Archive for the ‘Literature and writing’ Category

in the waiting room

There’s a reason and purpose to everything, so they say and I tend to agree.  Also that thing about one door closing and a window opening and the intervening time in the waiting room being hell.  Of course it’s all in how you look at it.

For example.  Keeping the yurt clean is something that has to be kept in perspective.  You’d literally have to clean every surface every day to maintain a dust, web, and dirt free situation.  So even a former clean freak such as myself has to see reason….part the first of proper waiting room viewing: Here we have a Sisyphisean task no matter what.  Let’s roll a small river rock instead of a boulder every day, whaddaya say?  And so it happened that when something fell off the butcher block and I had to remove everything from the storage shelf beneath it for retrieval purposes, not only was it an opportunity to clean the surface (oh boy!) but also to marvel at the organization I’d managed to reach down there already with all the spinners and pyrex baking dishes and juice squeezers and….to find a chip from a soufflé dish that had been languishing unused for some time.  Said soufflé dish was mended toot sweet, and something positive came out of a waiting room-esque situation.

And so it was that the grueling week just past allowed me to remember the waiting room protocol more than once, because? At long last the Mac died.  Not a good thing in many ways but an eventuality that had been heading my way for a long time.  In one of those Typical Twists of Fate, I’d actually had a good month work wise so I was able to, with a modicum of nausea, wend my way to Best Buy and get another laptop. Everything else will have to wait indefinitely now, but there it is.  I wrestled with whether this was even necessary and realized that my hermit agoraphobe manifestation was starting to take over so it had to be made to see reason and sit down. It probably helped some that the guy who sold it to me looked like Fox Mulder, too. JUST SAYING.

The big challenge, of course was that, not having the exchequer to fund another Mac, we’ve now entered the long dreaded world of Microsoft.  For extra fun, all the backing up I did on my cute little external drive? is useless because Microsoft doesn’t speak Mac Journal.  So everything I had? is gone.  I’ve managed to remain fairly calm, even through the already made customer support call about why my this or that wasn’t budging and can somebody please tell me about left and right made me rather apprehensive. SIGH. Obviously this was also meant to be and while it is already a big pain in the tail it’s somewhat liberating.  I’m telling myself anyway. I have absolutely no idea what to do about all the photos I used to have access to, but am expecting that Time will Tell.  Anyway we will have to live without any exciting vistas until the messenger arrives from another part of the empire to explain what to do.

When I read a quote today from dogen Zenji, it made sense. “Enlightenment is intimacy with all things.”  At this point I must be pretty frigging enlightened, Gentle Reader, because I am becoming intimate with things previously unknown, unimagined or thought of or supposed, and it feels pretty close to the “all” category.  And, while my crash land into Word World is a bit off putting, it IS also in the category of, here’s something to learn.  Our quotidian situation continues to be precarious but in the midst of everything we had definite evidence that love and non violence do work in the end.  We started out here with one, count him, ONE hummingbird, who we named Tyrant.  For obvious reasons.  I’ve put a feeder out every day for eight years now and we’ve watched the small scale squabbles and what not from our window.  But now we’ve got over a dozen hummers at the feeder all the time now, a never before occurrence in my hummingbird dossier, and the other night they were actually sharing- two birds per hole in feeder.  The Partner said, see? they’ve started to cooperate with each other because they trust you- they know you’re there watching and protecting them.  And there, Gentle Reader, it is in a nutshell.  I had the oddest image the other night while deep in Inappropriate and Frightening Thought About the Future.  Of Jesus.  Not my usual, let’s just say.  But I thought about how one often opens one’s heart to another and by Being there, helps the other person simply Live.  Suddenly I saw Jesus standing there saying, my message is simple.  FOR CHRISSAKE DON’T BE A DICK.  I thought I heard the Dalai Lama giggling in the background for a minute, too.  So.  There it is.  Feed the hummingbirds, don’t yell at customer service, take everything as an opportunity to learn and little by little all that time that used to be sucked up by meltdowns turns to an ability for appreciation of the moment at hand.  Whatever it may be surrounded by- like, say, multitudinous click (and/or dick) protocols. Or the miracle of finding a chipped piece of dish.  In spite of the very real difficulties and looming enormities, somehow things always do work out and often it hinges on how we make it through the times in the hellish waiting rooms.  The fact that this isn’t particularly what we were told was important doesn’t change it, either. Sometimes that moment in the HWR is all there is and sometimes there are really a lot of them-  to the point where it appears never ending.  That, I think, is where healing comes in, and more on that another time.

