling a particular kind of emotion for a particular kind of reason.

She was dressed up from head to toe in the body of a young man complete with nappy brown chest hair and cotton black boxer shorts that did no justice to cover the happy trail, and a bit too big for the private parts. The belly button jewel she wore shined a dull light in the dimmed daylight stream still seeping into the house, the sun was on its way to setting. Yi was expecting to see the person that matched the voice. Yet in his heart of hearts he knew this person before him was her, and he was subdued by a comfortable grasp in the air around him that made him think twice about moving too quickly. Yi was a smart man and although he knew he was no match for this magos, Yi also knew that too many movements spoke louder than words and if she could read him, of which he had no doubt, she might read something he hadn’t meant to share.

What can I help you with, Yi?”, she asked with a lightness, as though she could give it to him on a plate from her pots strongly smelling up the house. “I’ve come for your guidance in how to calm the city. How can I get them to be quiet, to have peace?” he said, “…the city is so loud.”

Well Yi,” she said, “…dirty coins make change no matter how shiny the nickels look.” “Besides, it’s only a program, Yi, and some of them there get touchy when you try to change their programming.” “Maybe the question could be, and this is only a suggestion, how do you stop yourself from being so loud?” His heart began to speed again as he noticed she was not looking directly at his face, but completely and without shame, at his body.

Yi’s stomach shuddered. “You feel that Yi?” said the sorceress, “you take away their comfort which they have grown up with and they might want to fight for it.”

Why are your eyes so red?” she asked. “I’ve been burning my tongue,” he said. “With my pipe.” He pulled it from behind his ear to show it to her. “Oh!” she replied, “Now you know how words feel.”

Watch this.” she said. She climbed the walls of the ceiling and hung upside down till her male bodied shell turned the familiar female shape and she slept like a bat with her feet to the sky. Yi stood at first with the lie of confusion in his midst, but in his stomach he knew their meeting was over. He went over in his head what she had said to him and tried to make more sense out of something he felt sounded too simple.

Yi bid the sorceress farewell and stepped on the road again leading farther away from the metropolis.

He came upon a path of yelling, playing, babies and toddlers. They were alone near a deserted overgrown highway. Thickets of vines grew close by the road and the area in which they played was filled with johnson, orchard, and bermuda grasses, as though it was once a place used heavily for the cultivation of something, he wasn’t sure. He did notice that the wildflowers blowing in the wind must be coming from the south, he thought, something he learned in his days of being a sailor at sea.

The babies and toddlers ran through these high grasses, some leaping like frogs and some running as fast as cheetahs and some laughing while running through trees. They turned themselves into vapors so as not to disturb the trees, then back into chubby or thin complex solids. Yi’s very mind was blown so well it hurt his head to see these fascinating images.

We are the munchkin patrol.” The voice came from a little person as jovial as Yi has ever heard, and he turned to stare down into the tangled matted hair of a girl child who wiped her mouth of leaves and picked petals from her ears. Yi knelt on the ground to be eye level with her. He was honored to be spoken to by, and seeing clearly what appeared to be either dieties, demigods, but certainly a group of mental pedagogues. “What does the munchkin patrol do?” he asked. “We garden.” she said. “What is it that you garden?” he asked. “We plant seeds!” she said, her smile spreading almost into a wicked smirk. She was leading him somewhere and was excited about his questions because that’s how he was going to get to where she was pulling him, he knew.

We water the seeds, we harvest the fruits, and keep the peace.” “Where is your harvest?” asked Yi. “You’re reaping it,” she said. “What seeds do you plant?” he asked. “You’re speaking them,” she said. “Where is the water?” he said. She spit in the air and said, “There!” Before her saliva touched the ground, it flashed into the clear hue of blue.

What do you want Yi?”, she asked. “I want to stop the noise in the city”, he said. “You wouldn’t lie to a munchkin now would you, Yi? I don’t think you know how to care about their crying and carrying on… seems to me you might be conditioned to be emotionally stupid. Maybe a good fruit for you,” she said, as she held out her hand to produce a purple apple, “is to see the treasure in your own silence. Then you will be a BIG HELP!” she yelled. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “Importance can be tricky, Folly! Folly! Yi! You think you’re exempt from making the noise when you’re so loud yourself. Let them play! never stop them from playing.”

Suddenly the munchkin patrol turned to Yi and he could see now that they had surrounded him in a circle. How long they were standing there in that formation he wasn’t sure, but he was intimidated but relaxed. The tone of her voice was as a child’s and he had a feeling by the way they acted, with the trees running wildly through them and not destroying anything, that they would not touch a hair on his body in a disrespectful manner. Then they ran towards him with all the speed their little legs could muster and spit on the ground, and just as Yi fell on his knees to the earth to cover himself, yelling out loud for the anticipated crash, they dissipated, and the scent of ocean water went with them.

