The Other Side

Where do I begin to tell a story of my visit to the other side?

This past weekend I had the privilege of attending the Experiencer's Speak 2015 Conference. This was held in Portland, Maine, just fifteen minutes from the beautiful Casco Bay.  At once, I was greeted by the cool, salt air and raised vibrational energy of the Portland, Maine area.

Almost immediately, when I entered the hotel the day before the conference was due to begin, one warm and friendly smile and wide, 'hello' after anoather welcomed me. One by one, one person after another as the attendees filtered in from California and from the United Kingdom.  Their smiles were radiant; the vibrational frequency palpable.

One by one, the speakers told of feeling a presence, seeing a ship or alien once, twice or throughout their lives.  Their credentials of each speaker were impeccable.  Scientists, biologists, wilderness guides, writers, contractors, accountants, professors, young people, older folks.  Some saw orbs, some had photos of space ships, some looked worn and distressed because of their abductions. Some like me, had animal totems come to them over the course of years.  Some were screen savers, or what we affectionately refer to when alien and/orspace ship turn into knowable, less traumatic beings.  Owls were one form of messenger.

One academic spoke about the importance of understanding neuroscience.  That the right and left brain have separated functions.  We know the left brain has long held a more esteemed presence since it is the analytical/storyteller portion.  It tries to make sense of what the right brain, the oneness, non-judgmental and synchronious, connected portion of our brains tell us.  We remote view in the right hemisphere where the NOW lives.  We understand the great importance of the right brain and work hard to explain its value.

We also know we live in a patterned universe. Nothing is random.  We've seen worms, segmented worms become complete bodies, trees and vegetation grow itself again, sometimes in the same space, sometimes in another.  It is anything but meaningless.  My right sided hemisphere remembers.

I was chosen.  Chosen to see a spaceship.  Chosen to tell a story.  A mere messenger charged with the task of helping humans understand that their destruction active or passive of our environment is destroying the universe.  Earth, the densest planet in our solar system is rich in metals.  Unidentified foreign objects or UFOs are here to observe. They don't want anything more.  They have what they need.  The worry about our child-like emotions, our ability to soil the land we occupy, our incessant need and choice to acquire more.

How do I tell you what I downloaded this weekend?  It is tantamount to being on a retreat.  You are instantly loved and understood.  There is no judgment.  There was a huge vibrational change in my frequency.   The first revelation was when my son-in-law was entered into a raffle for a $2500 paddleboard.  I knew he would win and he did.

What A Difference

What a difference we can make in the lives of others.

A simple phone call, note, or surprise anything.  It is the little thoughtful things that make the heart smile.  Sing.

This morning I saw a really moving video on spiritual conspiracy by Ricardo Ferrari.  There was no link for the video so I cannot insert it here for you.  A four and a half minute film spoke about the silence of caring.  This underground connection so many of us are feeling.  It doesn't appear in the media - tv, radio, newspapers.  It is a powerful movement.  There is no centralized leader.

When people meditate together, work together, feel a connection with one another, the cells tell the body everything is okay.  Cells open to receive nutrients.  DNA ungnarles.  Peace is assured.  The body is homeostatic.  It is a wonderful feeling!

I wonder if the trees, animals and plant life feel this connection.  This joy.  I suspect they do.  More and more we are seeing videos of animals making a deep human connection.  Even territorial swans.  the hummingbirds flying over me as getting less timid.  I will be ecstatic should they sit on my arm or shoulder.  We are all part of a living universe, passive or active.

Now hummingbirds encircle me.  Any time now!

Anticipation

Anticipation.  The song by the same name sung by Carly Simon plays in my head.  I like anticipating things.  Looking forward to them.  Surprises.

I could use a surprise right about now.  Feeling out of sorts and I know why.  Thinking things too deeply, this way, that way.  What the heck does it matter anyway.  The universe corrects when necessary.

The Dow Jones Industrial Average goes up and down and up again and way down today. A barometer of human emotions.  Lack of leadership.  Too much greed, destruction and not enough caring.  It goes that way.  Until it doesn't.  It doesn't say much for emotional human growth.

Once again, at my perch on the front porch a pair of hummingbirds fly close to my head.  They minmic the world.  Territorial.  The weather is hot, with humidity.  The sky is a soft blue with clouds sprinkled about.  Another rush of cool air fills the space.  I am grateful.

My neighbor is now getting the windows washed on their home.  It was quiet for a while.  It is a day long event and I am ready for it to be over.  This is my office!

I wonder if the birds are annoyed.  We all anticipate things being different at a certain time.  I remove the large spider web that covers a section of my porch near the steps again.  It has become a morning task.  The web is getting thicker and we all know the temperatures are changing.  Living things want things to be as they want.  I watch as the ant coexists with the worm.  And the worm with the spider.

