G Spot

Question

2012-01-27T08:50:00.001-08:00

To question or not to question, that is the question. No question about it. I question everything. I am a Questioner. Question to learn. Question to ensure I actually understood what I learned. Question how to share it, how to give it away, and how to keep giving it away. Question all the time and then question why I question all the time. It happens all day, every day. I wake up with a question of what the day holds and then go to sleep with a question if I did my best. My dreams walk right into my questions. Questions about the light. Questions about the dark. Questions to learn.

Questions are joyous. Each question is the Divine Child opening to be fed. Maybe my mouth should be a question mark. Maybe my Divine Child has a question mark rather than a halo. My Divine Child questions all the time. I even question the Divine. How dare I? How could I? How could I not? I question to learn and then to share and then if I shared enough and if it was what others needed and if it will really matter. If it does, cool. If it does not, so what? Tomorrow is an unknown. I do not question that. I do my questioning in the moment.

Some questions are to attack. When asked them, I realize they are not truly questions at all. Yet when I feel myself asking those type of questions, I honor them. I choke them back and ask myself why the hell I would do that? Why would I question my joy or my choices or ever dare to question others joy or their choices. All of those questions are actually all about me anyway so I choke them back and must become a Master Questioner.

Why do I question? What drives this question? I own the questions and question right through the questions to find the fear that drives them. To find what I need to feel to understand why the heck I would question my very joy. To understand the weakness that is mine that would have me question others rather than ask why I question them rather than face the question of self I avoid by questioning them. Those are the questions of deeper learning. I go deep into them because there is sweetness in deep learning.

I question to learn. No question about it. I question to grow and shine and share and live and die and love and love even more and then even more than that. I question because I am human and we are here to learn and questions are all about learning. Learning about me so that I can be the best me and then a better me and then even a better me. Learning about me so I can be a We and We We We all the way home. Right back to where I came from. Wherever that was. Any questions?

Simple Fi

2012-01-26T05:26:00.001-08:00

(Another peice from "Report From the Frontal Lobe"....being edited to life as you read.)

I started a club a while ago. You can be in it if you want. Anyone can. That’s just the way I do things. Inclusive. A nice word. Inclusive. If I eliminated people from my club…well, that would be bad and short sighted and just the opposite of what is right. People do belong. We are all in the same club. The “I have been born, I am going die, and I doing my best in between to make sense of what the heck I am doing here” club.

The ain’t the name of my club. If that was the name of my club, t-shirts would be out of the question. My club is “Simple Fi”

Kinda sounds like one of those things some people do at colleges and such. For some, those kinda clubs were the best part of their college experience. For me, those things were not any part of my college experience. Just because my college experience was a tad bit different that most.

I took classes at twenty-seven different colleges/universities, graduated from four, and, until a road trip a year ago when I went out of my way to drive onto the campus of University of Nebraska at Omaha, never stepped foot on the four I graduated from. It’s the facts, Jack. I was a migrant worker (twenty-eight years in the US Military) and took classes wherever I could and whenever I could. Even took some night classes at an All Girls Catholic College in Nashua New Hampshire. Turned out it was the very first time they opened their night classes to co-ed…myself and one other guy were the only two males that attended that first quarter. Just me and him and all women. Dang the luck! Had a nun, a room full of women, and a demanding class. Still shows up in my dreams. Only on good nights though. Learning can be such a dream come true.

Along the way, I amassed a few degrees. BA. MBA. PhD. That impresses some folks. Letters after a name are very important to some. I was one of those for quite a while. Maybe the letters after my name should have been BOZO (In training). Well, I achieved the highest level of learning there. I am Bozo Emeritus. Screw that shit. Take the letters after my name, stamp them, and send them to the dead letter office. If you need letters after my name to care about what I say, you most likely would not believe what I say anyway.

With the slightly different path my college education took, the opportunity of Sororities and Fraternities just did not surface. Just as well really. The only time I attended anything close to a full time college experience was just recently when attending Utah College of Massage Therapy. The Principle called me to her office one day, and it had been over forty years since I was called to the Principle’s office, said a student had filed a complaint against me, and kicked me out. Just like that. No questions. No explanations. Fifty-six years old and I was kicked out of college. Wow.

What the heck would have happened if I had attended college back in the 70s? Holy Moly…..I can only imagine. Timothy Leary…eat you heart out. It is easy to be radical when in your 20s. Bring radical when you are 56 is…..well, radical. Helps me understand why I am not a joiner. Like Groucho said, “I refuse to belong to any club that would have me for a member.” Until today, that is. I like being in Simple Fi.

Simple Fi is different than Fraternities and Sororities. Although my path did not include time in clubs with Greek Letters for names, hazing ceremonies, and the opportunity to be three sheets to the wind while wrapped in a sheet, I understood the basic math. Fraternities + Sororities = Paternity.

My club is an Eternity Club. Your eternity is welcomed. My eternity is welcome. Here an eternity. There an eternity. Everywhere an eternity. Maybe that could be our theme song. Sung to the tune of Old MacDonald had a Farm of course. Our mascot could be a Ewe. My you. Your you. Everywhere a you-you. Not a yo-yo. If you are a yo-yo, you are still welcome but you are probably busy amassing letters after your name.

In Simple Fi, you play. Everyone plays. Unless, of course, if someone is sad. Then we all cheer them up and then we all play. Kinda hard to play when someone else can’t. So we play. Alone. Together. Whatever works.

Today I played on the ice. Wasn’t much ice today. Spring is the air. Still there was some ice. For me, the best kind. The ice over puddles. I love cracking it and seeing the water kiss the open air. Maybe it is the open air that kisses the water. Whatever. A kiss is a still a kiss. Sometimes the air kisses the water, sometime the water kisses the air. You put the lime in the coconut, You drink them both up. I don’t play that game. Playing on the ice is enough for me. Life on the rocks is, well, life on the rocks. I let air kiss water and watcr kiss air and the Doctor can heal someone else’s belly ache. My belly is fine and full and not even hung over my belt.

So I walked. One foot on the street. One foot cracking the ice. Foot. Crack. Foot. Crack. Foot. Crack. Did it safely too. Foot. Crack. Never fell on my butt crack. Not today at least. Today I played. Today I started a club. Simple Fi.

Simple Fi. I think I will. I am a simple kinda guy. Don’t let the letters after my name fool you. I am smarter than they might make you think. Simple Fi. Lessons in life trump college every time. The colleges you attended, didn’t attend, wanted to attend, and even got kicked out of….lessons in life trump them all. I got a lot to learn.

