Through the Eyes of a Child: The Mystical Genius of Opal Whitely Part 2 of 2

Good morning ATS! I am submitting my second part of a series about the extraordinary Opal Whiteley in hopes of re-opening your eyes to the beauty of the world. In my first thread, which I will link below, I gave a short background of Opal’s life, and though I will add a bit more information here regarding the biographical aspect of Opal, my intent is to focus more on her message. Opal’s way of looking at the inhabitants of the natural world as teachers and companions, and as individuals endowed with natural rights--her perspective of our planet, was one full of wonder and love. My intent is to share some of her wisdom here with you.
Opal, age 17


If you finish reading this thread and feel an urge to step outside and really look at the beauty around you (as if for the first time), to open your heart, eyes, and ears to the wonders of the earth, then I have done my job. In order to do this, we must shed the scales which have blinded our jaded eyes from the beauty of the world and view our surroundings once again as a child--a truly remarkable child named Opal Whiteley.
Representation of Opal in her woods:


When Opal Whiteley was 6 years old, she began to record her adventures on scraps of paper using crayons neighbors provided. She had already been in the habit of going on “exploration trips” (as she puts it) in the woods and fields surrounding her Oregon home, bringing along with her a menagerie of animal friends. Her usual companions included a pig she named Peter Paul Rubens, a dog she called Brave Horatius, a field mouse named Felix Mendelssohn, and a wood rat named Thomas Chatterton Jupiter Zeus, but a cast of characters at the opening of her diary reveals dozens upon dozens more friends which have equally impressive and regal names-- including trees, chickens, a horse named William Shakespeare and a cow named Elizabeth Browning that Opal writes has “poetry in her tracks”.

This begins to give you a sense of Opal’s brain. She, at the age of 6, already had a vast understanding of her planet, its inhabitants, and their individual natures. She read voraciously, knew Biblical, historical and mythical figures, many French and Latin words for flora and fauna, and applied them to the world around her. She heard the music of the stars, trees, brooks, and wind. She listened to “earth songs” She was connected in a way that few of us are. Through the beauty of the world she sought to know God.

Opal’s interconnectedness with nature came with its own form of isolation. Her perspective and intellect was so unique that it served to separate her from those around her, as if Opal were living in her own little world. At an early age she was aware that she was different, and believed that her parents had adopted her as a replacement for their child Opal who had passed away, and that her true parents (Angel Mother and Father, as she called them) were royal French naturalists who had taken her for walks in nature and taught her how to study natural world.

This conception was perhaps a result of some form of schizophrenia or autism (according to biographer Benjamin Hoff) and did not fade away with other childhood fantasies, rather grew into something of an obsession later. I find the idea fascinating, though. Is it possible that Opal was not crazy at all, was saner than the rest of us, was in possession of a truly great truth that is our souls never die but rather only travel to a new host/dimension?
Her ideas were in line with Robert Lanza’s fascinating theory of Biocentrism which I urge you to look into.
More info on Biocentrism here:
www.robertlanza.com...

Whether her ideas were truth or delusion, they served to discredit her years later when she published her childhood diary. The public adored her initially, and her diary was the number 2 best seller internationally upon publication, but the adoring public soon turned their backs on her when she began to be accused of fraud. Detractors who couldn’t fathom so much wisdom coming from a child accused her of writing the diary as a young adult and passing it off as the work of a child. Opal, the overnight sensation, was pushed back down into obscurity and darkness by public censure; a blow from which she never fully recovered.

Whether Opal’s book Opal Whiteley: Journal of an Understanding Heart was written by a 6 year old girl remains a mystery. In it is revealed a mind which contains an almost impossible wisdom and beauty. Although I truly believe this is the work of a child, the message is powerful enough that it doesn’t really matter who it comes from (although isn’t it wonderful to imagine it from this little messenger)

Although I don’t want to go into all the details surrounding the mystery, I will say this: the paper and crayons dated back to Opal’s childhood. Forensics lend credence to Opal’s version, rather than that of the rabid, skeptical public.

Opal couldn’t take the accusations and scrutiny. She travelled to England, France, India (the latter two in search of information on her “Angel Parents” and ended up committed to a mental institution where she spent the last half of her life and died in obscurity, surrounded by books and papers.