It is cooler inside.  Quieter.  I anticipate a nice afternoon shower.  Cooling off. Now.

Trump This!

Are you like me and so tired of seeing The Donald's name on the computer, or television or radio?  Enough of him.  Pfftt!

I will take this anyday:

From 29 August Venus conjunct Mars brings relief from the heavy energy we’ve experienced throughout August as Jupiter, Venus and the Sun all squared Saturn. With Saturn ruling over authority, contraction, limits and rigidity, it’s likely that for many this last month has felt a bit like walking through wet concrete.

Jupiter squared Saturn on 3 August just as the wise teacher stationed direct at 28 degrees Scorpio. With Jupiter in Leo this was a bit like someone putting the brakes on your ability to express yourself. Personally it felt like I was operating from inside some kind of bubble; I could see out but trying to make an impression on the world was not easy. I also felt a lot of negativity and loss of confidence in my dreams. Keeping the faith seemed nigh impossible!

Retrograde Venus conjunct Jupiter in Leo on 5 August, joining the square to Saturn and putting the squeeze on relationships. For me, connecting with others became a strain, especially when there was a sense that one person in a relationship was not taking full responsibility. Socially many people probably felt somewhat inhibited with a tendency to avoid social interaction. Kudos to those who resisted the urge to crawl into a hole and feel lonesome!

Just as Saturn, Jupiter and Venus moved out of orb, the faster moving but more powerful Sun moved into square aspect with Saturn, a transit that although exact yesterday will affect us for most of the coming week. If my own experience is anything to go by, this transit may seriously bend your self-confidence out of shape! Be sure to keep a close watch on your self-talk; a few positive affirmations would not go astray over the next few days!

Today the Moon in Scorpio is conjunct Saturn and square the Sun so don’t expect this weekend to be overly jolly and carefree. In fact you may find yourself ‘doing the work’ so to speak, dredging up long buried emotions. With Saturn heading back into Sagittarius on 18 September this will be the last conjunction of the Moon and Saturn in Scorpio for 28 years. Make the most of it and don’t shy away from getting down and dirty – it will be worth the effort.

Venus conjunct Mars – reward after the heavy Saturn work!

From 29 August Venus conjunct Mars at 15 degrees Leo will bring much needed relief as these strong masculine and feminine energies combine in Leo to create a passionate, sexy and creative energy. Connection between lovers is especially favoured and if your natal chart aligns well you can expect fireworks in the bedroom!

Although a fast moving transit Venus conjunct Mars will bring a very pleasant few days where you are likely to feel outgoing, social and attractive. Both physical and creative energy will be heightened so engaging in a group activity such as dancing, sport or performance will bring out the best in you. In fact physical activity of any kind will probably feel great!

With Venus conjunct Mars in Leo making a wide trine to Uranus in Aries this is a fiery, passionate energy that could have you jumping into a new relationship without thinking. If you choose the right person this will probably result in a pleasant though ephemeral connection, but if you’re not careful you could end up in a messy liaison with someone you don’t really trust or respect, especially as Venus is still in retrograde motion.

Venus conjunct Mars will last until 6 September when Venus stations direct, moving back into her active, outgoing mode. The effect of this transit will then begin to taper off, however the trine between Venus and Uranus will strengthen and will impact us through most of September. This is a great time for meeting new people and making connections that could change your way of looking at the world and open up new possibilities. 

How will Venus conjunct Mars affect you?

Depending on the unique configuration of your natal chart, Venus conjunct Mars could have a strong impact or very little at all. Those with planets between 12 and 18 degrees of the fire (Aries, Leo or Sagittarius) or fixed (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio or Aquarius) signs will feel Venus conjunct Mars particularly strongly. Look also to see through which house transiting Mars conjunct Venus is passing, as this will tell you which area of life will be most affected. 

For example in my natal chart 15 degrees Leo is in the 3rd House of communication making this a transit that will probably have an inspired affect on my writing and help me to articulate my ideas with fervour. However with Venus conjunct Mars squaring my natal Uranus at 15 degrees Scorpio this is probably not the best time to take on difficult conversations that are not absolutely necessary.

http://www.insightastrology.net/current-transits/venus-conjunct-mars/

Things are, looking up;)

Do You Feel It?

Do you feel it?

There is a clearing happening now.  A clearing of things that no longer serve your highest good. You have been feeling that for some time.  This you know.  It isn't necessarily a time of new beginnings, although we begin anew with each breath.  Discernment is key.  Trust your intuition.

