Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Star Power

My recently published book, "You Know Me and You Don't-Poems From a Random Life", leave both the author and the reader with an open ended question: what's next?

I thought, "another book".  I hope the reader thought. Period. Poetry allows latitude.  In a free verse format, the stanzas and verses flow.  It's a perfect venue for my word work. I flow, I vacillate through the moments of my life; thankful for unlimited rebirthing of my soul.

Validation, through the printed page is the catalyst which allows for the continuous out pouring as I journey on this plane. That is about to change.

Knowing oneself takes a life time.  I believe intuitive knowledge is the sixth sense which balances
purpose with existence.  The five senses can be relied on for pleasure and protection of the physical
being. I want more.

Religion is control. Spirituality is a quest. Secularism is the path I choose. The universe can not be defined on my terms. It is not finite and my journey is transient. Thankfully, I am open minded living among those who are not which challenges me-constantly.

Shamans and light keepers are my source to truth.  I am grateful to my intuitive voice and the messages of clarity. I am at the threshold of the new. The old no longer serves me.

I begin again.



Monday, October 30, 2017

I Don't Believe or Do I?

Halloween eve doesn't do it for me anymore.  The anticipation is gone; replaced by dread and aggravation that other people's children expect treats.  They are being raised to expect rewards for being uh, children. Do they understand the underlying truth of the "holiday"? Probably not, as these are the same children who also celebrate designated holidays according to their family traditions.

Yeah, yeah, I'm a hypocrite.  I am guilty.  Hang me upside down until the snot drains out.

I don't understand why we perpetuate this tradition.  A tradition far removed from its origins. Here's a quick definition, borrowed from the Encyclopaedia Brittanica:

     In ancient Britain and Ireland, the Celtic Festival of Samhain was observed on October 31, at the        end of summer...The souls of the dead were supposed to revisit their homes on this day and the            autumnal festival acquired sinister significance, with ghosts, witches, goblins, black cats, fairies          and demons of all kinds said to be roaming about.  It was the time to placate the supernatural              powers controlling the processes of nature.  In addition, Halloween was thought to be the most            favorable time for divinations concerning marriage, luck, health, and death.  It was the only day on      which the help of the devil was invoked for such purposes

Okay, let's delve right into this; it's marrowy.  Let's rip the meat from the tendons and let the bones air dry.  I WISH the souls of the departed in my family, would come for a visit. Logistically, though it would be difficult as my home is not where they lived. Those brick and mortar houses belong to strangers.

Following the second point of the definition, sinister significance had no place in Celtic Druid society. That's a recent flaw in recorded history. Druids were professional persons, responsible for the edification, creation and the adjudication of laws over the masses. Sadly, they were prohibited from keeping written records, so the understanding of their practices come by way of oral history. Festivals were celebrated as a natural evolution of paying seasonal homage; giving thanks to the natural world.

Having visited Stonehenge, I can begin to understand the attraction to neopaganism.  For me, it's
a comfortable spiritual bridge. There's no fear- just acceptance of the universal continuum.  The weight of mortality does not exist.

I'm jumping off here, just to mention that similar rites are celebrated by some Hispanic cultures, who picnic on the graves of the recently departed , annually on the 31st of October. "Dia de Los Muertos" is a love fest of memories where the living honor the dead.

Halloween is an excuse for frivolity with a modicum of over indulgence.  The fringe societies, who
perpetuate dark and sadistic practices, to a fevered pitch on this date, come out of the proverbial wood work. I don't know if their members are rebels or visionaries. I won't go there, but I have met people who do. And I believe them. Their realities are validated. Their truth is exponentially more in tune with this earthly existence and parallel the truth of those who are ingrained in faith as well as those seeking connection with our ancient aliens.

I don't know about you, but tomorrow my porch light will be out in the hopes that the latest evolution of characters from Disney, Pixar and The Walking Dead will pass right on by. I will eat my own damn
candy and watch favorite old black and white horror films.

I believe in the Halloween of my forefathers.  I will dream of universal truths- where I once danced, unabashedly and howled at the moon.  I did once. Believe me.