I really urge you to buy Opal’s biography by Benjamin Hoff- The Singing Creek Where the Willows Grow: The Mystical Nature Diary of Opal Whiteley and to read my previous thread about Opal in order to learn more about this fascinating tale.
The Mysterious and Beautiful Genius of Opal Whitely; Lessons from Her Childhood Diary Part 1 of 2
Continued with excerpts from diary:

There are so many beautiful passages in Opal's diary to quote, but I will post only a few here now so that you could get an idea of Opal's way of seeing the world.

Some days are long. Some days are short. The days that I have to stay in the house are the most long days of all.
In the morningtime of now, I had thinks to go on explores. I was going to St Firmin, and adown the Nonette (French for river). I was going to listen to its singings. And Peter Paul Rubens and Lars Porsena of Clusium (a crow) and Thomas Chatterton Jupiter Zeus, we were all going together.

And all the times I was picking up potatoes, I did have conversations with them. Too, I did have thinks of all their growing days there in the ground, and all the things they did hear. Earth-voices are glad voices, and earth-songs come up from the ground through the plants; and in their flowering, and in the days before these days are come, they do tell the earth-songs to the wind. And the wind in her goings does whisper them to folks to print for other folks, so other folks do have knowing of earth's songs. When I grow up, I am going to write for children--and grownups that haven't grown up too much--all the earth songs I now do hear.

I sit here on the doorstep, printing this on the wrapping-paper Sadie McKibben gave me. The mamma and the rest of the folks is gone to the ranch house. When they went away, she said for me to stay in the doorway, to see that nothing comes to carry the baby away. By the step is Brave Horatius. At my feet is Thomas Chatterton Jupiter Zeus. I hear songs--lullaby songs of the trees. The back part of me feels a bit sore (from a spanking her mom had given her), but I am happy, listening to the twighlight music of God's good world. I'm real glad I'm alive.

Now are come the days of brown leaves. They fall from the trees; they flutter to the ground. When the brown leaves flutter, they are saying little things. They talk with the wind. I hear them tell of their borning days, when they did come into the world as leaves. And they whisper of the hoods they wore then. I saw them--I used to count them, on the way to school. Today they were talking of the time before their borning days of this springtime. They talked on and on, and I did listen on to what they were telling the wind and the earth in their whisperings. They told how they were a part of earth and air, before their tree-borning days. And now they are going back. In the grey days of winter, they go back to the earth again. But they do not die.

Now I have thinks about trampers--how they do differ. Many of them follow the railroad track. They make goes to the upper camps, beyond the riviere. They do carry a roll on their backs. They so carry their blankets. They go that way, and some of them come down the track very soon again. Some stay nowhere long.
Some of the trampers go the way that goes to the upper camps do have stops when they go by here. They stop to get a bite to eat. And some come to the front door, and some do come to the back door. They knock on the door. Some rap their knuckles hard, and some tap in a gentle way.
There was one who so did, one week ago. Sleeps was just come upon the baby, after I did sing it le chanson de St Firmin [the song of Saint Firmin]. And I did go to the door, to see who it was. The man that it was, he said he was on his way to get work at the upper camps. He was a man with a clean, sad face, and a kind look in his eyes. And the roll upon his back was a heavy roll. I straightaway did go and get my bowl of bread and milk, that I was going to have for dinner. I gave it to him. He ate it in a hungry way, like Brave Horatius does eat his supper when we are come back from a long explore trip. Then the man did eat all the bread and milk, he did split some wood, out in the woodshed. He did pile it up in a nice way. Then he went--he went on to the upper camps. When he did go, he said "The Lord's blessing be with you child." I said, "It is." And I did tell him, "We have a cathedral in the woods, and in this eventime when we have prayers there we will pray that you may get work at the upper camps."
And at that coming of eventime, we did. And Peter Paul Rubens did grunt Amen at in-between times. Now every day, we do pray for the man that was hungry, and had a kind look in his eyes.

edit on 12-3-2017 by zosimov because: (no reason given)

a reply to: zosimov

Or maybe they taught she was a witch, one important aspect with filters is, they work.. Her problem lied in, that her parents went on this journey be their own free will, their daughter didnt have a choice, and messed her life..

a reply to: zosimov

Fascinating tale and unfortunate ending. She was definitely a very bright child. Mental illness is such a grey area, especially back in the days when it was very misunderstood.

I think the word "illness" itself makes it so taboo. Most child savants and prodigies, which Opal was in my opinion suffer from some type of autism.

Great thread zosi, thanks

a reply to: zosimov

I will look for the book and it would be nice if they had it locally at the used book store but, if not perhaps Amazon.
The end of her life stage is tragic and sad. Shame her loved ones were unable to care for her.