Blessings and thanks as ALWAYS. And, the Dog is in fine fettle, thank you for asking.  I have started calling him Dr. Dog again because the other day when the Partner had hurt his wrist and cried out in pain and we rushed back in to attend to him? I said to Dog, you will probably have to lick his wrist and make it better.  Which he most patiently sat and waited to do, even though the Partner at first said, what are you doing? you’re too close! Which caused me to remember my instruction, marvel at Dr. Dog JUST PERIOD, and let the Partner know that healing was at hand so hold that paw out.  And what do you know? It felt better right away.  Once again, there it is.

the never ending reveal

The Partner just showed me a piece of wood he’d brought in for the woodstove.  The tree it was from, which had fallen, looked to be from the rings about as old as we are.  Sobering thought in a way but also just totally amazing and also,  a kind of proof of interconnectedness and the flow between all things.  I don’t know, maybe it was watching the young turkey mosey on up the driveway last night with a hummingbird escort, or maybe it’s the beauty of our Very Short Spring, but everything seems flooded with a kind of light and beauty, even in the most austere spots.

For example, on a recent evening it turned out we’d both, as kids, seen the film The Hunchback of Notre Dame at about the same ages, and both recognized, with a start, Self in the Hunchback.  We’d both been dragging virtual hunch backs around with our respective Histories, and the memories of walking down hallways in school and people leaving a few feet of space between them and us, as though there were a contagion of some sort we’d been exposed to and they wanted no part of, were the same for both of us. I was quite frankly shocked.  YOU? I said? Handsome and kind YOU?  Well, he said. Yes.  And YOU?

It really made me think about what we go through as humans, and how some of it is so hard that your possibilities can be shrunken, in your own estimation, to the size of a grain of rice.  How much effort must go in to stepping around that obstacle, that possibility, and how much further effort into not carrying that sense of alienation along with one for the duration.  How all those hardened faces you see in life, all the issues and ailments arising therefrom, the narcissists and the shooters….all of it is about that beginning salvo of you are not OK.

So, ok, fast forward through the wending around all that.  I recently re-read THE DIVINING HEART, by Patricia and Richard Wright  (a companion book to THE DIVINING MIND, by T. Edward Ross and Richard Wright).  Both of these books came to me when I was first learning how to dowse, which perhaps not coincidentally is Another One of Those Things I don’t talk to most people about lest they be sure I am a nut.  Dowsing, popularly thought of as what some strange individual does with a forked stick, announcing in a creaky voice where you should dig your well, or where your car keys are, is actually a way of focusing your mind and all the energies therein on investigating the Universe.  Theta brain waves floating out from you with a question, coming back with an answer.  The question, of course, is most important, and one of the many great things about dowsing is that you actually learn how to formulate and ask proper questions.  It changes the way you communicate across the board because superfluities such as One’s Very Important Story are not part of the equation, nor is any sort of brow beating or Proof of Currently Existing Concept to the Exclusion of All Else.  In other words, it is a kind of ego-free way to learn.  Also, you find your car keys a LOT sooner.