Join the club. You already paid your dues. You were born. Now you can Simple Fi for life.

Up-Write

2012-01-25T06:03:00.001-08:00

(Another piece from "Reports from the Frontal Lobe".)

I looked for my relevance and it wasn’t there. Not the life changing, mid life, see the bald guy in the Vette kinda thing. Just a quiet inside awareness of life choices and their long-term impact. Right age. (Midlife crisis in the 50s. Either we are just bad at math or eternal optimists thanks to Willard Scott). Right time. Right place. It seems easy for me. To reflect and say quietly,,,,,”Wow, blew that one.” Then think more and watch rather than feel the sting of “What was I thinking?” Interesting to be so deep into the process that it is lived as well as observed.

Years of changes helped. Some made. Some foisted upon the sometimes slow to grasp the evidence at hand believer in SOURCE that I am. Years of preparation. Broke me. Yet I remained in tact. My life was just broken into a million little pieces. Shiny bobbles that I looked at one by one. Gems that assembled into something more façade than real in reflection. They shined quite beautifully. Felt wonderful in my hands covered with the eyeballs of hindsight. Understood the beauty in each one. Mistakes shown. Wisdom spread in the wreckage as well. The gambit of the priceless along with the worthless collected by the clueless.

Seems this is when folks get bitter. Dive into bottles. Hide inside drugs. Get really bad haircuts. Lose their fashion sense. End up in places with “Yeah, I belong” on their faces and a “Holy Shit” feeling in their gut. Run for the borders of all they know. That is the stereotype. The expected. Woooo Hooooo. I ain’t typical. Not this time. A ten-year head start might be my key to being different. Left the military a decade ago and entered the world I had prepared for and prepared. Lived the dream of the Defender of Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Exited the guard post and headed into the bank vault. Yahoo, Bobba Looey. Where are my withdrawal slips? Time to make some money and live the dream.

Didn’t feel greedy. Didn’t feel wrong. Didn’t feel disconnected from reality. In fact, I felt damn good. Had lots of stuff and got more stuff and the money was rolling in fast. Almost as fast as I could spend it. Alright, not that fast. Still, money would come so bills were not an issue. Could liquidate if I had to and that meant I was solid. Had enough savings and investments to pay all the bills so the ride was safe and sound. Worked hard, spent fast, and traveled tons.

Things changed. Drastically. Forever. In ways beyond my expectations that tested my limitations and challenged my foundation. My foundation turned out to be pretty damn solid. (Man, it is good I was well laid. A good foundation comes in handy when your world crumbles to pieces). Turned out my foundation was just well hidden by the stuff I thought meant living. Had to excavate. Had to dust off the remnants of my monetary Pompey.

I am living archeological dig. Can you dig it? My logic went astray. Arch-logic. Bizarro thinking that become my reality. A life inside the dream I defended and then pursued with vigor and even righteousness. A life not relevant because it was disconnected. Disconnected from nature and the rest of the world…at least the world that did not have unlimited resources and the innate right to everything on the planet.

The dig is a work in progress. After all, the foundation survived and that is important. My life went to pieces, my world expanded, and my spirit soars. Digging out from under and adjusting to the light is a bit like birthing…..it happens at its own speed. Good to know the foundation is ready all the same. Rocky starts, Rocky Horrors, Rocky Road Ice Cream, Rocky and Bullwinkle.......all go better on solid foundations.

Dig It!

2012-01-24T05:50:00.001-08:00

Yesterday

2012-01-23T08:32:00.001-08:00

(A piece from "Reports from the Frontal Lobe"....a book making its way to completion quickly.)

Was it that long ago? There was a boy although he moved just like a man. Maybe more saw him as a boy than he knew but he was man. A big man. A big man making manly decisions. Life decisions. Big decisions. Decisions that were here and now yesterday. Some questioned the decisions. Others celebrated them. He made them. It was easier for him when they celebrated them but he made them for himself. At least he thought he did. After all, it was yesterday and today is different. Today he might make other decisions. A lot changes as yesterday becomes today and today becomes tomorrow and tomorrows become memories.

Yesterday was 1972. At least it feels like that. Just a kid. On his first plane ride. From the one state that he knew into places he only knew of…..and really didn’t know at all. Jumping into the unknown is exciting once we are confident we jumped into the right unknown. We buy in and then we do it. We jump. We jump from all we know into all we want and need and really don’t know. Sometimes it is a big jump. It was back in 1972.

That yesterday changed all my tomorrows. Yesterdays are like that. Today is a new day and I love my today. I honor and celebrate and remember my yesterdays. I love my today….and I kinda love my tomorrows…..but tomorrow is further away than yesterday and today is really all I have right now. All my yesterdays are right here….even that one way back in 1972. My tomorrow? Ask me about that tomorrow. When tomorrow is today and today is yesterday. Right now……well right now is really damn good. I didn’t see it coming yesterday……but it arrived right on time.

Graves

2012-01-22T06:45:00.000-08:00

(Another piece of "Reports from the Frontal Lobe"......finished except the editing and flow and that is coming along quickly.)

Graves. One waits for each of us. Not the one they put our body in. That one can be avoided. We can float our ashes on the wind. We might cast the vessel that was ours into the sea. We might let them have us in the labs. Parts of us might move about in others thanks to donating what we won’t be using anymore. Doesn’t really matter. We ain’t there anymore. We died, boys and girls. We can’t really be late for our own funeral. We ain’t even there. Our grave might be that one for someone else though…that grave that really gets them mad about death.

My mother’s grave was that one for me. Stood there, all grown up and decked out in the uniform I wore for twenty-eight years. Stood there to make her proud. To make her smile that smile that said, “This is my son. Look at how well I raised him”. The follow on thought “..and rest assured, it was a hell of a lot of work!”…lessened over the years. There I stood…and that smile was gone. The big brave officer and world traveler and all around happy man….wanted the smile and it was gone. The little boy cried.

Over a year later, I emerged from the grief. It took that long to handle it. Was walking wounded….went through life without living it that long. People who knew me knew it. People who didn’t know me knew it. Anyone that looked knew it. The only one I fooled was myself.

I stood at my Mother’s grave and hated death. Hated that she was gone. Hated that I had to pretend to be alright.

Heard about Elvis and how he threw himself on his mother’s casket. He clawed at it. He wanted her out of that box. He wanted to get in that box with her. He hated death at the moment. He hated life at that moment. He was clueless about how he could possible just keep on living anymore.

