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]

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".

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.  The 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 is 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 like pieces in a digital jigsaw puzzle.  Promise me that your heart will have 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.

Used To Be Me

Sometimes trolling the internet gives me reason to rethink.  Such is the predicament today. Actually, it has been my predicament for about a week, given that I first spotted the headline "Earth's Rotation Cause Shift in Astrological Signs".  Further reading resulted in the understanding that the sun's position relative to the earth's axis ON THE DAY YOU WERE BORN, determines your astrological sign. End result:  my Capricorn has shifted forward to Sagittarius. Oh no!

I don't like change; especially the changes which endanger who I thought I was…I am.

My attributes and lesser qualities no longer apply. I know that my life has shifted towards new territories. I am  on a predestined path which conflicts with free will. My astrological profile is now completely convoluted and I have to open myself to new ways of explaining my behaviors.

But, I'm comfortable and very much convinced that my old sign was spot on.  Let's review: Practical and prudent, ambitious and disciplined, patient and careful, humorous and reserved. On the dark side…
pessimistic and fatalistic, miserly and drudging.

I've worked sixty years, carefully honing the above characteristics so as to fulfill my destiny and to
validate those (if any) quirks which might come across every now and again. Once you met me,
there would be no doubt as to my position in the tenth house of intelligence.

Now I have to reinvent mine and yours and his and hers and theirs.

Okay, let's be open to possibilities.  I'm not in charge apparently.  Should have done more research, but in the tumultuous trappings of high school, I was just glad to be identified with the nerds and for further validation…the band kid nurds.

To date, I am the goat-fish of the "what's your sign" generation.  I will die a goat fish in my heart of hearts.

Seems my life is all about compromise…you know, it's THIS way…on the OTHER HAND, maybe not.  I've never been so unfocused and driven at the same time.  Is it even possible to live this way;
running full steam ahead, over the cliff and hope that I'll make a bouncing recovery onto an parallel plane of existence?

Am I ready for this abrupt change in my autobiography? Are you willing to accept my new persona?
Accepting my latest credentials will change our relationship.  Be prepared that we might not be compatible anymore. After all you are not you. Your truth is waning.

How does one handle this slippery cup of noodles? I'm not the only one is this equation, it's a world wide phenomenon.

Ditch the label?  No! I won't. I will go kicking and screaming, with disco ball in tow to the next incarnate destination.

I suppose (being moderately curious as to the newest version of me), that the new adjectives may be a truer representation. Perhaps, just perhaps, I will be willing to try them on.  Am I above lying about my birthday if I find that disappointment prevails and that I absolutely can not be described as laid out in the ancient practice of astrology?  Nope…but lets let that be a last resort.

Okay. Time for a practice run.  " Sagittarius-Optimistic and freedom-loving, jovial and good-humored, honest and straightforward, intellectual and philosophical…If you catch me on a bad day, then I may be : blindly optimistic and careless, irresponsible and superficial, tactless and restless".

Perception is a double edged sword.  Those attributes that I share may not be received in like manner.  This is problematic for me regardless of which sign I favor.  What you see is what you get.
There's no deception, there's no pussy footing around.

The earth rotates on it's axis, the galaxies expand and contract. My life requires no explanation; after all my purpose and destiny are a continuum within a vast universe.  I am not limited to who I am now and
who I used to be.

Redefined

I have written that I am being repurposed, but this is different. This is my truth…my reason for the earthly presence my incarnate soul has been given.

Rediscovery can come from within as a result of counseling from without. Teachings not found in books and not originating from the human mind are tangible if you believe in intuition. The gut feeling, the visceral messages you must listen to come when the soul is being shaken to the core. Your attention is narrowed to only that which will allow your purpose through.

When the familiar you isn't a good fit anymore, you're ready.

I'm ready.

Allowing the universal messages to flow to my conscious mind, I am primed for learning. I am open to possibilities which take what I thought I knew to another dimension…literally.

The Shaman taught me, her teachings were recently validated by my intuitive. Warning: the following may challenge you if you are a heaven and hell kind of person...

Time in Stonehenge, Wales was brief, maybe two hours. The pinnacle of that window of opportunity was my interaction with the Shaman. My daughter and I walked the circle, photographed the stones, and not feeling drawn to the energies there, headed to the gift shop, concession area.  Found two seats at the perimeter counter and planned a leisurely snack before catching the return shuttle back to town.

Seated next to us were a pair of women engaged in some ritual using a goat head staff.  One woman was apparently in receipt of messages, the other, in a rather theatrical costume gave instruction and validation. I wanted to know more, so I abandoned my juice and my daughter and interrupted them by asking "who are you and why are you dressed this way"? The reply was a simple four-word sentence "I am the Shaman".

I was invited to join them after permission was granted by the other woman. The next 46 minutes
can not be retold for the teachings formed the most intimate conversation I have ever had. I will
share that my journey was unexpected and not earthbound.  I will tell you that my purpose that day was
predestined and that no other person could have completed the task for I had been summoned to help.
I had to travel four thousand miles. The Shaman had waited for me.  How long?  She did not disclose.

That experience has brought me out of my comfort zone and not gently. This present self is housed in a physical body whose limitations are waning. So as my bones weaken and muscles atrophy, there is a seeming urgency for repair and maintenance. My reason for being here has just been revealed and it's
so surreal that my explanation may not suffice.

Being afflicted with a straight forward demeanor, I'll just say that I am gifted to guide souls from the dark into the light.