Thank you for your attention to this subject and the details. It is a subject close to my heart in many ways. Your efforts and writing delivery *are appreciated.

Thanks guys for reading and commenting! I absolutely agree that genuis is always misunderstood and often miscategorized as illness.

A couple more excerpts to round out Opal's world view:

Now I have thinks about trampers--how they do differ. Many of them follow the railroad track. They make goes to the upper camps, beyond the riviere. They do carry a roll on their backs. They so carry their blankets. They go that way, and some of them come down the track very soon again. Some stay nowhere long.
Some of the trampers go the way that goes to the upper camps do have stops when they go by here. They stop to get a bite to eat. And some come to the front door, and some do come to the back door. They knock on the door. Some rap their knuckles hard, and some tap in a gentle way.
There was one who so did, one week ago. Sleeps was just come upon the baby, after I did sing it le chanson de St Firmin [the song of Saint Firmin]. And I did go to the door, to see who it was. The man that it was, he said he was on his way to get work at the upper camps. He was a man with a clean, sad face, and a kind look in his eyes. And the roll upon his back was a heavy roll. I straightaway did go and get my bowl of bread and milk, that I was going to have for dinner. I gave it to him. He ate it in a hungry way, like Brave Horatius does eat his supper when we are come back from a long explore trip. Then the man did eat all the bread and milk, he did split some wood, out in the woodshed. He did pile it up in a nice way. Then he went--he went on to the upper camps. When he did go, he said "The Lord's blessing be with you child." I said, "It is." And I did tell him, "We have a cathedral in the woods, and in this eventime when we have prayers there we will pray that you may get work at the upper camps."
And at that coming of eventime, we did. And Peter Paul Rubens did grunt Amen at in-between times. Now every day, we do pray for the man that was hungry, and had a kind look in his eyes.

I was quite late to school. Teacher made me stand in the corner, to get my lesson with my face to the wall. I didn't mind that at all. There was a window in that part of the wall. It was near the corner. I looked looks at my book, sometimes. Most of the times, I looked looks out the window. I had seeing of little plant folks just peeping out of the earth to see what they could see. I did have thinks it would be nice to be one of them, and then grow up and have a flower, and bees a-coming, and seed-children at falltime. I have thinks that this is a very interest world to live in. There is so much to see out a window when teacher does have one to stand in the corner to study one's lessons.

There is so much more to Opal's amazing message but I believe the above passages give you a glimpse that well represents the wonder, joy, and beauty of Opal's world. Now get out there and start loving/learning from/listening to our earth!

a reply to: knowledgehunter0986

Hi knowledge! It's always a pleasure hearing your insights.
Thank you for reading and for the comment. I agree that many of those we shove aside and discredit with labels are the very ones we should be listening to.

Have a great day my friend!

originally posted by: TNMockingbird
a reply to: zosimov

Thank you for your attention to this subject and the details. It is a subject close to my heart in many ways. Your efforts and writing delivery *are appreciated.

I am so glad to hear this, thank you!!! I found the book online for a few dollars on a used book website. Check your pm for the name of the one I prefer

Hi all, I'm pretty sure Opal's journal is available online at the following link (or you can google the title--Opal Whiteley: The Journal of an Understanding Heart) in case you're interested in reading!
Opal's Journal

I got a copy of the book!!!!! It was just under 4.00 at a place called AbeBooks, no postage. It was second hand and in good condition. I haven't had time to start it yet as I have another book I have to finish first and am terribly behind in my reading these days, but I cannot wait to tear into this gem!

If it wasn't for your first thread, I never would have known about it. Thank you soooo much!

originally posted by: zosimov

originally posted by: TNMockingbird
a reply to: zosimov

Thank you for your attention to this subject and the details. It is a subject close to my heart in many ways. Your efforts and writing delivery *are appreciated.

I am so glad to hear this, thank you!!! I found the book online for a few dollars on a used book website. Check your pm for the name of the one I prefer

Found mine online as well for cheap!

originally posted by: Night Star
I got a copy of the book!!!!! It was just under 4.00 at a place called AbeBooks, no postage. It was second hand and in good condition. I haven't had time to start it yet as I have another book I have to finish first and am terribly behind in my reading these days, but I cannot wait to tear into this gem!

If it wasn't for your first thread, I never would have known about it. Thank you soooo much!