Some people wale. Others cry. Some claw at the casket. We handle death in our own way. That one grave waits for us. The one when we really hate death. The one when death steps into our lives and changes everything.

Death is part of life. Until that one grave arrives, we fool ourselves. After it arrives, we are changed. Changed for the better actually. That is when we know how much we can love. How much we can care. How much living matters. How much one person can mean to another. That grave arrives and we begin to live. To truly live. To appreciate what we are while we are still here to be it.

It’s only one grave that gets us like that. Our heart has to be really ready to understand life. Once we understand life, we understand death. We walk away from the grave more alive….or more dead. My mom gave me life. Her death showed me how precious life is. One grave. Death is pretty serious stuff. Life is about living fully…once we face death and decide we will live.

Stereotypes

2012-01-21T05:53:00.000-08:00

(Another piece from "Reports from the Frontal Lobe"...making its way to your hands free soon.)

Before they were stereotypes they were the people in my life. They were real before they were fictionalized, fantasized, anesthetized, vilified, elevated, deflated, and homogenized.

The shoe repair man that lived in the back room of his shop. A shop of so many shoes. Cast-offs, waiting pick-ups, forgotten, beyond hope, those under those other ones, ladies mixed with men and coupled with children’s….I saw something different each time and felt the effect of the collected. The appearance, leather vest, round rim glasses, silver ring of very little hair, the name, the way he moved, the way he remembered things…Hollywood casting would love his lovability and Jewish name.

The crusty mechanic. The darkest man in a lily-white town before rainbows were really valued. Chewing on what looked to be the same stogie, wearing the blue coveralls held together by decades of axel grease, concealed behind halves, fenders, that joist, a Model whatever on cinderblocks now home to a raccoon and close knit starlings, driveshafts, crankshafts, and potholes, and named Cookie. Stocky, eyes that smiled a split second before the face, arms like stubs, fingers that looked anything but what they were, agile, and that shuffling walk of one drop light on the head more than he ever wanted. His mechanical prowess was more rumored than evidenced, no one knew where he really lived, and the gas pumps didn’t and hadn’t for a long time. He smelled of fossil fuels and reeked with character. Curmudgeoned wise man with a red rag in his left pocket and a socket wrench looking for a home in his right hand.

The Irish Priest too old to function and too spry to be ignored. He drifted from absent-minded to brilliant and let the youngsters think they knew better. Then he helped them fix things. He was the power behind the throne and didn’t care as long as things were right. Everyone knew him. Everyone loved him. Everyone underestimated him. His grave is halfway between my grandparents and my parents…and I look for him just like I did when passing the Rectory that feels much lesser now.

Sister Mary Joseph John, the Bride of Christ worthy of the hand selection. Luminous. Intelligent. Hail Mary, Full of Grace Kelly. She inspired, quieted, and loved. She knew you and him and her but you were enough and always tried to be when ever she entered your thoughts. Any one in Habit got the respect you felt for her. You were one of many yet she made you feel one of one. She was one in a million yet claimed to be just one of many. You had her in Fifth Grade and know that heaven is a lot like Fifth Grade. You got all A’s except that one B and you have made it up to her in the three going on four decades since. You loved her. Not in that way. Not then. You still love her. She was as Feminine as they come. You were as studious and pious as you could be because she knew your best from your bullshit and demanded your best.

The short order cook at the Diner on the Highway. If he wasn’t there, he’d be in prison. He was Navy, or liked that Tattoo that looked like Popeye’s and peeked out just under his rolled up undershirt sleeve. You wondered if his hat came crooked. You knew you would crush and bend yours the same way if you ever entered that world. He didn’t speak but you heard who he liked and who he didn’t loud and clear. You were in the like column, most of the time. You were semi-regular…just on the edge of his give a shit meter. The flipper never left his hand and he never called it a spatula. He knew over easy real well and dismissed special orders with a look hotter than any grill any where. The few times he came out from the opening in the wall and had a cup of coffee were your moments behind the curtain. You wanted to call him Cookie but were smart enough to shut the hell up and just drink your coffee. You hoped he didn’t notice you put cream in it, wussy, and took your next cup black. Left it that way long after he put out his cigarette and disappeared into his world.

They weren’t in Walmart today. They won’t be tomorrow either. They are still real though. Keep living the dream. Another cup of Jo, please. I got a date with an Angel and the roads are slicker than snot. One more for the road.

Yule 8

2012-01-19T05:35:00.001-08:00

The Truth of Yule is found in the same place as the joy of Yule. The joy is found in the same vault that contains the energy that fuels the motion forward. Look there and see answers to every question, strength for every task, connection to every moment, and peace of belonging. The Truth of Yule is inside you.

Yule 7

2012-01-18T05:44:00.001-08:00

Children are exceptions to many rules. This is because they must be nurtured and taught. Children are not adults and should not be treated as such. Children also mature and grow each year and should be treated accordingly. Let them enjoy their childhood but ensure their childhood prepares them well for time as adults.

There is a child in each adult but that child should only be entertained and encouraged when the adult is responsible for themselves. As an adult, you are responsible for only one adult and that is you. To accept responsibility for another adult, as long as they are fully functioning, is the ultimate irresponsibility. Fix yourself. Help others. Fixing begins within each of us and is completed with the help of others but begun alone.

As you carry the Yule forth, your challenge is to find your gifts and use them to help others. As for the gifts you have, learn how to share. Sharing your gifts and making a difference is the true art of Yule. Share in such a way that helps others and enriches you. Watch as your gifts multiply the more you share of them. Skills hone. Talents soar. All in the usage that honors Yule.

Yule 6

2012-01-11T06:40:00.001-08:00

(From the book "Sabbats", yours free at smashwords.com)

The Yule is of children. All children. That is why all crave Yule for all seek the child they were and always would be. Look inside of yourself and see the child that you were in the fourth and fifth year. This is your own child of Yule. This is the child that shapes what you long to be. This is the child that defines what makes you happy and how you see the world and those in it. This is the child that must be fully known for you to live your destiny.

The time between then and now was the journey to destiny. To gather resources. Knowledge. Skills. Understanding. Then to return to a place where that child can be brought forth again and use all that was learned on the journey to live its destiny.

That is why we crave Yule so much. The child cries in wonder if this is season that it will come forth and live as it did when in the fourth and fifth year yet use all it knows. For many cycles, there is a glimmer of hope but then the journey moves the child forth into the world again. The true Yule is the one where you complete the circle and live your destiny as sure, as safe, as free, and as happy as you were when in the fourth and fifth year of this realm.

