Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on wednesday 18 september 2019
November rain fell slowly but steadily on to the windscreen of his car as Brendan drove through the city streets that were slowly being transformed by the dark of night. Where do I go from here, he wondered, smiling wryly, for he knew he could not care less. Driving around aimlessly helped him to relax a little and distance himself from his muddled thoughts. It helped him to view his life from a different perspective. His life? Good question. Right now, it felt as if he was living other people’s lives.
“How did it get to this?” he asked himself out loud.
Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on wednesday 24 july 2019
It is said that one day, when the world is in turmoil and humanity is lost in chaos, the Brothers shall return. It is they who will shine the light of love into the darkness and reignite the spirit of unity.
Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on tuesday 12 february 2019
Sunlight flooded the room and enveloped nineteen year old Katrina and her grandmother in a golden hue. They were sitting at Grandma’s dining room table browsing through one of her old photo albums, when Katrina pointed out a faded photo of a young girl and boy holding hands.
Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on tuesday 11 december 2018
Kindle your inner power
From the very beginning, I followed the Way of Love with them, Yeshua and Magdalena. Together with her, I stood by him as he hung on the cross. And afterwards, I sailed with her to the shores of the Languedoc to spread his teachings from the Book of Love. I am here to guide those in need of healing, so they may rediscover their inner power and reawaken.
From: The Story of the Black Madonna
Tears of joy flowed over Sarah’s face when her newborn baby boy, wrapped in a warm blanket, was placed in her arms. She took a deep breath and inhaled his scent. The scent of new life and purity. For a few moments, she was able to forget her life of destitution and loneliness. All that mattered to her now was her son. A strong and healthy boy to whom no gift could compare. Filled with gratitude, she closed her eyes and let her weary body rest.
Written by Wim Beunderman, posted on monday 15 october 2018
With a glum look on his face, the young Aboriginal hunter, Manimanuk, looked out over the plains from the rocky outcrop where he was standing. Angry words had been spoken earlier that morning in the camp of his people. To Manimanuk it seemed as if there were two camps. One, led by one of the elders, was determined to move on to better hunting grounds before the dry season came. The other camp felt it was better to wait until one of the mothers fully recovered after breaking her leg while foraging for yams.