It is a hot and humid day in the Nantahala National Forest.  Two pair of hummingbirds fly back and forth.  The cardinals cling to their respective branches as an elusive breeze passes by.  I want more coolness, more breeze.  

I want some things to be different than they are.  I also know my wanting isn't always the best outcome.  Mostly, I am content with how things are.  At least I was until the brillant cardinal moved out of my close camera range.  It is time to invest in a lens that will provide me with the intimate detail for which I yearn. 

My frustration continues with this Mac.  It insists upon locking on blue squares and rectangles upon words which I just typed.  It has a mind of its own and I don't much care for it.  The hummingbirds do another fly by.  They are curious about my nutty fruity salad which I eat between putting words on paper.  The Mac must have heard me because it stopped that irritating function.  At least for a time.  

Sometimes I feel as though I am on a mountainside in Africa.  The film, Out Of Africa is always in my mind.  I am grateful the temperatures here in the forest do not compete with those in Africa.  Perched in the high Adirondack chair, I think of the people in my life for whom I am more than grateful. That I can share, request silly things.  That they laugh with me because they are doing the same.  I love the humanity we share.  That we can talk of our own cleansings and letting go.  That all the parts of ourselves are loved and cared about.  

Do you feel it?

Small Foot

It is dark outside.  The continual thumps in the rafters, as well as in the foundation and even the support posts from the sunroom cry out.

For a while I have suspected an animal in the side yard near the retaining wall.  The area is newly seeded and strawed.  It gets raked after a downpour to ensure the seed is just a quarter of an inch under the soil.  Especially along the new steps.  Today, I saw child-like footprints, the size of a five or six year old.  I also saw smaller footprints but without claws or toes.

Without realizing what I saw were footprints, I began to rake the area of three or four such prints.  There has been another downpour last night and some areas have washed away. Noticing some kind of pattern below, I stopped cold in my own tracks.  These footprints were all similar.  

The interesting thing about this is that there were no hind paw prints. Apparently, it was a bi-pedal mammal.  As you can see, the photo below is depicts moist, freshly laid top soil with grass seed sprinkled atop it.  On top of that is straw. The hole is mid center toward the bottom.  Again, I evened the topsoil, so there is not much trace of the footprint.

To give you a sense of why I believe this footprint was here, take a look at where this area abutted.

                                                                before topsoil/seed

This area just under the steps has not been stained yet.  It  is open and allows for water to enter through the landing and lattice skirting.  A medium grade mil plastic covers the ground inside the little enclosure so that weeds and grass can not grow.  I suspect whatever was present last night was looking for a water source.

Throughout the yard, especially on the cliff side (near the peach Adirondack chairs) I saw a few small sized holes.  They could have been from the abundance of rabbits of all sizes, or perhaps even raccoons or skunks.  I will set the trail camera tonight to see if anything returns.

Small, Black Letters

Write! Right!  The opened new document is the color of new fallen snow.  The clouds continue to roll in and the sky darkens.  The hammering of the handyman outside is a reminder that life is not static.  Not static like the empty page in front of me.

The snow continues to mound and the canvas is whiter than ever.  So much to say.  But nothing really.  That broad leafed tree is still elusive.  It doesn't fit in the southern Appalachians.  Maybe it is also a transplant.

The snow disappears and small, black letters fill the once empty space.  It is becoming more fluid now.  Like the people coming here for more reasons that they know.

It has been a large influx of folks from all over these past few years.  Many are escaping their once homogeneous lives in the burbs. But unlike the southern Appalachians, their communities are multi-cultural.  Their lives are filled with engine sounds, fluorescent lights, ambulances rushing in one direction or another.  Beeping cars.  They can't remember the quiet and they yearn to know it.

Mornings in the forest are filled with birdsong, insects hoping for breakfast, squirrel sounding alerts, branches swaying.  It is anything but quiet.  It is a different kind of quiet. There is no need to speak for all that is needed is to go within.  Quiet the chatter.  Storylines.  Labels.

A baby bird is seen on the ground.  Alive.  Nothing learned in graduate school prepares you for that moment.  Or on Wall Street.  You want to help.  To save it.  To be a part of its continuance if even in some small way.  Gently, you lift the bird to join its nest mates.

A triumphant feeling warms your heart.  Better than any Dow Jones Industrial Average soars.  You feel connected and wonder why you stayed away so long.  You are glad to be here.

You missed the Queen Anne's lace that doesn't grow along the concrete jungle floor.  The rushing water that twists and turns over the cascading rocks.  The feeling of the waterfalls splashing your face and back.

You missed the chipmunk scurrying across the forest floor, hoping to find a morsel of something to eat.  You remember the time you had all of this just behind your house.  You wonder why you left the forest.  No reason makes any sense any more.  You are grateful.  Peaceful.

