Enchanting Shaula Pearl

CHAPTER ONE

DREAMS AND JOURNEYS “You were made perfectly to be loved.” Elizabeth Barrett Browning

“The darkest night of a soul. Crushing inward. Heart, numb. Body, stiff. Eyes, ghostly. A shadowy stare, afraid to look at the monster. Me. Human. Our first day together. I committed. Love without conditions. I looked like a fool to some. A sucker for a soul. So be it.” Geila the Dreamer.

“We will be friends until forever, just you wait and see.” Winnie the Pooh.

Five years ago, my life changed. Nobody was aware of it until my home began to look different. Chunks of things, scattered on the carpet. Objects of art, stuffed into a closet. A bagel, half eaten, slightly green, under a sofa pillow. My gray carpet was morphing into a non-descript color, muddy like. As a result, it was covered with a wide assortment of throw blankets, including a beach towel covering exposed foam, bulging out of an arm chair. At the end of the first year, it was fair to say, that my décor was no longer candles and beach rocks with a touch of modified Goth. It was classic Shaula Pearl. I embraced our journey together with quiet gushes of joy, because noise scared her. I was hopeful about all possible enchanted outcomes, but conscious of the polarities of life, I was ready for anything. With the humor and charm of divine intervention, I had a spiritual support team that made all the difference, tempering the heart hammering moments, substantial gulps of air and rising anxiety when I was out of chocolate. When you find your path, it brings you the strength of a tiger, running in perfect symmetry through a forest. You dodge the brambles and the twisted roots of trees. Even so, there are days that are difficult to swallow, when you step on something unpleasant, or you discover your mattress gutted with a large piece of foam wedged in a flower vase. You don’t question how or why. You forgive instantly, aware that enchantment is delicate and needs a continuous source of fuel. It runs exclusively on love and joy and your ability to grin. Practice.

Looking out of my bedroom window, in front of my writing desk, I see a very small cut of the world, framed. No matter how limited the view, it is the physical manifestation of a mind, luminous and divine. I see black, glossy crows with glints of auburn on their wings and orangey brown leaves, pirouetting down the street in a light gust of wind. To the left of my window, there is a large magnolia tree with creamy white flowers in full bloom – the simplicity of nature in all its grandeur. Not every soul has a pleasant view. The sweet face of an animal, peering at you from out a window, lined with velvet drapes and gold cords, appears to be living an enchanted life. The deceptions of this physical world are enormous. He has nothing. Fear chokeholds the day. He waits for the kick in his side. The punch on his face. Shaula Pearl has shattered some of the most attractive illusions, exposing the real treasures of our lives, all love-fashioned. She has shown me joy, wild and explosive. She has trusted me with her fears, making me highly conscious of what it means to care for another soul. She has taught me the power of words, more than ever. They can inflict deep cuts for a lifetime. They can flood the earth with torrential downpours of love energy, of divine energy that all souls are made of. New mantras arose overnight – the first one being window inspired. All creatures, walking on the divine soil of this earth, are worthy of a window with a lovely view, a safe home, and to feel the undercurrent of joy, spliced into every moment – and if it moves them, dream of sweet honey baked into their dog biscuits. Shaula Pearl has a view now, devoid of bars. She has heat in the morning and a warm bed at night. She doesn’t live in the nightmare anymore of her previous residence, but she has nightmares. Her memories won’t leave her alone entirely. She has something to say about it, in her pre-enchanted existence. “I saw nothing, even if my eyes were open. The stars above my cage, with the scent of death around me, went unnoticed. In my world, there was only danger and decay, and there was no way out. I felt dead and so did the other dogs, packed tightly against my body, heaving and panting. I was afraid to breathe. I slept with my eyes open. I was never safe.” This was Shaula Pearl’s home, or better said, her hell house. In the wildest stretch of the imagination, she was one of the more fortunate ones. Numerous dogs, where she lived, were dead and stuffed into buckets or lying on the ground, withered and cold as stone. Many of the dogs were injured, hiding under wheelbarrows or in boxes. A few hundred animals were taken from an animal hoarder, five years ago, with people going home crying, because they couldn’t rescue all of them in one day.