Look hard at the what, who, where, how of that when and see the answers that have screamed at you for so long. Find Those that understand this and present in trust. Yule then is forever.

Yule 5

2012-01-04T06:20:00.000-08:00

A rose in the snow draws the attention of all around since it seems out of place. That one rose will draw more to it than the field of roses in spring for the field is lovely but also right as and where it should be. Merely another aspect of the wonders of spring that blends so beautifully with millions of other wonders common to that time. Common things in uncommon settings or different times become wondrous.

Yule 3

2012-01-02T12:14:00.001-08:00

Look at the day that was designated as the right one and see what remains even just moments after. The joy in the preparation was but for a moment in the joy in the opening and then there was relief. Yes, there are exceptions when gifts meet needs and show the consideration of the giver to the receiver. Yet, far too much was expended for moments of smiles sandwiched between the stress of the preparation and the impact of the aftermath. Yet this is done each time and then vowed to be corrected with a resolve that fades quicker than the pine needles on a dying tree.

The joy of Yule should be deep and long as the love from a parent to a child. Yule is the key to linking what is needed here to what is possible there. Giving of self in unconditional love is the magick that moves you from mere giver to one that makes a difference. This can not be bought with coin of this realm for it must be purchased within yourself with the gift you were given as you use that gift to help others. This is not of one day but of everyday. Yule should drive you through the cycle of all time. Let this be the day that happens so that tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow is as joyous as any Yule and as every Yule should be.

Up, Up, and Away

2011-12-24T08:32:00.001-08:00

My Grandson Luke has an S on his chest. I put it there. Silly me. Having a Halloween moment on his Christmas Eve birthday. Up, Up, and Away. I have my towel cape on as I pen this. Folks that know this family understand the significance of towel capes. Pictures of all of us, the kids that is, parading the neighborhood in our capes on the 4^th of July show the tradition. A tradition with roots from long ago.

Superman rocks. That is why the towel capes. There are lots of superheroes. For me, there is one that leads the pack. (The Justice League in the case of superheroes.) The Man Of Steel. “Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Look! Up in the sky…..” You finish it. I suspect many of you can. Superman is my man when it comes truth, justice, and an American way that needs to move from yesteryear to today for the sake of tomorrow.

When playing as a kid, we played Cowboys and Indians and I was always Roy Rogers. When we played Army, it was to hold us over until we played Cowboys and Indians again. The other thing we played was superheroes. I was Superman. Mostly alone since almost all the boys wanted to be Superman and there was only one. (Well, except for Bizarro Superman, the mad scientist that had that potion that changed him into Superman’s double, Superman’s long lost twin from Action Comics Number what ever number that was that turned out to be a dream sequence for Lana Lang back when Superman was Superboy in Smallville, and….okay there was more than one Superman but only one in my back yard at a time.) So I donned the cape, survived kryptonite chains, saved Lois from bondage, put out the fire in the Empire State Building, and still made it home for another “here eat what is put in front of you” dinner at the Van Wagner Household. Easy, peasy. After all, I was Superman.

Now, Luke has an S on his chest and he flies circles around his Pop-Pop. Hey, I am 58 and real close to 59 years old, am nursing some weird going on with my left knee, and figured it was time let him be the main attraction. (Just for a bit. This cape on my back is urging me to fly too.)

Fly, kiddo. I smile as you smile back. Feel the strength of my imagination. What I imagine is real. What I love flies and plays and is so full of joy that limits only exist in comic books. I held you in my hands but a few minutes this time last year. Now, I hold you in heart forever. Fly, kiddo. I’ll be with you and we’ll save this planet and any planet that needs saving. Life is sweeter because you were here.

Happy Birthday, Luke.

Love Pop-Pop

Thanks, Jesus

2011-12-23T18:22:00.001-08:00

Thanks for the nice Solstice, Jesus. I am going to have birthday cake tonight in your honor and wish your peace on everyone. Still riding the energy of time with you. Might as well extend the celebration. Seems fitting. Last night was much needed, my friend. Your company does good things inside of me. Just like when I was a kid. Sweet and innocent things. Solstice is sweet and innocent to me. Kinda like Christmas use to be. Like Christmas is supposed to be. Like you are. You have a spark, dude.

I like that spark. The warmth that embraced the kid in me and hugs the adult. Jesus and me. Quite the pair. I dig it. Your birthday is special. Use to be the best day of the year. Wish I could say it was because of you but it was the other stuff. Even when I was a kid, you kinda got lost in the shuffle. The other stuff was so damn good. The flood of gifts. A sense of abundance. All is right with the world moments that made sleep more difficult. Excitement of the coming that overwhelmed everything. Even you. We meant well. We just fa-la-la’ed to the point of oo-la-la.

Had to wrap things. Spruce them up. Decorate them with lights and tinsel. It was time to be shiny and new. The season of sparkle. Somewhere along the way, the lights overshadowed you, Jesus. You were a footnote we remembered when we had time. There was you and a whole mess of other stuff that was more exciting. More urgent. Santa trumped you in stores, TV shows, decorations, press releases, and sheer volume. I tasted it as a kid and got kinda addicted. Alright, I got way addicted. The season shifted back when I was little. It was about waking up to tons of stuff.

There was also reverence. A special reverence that even the kid in me knew was really what you wanted me to feel. The reverence of Silent Night, Holy Night. The quiet sacredness of a single white Christmas light over the Nativity set that was Mom and Dad’s back then and is mine forever. It was as simple as simple gets. A few pieces of wood put together with some finishing nails that had to be reminded of their job each year. That was “the” manger for me. I felt you more there than in any church at any time. It makes me smile. I know you chuckled when that little me brought weeds from the Dodd’s yard and called it hay to make the ceramic you more comfortable. Even the youthful me knew my solo versions of Silent Night confirmed my emotions were richer and sweeter than my singing voice. That is still the case. So I sing in words and call it my song. I sing more publicly to you now.

Back then, I got caught up in the receiving. Still do at times. Hey, I like receiving. I just understand how much I already have much better now. It was and is in the giving that I feel you. When the gifts are from my soul. That is your message, my friend. Give. Give your best. Share your gifts and have more in the sharing.

Yesterday, there were hints of that. Much needed hints. I was present for those that reached and shared. My time was put to use…..for others. They knew they were heard. I sensed they were comforted and that gift was felt. It was Solstice. The appreciation for the abundance that is life. Simple peace and everyday magic.