You are glad to be in the forest.  You are home.

Dark Appalachia? Really?

At a recent book talk, I was excited to hear Appalachian stories.  The writers were some of the best.  Almost immediately, I was mesmerized by the first reader.  But his story was one of tragedy.  Death.  I had heard of this writer for some time.  The second reader, another well known writer, told the story of a beheading in the middle east.  His style was gripping, the content made me sick.  I could barely sit in my seat.

I thought I would wait a bit for the next reader to spin his yarn.  More death, great writing.  The fourth reader, the editor of this compilation of stories spoke a bit differently reading his own work.  My stomach was uneasy.  I had long waited for this evening.  I thought it would be uplifting as Appalachia is.  At least it is for me.

At a yoga class before our stretching began this morning, the conversation shifted to discuss this book whose title I shall not mention.  I wouldn't want to injure these wonderful writers.  I will not read their work.  Not until the subject matter lightens.

"This is Appalachian writing today.  It is dark," said my friend who taught math.

Other chimed in.  I was hoping for the lightness of Rose Senehi, or some other writer.  Then I reflected on this. What were the common themes in all of these writers?  It was east.  Their age.  Few were over their mid forties and I suspect most were in their late thirties.

How sad this generation feels the darkness like this.  Sad they can't see the beauty, the possibilities.  Could it be they are reflecting their sense of doom in the world?  One was clearly pro war in the middle east and I am at loss to understand this.  Still, we all come from varying political ideologies.  I wonder if he also has a confederate flag flying from his pick up truck.

I want to read these fellows.  If nothing other than their technique, their craft at working the words but I will wait until their content softens.  I do not know how I can get past the macabre of it all.

Nope, this is not my Appalachia.  Mine is the Appalachia of possibilities.

Now.

Sundays Aren't So Bad

When I was a child, Sundays were not my favorite day.  There was church, a long way from our home, an hour or so.  I often got sick in the car.  I would plead with my mother to let me stay home.  Sometimes she did.

Then there would be the early evening, when everything got quiet in our Baltimore home.  Our parents were readying themselves for work the next day.  But I don't think it was that so much, as the dread for the Monday work week.  My mother loved her job teaching math and science.  My dad didn't like his in the insurance business.  Sundays always felt cold and empty.

Then there were the years when I was readying my family for the work week.  Them in their various stages of school, and me going to work.  I absolutely loved working - whatever I did it was fun.  An adventure.  Especially after I got out of college and grad school.  My jobs, my autonomy became more comfortable.

Sundays are quiet in the mountains.  For a long time, everything was closed.  Restaurants, craft stores, and places that sold wine.  It is different now.  Money reigns king.

There are more eateries, more breweries, just about one on every corner in my small town.  I don't plan Sundays.  I don't plan too much these days.  Sometimes it is just fun to see what happens.  This Sunday, not too much came together.  I did see a yellow finch.  A couple of them.  I didn't have my zoom camera, sitting the distance away that I was, so I couldn't capture its likeness.  I did see several of them in town this morning.

As I was walking down a street, dogs startled me as they barked from inside a car.  They were locked in a large suv from South Carolina.  I saw four windows cracked a few inches.  The temperatures were rising.  I worried about the two huskies inside.  It was mighty hot and steamy.  I called the police.

A not too friendly 'community policing' fellow showed up.  I had an encounter with him as I was nearly killed crossing a street on the way to a fundraiser yesterday.  I took a photo of the offending license plate, but the officer wasn't too interested.  He was 'in the middle of something.'

Officer not-so-friendly appeared answering my call and found the owner of the vehicle inside the cafe.  I suspect he gave the negligent dog owner a fine.  I would sure like to know how much this abusive man was fined for this.  Too bad he couldn't finish his breakfast, but I kind of think animals matter.

Sundays aren't so bad.  Especially if you can help safe the life of two dogs.

Corinthian Bells

Corinthian Wind Chime bells were toning away in the sudden afternoon breeze. Clouds hovered over the mountains, dark, low and cumulus.  Intellicast radar revealed the storm was east of here in the Pisgah Mountains.  Yet the howling hounds below knew something was up.

Crows scurried as squirrels and rabbits ran erratically across the small and steep road to Janel's house.   The entire ride home from the Farmer's Market unnerved her.  There was something about that woman in the gray and red striped polo.  She was not one of us.

There is an alien group, Nordic in appearance, very tall that seemingly fit into Caucasian groups on planet earth.  Some are hybrids.  All have piercing blue eyes. Her bangs, straggly like the rest of her aging blond hair were more than long, falling into her eyes.  Her level of awareness about these matters drew my attention. She appeared to have no basis for her appearance.  Princess Diana would have been embarassed.

