0 Running Fox Papers May 2005

Running Fox Papers

Volume 5, number 30 ~ May 2005 ~ A path to follow.

Contents of this newsletter

Quotation of the Month:

Each person has a soul

Each person has a soul and a consciousness that are completely pure.

Appearance is just a product of reason, the same reason that is also able to choose the side of truth.

F. de Clercq Zubli

A Wealth of Wisdoms



Quotation of the month Each person has a soul
A path to follow Preface
Every week I travel

Hans Brockhuis

Entwined Jill Kramer Bryant
The story of the two hands Marjo Dohmen
Other interesting paths to follow To the Portal Page of the Website


A path to follow.

I used to be a boy scout. During that time we were occupying ourselves with all kinds of interesting things, like tracking, learning knots, radio transmitting and of course the yearly summer camp in wooded areas like Ommen or Zeist in The Netherlands. I learned a lot during that period.

About the fact this period has helped to form the person I am now, one doesn’t need to explain much. In fact, as I realize, I don’t do much else nowadays. Following my own learning-path, making connections between many souls, sending and receiving through a medium called Internet and going back to nature now and then; contacting animal- and plant-kingdom. This also is a beautiful period and I am learning a lot.

Soon another dimension will be added to all that. In a few days I will begin my quest in the U.S.A. that I have waited so long for, together with my wife. In North-America we will search a path that is new to us, we will make connections with the Native Americans, mainly the Hopi, we will stay in touch with our family in The Netherlands through Internet. To keep it short; we go to summer camp in ‘the New World’ so to say.

This newsletter is dedicated to following your path. I wish you much pleasure reading it and I’ll speak to you again in June, when we return from finding our American path, full of stories.

To the contents


Every week I travel

Hans Brockhuis

Every week I travel by train from Leiden to Alkmaar to take care of my grandchildren. Most of the time nothing special happens, but this memorable morning it certainly does.

I look out of the window. Over the fields filled with flower bulbs, whitened by the freshly fallen snow, the sky is bright blue. There is only one cloud that seems to drift along with the train. To my stupefaction the cloud takes the shape of a woman with long streaming hair. She smiles and sits down on the empty bench opposite of me in the train.

The woman smiles again, reaches for my hand and says: ‘Nice to meet you, my name is Nada. It is my pleasure to meet the writer of my chronicles this way.’

Her presence is almost touchable. The miracle of this is that I am not surprised at all The cadence of the train that sings its song together with the rails and the heart to heart feeling Nada radiates, seems to connect and the warmth, concentration and the peculiarness of this unexpected situation do not leave room for doubt.

Nada smiles again and says that she has a narration to tell that answers the questions I have posed lately. Maybe I want to write it down and pass it on to my readers? Naturally I consent and I listen fascinated to what she has to tell me.

continued here

To the contents



Jill Kramer Bryant

The snow is falling again, the sky is misty grey and as the flakes fall onto the white ground, my thoughts are carried far away, as if each thought that enters my mind is carried along softly on each flake. It has been a long journey. The snow is twirling and curling as the wind carries it away and the time is going backwards, back to that cold autumn evening when we first met, 4th October 2002.

It had been a strange evening and as the last customers were leaving the restaurant to make their way home. Our conversation changed from day to day things to something far more important. Let me introduce myself, my name is Victoria. I did not really know why the subject of spiritualism had come up. I had known Elizabeth for quite a while and since I had bought a small seaside cottage in the village, I had eaten regularly at Elizabeth and Tony’s. It was true to say that this was certainly a restaurant, which was a little bit different. Rumour had it in the village that Elizabeth was not like the farming village folk. Some said she was a witch. In a funny sort of way she reminded me of one, her plump figure, which shook with mirth when she laughed and her small bright eyes which lit up like fairy lights when she talked about subjects she was interested in. And that is exactly what happened on that cold autumn evening. I can almost see us sitting there now, pouring over the oracle cards. I remember I chose a card ‘letting go’ and the picture it depicted showed a road with a dead end. I did not understand what it meant at the time although it’s all too obvious now.

Continued here

Written with Love

To the contents


The story of the two hands

Marjo Dohmen

‘t-Was night.
A night like many others and yet a different night.
And on the square, next to the house, were the acacia trees.
Still, as if they wanted to prevent loosing the stars that were hanging from the branches.
And far away wasn’t very far, in the heaven that wasn’t a sky, the moon still hung.
And everything was calm.
And in the house next to the square, in the room next to the trees, the woman sat in silence.
In her silence that was also the silence of so many others.
And she held up her head, her body straight and still, her hands folded in her lap.
And her head was in silence, her hands were in silence.
But there was no silence in her.
And everything was chaos.
And in her silence, that was also the silence of so many others, her hands started to lead their own life, as if they weren’t part of her body anymore.

Continued here

To the contents