Sunday, October 1, 2017

Still Belong

There's a difference between breathing to exist and breath which validates who you are.  It's not the
expansion of the lungs and intake of oxygen or exhale of carbon dioxide, it's THE PLACE you choose to breathe.

My choice is mountain air. Crisp and fleeting, the risk of light headedness at twelve thousand feet
takes me back to my childhood.  I had a high altitude reunion just this past week and I am
renewed.

The coastal life is suffocating. The easy going, congenial South is out of step and perfect for some.
For me, I need to be home.

There are challenges, certainly in the planning and executing of living one's dream.  For me,
sixty years has not prepared me my for future.  I though I was where I belong.  Nope, not even close. As a matter of fact twelve hundred forty one miles- plus or minus-north west and definitely above sea level is where my soul remains detached. I feel like Peter Pan's shadow and I can't find the soap.

As eager as I am to discover my purpose-post parenthood  and at the threshold of social security-WHERE I discover it, will be the key to unlock my future.

Memories far out number my remaining days. The scale is irreversibly tipped in favor of what used to be. I don't mind.

When I close my eyes, I am there.  With then wide open and behind any one of a pair of prescription glasses I can't see me staying here.

Spontaneity reaps its own rewards. We'll stay in touch.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Wandering

Hmmmm. I've been absent in my presence of mind recently.  Too many conflicting interests.  How could I be a conflict of interest with myself?  Apparently, too easily.

In the absence of fully committing my physical being to a late in life do over, I will opt for a thinking about it perspective.  And that's just what I am planning.  What's wrong with the concept of wandering?  Does it mean that all who wander are lost? I am not "lost". I am just not found (in the first person sense)…yet.

Thought perhaps I could wrap up things here, pack a bag and head to a blue zone. Okinawa would be my first choice. Sardinia is another. People living in pockets, on this globe, have figured out the pathway to health filled longevity. Their busy selves evolve into purposeful, compassionate and single minded individuals.  Too perfect, too simple or just unattainable? I feel like an octopus on crutches.  The sheer number of priorities on my to do list will out live me. I shall bequeath my unfinished chores to my children and they can fight over who gets what. This was not intentional, for I have been fastidious all my life and am not neglectful of the details.  It's one of my endearing qualities.

But then again, I may be waning at a time when I should be waxing larger than life and celebratory in
my golden years.  After all, it was promised in the minuscule print, right? You read it; something about
that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Left brain, right brain, stop, go, repeat. Sound familiar?  Too much stimulation; eventual implosion. But wait, I'm not done yet! B R E A T H E

My mental merry go rounds and bungie jumping are slowing down.  How is it possible that I get stuck in my itinerant destination? I can read a map, (I can draw the damn map); know how to navigate a compass and if all else fails, ASK DIRECTIONS.

Trouble is the destination has changed.

How to balance my "selves"; how to divide and conquer ME gives a new meaning to "presence of mind". The elusiveness of living IN the moment is the catalyst in all this. I am running a marathon, barefooted through the briar patch, while carrying all the baggage I have packed for myself and everybody else. Ridiculous, right?

But true.

My dreams are the reflecting pool of my daily struggles; I should journal them. They hold the key to unlock the chaos. I know this. Another item for that to do list. Great.

I have begun to wander, it's not as bad as you might think. I am a purposeful student of TaiChi. Just started the class and hope to be better acquainted with the form as time allows. Two hours each week devoted to mental and physical draining into that abysmal and forgiving universe.

Okay, now what to do with the remaining 166 hours each week? Maybe wandering is not a good mental picture of my intentions.  How about " paradepaseopromenadeexpeditionhikemarchperegrinationtraipsetramptraveltraversaltraversetrektripwalkaboutexcursionjauntjunketoutingsallysashayspintourpilgrimageprogresssafari" (thank you Merriam-Webster people)? Oooh, the possibilities are tempting me right out of my quagmire.

Where and how I slide myself into first gear (again) depends on one indispensable element of the variables.

Destiny.