The Nordic woman's British accent didn't fit anything about her persona.  After all, Brits are exceptionally proper, at least the ones in my family, the ones I have met.  Except for Maggie Smith whose humor continually cracks me up.  There is purpose in her humor.  Not the Nordic woman's. I remembered that she didn't want anyone asking about her ancestry.  My hair stood on ends.

It was continual need to talk about UFOs also caught my attention. I suspect I will see her again and again.  I saw her on Main Street as I went to a fundraiser yesterday later in the day, a few hours after the market closed.  She tried to talk with me again but I found myself suddenly engaged by other patrons.

There was something in the air alright.  Of course, we wouldn't want to jump to conclusions but when I get my intuition alerts, I have learned to listen.

The August wind moved in like a pentameter.  An abundance of raspberry crepe myrtle flowers brought even more Ruby-throated hummingbirds sipping the fresh sugar water at the porch feeder.  I was more than glad to see them in early April after a winter too long for the southern Appalachians.  Climate change we are told.  Lots of cycles throughout history along with human destruction for the past hundred years or so. More in the recent years.  I hoped the raspberry crepe myrtles would continue in their abundance for years to come. I wasn't so sure.

Today, the mountain was inordinately quiet.  It was not easy to fall asleep that night.  Visions of the Nordic woman made me thankful to be attending an Experiencers conference soon.  An opportunity for more knowledge, to understand the changes.  To set history straight.

The Corinthian bells continued their pendulum run, back and forth. Louder than before. Like the Nordic woman.

Not Her Again

It was the usual cast of characters.  The local brew woman, who always had a smile on her face.  Then the herbal woman who was glad to see me. Market day in town was always a potpouri of flavors, smells and textures.  A dozen brussel sprout stalks were artistically stacked in a bucket, a picture perfect opportunity.  I was glad to have my droid handy for a photo.

"I was hoping you would be here," she said.

"Git over here and give me a hug," she added.

"I could use one of those right about now."

Just as I was about to hug my friend, something caught my view.

"Hurry, hug me so she doesn't come this way, " I pleaded pointing.

Katie always gave the warmest hugs.

"Oh, her, she is quite the trip," Katie said.

"Odd, strange, whatever, but interesting at the same time," she said.

"Interesting, now that is a euphemism!"

"More like just plain rude," I said.

There she was in her long sleeved polo, gray and red horizontal strips.  And that mangy dog again.

I moved away so as NOT to be seen.  Her performance the other day at the cafe was enough for a life time.  I wasn't hurt, I mean HOW could you take that rudeness in?  Anyone that rude needs all the love and compassion we can muster.

I moved about and her gaze followed me.  Then suddenly she happened upon me.  I was cornered next to a vendor's table between flower pails.  No where to go.

She moved in like a leopard stalking its prey.

"Hi, there, oh, I have seen these UFOs since we last talked.  What do you make of it?" her voice questioned ever so humbly.

"Oh my, it's Her Rudeness," I added with softened eyes and voice and the grin of a Cheshire cat.

"Yes, I am blunt and rude," she said.

Her long, blond straggly and straight unwashed hair poured over her man-like body. She was a foot over my petite frame. The once piercing blue eyes were pleading for friendship and I sure didn't want any of her.

She knew who she was and I was glad when the conversation came to a closure. For thirty minutes, she continued her gaze toward me, orchestrating a move to get closer.  She wanted to engage in more conversations.  She wanted me to be her friend.  My friends kept coming over and she was pushed aside.  Several times.  Eventually she moved on, a few vegetables in hand.

Head down.

Little Reminders

There are always little reminders of things in our lives which we love.  Treasure.  Sometimes they show up in the strangest ways.  My front porch was given a second coat this week.  Just yesterday, the porch furniture was replaced.

Look at what I found this morning as I strolled across it. This Lego piece must have been wedged inside of the Adirondack furniture.

It is always fun finding these little reminders.  Treasures.  I suspect my grandson wiggled it into one of the screw holes in the furniture.  Or my granddaughter.  

My son used to do this.  He would tell me it was my "little treat."  He often did these treats when we would go to the movies.  He loved Skittles and would toss them in my popcorn when I wasn't looking.  He wanted me to have a surprise.  

It is those 'little reminders' in our lives that hold such dearness.  Finding them brings out wonderful memories.  I am the lucky one.

14,596

14,596 visitors to my blogs as of this minute.  That is a lot of reading, a lot of readers.  I am glad people still put the time into reading what others have to say.