Anyway in rereading this book I came across a part about the power of focussed intention on healing, which is sometimes referred to as prayer.  TCM refers to this, in the preparation of medicine, as Bao Zhi, which is simply (or over simply maybe?) the power of the practitioner’s awareness and loving kindness being passed in to the preparation.  Prayer has many connotations, I suppose, especially now, but I think of it as what another teacher called it: Unencumbered communication with Creator.  And, since I agree with the Buddha that all beings want to be happy, what I understand this as in a healing framework is the practitioner smoothing, so to speak, the electric and magnetic and emotional waves of another individual, with clarity and love and no preconceptions of what anything will look like, so that person can themselves reach into their own still point of this communication.  That is where healing happens and this, I believe, is HOW it happens.  We always heal ourselves, if we are willing, but we often need help from another in holding, so to speak, the space where it all happens minus fear and expectation, and with the provision of whatever other elements may be most appropriate.

SO.  The other day someone suggested I write up a sales flyer for a short weekend fair about my “stuff”, being careful not to step on the toes of another person in the situation who works with essential oils in a fairly traditional way, which is to say, eucalyptus is good for colds and muscle aches, lavender is calming (in small amounts), etc., i.e. the commonly known and already conceived “knowledge” about these substances. I realized that the situation was not appropriate anyway, and I certainly didn’t want any fur raised anywhere, but beyond that it came to me that I had absolutely no idea about how to simply describe what I do, since it is not “that”.  Because in a way it “sounds” crazy and this, Gentle Reader, is where the whole Hunchback Quasimodo thing comes in.

What I realized, the moral of this story thank you Bob Dylan, is that in fact one SHOULD never be where one does not belong, and if you can’t explain something simply without pretense and inhalation it’s perfectly fine to smile, say no thank you, and carry on.  People can clear a space around you or come calling, it’s their choice.  The distractions of current cultural imperatives, money, conformity, appearances- are just that.  Distractions from the work at hand, which is to do the best one can in any given situation, whether it involves wide open solitary spaces or hands on someone’s forehead when they’ve just tripped and fallen and are bleeding in front of their propane tanks.  I’m not a religious person, do not denominate myself, oppose patriarchy in its many guises….but I’m coming to see that quite often doing the best one can involves the prayer, the open question to the skies which takes into account what is already known and elicits what is not, with a humble and open heart.

Blessings and thanks, as always.

problem solving

That seems to be the current, non-stop, project.  I find myself wondering just how many problems there can be in one bear’s life but it is one thing after another at present.

Aside from being down to our last jerryrigged french press coffee pot (after the plunger broke on the plastic one we’d been using while the blessed elixir was being made this morning,  and we took the plunger from the one where the beaker broke to smithereens), and aside from the password on my Mac being rejected so I can’t log on with any confidence and the hours are running out on the time my browser will work at all due to the Age of the Device (“the logic board can’t talk to the new systems”), AND aside from the fact that the carefully sequestered dollars for laptop went instead to our Vet because the Dog got an ear infection and how much fun we are having cleaning and medicating his ear I’ll leave to your imagination…..aside, as I say, from all that…….

I find myself pondering the utility of things.  My mind has been at a standstill lately, perhaps because all the space between my ears is taken up with problem solving.  After a time of just pulling all the wriggling bits back together after the actually rather considerable destruction wreaked by, well,  entropy and nature…..I re-embarked on basics.  Scrubbing mildew off walls (an issue in yurts, it turns out.  The walls sweat and the power outages and what not made for a fungal fun-fest all around), cleaning up the storage container “section” next to the tub and scrubbing everything THERE, and doing all the recycling that piled up from November when the Partner got sick again, kicking off the pretty much non-stop fun fest of this winter (don’t think THAT wasn’t fun, either.  I had a literal car full of bottles and milk jugs and dish soap containers and beer cans….which took about 40 minutes to sort through and netted me the astonishing sum of $5.  The good news is that the car now smells like slightly spoilt milk instead of gasoline.)…I realized that even though I am MUCH less vigilant than I used to be when everything got cleaned once a week whether it needed it or not, there is still a quality of Sisyphus-ness to it all which makes it rather more of a challenge to get motivated than seems proper.  I mean: I do all this stuff over and over and over.  It needs to be done.  And it’s a rather St. Augustine-ish proposition, the reward of patience being patience sort of thing.  In short- one has a happy moment of yes I did that and then….all over again.  I feel the same way about our efforts to snag some legal tender, too.  Over and over and over and….????? it’s hard to know what to think about any of it, except that it appears not to be working all that well and the prospects are, to say the least, rather obscured by clouds.