Solstice is that peace and magic for me. It feels like crystal clear white lights on a stunning tree under a moonlit sky on a mantle on white. It is out there anytime I reach for it. Hey, that’s kinda like you, ain’t it? Last night had that image AND you. The feel of winter and the irony that winter begins the return to light. Solstice is pure…….like you and your message. Solstice is a Temple of my own making. A bright and shiny Temple.

The moneychangers have been banished from this Temple. Pushed three days hence. Three days. How fitting. Now it is time for you and what your birth means. You are the message of Solstice for me, Jesus.

Shiny and new. Special. Loved by that Force that creates this beauty that is life. Loved into life, throughout life, and well beyond whatever we understand as life even at the best of our most joyous imagination. To know we do fly on wings that carry us across time and space. We are the magic of love. We are blessed children. We are Peace on Earth. There is magic afoot this night. Feel it from a manger. See it in a child’s eyes. Dance on the wind of its sweet change. This is Solstice. This is you.

This is the way you kissed me as a child, Jesus. Nice that you walk with me now. Thanks for celebrating Solstice with me. Tonight let’s light the candles and call it your birthday. Yeah, I know what the calendar says. I will celebrate your birth anytime I choose and I choose tonight. Will celebrate again on that day when the gifts are opened. You are bigger than one day. We all are.

Happy Birthday. Thanks for the swell gift, man.

Yule shifts to Imbolc

2011-12-22T05:39:00.001-08:00

The return of the light. Solstice..when the darkest time comes and we mark the return to light. It comes in the coldest time and celebrates the warmth. Celebrated with the fire of the Yule log as well as the green of the Holly leave, this is the time to know the coldest time has gone and we come back to the light.

Yule has be claimed by many. Many of its traditions rolled into other traditions and then those into other traditions. It is all that it was and more thanks to this synergy that spread it wider and further in what is felt and loved about Yule. Embrace what you have learned to the best of all things this time of year and spice it with the seasoning of your gifts that are to be shared with the world.

Samhain 24

2011-12-20T05:40:00.001-08:00

In the heavens are answers. Sit and look there. Feel the calling of the vastness. Let the crisp of the cool and the now embrace this vessel and journey there. Alone in a solace that is so needed at times. Be in a quiet spot but not a silent spot. Let the wind whisper on your ear. Let the fire crackle randomly to spark and flare your reflections. This is true on the darkest and coldest times, inside and out.

Blue Christmas

2011-12-18T13:24:00.000-08:00

(An excerpt from "Jersey Sure"....a gift for you. Laugh. It is that time of year too.)

Blue Christmas

(The tin foil tree and a hazard to navigation)

My mother had a somewhat bizarre idea of class. Class was blue. Why blue? We never really unraveled her thought process, or lack thereof, on this unique perspective. Largely because we were afraid to ask. All part of our survival instinct. But to this frustrated Contessa, class had a color and she wanted it. She tolerated her lack of public recognition for eleven months but decided this Christmas was the opportunity to show the entire world how dignified she truly was. In a universe of middle class and lower, she placed her nose firmly in the air and proceeded to infuse our lowly existence with haute de culture.

Her mania completely disrupted our sense of Christmas. For although we did not understand how class could have a color and why that color was blue, we knew Christmas did have a color. In fact, it had two colors. Red and green. Along with multi-color lights and tacky decorations. This was a season with a look of distinction. One my mother decided to alter. My sister and I sensed impending doom. We looked to our father to intervene. He knew Katie longer than we did. He was our only hope to slow her assault. But, he knew Katie longer than we did. He saw the impending doom for what it was. A force of nature beyond his control. Wordlessly, he shrugged his shoulders and watched as Katie recreated Christmas in her warped idea of upper crust. The other members of the house mere victims along for the ride on a holiday highjack.

She headed for ground zero in her Yuletide Blitzkrieg. The tree itself. Our tin bells were ready to grace the room with angel's wings. The brass Santas nestled in a box, actually crammed, but that image seemed unfit for such a hero, laid in wait for another year with a hook through their heads in hope to once again dangle in glee. Our tree top angel waited patiently to be volted to life. All in vain. For Katie targeted the tree and all its trimmings for replacement. The new dictator of the season decided to go artificial.

The science of artificial tree making was not quite perfected. Perhaps someday it would be. Someday, the fake pines and fur may become things of beauty, accepted by people as safer, easier, and equally pretty. Although there would most likely always be purists who claimed fake seedlings of any shape or size defiled the very concept of the Holiday, artificial trees may someday evolve to an acceptable substitute for the real things. Perhaps. But not yet. We committed to putting a man on the moon by the end of the decade. Maybe artificial trees would someday be beautiful. Not yet though. Technology did not equal that challenge. The moon shot thing looked a lot more likely than a nice, fake, Christmas tree.

Artificial trees looked, well artificial. And that put it kindly. These bastardizations were basically a bunch of green pipe cleaners stuck in the corner. Most people waited to see if science could do something nice as time moved on, Christmas tree wise. Not Mom. During what was clearly the Stone Age of artificial trees, my mother decided to jump on board. We squealed like stuck pigs when she announced her edict. Even my father gingerly voiced protest. This woman on a mission assured us the tree would not be a bunch of pipe cleaners but a thing of rare beauty. Besides she wanted it. What else did she ask for in life? Everyday she went to work, and finally she asked for one thing......Somewhere, as this verbal guilt trip headed into eternity, we lost all sense of time. Her verbal erosion ate away our dam of resistance. We surrendered. We do not know who caved in first. Probably my father, for a winter of nights on the couch loomed with his resistance. It may have been my sister, and it could have even been me. The pain blurred the exact sequence. One by one, we each cried Uncle and resigned ourselves to the tyranny of an artificial tree.

But my mother was not heartless. At least not completely and totally heartless. For she kept her word that the tree would not be a mere collection of pipe cleaners. She selected what qualified as a thing of beauty in her eyes.

It came in a box. Roughly 4 foot long, and two feet wide and deep. My sister and I gasped in wonder at it. Perhaps there was wonder in this technology. For how did they stuff an entire tree in that small box? Did it expand? Was it inflatable? My mother smiled at our naiveté' about this state of the art of invention. She explained it to us like a science teacher describing space travel to a retard. The box held a six-foot tree unlike anything we have ever seen, she spoke slowly so we could grasp our luck at being selected as part of this adventure. It had to be assembled. She waited for our oohs and aahs. She never got them. We were a lot closer to boos and hisses.