So often in this high tech world, folks just want immediacy.  They are not willing to put the time in to learn new skills.  If you buy into the notion that the world is a mess, that the way we have all been socialized doesn't fit the people we are becoming, well, why oh why, wouldn't you try to learn a new way of being.  
Of course, there are the newbies who proselytze about how to be, reading from the Bhagavad Gita or some other book.  They tell you the stories of how people were until they got it. Essentially it is a dialogue of diverging viewpoints on how to attain liberation.  New age writers are following in their own interpretations of it.  But these proselytzers have no clue how to hear others, how to counsel them.  They merely spit out the words on a book.

We've all been newbies and proselytzers one way or another.  We learn something new and can't wait to share it.  Put it into action.  The real action begins when you do the real work.  You can't get there from here any other way.

This is the age of the drama nobility.  They go on and on about a particular situation, creating and recreating storylines.  They run from one person to another retelling the story. A quick look in any town tells where they find their solace. I've been taking a poll this past year about how people of all ages handle disappointments and frustrations. Without a doubt everyone said the same thing.  A brew pub or some such place.  They run away through drinking, acquisitions, and more storylines.  After a while, they move on never having learned a thing about this process.

You have to allow yourself to feel this pain.  Understand your pain body is raw.  And just let it be until you can heal yourself.  Yes, it takes time.  So does any worthwhile skill we learn.

14,596 visitors.  Readers.  I wonder how many read this blog and actually learned something from it. Or how many ran away looking for instant gratification?

Breeding Like...

It is early morning.  The rabbits of various sizes are feeding in the yard.  There are more this year, and their sizes vary.  Some are just three weeks old, barely out of the nest.  Others are a month, three months.  I am not seeing too many larger ones this time and I don't know why. I suspect they were hit by cars coming in and out of the community as they are given to erratic behavior.

• 

They can be found on the hill, in the front and now in the herb garden.  I was just about to pick parsley and these little rascals took care of the entire process for me.  They enjoy the coral and gold poppies, too.  Every single one of them.

Large eyes, and a mouth that seems forever chewing, these creatures are amusing.  I remember Robert Rabbitt, a lop earred rabbit my sister-in-law had.  They kept Robert for a long time.  Indoors.  Loose.  One day they arrived home from work to find several electrical cords were chewed.  It went downhill from there.

Robert found a new home on a farm.  They visited him often.  Took him his favorite treats of carrots. I am not too sure there is msuch interaction with a rabbit, but they didn't care.

They just loved him.

9/11 and $240 Billion: What Citizens Must Know

I won't write much about this.  The tape is thorough, and well researched.  I will add that my former spouse worked in one of the WTC buildings.  I had a premonition in 1992 that something would happen.  He changed jobs and was spared during the attack that year.

For those who are on the fence, or refuse to believe there is huge corruption within our government, do take a listen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?t=351&v=CdE1Cwnymzc

Remembering

It is the little things.  Getting out of the car, walking into the house.  I could be out at a restaurant or grocery store.  It could be just about dinner time.  Suddenly, I remember.  A fleeting thought, "I have to get home."

Twelve and thirteen years of loving and caring for my two cocker spaniels does that.  Only this morning, as I was exiting my car I remembered again.  Like I did last night.  The day before.  And before that.  They are no longer on the earth plane.

Each day, I take the steps up to their resting place on either side of the growing hydrangea my children sent in their honor.  I can't walk past without clutching.Or tears. I loved them dearly.  Always will.  They are the heart of my heart.  The pitter patter of my life.  My buddies.

It is hard to look at their photos.  Recently, I came across a video I took of them while in New Hampshire.  For a moment, they were beside me.  Physically.  I suppose in so many ways, they will always be at my side.  Watching.  Protecting.  Loving.

I am truly grateful.

You Gotta Walk

No one can do it for you.  You have to do you own work.  Woody Guthrie said it like no other:

Lonesome ValleyWords and Music by Woody Guthrie You gotta walk that lonesome valley, You gotta walk it by yourself, Nobody here can walk it for you, You gotta walk it by yourself. Some people say that John was a Baptist, Some folks say he was a Jew, But your holy scripture tells you That he was a preacher too.  Daniel was a Bible hero, Was a prophet brave and true, In a den of hungry lions Proved what faith can do for you. There's a road that leads to glory Through a valley far away, Nobody else can walk it for you, They can only point the way. Mamma and daddy loves you dearly, Sister does and brother, too, They may beg you to go with them, But they cannot go for you. I'm gonna walk that lonesome valley, I'm gonna walk it by myself, Don't want to nobody to walk it for me, I'm gonna walk it by myself.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BcbqCssiBUc

Connect The Dots

It is time to connect the dots.  The tragic death of Cecil, the lion is a tragedy for all living things.  So is it a tragedy that our government abuses prisoners (military, criminal, etc.) in Guantanamo, county, state and federal jails.  It is tragic people are abused in the workplace, in their relationships, in poverty, without access to health care,  in life.  It is also tragic that animals are abused in slaughterhouses, that the bison living in and around Yellowstone are hazed and murdered by out government, there are also animals living in inhumane conditions.