So.   As I wondered just how much I want to participate in the totentanz of daily life here in paradise, balance it with what can actually be done and what looks like it’s coming down the pike any minute both small and large, throw in a few times where the body goes sideways and refuses to come out of its room….it all just came to a cacophonous head, in short.  I decided for a minute or two anyway to just give up.

It felt good for a minute.  Just to say, OK, this IS it.  Enough already.  I’ve tried as hard and as long as I can.  Sayonara, where’s the airport?

But of course, that’s not what I’m going to do.  Give up, I mean.  I have no idea what I AM going to do, what shape things will take, or anything.  But it will be different if only because my thinking about it is different.  Which is interesting, because:

In this current period of OMG, I went back to, and read, what saved me much earlier in my life in what still ranks as The Most Awful Time Ever, by which I mean High School.  And what that was, was: Winnie the Pooh.  Julia Child.  Krishnamurti.  Sherlock Holmes.  Lao Tzu.  My lifetime companions, really.  Especially Pooh.  So I’m  humming more and reminding myself that somehow, without doing, it all gets done.  And you never know what might happen, but honey’s always a good thing.  And maybe “goals” and “objectives” and all that are just ideas.  Not all ideas work for everyone all the time.  So I’m changing mine a bit or maybe it’s that I’m going back to what I USED to think before I went out in the world and got all Involved.  And that is that the Universe is a lot smarter than I am, or anyone else for that matter really,  so I’m going to let It take the lead…let Nature take its course.  I suspect this will be far more successful than I can, at present, imagine.    I’m hoping so, anyway.  Anyway the thought is to OBSERVE and not put a lot of energy into FORMULATING stuff. This also means no churning. And: Change direction based on observation of Nature, without expectation or hope that things will be some way other than they actually are.  Living with that completely promises to be interesting.

As always, thank you, blessings, and….we’ll keep you posted on Pooh-ish Realizations…



failure & redemption

Indeed, Gentle Reader, life of late has been like HELLBOY meets Alice Starmore.  Without Hellboy’s help.  His hands really are way too big to knit with, I’d think, but I feel sure he’d understand Alice’s patterns, and one could always wind yarn on his horns.

Anyway.  It turns out that among other things, my hospital interlude left me with heart failure.  Which they knew at the time of my discharge and somehow omitted to mention.  Thus, I’ve had six weeks of that stuff where you wake up after being asleep for a while and feel you’re suffocating.  Among other things like not being able to pull weeds for five minutes without running out of breath and being totally at the bottom of the barrel moodwise.  Another six plus hour trip to the emergency room (ha!ha! that’s an oxymoron, G.R.) where I never did get seen but finally tottered out knowing I didn’t want to be there until midnight.  Instead? We went to a restaurant in town, where I always seem to be a bit tattered.  The first time, I had a black eye (beam from yurt roof fell on my forehead) and THIS time I was covered in bandages and hospital bracelets.  They take it in stride here, however, because EVERYONE looks more or less like a wreck, and after some shockingly good food (a REAL New York steak sandwich) and an Actual Cocktail (bourbon, thank you), survival seemed likely.  And whaddaya know- I’m still here and even perhaps improved.

