The Art of Celtic Healing — Laura Joyce Moriarty

My earliest memories were completely absorbed by what I was learning when I was in Church. It seemed as if we were there all the time, and I was always happy to be anywhere where there were books that followed along with what was being read . . . with the help of my father or mother who would show me the page and the first word the priest said, --- Gospel or EpistleI specifically remember hearing about St. Peter when Jesus said, Upon this rock I shall build My Church. I can't explain my thoughts, but remember collecting handfuls of stones along Lake Erie when we went to Catawba Island. I would examine each one and imagine the life of the stone that had to be a real person from another time or place.Now when I write a fictional piece about an unknown person, I know the real life I imagine was fraught with unthinkable toil, boredom, and unhappiness. As a result, I search for the story behind the drudgery. I know the soul of the person, like all humans, who seek relief from their mental anguish through fantasies of something better . . . a new dress, a happy marriage, children, . . . enough money for the family to live into the future, . . . something with a happy ending . . . basically, I find the fantasies that existed within that soul. The following writings are reflections of some of those dreams . . . evidence of God's wisdom and hope that comes with divine faith.