I was picked as the one to open it. Slowly, I folded back the lid but cleverly bent my torso to avoid the inevitable branch in the eye when the tree sprang forth from the box like a gag snake. But it did not spring forth. With great trepidation, I peered inside the container and saw a cardboard honeycomb. There was no tree. Only some metal spikes stuffed into each opening in the honeycomb.

Helpless to resist the magnetism of the box, all four of us gathered around it like witnesses at the first alien encounter. A strange visitor from another dimension had invaded our Christmas. Our small corner of the universe was forever changed. Three of us looked at the traitor who invited this intergalactic intruder. She was there, with the eyes of a little girl who'd gotten exactly what she wanted for Christmas. It was actually quite cute. This woman who refused to miss a day of work except for an all too rare bus ride to the City and who accepted far less monetary wealth in life than she deserved, was transformed. She had the face of a youth and a smile of satisfaction seldom seen. Her awe was a thing of beauty. It was the only thing that kept the three of us from ripping her eyes out. That and the prospect of jail time. Unless, of course, we knew prison had real Christmas trees.

The tree building began as the first branch was removed from the honeycomb. Christmas destruction began as well. For the branch was silver. We were stunned. Katie was ecstatic. Ironically, our diverse reactions were for exactly the same reason. No one had a silver tree. No one even had heard of a silver tree. This was the first of its kind anywhere in existence until that very moment. It was unprecedented. It was unparalleled. People would talk. They would spread the word of it throughout the neighborhood. This silver tree would be the major focus of discussion all across our social circle. Katie saw it immediately. So did we. She basked in glory. We looked for ways to slash our wrists, contemplated putting ourselves up for adoption, and simultaneously considered life as hobos.

The afternoon became an odyssey of the unexpected. We never before knew the importance of twirling countless times as we eased the branches from the hive. We learned the concept of color-coded branches as the holey stick in the corner filled with tinsel like appendages. The object took shape. Perfectly even on each level as the length of the branches shortened to the top. The designers cleverly left the trunk of their creation in two pieces for ease of assembly. It prevented reaching over the bottom branches to place the upper ones in their predetermined holes. The result was half a tree in the stand, seemingly aborted at mid trunk, and a smaller tree on the floor, listing helplessly on its side. My father and I gently placed the two together to complete the job and stood back to see the creation.

My mother was true to her word. It did not look like pipe cleaners in the corner. Instead, we owned the first ever tree made from aluminum foil. This was not a Christmas tree. It was the off-spring from an ill-conceived romance between a TV antenna and a lightning rod. My father, sister, and I starred at it, wondering what could be worse. My mother showed us with more surprises from her Christmas mutation.

It was time to decorate this festive folly. But aluminum did not lend itself to lights. While that streamlined the decorating process, a Christmas tree without lights was, well, not quite a Christmas tree. Our innocent pleading for strands of bright bulbs met righteous indignation. My mother knew it was inherently unsafe. It said so on the directions. It would kill us all. Three of us seriously considered doing it anyway.

She cast aside our request for lights and told us to get the decorations. At last, we saw a glimmer of hope. We could hang onto our past glories with balls and trinkets of yore. But Katie ended that prospect quickly. For a new tree deserved new decorations. We opened them with intentions of salvaging some seasonal glee.

But there must have been some mistake. For all the decorations were exactly the same. Blue Balls. Same size. Same color. Not a variation in the lot. We looked to her. We knew again without words. It was not a mistake. Not by her standards at least. Our aluminum foil tree would be festooned with class. The class of color. Blue Balls. With faces more in shock than celebration, we hung our heads as we hung the ornaments. Each year, during the tree decorating, my heart had music in it. This year was no exception. But this year it was a dirge. We finished the job. A scene more Hitchcock than Capra. Helpless victims, we eyed the thing in the corner. Sought the appeal. Missed it.

My sister looked at me. Me at her. Both at our father. Was this a nightmare? Was this really happening? My mother felt the joy as if an out of body experience. We equated it more to out of her mind. But she was not done.

For the silver tree needed color. She introduced us to another innovation. The Reflector. We eyed this plastic globe with fear and question. It was red. It held a light bulb. It had a plastic wheel that rotated with three colors on it, red, green, and sort of a putrid orange. The artificial tree designers devised a concept that turned a silver tree into different colors with the wonder of light alone. At least, that was their plan.

The Reflector moved through its limited color spectrum and cast light on the silver embarrassment that occupied the corner of our living room. The silver tree first hosted a green hue. The motor of the reflector filled the awkward silence, and the tree transformed to silver with hints of a yellow-orange not common to anything in nature. We watched as technology gone amok changed the tree to something reddish. My mother was amazed. So were my sister, father, and I. Amazed that one single tree could be ugly in three different colors.

Our only hope of reducing public humiliation laid in keeping this tree from view. It would be difficult. It was placed in the corner of the room facing Main Street. The windows on each side highlighted its existence to any passers-by. This was intentional in years passed. But in years passed, we never had a tree that was better unseen. It was beyond comprehension prior to this dark day as this tinseled nightmare gleamed before us. But the harsh reality was here and now, and it held us helplessly. Like Prisoners of War linked by the experience of this not-even-close-to-looking-anything-but-fake tree, the three of us in the room who had not lost their minds evaluated an entirely new concept simultaneously…minimizing collateral damage. If not seen, the metal menace would not be discussed. If no one knew our shame, we would not have to explain it away. There was a faint glint of hope in our agony of defeat.

But Maniacal Mom on her Christmas Campaign evaluated the visibility of her newborn glee and found it sadly lacking. The world must know. Each and every one who saw the house on Maple Avenue must know first hand the caliber of people it contained. She instituted Plan B. As diabolical a move as I had ever witnessed in all my ten years.

Our house was strategically placed. People saw it a quarter mile away after a bend on Main Street. It was known for years as a beacon of Christmas joy as drivers and passengers turned the bend and witnessed a gaily-colored structure ablaze in seasonal glory. This year they would turn and see a place that screamed with class. At least, that was my mother's plan. She replaced every light that decorated our house with bulbs of one color. The color of class. Blue. All of them. This removed any chance of our hiding the transformation. Like Frankenstein's monster, it looked a hell of a lot better on the drawing board than cascading into the night.