In the meantime, things have been floating up in my mind.  The wound, as Rumi wrote, is indeed where the light enters you.  That light can reveal some things one might rather not examine, like how old patterns still form a big part of the operating system.  What’s my father doing in here? one might ask.  More pertinently, why have I been racing around my whole life thinking I had to do,do, do, do more, do more again- when really that isn’t it at all in life, and also? It’ll kill you.  Of course, there is a bit of a concerted effort to keep us all doing precisely that, rushing around and not thinking.  Just accepting it when it seems that you must work (for someone else) until you drop meanwhile saving some impossibly vast sum of money so that when you get cut loose by your benevolent corporate sponsor you don’t starve to death.  Using weed killer on the lawn, not thinking about what that’s doing to the ground and the water.  Letting your phone tell you what to do and where to go.  Believing them when they say that all the poison that got dumped/inadvertently mailed/put in your food poses no threat to public health.  Finding a place to stand in the midst of all this is indeed the work of a lifetime, and it’s a pity more of us don’t start earlier.  Or perhaps, more successfully- I THOUGHT I’d started but it turns out I was a foolish and deluded bear.

The thing of it was that I didn’t really accept the way things actually are.  It was just too depressing to acknowledge the evil and harm in the world, and I had a rather large set of matched emotional baggage to cart around as well.  It’s taken a long time to get even the bit of clarity I have now, and one thing seems clear at least.  One must remain calm.  It sounds silly but when you think about all the times you get stressed and disoriented, just in the course of a day or a stroll down the grocery store aisle, it illuminates the fog we (yes, I) walk around in far too often.  Calmness isn’t a matter of repressing what you feel, either.  It’s more a matter of feeling what you feel, looking to the source and putting it in perspective.  Like, that was then, this is now.  What can really be done at any given point?  WHERE THE HELL AM I? If I am in fact in the grocery store there’s no need to panic, seriously.  The other big part of it is acknowledging the World around you.  Look at and speak to your fellow humans and animals.  Look at the sky.  This alone goes a long way toward clarity because it eventually does show you you are NOT alone- others are slogging through all this stuff too and the odds are that one of you will actually make it and be able to deliver a cogent report about the lay of the land.

Last evening we looked at storm clouds on the horizon.  (And we could do this because we had on our handy dandy mosquito and bug repelling bracelets! Yay!)  They were an incredible slate blue, behind the varying shades of grey and olive green of the trees, and there was a strange kind of alertness to it all- a soundless sound.  The finches and titmice and woodpeckers and hummingbirds were  busily eating their dinners and taking baths, the lizards and frogs were bustling around (we have BABY frogs at present, and they’re PINK).  We’d spent the workable part of the day (the non-broiler setting on the temperature that is) weeding and digging our raised beds up, the Partner and I (albeit slowly in my case).  Everything was quiet and the soil seemed to be thanking us for our work as it laid there tilled and breathing, happy with its new rock dust and peat and seaweed.  Our seedlings have sprung up luxuriantly and of course, even though I did a drawing of what seed was where….naturally, it is now all a mish mosh and it will be a revelation to see which tomatoes are the giant yellow Ukrainians and which are the San Marzanos.  Will it be cayenne or bell pepper?  We’re clear on which melons are which but that is about as far as it goes right now.

Anyway, as everything breathed in unison it seemed to me that the truth is, redemption is always possible, and always happening.  There’s a wonderful line in a poem by Robinson Jeffers about how the heartbreaking beauty of the world is there, whether or not there is a heart there to break.  Our hearts generally do break, of course….but perhaps that is what they are made to do.  If they don’t break they don’t open, and we never grow and flower.

If Proust Had Blogged

I wonder if he would have gotten all the pitches for keyword placement to improve his blog’s Google ratings?  Would people actually try to sell him something and open with, “Your content is decent but you need a keyword in every sentence” ?  Would he, the writer who would often amuse himself by having one shimmeringly complex sentence spanning almost two dense pages about, for example, how an espalliered rose bush looked as the sun went down, or how his heart broke because of Albertine, have looked at the webpage about said keyword program which was advertised as free but in fact could only be tried for a dollar a day prior to paying the reduced $XXX,XXXXYOUNAMEIT know-me fee, have decided instead, in the name of seeking fame and fortune,  to do something like:

“The rosebush glimmered in the fading light;  the rosebush, which was a rosebush, stood against a wall-the wall was there for the rosebush to climb on (a rosebush being a plant that likes to climb up trellises against walls, which are made just for a rosebush, against walls for rosebush(es))  because a rosebush looks good against a wall.”  And so on.

