The following is my latest extended narrative and timeline that I have crafted into my past life as a child in the circus France and then my life in Montreal. – I share this version with you, as it provides a clear example of what’s possible when creating an extended story for a past life that needs some tender loving care and a new timeline.

The Circus and The Cake Shop

In the realm of the circus, where abnormity held sway,
My mother, a trapeze artist, in that world did play.
Josephine was my name, a child of spectacle in this strange domain.

Childhood was not a haven, in this nomadic show,
A world of child labour, where neglect would grow.
Left in a yard, the offspring of those who soared,
In huts and props, a life often ignored.

A collection of children, diverse in their years,
The older ones became caregivers, suppressing their fears.
Influenced by outcast performers, and their bizarre ways,
An unsafe norm, yet friendship ablaze.

Until one day, a trapeze partner took heed,
Witnessed my plight, a tormented misdeed.
At five years old, we departed that circus stage,
Leaving behind applause, my sparkling mother, a talented trapeze sage.

To Canada, we sailed, a new chapter began,
Montreal’s allure, a place bathed in the sun.
Our French tongue spoken, and understood with care,
Mother was a drawcard; her grace and finesse were rare.

In the city of Quebec, my life took root,
Dreams of a cake shop bloomed, with flowers to suit.
A haven of love, confections so sweet,
A tranquil embrace, where joy and life could meet.
Françoise, my love, a new adventure to behold,
On roads we traveled, our destinies unfold.

Married and settled, Quebec is our home,
And my pretty cake shop flourished, where seeds of love were sown.
Motherhood and business were happily combined,
A tapestry neatly woven, life’s joys intertwined.

The War brought trials, and stole Françoise’s sight,
Yet his quiet presence each day, was a beacon of light.
A community together, a strong bridge we built,
Leftover bread we shared and a good gesture was felt.
It became a healing balm for my childhood’s pain,
Our cafe thrived, with love’s reframe.

My Françoise’s passing cast a shadow so deep,
Yet the laughter of our children, I found a promise to keep.
Memories lingered like vanilla’s sweet scent,
A life well-lived, with love’s precious intent.

As my girls forged their paths with poise and grace,
Elsie, now a trapeze artist, claimed the space.

Our cafe walls were adorned with Mama’s shining splendour
And now Elsie wore Mama’s costume with sweet pride upon her

Generations abundant, a legacy blazing true,
Strength in women was shining through.

Inevitably, the cosmic tale called my name,
A fleeting illness claimed me, and my gentle transition came.

In a dream, my beloved whispered to me,
“It’s time, my little Angel, Come see, Come see.”
My Mama and Françoise took my hand and I soared high, into a glorious dance,
And just like that, I was taken up by the cosmic currents, of celestial chance.

Heart to Heart, Elizabeth