I thought that I was to heal by the laying on of hands. Yes, that is still an option. I have free will.
That seems more of a career than a purpose. Both will require travel, although spiritual guidance is not limited.

How to proceed? Where do I go?  With whom will I provide guidance? How frequently? How many souls await?  Again, it is predestined.

I must quiet my mind. I must remain open. Priorities are no longer measures of my worth. There is work to be done. Soul reawakened. Life's purpose redefined.

Living Fiction

Wizard of Oz or Alice Through the Looking Glass? These great works of literature are seemingly
parallel to my life at present; if not in totality at least in part.

In snippets, really, because I don't possess total recall of all the delightful and complex characters involved in the telling of those two tales.  I'm just sitting here deep in thought as to why I don't recognize my role in my own life.  Am I not justified in thinking that the consequences to all MY choices are the result of MY actions? Is MY truth not mine?

There are two possibilities, given the title to this story.  Either I have fallen down the rabbit hole or I grabbed my picnic basket and little dog and headed down the yellow brick road. My reality needs a reality check. Loss of control is a terrible burden to one who believed herself incapable of mental incontinence.

I am unprepared, ill-equipped and scared to death of this present situation. There is no reasonable explanation for this abrupt divergence from my strategically planned life. I've paid my dues and slid into old age according to the directions. The warranties on my parts are expiring and I'm a victim to the current health care options.  Life just gets less exciting, more predictable and then you die.  No reason to be thrust into another existential dimension, NOT NOW!

And yet, here I am-in flux. Damn.

Denial won't solve the puzzle. There's energy, constant swirling energy approaching the horizon and I will be swept up into it.  This I know.  It has been foretold. In my soul portraits, the focal point remains but the evolution through the series, defines my energy being guided by entities of passionate love and protection. My last portrait was commissioned 4 years ago.  The color pallet softened and the canvas appears to have tiny twinkling lights (my guides).

Don't get excited, I am not a predictor of any apocalypse. I don't believe in the end of the physical world, I don't believe in final judgment and I don't need my soul saved (it's not mine to begin with).

I'm a metaphysical being in transition. I have layers and layers upon layers of purpose.  We all do. We all have multiple personality disorder; it's just that some of us would rather not expose ourselves.  We fear ridicule and failure.  Neither will cause an end to our truth.

Unlike the masterpieces of fiction I have referenced, my journey does not invite companions.  There is no cast of characters; no personification of relations. I have my own White Rabbit keeping me in the moment.

The yellow brick road leads to Chrystal City. The Wizard is not whom we first believed.  Perhaps my journey is a reflection in the looking glass rather than through the other side.

Dorothy and Alice awakened to find nothing had changed.  As for me, I'd rather keep dreaming.

Collections

I have more than one. My parents, grandmother, brother, children and neighbors have at least a singular assemblage of mementos.  Why?

The church has them along the wall of the sanctuary. My son's property manager has one which is taking over her desk. What is the attachment, the affinity for, the need to grow a collection?  Animals don't do it but people do.

Our lives defined by collections. What do they reveal? Well, mine would scream personality disorder to anyone entering my private spaces. The display of neatly positioned figurines, mostly dusted, are years in the making; from childhood and from my mother's childhood.

The objects are displayed with great care and effort in the placement of each. They remain grouped together, they have themes. If you observe them closely enough, they give clues to who I was and who I am today.

There is beauty there; on the shelves and table tops.  There is grace and artistry, whimsy and joy.
There are memories attached to some which make them irreplaceable in my heart.  I anguish over cracks and dents.  New damage causes me sadness in the knowledge that they can not be replaced.
I tried to replace one; searching the internet for a duplicate.  Found one, bought it and substituted it
in the original grouping.  It doesn't belong somehow. You wouldn't notice it, but I know better.

I remember where and when most of the figurines came to stay with me. Some were gifts, others part of an inheritance. More recent acquisitions were the fruit of trips to flea markets, garage sales, antique malls and just once, a junk pile I passed.  That special addition caused me to go around the block again and stop, turning on the hazard lights while I stood there intent on closely inspecting the latest treasure.

I have slowed down in my efforts to sustain and grow the collections of decorative objects. The excitement of discovery has left my conscious and subconscious; maybe I am just focused elsewhere.

Trying to reignite my enthusiasm to begin again, I concentrate on the task of acquisition and with good intentions and a full tank of gas, I head out.  More times than not, I come home empty handed; disillusioned and upset that I wasted time. But was it truly wasted time?  Maybe not.

Surrounding myself with history or (my version of history) unchains my soul from day to day mundane
living. The adventure of searching behind and under something; opening a drawer or door to discover what lay hidden, is stimulating.  An adult version of hide and go seek where hiding my eyes and counting to ten are no longer part of the game. I suppose I could yell "ollie, ollie in come free" at the cashier counter!

My white duck collection began with an expensive single duckling belonging to Mom.  I inherited 700 plus elephants as well, but let go of all but a handful when my husband and I realized that there was no hope of traveling with that responsibility during his years of active duty service.  The ones which keep me company now are distinct and so my Mom.

I have two moose, which will suffice.  The figurines of dainty, bisque and porcelain women are
dissimilar but as a group define my affection for years gone by; a gentile world. The paintings are mostly original works of art and there the similarity ends.

 Not all of my collections are of multiples.  I have a collection of one; it is of a carved stone anteater. The grouping may not increase given the unlikelihood of ever finding another.

There are stories behind each cherished piece. I may retell them some day and then I may keep secrets and allow the next collector to remember me in the details of my collections.