No, this didn't just happen to Cecil.  But it can end with Cecil.  All it takes is raising one's level of consciousness.  Believing that living things, different than you, have a right to live as way.  Worship differently, marry differently, behave differently.  People still belief Jews, blacks, Muslim, etc. are less than whole. More people have died in the name of religion than any other cause.

These same ideologies caused the Crusades, atrocities all over the planet.  It is a me versus them.  It doesn't work.  It never has.

Living things have pecking order. Until we begin to regard life as sacred, these tragic deaths will continue.  Let's honor living things in the name of Cecil.  This isn't just a JUMP ON THE Facebook BANDWAGON situation.

It is about connecting the dots.

Asters. It Must Be Fall

August is the reminder.  The evenings come sooner.  The air chills.  The katydids and crickets rub their hind legs.  Fall is in the air.





Fall is one of my favorite seasons.  The invigorating cool, crisp evenings, leaves blowing in the wind.  Leaves turning red, orange and gold.  It is the birthday of two of my grandchildren.  A time of travel to share in their parties.  Another trip to New England for me.  Maybe a couple of trips this there in the next few months.  Definitely Thanksgiving, too.

August is also a time to be thankful for another wonderful summer.  Planting gardens, watering flowers, getting grass to grow in parched areas. Getting much needed work done around my mountain home. Fresh, wooden lattice skirting under the porches and a new small deck and steps.

It is mosquito and chigger time and my skin sure feels it. I am glad to have a few herbal remedies to remedy itching skin.  Then there are the parade of annual mums we have come to love. I don't plant them like I used to.  They require daily watering.  I like an easy, slow fall.  A time to remember.  To be.  I also like scouring the mountains for interesting flowers and changes in the leaves. But more than that, I love finding lavender-colored asters.  They are always my first signal of that season.

It won't be long now.

Is It Helpful?

One of the four questions often asked in Buddhist litergy is this.  Is it helpful?  Is what you are saying helpful?

I have always added to my list this question:
Does this does it bring people closer together?
Does it invite new members?
Does it rise up the human condition?

Or it is from a place of ego? Or shifting responsibility.

Of course, we cannot always do all of this.  I think it is important to consider one's behavior.  Do it better next time.

So often when I see a Facebook poster I often want to leave Fb forever.  Like the poster depicting black warriors asking if this is how you see African men?  I am tired of the downtrodden whining among people.  It isn't my job to lift you up.  I will do what I can.  The job is ultimately yours.  I say that as 51% of a disenfranchised population.  Women.  If these warrior types don't like how they are represented, then don't work as actors in these movies.  This is hardly my issue.

I want to see things that raise the human condition.  People being kind to one another, mentoring, pretty flowers.  Cleaning up a creek.  Standing up for something that truly matters.

Is this helpful?

Silver Linings

There is always a silver lining. Mostly.

A story in the newspapers speaks about a so-called eco-community having a variety of financial woes.  They are only eco in their marketing.  In too many ways, they cut costs to feather their respective nests. They built an earthen dam which broke immediately and were levied a $300,000 fine by the county.  To my understanding, they have yet to pay it.

A well known social media seems to have a variey of posts designed to make the Caucasian population feel guilty about their skin color.  Whiteness. Privilege.  Clearly, they teamed up with some marketing firm designed to make people feel worse about themselves.  Surely, it isn't to open them socially.

We saw that when advertising began its foothold in the 1940s aimed at making women  compete with one another in the home.  First, it was the latest and greatest cleaning machine designed to save countless hours on housework.  People still spend the same amount of time cleaning.  Those that clean.  Second, it was the Aviance commercial in the 60s telling women they could do it all.  All meant clean the house, prepare the meals and be a radiant, sexy date for their corporate husbands.  Third, it was the Twiggy syndrome.  Get skinny, look sexy. Yet, the food processed contained more and more GMOs and made people fatter.  No one was surprise when we learned Weight Watchers and Sara Lee were owned by the same company.

Now companies make slimming garments to hide the bulges they produced.  Credit is also given to those who can't stay away from the trough.We use to call it self-control.  Or common sense.

I am glad not to have television service.  A newspaper at the door.  To be living on a knoll in a densely wooded area.  My silver linings include the wildlife at my door daily.  Close, personal friends and family.  A good life all in all.