Then, tagging it something clever like ROSEBUSH, be thrilled out of his mind by seeing his Google ranking go up to between 2 and 5 for a week?  Not to mention experiencing the sheer Joy of Good Investment at paying for some “SEO Program”, which feeling  he would relish in bed in his cork lined room? Thinking, perhaps, BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I, PROUST! HAVE MADE ANOTHER PERSON RICHER FOR NO ACTUAL REASON AND MY GOOGLE RANKING, WHICH HASN’T  ACTUALLY DONE A THING FOR ME, IS STILL AT FOUR AFTER THREE WEEKS!  MAGNIFIQUE!  LET ME PAY MORE! TRES SIMPLE! THE HELL WITH ACTUAL CONTENT, GIVE ME KEYWORDS OR GIVE ME…er…STRAWBERRIES! DON’T HOLD THE CREAM CHEESE, EITHER!

I am just wondering, is all.  I mean, would Proust have decided that people were so absolutely brain dead that they couldn’t figure out what anything was about without being bludgeoned by some single word repeated ad paragrapham?  Would he have just chucked it all, Remembrance Be Damned, because it was too hard not to use all the many other words that crowded out through his pen and refused to be corralled by mere grammar or the hope that someone would know their meaning? So that he would get views of his blog, which would lead either to blank stares or the much to be hoped-for advertising revenue?  Which he would need because his writing would have gone to the dogs because he didn’t have enough time left over after dragging for keywords to actually compose anything else. And he’d have to pay for all that Optimization somehow.  To keep things going like usual, so he could keep paying ever higher prices for everything and keep his anxiety at bay by comforting himself with the brilliance of his SEO program?

Ah, well.  I believe it was Horace who said you should always keep your hook baited because you never know in which pool the fish will turn up, or words more elegantly to that effect.  It just seems to me that lately we have a whole lot more hooks than we have fish.  Fish are being downright concussed by the sheer volume of hooks being tossed their way- a lot of them without bait, either.   It’s all very interesting, really. Now, if you’ll excuse me, back to Proust.

My Friend’s Books

A dearly beloved friend sent me her book list on something called Goodreads today.  I think it’s one of those things where you buy Some Kind Of Electronic Device (nook? kindle? ipad?) and can then download books to read.  This, of course, is not going to work for ME because? even today with the sun out the internet is still it’s spotty little self.   A spectacular list it is, too.  Hundreds of books! many of which I haven’t read which means I am raring to go.  So, it motivated me to decide to go to the closest two big libraries, one of which I actually live in the same county as, and get something I’ve had almost my whole life: A library card.  When I can do this is the big unknown quantity, but perhaps the same-county-as-library will work, as soon we must venture down there to get kibble for the birds.  The local library in my little town, after a visit and perusal, is not going to quite cut the mustard but I still donate books to them.