Yi had certainly seen quite a bit between the two meetings in this one day. First, with a Sorceress who clothed her self in the bodies of both sexes and yet never really intruded on his being. She even stated her intent to suggest something to him without suggesting it before pronouncing her impressions. Then there was the munchkin patrol, these wild children who obviously were more interested in playing than taking him seriously. Their intent had nothing to do with him but everything to do with their fun. Maybe, he thought, he did take himself too seriously, neurotically thinking he was so important that people thought cunningly what they would do to him to try to hurt him, instead of going on in their own worlds with their own things living and letting him live peacefully as they wanted to live. He thought about his trust of people and things working out in his favor. He took that knowledge in, like the smoke from his pipe as he sat on the grass still relieved and able to inhale. Yi stood and walked further south from the region.

He heard a voice shout,“Sir, can I just talk to you for a minute? Just your ears for a moment.”

What is it?” asked Yi. “Brother, it’s my eyes. Sometimes I see just fine, then there are times when I feel that I’m just waking up after just having been awake, or so I thought. I just need to ask you something.” “What’s that?” asked Yi.

Are you real?”

Yi laughed, “Last I checked, I was”.

Well, said the elder man, a straw tattered hat on his head, jeans on his legs, a worn t-shirt on his chest, and most noticeably, the largest black eyes you have ever seen, “It’s this here river that you’re walking on, I fish here all the time, I know where you’re standing, there are no rocks for you to step on.” Yi looked down at his toes in a quick passing moment of disbelief, until he realized it was true, he was standing in the middle of the river and must have been walking along it for a while. He started walking toward the boat, but in an instance of hesitation he fell into the water. “Sir!” yelled the fisherman. “Grab hold of this!” He threw an oar over the side of the boat for Yi. “You can walk on water but you cant swim!” The elder man laughed till he held his sides from what looked like a joyful aching. “I can too swim!” said Yi, with defiance, “and if you want me to listen to you, don’t tell me something I can’t do!” Now even Yi realized his discontent for being told he couldn’t do something , when he felt he could do anything after what he had seen throughout the day. He calmed after his revelation.

Touchy, touchy,” said the elder fisherman. “Let me tell you something ,Yi,” the man said, with a clear sense of belief in himself, “I like you.” He starting pointing his finger at Yi as he spoke, spitting at times when using certain letters. Some folks indeed do get touchy when you try to destroy their programming, and some are still trying to break the codes, and get touchy if you remind them that they ever had a program in the first place. “Well, now that I know that you’re real you can keep the boat,” said the fisherman as he stepped out and walked away. “I didn’t want to give a phantom a boat, might creep some folks out,” he said, raising his shoulders and making a surprised face. Yi stared at the man as he went off into the woods along the beach. He heard him still laughing to himself long after he disappeared from sight. 

Meet Yi by Sabrina Davidson Copyright 2011

The Dirty Queen of Leeches ( particulars for & dedicated to Lydia B. Scott)

Here is a preview for a tale I wrote with out so much as a twenty second break between chapters.

The Dirty Queen of Leeches

Her hair disheveled as she leaped from the porch slamming against a fence it opened at the pressure. Her arms in fit of anger flung the metal back closed you could here it click shut. Feet, the sound of her shoes long gone. It took no time but so much time as she approached the corner. She looked back not really expecting anyone to be behind her but you know the mind can come up with some other stories in collaboration with the mental sphere.

I would imagine four or five other plays happening at that time, but really only one. She didn’t expect anything to happen but could feel that emptiness that space that is a representation of anticipation.

At the phone booth her toes played with neglected pebbles, rocks, and soda cans her fingers boldly grabbing at a phone that smelled of piss. The connection not needed to be identified although it was. The dial tone. Where was her intuition. Where were you then?

I know!

Singing softy in the bowels of her stomach. Singing truly in the depths of her womb. Sending trembles up her intestines. Ringing, cooing in the stomach. A phone is now answered on the other end by a temple line near the horn, near the brain, in the head. A thousand and one miles from the safety nest manger of the heart.

Oh say what you must to me dear child. She has spoken already for the solitude. The autonomy of her own thoughts that said she dreams of being greater more fairer than before. Better greater more fairer prayers like elliptical magic. Freedom’s energy lifting her own virtuous richeous mother carrying her a feet, a few inches off the ground in a heap of bliss and ecstatic enthuse.