Multi-color lights worked in tandem. Bright reds eased into the hue of the orange ones. White lights blazed forth but were tinged with the subtlety of the greens. The effect was peaceful. Tranquil. Pretty. A house decorated with all blue lights was something else. More abomination than attraction. The blue ones combined like a synergistic scream from hell. The house was a laser blow to the retina, more frightening than festive. But the demise of anything glorious about our decorations did not end there. For in her warped world where blue equated to class, twinkling lights were something only Ralph Kramden enjoyed. Mom forbad such indignity. Instead, she tied her sense of class again to technology. Another innovation from the people linked to artificial trees and reflectors. The FLASHER

The FLASHER, a high tech solution to crass twinkling lights, made twinkling lights a thing of the past. The FLASHER, gave high-class folks the entertainment value of twinkling lights without the grittiness of such an obviously low class spectacle. The FLASHER was distinctive. The FLASHER was new. The FLASHER was something few had. The FLASHER cost less than two dollars. In essence, The FLASHER was marketed directly to my mother.

For The FLASHER allowed all the lights to go off and on together. It achieved a far more spectacular effect than mere twinkling. It lived up to its promise fully that eventful year.

For the house of blue lights did not merely ease into view as drivers turned that bend on Main Street. Thanks to The FLASHER, every light on the house went out. The FLASHER did not just entertain the drivers. It ambushed them. They turned the bend, perhaps even singing carols, blissfully unaware of what lay in the darkness before them. When suddenly - WHAM! Where there had been nothing, a house appeared. Trimmed entirely in blue lights. Blue lights that did more than eek with class. Blue lights that penetrated their corneas like bullets. Blue lights that removed any semblance of night vision and replaced it with blindness mixed with stark terror.

We heard new sounds that year. Ones normally not associated with Christmas. The squeal of tires. The grinding metal of locked brakes as helplessly blind drivers scrambled frantically to save themselves and their passengers. Screams of panic sliced the night air as a house appeared from nowhere and emotionally scarred holiday travelers. A house that then, thanks to the wonders of The FLASHER, disappeared from site and left drivers blind and disoriented.

My mother did not hear any of it. She reveled in glory as the Reflector turned her tree of silver to shades of beauty beyond comprehension. With the occasional glance outside, she saw firsthand the joy of the bugged-eyed people who locked their brakes to share her marvel. This Christmas Queen accepted their waves of recognition as her due as they eased their cars back off the sidewalks and out of neighbor's yards. The dramatic effect of The FLASHER caused her to squint though. She missed that not all their fingers were extended in greeting. She basked in class and saw things from another place. A place three people in the big house on Maple Avenue vowed would not be inflicted on Christmas again. Three people who prayed the designers of artificial trees, Reflectors, and The FLASHER had nothing to do with the space program.

Samhain 23

2011-12-18T12:54:00.001-08:00

Link what you are to what you become for all that came before was preparation. This does not mean to keep all that you were for some would slow or even anchor you. Bring forth the strong and the good. Leave the rest behind with thanks for having made you what you are.

All of the past, the good and the bad, will be honored in that fashion. All to come will be bettered in that same fashion. Bring forward what can be salvaged and is in good stead. Leave the wreckage behind in tribute to the survival that moves you to health and happiness. The view from the wreckage will not change. Go forth to the beauty.

Samhain 21

2011-12-15T05:37:00.000-08:00

What is measured, improves. What is measured and reported, improves exponentially. That is key to the control of anything. Tracking something is good unto itself. Reporting and taking actions on those reports is good stewardship and results in a higher return on all investment. There is the beginning of that now and, as it increases, there will dramatic changes.

Samhain 20

2011-12-14T05:42:00.001-08:00

The shifts show the ebb and the flow of the river of change. There were things that were sought and given that now ease back to what was but what was is different. What makes the feeling that return to what was is different? That is transformation. Just as something common tastes different once away from it for a while.

There is irony in that returning to what was and variations of what was reinforces how much you and yours have changed. Testimony to the wonder of conditioning, accepting, and control. Growth embodied.

Samhain 19

2011-12-13T05:40:00.001-08:00

Productivity grows as the herd accepts the trust of the rulers. This is crucial for slaves are such special creatures. Giving so freely of everything they are and everything they have. It is sad that the word slave was used to describe forced servitude and led to such atrocities and abuse. True slavery is a calling. To place all in the hands of insightful, caring, and loving rulers is a trust only a few dare to live and even fewer dare to accept. Slaves accept the danger of hurt and abuse and do so in the ultimate hope that the rulers are true to the beauty of the calling of slavery. Those of the herd will be in the hands of the tribe and the tribe ensures their herd is used wisely, well, and often.

Gifts

2011-12-11T11:36:00.000-08:00

GIFTS

I am an intensely different person this Christmas season. The longing to gift love is rich and deep in my soul. A soul as linked to Yule and Solstice as it is to Jesus and His true message. His Birthday. A celebration of a gift. A gift where forgiveness is given and salvation guaranteed. Salvation is ours to lose……not to earn. We come from that place where we shall return. We come from Unconditional Love and return unto it when we shuffle off this mortal coil. We are Unconditional Love.

We are Peace on Earth……the instant we choose to be.

We are Goodwill to All…….the instant we choose to be.

We are gods and goddesses……the instant we choose to be.

We ARE Jesus………..the instant we choose to be.

We are to gift others with our light.

We are to gift others with our truth.

We are to gift others with our peace.

We are to gift others with our love.

To give light, truth, peace, and love, it must be in us.

It must be in us and then it is in all we touch.

We are the light the world needs in the darkest of times.

We are the exactly right gift that arrives at exactly the right time.

That is my hunger………to give that gift…………to share that gift……..to BE that gift.

I love you. All of you. I give you my love, my best, my soul, my truth, my joy…….and pray you receive and give it away and those you touch give it away. I pray that my gift is rich, pure, sweet, warm, and healing. I am one size fits all.

I ache to love the world to peace and joy this season…..and everyday.

Be happy. It makes me smile.

Be joyful. It makes me warm.

Be at peace. It makes me content.

Be loved. It makes me matter.

Samhain 18

2011-12-10T13:28:00.001-08:00

See the wonders that touch all as the Energy breaks through and moves all to new levels. As the herd moves in trust, it begins to understand that expectations are actually limitations for the unaware seek to shape things to expectations. As the herd questions less by definitions that no longer apply, it is taken to places that reinforce the magnitude and power of what comes to each of them. As the herd sees through its new eyes, it pulls forward eagerly for each wants to be in place and not be left behind.