Monday, October 31, 2016

The Worms Go In, the Worms Go Out

There was a rhyme somewhere in my childhood and the two lines I recall were:
The worms go in, the worms go out, the worms play pinochle on your snout…

This seems appropriate for a Halloween submission to my blog's evolution.  I've spoken a lot recently about my metaphysical quest. In the meantime (while waiting for the universe to sync up), I have been in conversation with my writing teacher about composting.  She bought worms (on Amazon) and was sharing details of the process of creating an environment to allow the worms to work the food scraps and be able to use the resulting compost for her garden.

That got me thinking about carbon footprints and whether I want to decrease mine.
Gee, I don't know.

Considering the tonnage of pseudo recyclable materials set to curb side every week, my efforts are not without flaws.

I can't seem to want to live green.  Global warming discussions are wasted on me. I am decidedly
uninformed regarding alternative living options; without garbage. I pass junk yards and land fills and think "oh". But it doesn't sink in.  I just added to that problem recently and had my car crushed and eaten by a giant machine.  The 150 bucks in my pocket seemed to validate that decision.

Well, the topic is uncomfortable, so I will not continue.  However, regarding my bodily demise,
I think I will welcome the worms and aphids.  I've already pre planned my funeral and there won't be one.

As soon as the ink dries on the document I haven't signed yet, I'll be ashes to ashes with the intent of
nurturing a young White Birch or Aspen tree.  That seems like a beautiful tribute to myself and the life I loved in the Colorado Rocky Mountains.

The cost of shipping the former me will be nominal and I have already designated my brother as my executor. He will be waiting at the mailbox for me to arrive.

I hope that the occasion will not be somber for I have requested an illegal fireworks display to precede the deed. Only those in attendance will know the designated plot of land (invitations will be mailed by my probate lawyer) so keep those sky miles accounts in good order.

I know a little about a lot of things cadavers are used for and I don't think that I wish to support the advance of science.  It's too advanced already in my opinion.  Once "Dolly" the sheep made her appearance on planet earth, we crossed the line. There's just no sanctity remaining in the value of a human life.

On the other hand there is too much sanctity given the inordinate expense of a traditional funeral; picking out a casket, selecting a funeral home, a location for final goodbyes, blah, blah, blah.

No thank you.  I remember helping Dad select Mom's casket while she was still breathing.  That was early on in the pre planning funeral business.  We picked the most expensive one with powder blue lining and double or triple lined oak to preserve her remains.  In conversation with her before her death, she made a request that we dress her warmly to include shoes (which the funeral home denied).

Her mother wanted just a pine box. I don't want that much.  You see, I'm just not that important.

I began this journey not of my own accord and I will conclude this portion of the predestined trip
at the place and time as set forth in the universal contract. Lovely that the way I leave is entirely up to me.  It's about the only decision I will have control over.  Trusting in my fellow man to honor my final wishes is, of course, the variable in the equation.

Should it all go as planned, my soul will depart on the recitation of these endearing words:


"Don't you ever laugh as the hearse goes by,
For you may be the next one to die.
They wrap you up in big white sheets
and cover you from head to feet.
They put you in a big black box
And cover you with dirt and rocks.
All goes well for about a week,
Until your coffin begins to leak.
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out,
The worms play pinochle on your snout,
They eat your eyes, they eat your nose,
They eat the jelly between your toes.
A big green worm with rolling eyes
Crawls in your stomach and out your sides.
Your stomach turns a slimy green,
And pus pours out like whipping cream.
You'll spread it on a slice of bread,
And that's what you eat when you are dead."[4]





Sunday, October 16, 2016

Parts

Am I the sum total of my parts or am I part of the sum total?  Play on words?  Perhaps.  This is my thought today: my being is rather small in comparison to recent astronomical discoveries.  My mass would be calculated as a negative integer, I think, on the grand scale of things.

It is exciting to learn about the expanding universe. It gives me immeasurable hope that I am also infinite.  Where did I begin and where am I destined?