A child who would love to reach out

lick the subtle electricity like candy canes

gifted by submerged lovers in the breasts keeping

who wipes the backs of wailing children turned to light tears

falling swiftly from their cheeks

caught on the cleft of the chin

running then falling sunken sucked in by cotton t-shirts

knitted by grandmothers who wear blue fabric tissued pants

on their backsides

in a group of other knitters using the leg bones

of kitty cats who laid their life down here to go traveling there

ditching one planet for the other

following a map they noticed in the rivers intimate eyes

when they saw moles on their furry paws

thinking they were kin to cheetahs

when they saw arrows in their tales

thinking they were kin to zebras

when she saw needles pointing waiting calling sweetly

in rhyme for lightning

and waiting still longer for thunder’s roar

who baby

who will notice behind the clouds a mane of gold and pubescent lion cubs

who made that sound ecstatic

that they sounded like their mothers in honor of their fathers lingum

touching deeply where he can only touch

they have known a love that looks and races across Atabay

known scorpions jagged peircing

because it went by so noisily

sprites still with might like forevers

keeping that spirit’s image in the cube of ice

green was the color of the strings falling lucid out the phone

when she had dialed a code

for beams she knew would come too soon

will you rescue me and mother what of my father

But you are him too

Share with me that sacred side of you so that he may know I love you ever still

fix my hair in the best of perfumed oils that when I shake my mane

children in far Italy wipe the tears from their eyes

they hadn’t known a scent so strong

That when I shake my mane

running my fingers through my hair

touching a person


walking by

they will know that that scent was worn my bathed priestesses

who could bring

gods through to earth

The Dirty Queen of Leeches -> Sabrina Davidson Copyright 2012

Bioremediation for Higher Potential








Bioremediation is at the forefront in the fight to lower atmospheric carbon dioxide, detoxify and repair living intentional systems, and rid the earth of contamination. Bioremediation is for mind, body, and soil.  It is time for us to look at environmental justice as the true key to social justice. Every single imbalance is a result of environmental woe because the body and soil are the living foundations for every living creature including those that live in the sea. If there is an imbalance in one system there is an imbalance in all systems. Finally, the trickle down effect has a place in the living space other than the economy.

What can bioremediation do for the mind, body, and soil?


Bio-remediation adds needed structure and improvement to a living (bio) organism. The mind benefits from bioremediation through training and added potential. That potential is power because once the mind can be silenced and focused its wielder has something called personal power. Personal power leads the being to utilize a given magical quality called intention through the direct focus of his/her awareness. Every living awake creature has awareness and that awareness can be increased leading the being to be present in his/her experience in the three dimensional space we are in.


The body houses the spirit and can be strengthened to wield potential. Potential is power that can be continuously increased through practice and focused awareness. Bioremediation cleans and repairs the body, which is a living intentional system. An intentional system is one that has intention to live and survive.


The soil is quite a living intentional system. The species that live in the soil once remediated adds nutrients to plants and trees that are grown in it. A great soil structure is what allows for the water falling from the sky to become ground water that is purified and able to be harvested for drinking. Soil structure also transforms minerals and metals to an edible substance. Building soil also transmutes toxins therefore destroying it and turning it into beautiful soil again.

Sakari’s Garden is a social enterprise whose mission is to lift the vibes of the earth through the education on potential enhancement and bio-remediation and the access to products and services that implement such education. We define bio-remediation as a process that rids soil and body of imbalance and contamination.

To find out more information on Sakari’s Garden vision for earth bioremediation please visit us online at

published on Awakening360 2011

Introduction to the Tools Master

Introduction to the Tools Master

The foolish covet his tools. The munchkins walk by his side. The dreamers admire his agility. He is not the jack but the master of tools.

Through out history and to this very day he has been a hoarder of names. The first step to being a master of tools is to be able to change tools at will with as much simplicity as a breath. You must be formless to be a master of tools. That chaotic organization, formlessness, is at heart what it means to be the master of tools.

He wears a suit of the finest of fabrics. He weaves it himself I’ve heard. It smells of the finest dark chocolate soil. His suit is a mirror for the spirits to use. His suit is a book of information.

I remember a girl named Jessica who unwittingly happened upon a tool of the Tools Master. It was in one of the places you least expect it to be. Laying at first in a section of her memories she hadn’t touched yet, there it was safe for a time. It was the ability to rally the spirits, I believe it was. It was the incantations, words, it was the very library for this type of art. The tools master is so well organized he utilized several other information holders such as gems and these hidden rooms in the memories of anything to store his libraries. But for Jessica it was different. Something in that selection touched her and awoke in her. It is not quite clear if the master of tools knew that he had done this. But I have heard that if you are able to access the tools he places in those hidden rooms in your psyche, you can keep the bounty. He made himself a pact that he will only take what you will not miss of his. I have faith in this. I want to believe this with all my heart.

I have been searching all of the hidden rooms in my psyche for a glimpse of a possible stored library. Although some of these opened doors have unleashed more than I thought would be there. For this I am grateful to him and his pact. I am grateful for the ways my body has begun to self procreate, creating multiple fluid bodies to join me on my search into the wonderland of my very mind. I appreciate that with this task I have become whole. Even though I can call forth the thunder, even though I can play wildly in the forests with the nesting spirits, even though I can dream and open my eyes without opening my eyes. I am sitting here in this park with my deck of cards secretly divining if I will find a library of his and become a magus of tools. Because for all of this to happen to me with just the intent to reach out for one library I can only imagine what it would be like to actually have one. And on the winds I spit these words that if I do find a library of his I will steward it like it was gold. I will care for it as if it was myself. I will nurture it as if it was a child. I will the will to play with this sacred selection of knowledge knowing that I cannot mention to you the rest of what I would be after. Hunters have their secrets and we are at war.

I haven’t seen Jessica since but I can feel something brewing. I think she has something to do with it. It’s like a warm hearty soup for the souls. I also heard she changed her name. Joined a team. The rest is a mystery. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to tell you what happened to her. I happened upon how to make myself a suit of the finest fabric. I wove it myself.

Introduction to the Tools Master by Sabrina Davidson Copyright 2012