Meanwhile, since I am really trying to block out the fact that Clarence Thomas has been a (HOW CAN THIS BE?) Supreme Court Justice (” “) for TWENTY FREAKING YEARS, I am going to,  for a bit of however long my connection to the Outside World lasts this evening, discuss those two kibble eating sparkling lights of my life, Boo and Poppy, the Sun Conures.  Boo, of course, is Boozilla.  Poppy is her older (three days) sister, who maintains the household sobriety.  They are becoming adults now (we think they’re seven- how we could forget given that we hand fed them, I don’t know.  Chalk it up to the stress.) and their behavior is shifting.   They can tolerate more light every day (before, they insisted on being covered up between sorties), and their training of US proceeds apace.    Boo, who likes cheerios, now gets hand fed every morning.  Or else.  They fly around the yurt as though it is St. Mark’s Square, and sit on our shoulders eating their grapes.  They peel the grapes of course, like everything else including cheerios, and the skins of the grapes get dropped on our shoulders like falling stars.  It is really quite amazing to look into their eyes, and realize they’ve learned our language and can speak it quite articulately.   Being as they’re girls, they lay eggs.  We admonish them to keep it to a minimum but it is what it is.  Boo produced a splendid one this morning, rolled it around with her beak to show me when I lifted their covers for breakfast , then promptly pooped on it and told me in no uncertain terms to get that thing out of there.  I often think of their mother, Ed (the father was named Trixie.  Obviously we didn’t know, um, who was who.) who sang the most amazing song while they were hatching.  It was as though she was telling them the story of creation, of all birds and all life, for the very first time, and her voice became sweet as well as raucous for a song that lasted, at the same time, forever and for a moment.  I hear that song often.

Meanwhile, the question of how one maintains progress, shift, stays on track and out of the gutter, looms large.  But it, like the internet signal, fades in and out, and once again it is time to make dinner before we lose everything in the ethers.  It’s been a long day, once again, and thus we bid you a good evening!

Claude Levi-Strauss

Having read Tristes Tropiques and being sad when it ended, I actually lugged The Origin of Table Manners with me on a long trip through Mexico. ( And read it there, moreover, while I had real deal amoebic dysentery in the freaking jungle.  Way to have fun!)  So, I was saddened to see that Claude Levi-Strauss died over this past weekend.   He brought a fresh eye to his subject, as well as rigor, and whether or not the end product was something you agreed with or not, it was always stimulating and thought provoking to read his work.  I always enjoyed the way he opened up anthropological thought, and perhaps academic thought as a whole, by his more horizontal analysis of how things repeat through cultures, which was called “structuralism”.  I never understand these names, but anyway.  (Like, really, for example, what is Deconstruction?)  In any event, an original mind is no longer with us, and while that is the way of  life,  it is still a melancholy thing.  I hope he is on to another grand adventure.

Just To Amuse Myself

A header change.  Or whatever these theme things are called.  We’re still on the high seas of crazy, apparently, and such things amuse us.  

However! I have been thinking, mulling things over, as per usual.  A book on my shelf demanded to be taken down and opened, and it opened to some thoughts on Resonance.  An ancient sage was asked what the real meaning of the I Ching was, and he responded: Resonance.  Wow.  THAT set me right.   “An essential essence or sound within the Universe….the idea of putting yourself in touch with (this) essence of the Universe through the use of chance…..the essential ebb and flow of the Universe, if it is possible to tap into this at any time…it simply remains to find the correct or best method of doing so….” (from THE FORTUNE TELLER’S I CHING, Palmer, Ho and O’Brien.)  For a minute I had been drifting in a seemingly chartless Sargasso Sea of Blah and Yeugh.  This little paragraph reminded me what it is I have been in search of, working toward, however you want to say it, in my life.  It is Resonance.  No coinkidink then, that I am a practitioner of vibrational medicine.  Glad to get that cleared up finally, especially since I’ve been wondering lately if I’m just a hardheaded misguided relic.  People ask me what I “do” and honestly? I often don’t know what to say.  It’s hard to explain.  Plus one doesn’t want to sound like one is issuing an invitation to the Hall of Windchimes and Unicorns.  

So.  Other than that? Just waiting for the Partner to return so I can make my visit to the Shrine of Trader Joe’s.  And, it IS Friday.  We made it again!  Ghastly failure was at times a matter of touch and go, just like in A DANCE TO THE MUSIC OF TIME, but we made it once again.  For which I am thankful.