Lol, Nightstar, we got our copy for about the same price from the same place

I'm so happy to hear you will be reading this gem soon. It offers such a different and beautiful perspective on the world! (for me, that is). Also very charming writing style and full of humor, joy, and sadness.

Let me know what you think please!

a reply to: zosimov


LOL! Love that place for finding books cheap! I will indeed. I just need to get out of this Winter funk and stay offline long enough to get some time in for reading my beloved books.

a reply to: zosimov

a reply to: Night Star

I'm sure Night won't mind me telling you that she just PMd me the same info!

You two are great!



((hugs))

P.S. What's your shipping time, Night? I know we're hundreds of miles apart but, curious.

originally posted by: TNMockingbird
a reply to: zosimov

a reply to: Night Star

I'm sure Night won't mind me telling you that she just PMd me the same info!

You two are great!

((hugs))

So funny! It sounds like someone was meant to receive a message today

You and Night are wonderful! Love the messages of positivity/humor I see from you both. I am so excited to hear from you ladies once you've read the amazing diary.

a reply to: TNMockingbird

I don't remember how long it took to ship. Sometimes they may say up to two weeks and you might get in within one week. I know I didn't wait too long.

It's amazing to me how so many people, amazing people, slide into obscurity. Honestly, I had never heard of her before. I downloaded her "An understanding heart." Plan on reading some of it later. She sounds like a pretty amazing lady to me

a reply to: SpeakerofTruth

I agree, and how many little girls do you know of who made it into the history books?

I'm so glad you downloaded and are planning to read! I'm confident you will be amazed!

If you think to, please stop back in with your impressions.

a reply to: zosimov

I downloaded the pdf linked to from part 1.

I've only read through the preface so far. The description of going through and putting together the scraps distracted me. Reminded me of the self-published book I put together called appropriately Bits of Me.

I didn't learn to put thoughts in good enough order to write until late in life (38 ish). I used to draw pictures of creatures real and imagined on walls and doors with crayons. My mother then insisted that I learn the art of cleaning and scrubbing.

While I was off in boarding school, my family moved away. My oldest sister bought the house. While visiting her a couple of years later, I peeked into the closet where my older brother and I would often sit on the shelf. There, on the wall close to the ceiling were the day-day and monny-monny that we had drawn in crayon.

Any way, there are a couple of orphaned(not in my threads) pieces that I found:
Woman in the Lake
and

Clarity
I asked for clarity of vision.
It became so clear.

I asked for clarity of purpose.
To teach what was plain.

Then I asked for credibility;
to be believed when I explain.

Those who understood
questioned, objected, and argued.

Those who did not
chose to follow.

I prayed then,
"Oh my God,
please release those
who are enthralled."

My sight grew dim.
My purpose ambiguous.

Don't think I agree
with what I once taught.

Not quite sure;
there is much I forgot.

It was originally posted Here but I decided just now to polish it just a tad. The thread is about the meaning of life.

originally posted by: pthena
a reply to: zosimov

I downloaded the pdf linked to from part 1.

I've only read through the preface so far. The description of going through and putting together the scraps distracted me. Reminded me of the self-published book I put together called appropriately Bits of Me.

I am so glad you are reading her story! I fell in love with Opal and her perspective and think that there are some who speak her language that might feel right at home in her beautiful world. I hope her story hits you like that because it is also tremendously tragic. I find the symbolism of piecing her past back together to be very interesting, and had not thought of it in that way until I read your post. Thanks for the meaningful responses you always give.. they always send me in a direction I did not expect.

I didn't learn to put thoughts in good enough order to write until late in life (38 ish). I used to draw pictures of creatures real and imagined on walls and doors with crayons. My mother then insisted that I learn the art of cleaning and scrubbing.

While I was off in boarding school, my family moved away. My oldest sister bought the house. While visiting her a couple of years later, I peeked into the closet where my older brother and I would often sit on the shelf. There, on the wall close to the ceiling were the day-day and monny-monny that we had drawn in crayon.

This is just so powerful. I can't quite put into words, but your posts always leave me tremendously moved. I'm sure your drawings were amazing.



Thank you for your beautiful poem. I really enjoyed the version you printed here and like the changes you made.. it flows beautifully.

As for your short story Woman in the Lake.. WOAH! This is just a powerful little tale.. says so much and very eloquently I might add but leaves room for the reader to come to his/her own conclusions. I love it!

Enjoy the rest of the read pthena!