An unsolvable problem, for the value of "x" cannot be defined on either side of the equation. Maybe it's not meant to. Maybe there's an element so critical to the journey of one's life, its discovery would jeopardize its purpose.  Maybe the "God" complex is so controversial, that its continuance should be banished.

I am not in favor of extending the natural life span. I am, however in favor of enhancing the experience. Quality of life versus quantity of life.  The scale has tipped the other way for me and I am so comfortable with it, that remaining time is no longer my biggest fear.

The evolutionary process which sustains species, through adaption of the environment, will challenge science and it will win. Its track record is undeniable. Whether my specie survives is an open ended quest. But, all the "break throughs" in the realm of dedicated science will not change the soul.

How do you define yourself?  As others see you or as the soul who fulfills its predestined design? I choose the latter because I am not so conceited as to think that I had any choice in the matter. Being open to possibilities far beyond my present physicality has given me the freedom to re-prioritize
each day's gift. Realizing that this journey is not dependent on how I choose to live it and is not self-limiting within the confines of a spiritual heir achy, I am joyous in the moment.

The shaman relayed the following message:  "You are the truth".  That was an uncomfortable realization. I took it to mean that my travels thus far have culminated in my being validated; that my existence is for the benefit of others. How freeing it was to release all guilt that I have not done enough; that I AM enough, I am complete in my passage.

There are more lessons on the horizon. The existential travel I experienced, while in her presence, reconfirmed my belief that I am just a part, a fragmentarily painted canvas. I have been in the dark, protected by universal love and have guided souls (who have done their work) into the light.

So, again the question : Am I the sum total of my parts or am I part of the sum total? The question is not important, the answer is not either or. The journey is not limiting, the destination is not finite for the soul is the solution for "x".





Sunday, October 2, 2016

Fractured

Listening to National Public Radio in the car yesterday, my life was interrupted by the discussion on the topic of "digital funerals".  I need to stream that program again.  Did I understand that I need not be present, that my death would no longer inconvenience friends and loved ones who were too busy to attend a physical memorial service?

WHAT THE HELL.

When did I become digitized to the exclusion of my blood and bones?  When did you? Is the physical body so disposable that the death of it is no longer at the center of deepest loss?

As for me, I am not your digitized scrapbook.  Those pictures are tiny fragments of my life. They don't tell the whole story.  They're not meant to and I don't want you to give permission to my digital executor for their eventual release.

If I was important in your life or if you are relieved not to have me here anymore, my wish is for you to honor what we had by taking the time and effort to send me into the universe permanently.
I fully expect you to stop everything you are doing at the moment you are notified and make plans to
get to the designated place at the designated time.

I can't imagine not having attended the funerals for those I loved.  The pain was exquisitely
essential in my soul's journey.  Knowing that their voice, their smell, their touch would never
come again, allowed me closure.  Closure allowed me to breathe again. Loss is the deepest personal
emotion for me; more so than joy. Loss teaches me how to be a kinder person, a more loving woman, a more tolerant human being.

I don't want the burden of revisiting memories.  Life has enough interruptions as it is.  Balancing the high wire of what ifs is not my style. Remembering and honoring one's memory are not synonymous.

Being thankful for relationships and wanting to relive them are not the same.  I choose to be thankful and refuse to dwell on how my life was changed or enhanced or nearly destroyed. I let go and focus on today.

Do I still mourn?  Of course-sometimes decades later. Do I have tangible remembrances?  Yes.  Do I want to click and relive moments?  No, I do not.

Do not define me in fragments. I gave you all I was. My relationship with you was not meant to be shared. My time with you was not meant to be compared to my time with any other. Understand that you were singularly important in my life and in my life's purpose. Promise me that my entirety will not end up as pieces in a digital jigsaw puzzle.  Promise me that your heart will have the sufficient space to be the caretaker of our time together.  Honor me in ways that release my soul's continuing journey; for I am not finished.

Say goodbye as you gather at the river or under the canopy of stars. Honor me with your presence, mourn my passing with dignity and a final tear or call my name just once more for my spirit will be with you there, at that place and at that moment. Let me go, do not keep me prisoner in the fractured
pictures of my life.

I was oh so much more.