I am glad to be who I am.  Glad to discover life's richness.  I am truly glad to be aware enough of all the silver linings.

Mason Dixon Et Al

Mason Dixon.  Without the hypenation.  That's where I am from.  Specifically, Baltimore.  The burbs in an area called Woodlawn. I have southern blood.

For starters, Dad's family is from North Carolina, mostly toward the Piedmont and eastern side.  Mom's mother, my Nana, was from London and married a man from southern Maryland. That's Calvert County, Maryland, on the Chesapeake Bay.  Naturally, I am drawn to water.  Add to that, a Scorpio sign and voila!

We grew up eating canned hominy (grits), fried chicken, creamed chipped beef (a Maryland treat), pineapple upside down cake, lots of seafood, corn bread and floured gravy.  It was only when I married that I removed the flour in gravy going for a more natural dripping.  Most of the food was tasteless, homage to my Nana's English roots and southern cooking.  I suspect there must be a branch of the south that historically used herbs.  That deserves more investigation.

My parents were always in the woods ~ away from the hustle and bustle.  Mom had a background in earth science (academic) and Dad was a naturalist-type of person.  Between the two of them, just about everything in nature could be identified. Whether mountains or oceans.  Dad's knowledge bank, from what I remember, was more broad.  I think he preferred the woods and solace more than Mom.  Both of my parents were quite social creatures.  There were always people in our home, either for coffee, swimming or social parties.

Even as that young child, deep in the woods, my senses were acute.  I could feel animals nearby before we saw them.  My Dad dubbed me, "the good looker."  I could find anything.

Naturally, my roots include some northern sensibilities.  I am comfortable most anywhere on the east coast.  My heart lies in the southern Appalachians.  It is where I live.  It is where my soul is home.

Strange Woman Encounter

Strange doesn't do her justice.

This morning, as I often do, I bought a vanilla latte and sat on the patio of a local cafe.  A clearly British woman was moving about inside and out several times.  She made small chatter.  She parked her mongrel dog conspicuously by the front door.  It made it difficult for patrons to go in and out.

As we chatted a bit, she made it clear she didn't care about obstructing anyone. Full of anger,  beyond arrogant, she hated the U.S. and hated Atlanta almost as much.  Even her mouth made ugly gestures.  She did have some interesting observations about this country.  I wondered why she stayed so long.  She said she did dog rescue, dog sitting.  Her wire haired daschund looked anything but well groomed.  I began to wonder about her story.  The observations and conversation descended from there.

Long, blond straggly, unkempt hair draped over her nearly six foot body.  Her blue eyes were piercing and she looked more Scandinavian, Nordic maybe than British.  She mentioned Atlanta caused her divorce.  After chatting with her a bit, I could see why.  But it wasn't Atlanta.

She continued to dissect my conversation while I observed her further as she stabbed away at her pancake.  Then her mouth became more contorted. She mentioned her UFO experience, that she was of a higher vibration, that my conversation was anything but interesting.  The attacks continued and I began to take a closer look at this woman.  Was she a plant?  Hybrid?

She went on to say that her one UFO sighting a far distance away yielded nothing but negative vibrations.  "We hate you," they told her.  I could see why.

She asked why I was nice to her when she was clearly, "so rude."  I told her it was obvious she need some compassion.  Her argument continued.  I had a soft smile for her.

As I parted with, "this was an interesting, albeit blunt conversation.  Good day," I felt a strangeness come over me.

I don't think she was one of us.  Nope.  This beyond miserable woman would spit on anything that crossed her path. She fit the profile of a hybrid, a poor and unkempt version for sure.

Strange.

Coolness Comes

Coolness comes to the southern Appalachians in the evening.  Just before the sun sets.  It is one of my favorite times.  Sitting on the front porch, a medium-sized rabbit stares me down.  I move slightly and it disappears.

It is a magical time.  A blue sky reveals striations pink salmon in color.  It is the kind of sunset one might expect in the southwest.  Local artists love the light and are eager to capture its essence on canvas.

The mountains here are difficult to paint.  There are ripples, scallops and layer after layer of ridge lines.  It is hard to differentiate them. Then there is the intonation and detail.  An abstract artist is at a loss trying to discern what to illustrate.  Like the catacaturist, they ultimately find a way to simply it.

A coolness blows over my neck and back coming from the northeast.  The katykids increase their volume.  Sounds of children and barking dogs fill the empty spaces.  The striations in the sky are lower now.

The day is done.  Gone the sun.  The night drapes over the ridges.  I am grateful for these moments.  Sounds.  Coolness.

The memories of another glorious day in the Smokies.  Stored for a time when it is again quiet and all that is left is the memory.  Now.  Forever.