Oh, The Fun We’re Having

I feel an odd sense of hopefulness about developments in Iran. Perhaps I’m crazy. But there appears to be a sort of a glimmer of possibility for shift, which could create glimmers for shifts elsewhere. In other words, a move toward integrating old paradigms into actual positive reality. A loosening of the logjam. A breakup of the ice on the river (interestingly, the French word for that? is debacle.) It’s a melancholy hopefulness, of course, because these sorts of things, since they involve humans, are seemingly always very costly. The entrenched Powers That Be never want to give up their hog’s share of things. The “my way or the highway” deal. Why, indeed, can’t we just get along? We’re running out of time and also this way of doing things is not only unproductive. It’s boring. Not only taxing but tiring. ( Also it is wasteful, and Nature does not waste energy. We may be moving toward a point where Nature is going to say to us: Get off me you– you wastrels!)

I’ve also been thinking about real estate, and real estate agents. Suddenly there appears to be a realtor for about every 5000 people in this country. How did that happen? And why is that necessary? Also, who are they? It is interesting when you look into THAT. Personally, this is what I think. The concept of “owning” land is a little strange. It’s like owning air, or water, or sunlight. I read an interesting thing in, which is a wonderful daily email about ideas. It was about the American Revolution, and how a good deal of the support for it ultimately came from people living in America who wanted to own land so they could make lots of money. Hmmm. So, let’s see here. First, there are people already living here, the First Nations. Then, Europeans come, obliterate them, and say, “Only WE and Our Special Designees can own this land”. Which, while it isn’t anybody’s really, certainly wasn’t THEIRS to make that decision over. So then, other Europeans come, but the time line has shifted, and they’re lumped in with the First Nations: They can’t own land either. Revolution ensues, and what do you know? A different, supposedly more egalitarian set of rules comes up, so that if you have enough money, you can own land. ( Unless you’re a member of the First Nations. In that case, you are still and forever S.O. L.) A neat and orderly way of limiting ownership, when you think about it. Fast forward to today, where we have legions of real estate agents who do what exactly? Maintain and participate in the long, limited lineage of who may own property. Except that greed got in the way this time and now the whole thing has blown up. Which just, to my mind, shows you the faultiness of the original premise. *SIGH*

Meanwhile, off to the nursery for a potting soil purchasing extravaganza. My kind of land ownership.

Still Not Reachable for Comment

The brain has not checked in yet.  I’m starting to wonder if it has gone on a Himalayan trek without letting me know.

I imagine that trek is crowded with brains from all over, brains that need a break.  Brains that need a vacation.  Brains that are out of shape and think a festive hike in a different setting might get them back in fighting trim.  All I know is I feel pretty light headed.

Still.  I’ve been reading.  When I first got WIZARD OF THE CROW (  by N. Wa Thiongo, mentioned before) I was in the midst of a Nerve Destroying, Bone Shattering But All For the Best Personal Planetary Shift.  I knew this was a great book but my concentration wasn’t up to the task.  Instead I finished JONATHAN STRANGE AND MR. NORRELL by Susanna Clark which I loved, and which also seemed related to the work I was commencing on somehow.  Instructive, as it were, so I could focus.  Also I had broken part of my foot and needed something Long and Weighty to keep me occupied.  Now I am back to WIZARD and I must say: Fantastic.  It is hilarious , awful at the same time, wonderful and instructive .   Also, it is good to keep in mind while watching the news from Lagos.

Yesterday, when I finally had to admit I could go no further after seeing the contents of my mailbox, I staged a retreat to the backyard with THE MIRACLE LIFE OF EDGAR MINT, by Brady Udall.  Another hilarious and awful book, closer to home and requiring some unflinching attention, but I read almost the whole book in one afternoon.

So.  I feel better even though the brain is AWOL and I have to Go Outside and Act Like A Functioning Grown Up Now which I am not altogether sure I can pull off today.  But those two books gave me some food for the soul, and I thank their writers for that very much, indeed.