Samhain 17

2011-12-09T15:05:00.001-08:00

The right choices will not always be the easiest ones. This is when the strength of trust will be essential for each. This is when that very trust is tested but with each test the trust will be even stronger. The weakness will surface and look for the easier path but do not succumb to the weakness for that will only delay the inevitable. These are not easy things. These are not joyous things. These are right things. The pain will pass. The trust in the SOURCE, those of the SOURCE, and with the SOURCE will sustain tribe and herd.

Samhain 16

2011-12-08T05:39:00.001-08:00

The changes are fast and furious now. There is an edge to things and that edge shows only sharpening in the future. There is a decisiveness that shows the gathering storm of action. The herd ran into the woods and hid for a bit. Filled with questions and doubt thought long gone. The herd licked its wounds and wallowed in self pity with even the sight of the path lost. The herd longed and longs now exposed in those longings.

Now it is to be placed back to work and shown the path under its new condition. The absolute lack of control craved now and forever. The SOURCE eased it back from hiding where it hid from self only. The herd is exposed and named new now. Prepared for what it thinks is coming. Shown it underestimates and follows only now.

Samhain 15

2011-12-07T06:49:00.001-08:00

Those of herd and tribe will at times taste loneliness. It will feel as punishment and the sting of discipline. The beasts accept this as sure as judgment of the SOURCE. This reminds all of place as well as need. In darkness and cold, fears are faced and the depth of slavery and calling are shown. Capable beasts of burden move to that slavery with new respect for the SOURCE. This is the Power of the Feminine unleashed. This is the energy of the SOURCE. This is the new reality.

Samhain 14

2011-12-07T06:27:00.001-08:00

The energy of the SOURCE pushed through the darkness and showed another the joy of insight. The sweetness of connecting to SOURCE and moving to place was as if a celebration of Sabbath. Riding the drum beat to dreamscape of scenes and images made clearer in review. Images of and from the Feminine as tribe and herd shined through distinctly and fueled the appetite and belief of another seeker.

Samhain 14

2011-12-06T05:34:00.001-08:00

Samhain 13

2011-12-05T06:18:00.001-08:00

Service is a journey and the herd journeys forth. Facing things unexpected. Addressing inner fears in new ways. The bumps in the path jostle and toss as sure as boulders and ditches. That is the nature of movement. When the pain erupts from within, there is no hiding for the agony is where ever the beast is. Labors numb the hurt as time heals. The tribe will know more of their herd after the treatment and the beasts will be better harnessed and yoked. The connection will be even stronger for those that pass through the pain.

Samhain 12

2011-12-04T08:25:00.001-08:00

The full moon burned changes and that will very often be the case. For some, the burn fueled the passion and the joy. For others, the fire scarred and injured. For all linked to the SOURCE, the forging will result in strength. The fall from the mountaintop can be painful but the next mountain offers even more spectacular joy.

Samhain 11

2011-12-03T07:43:00.001-08:00

The adjustments are many and the shifts continue. The herd is up to the challenge and the tribe protects and shapes. Energy surges inside each from places far and near to embrace and even chain with sweetness. There is that much motion in the cosmos that pulses to each connected to deep inside their soul. This journey begins deep inside and then goes even deeper. To the core. Core of self. The core of self is the pathway to the SOURCE. Few go deep enough inside to link to SOURCE but that is the way of the herd and the tribe.

Samhain 10

2011-11-20T08:23:00.000-08:00

The herd sees clearer now. Embracing what comes since what comes builds the worth of all in the herd. The processing is quicker and far less painful. The acceptance of being led fuels the pace. The feet are not dug in anymore. The herd does not stand and watch now but moves in tandem. While what is ahead has not been, nor ever will be, revealed completely, the herd sees that what is ahead is much better than what was behind or even what is here. The herd sees it wants to move forward.

Samhain 9

2011-11-19T11:18:00.001-08:00

Be the example for in being the example the appreciation of self and place begins. Open to usage in ways that take you close to the SOURCE. As you serve, see what you have and how the service completes you. Take from those moments the sweetness of the energy for that is the sustainment so necessary for those times away from tribe and herd.

Know that you are never truly away. Once of SOURCE, you are with SOURCE and SOURCE is with you. SOURCE does not just accept, SOURCE selects. SOURCE does not just use, SOURCE improves. SOURCE does not just tolerate, SOURCE understands. SOURCE does not just own, SOURCE values. SOURCE does not just care, SOURCE loves.

Samhain 8

2011-11-16T05:48:00.000-08:00

They will come crippled and hurt. Hiding from self with good cause yet with the seeker within peeking out in longing and need. They will come with expectations and desires, most often shaped by the very forces within each one that has pushed the seeker to the shadows in hopes of denying its very existence. Once the seeker within is shown the light of acceptance, it will emerge from the shadows. Cautiously at first for it has been beaten into hiding. Opposed by the complexity of denial and deceit that so effectively bound it.

This is the very purpose of the herd as others come to each of them with trust of a calling they do not even understand. The journey to the herd will be littered with barriers but still seekers will push them to it. A hope in almost final desperation to change. To understand. To be in the light of understanding and acceptance. Light that is theirs and always has been but that has been kept from them. Light that the herd lives as property of the tribe for the tribe is of the SOURCE. The SOURCE of all light.

Journal

2011-11-14T11:31:00.000-08:00

To journal your soul and show the world.

Who dares?

Who cares?

Who will read?

Will it matter?

Questions keep some from that place.

Answers draw me to that place.

Bold keystrokes slay many demons.

Solitary warrior exposed to any witness.

Ink.

Yes, I shall.

Samhain 7

2011-11-14T07:23:00.000-08:00

Each that enters your realm is there for a reason. See each as a chance to assist. Each is a chance for you to show by example. Example of compassion. Example of appreciation. Example of ability. See some as example to you and others for whom you will be an example.

In each of these cases, reflect afterwards in ways of insight and thanksgiving. That is why you are brought to others and others to you. It is for growth and for sharing. That is the way of tribe and herd.

Flyer (For my Granddaughter Gracie Wood on her Third birthday.)

2011-11-11T06:32:00.000-08:00

The picture stuns me each time. A child flying in the air. Her father arms stretched to the heavens in wonder as she flies. Her hair aligned with the wind that is her motion. There is a bliss in the photo. The look on her face is joy. She is flying.

We have all wanted to fly at one time or another. Not just in a plane. Honest to goodness, flying. Under our own power. Each of us has wished to soar through the air. Superman is my way. TV from 50s Superman (which differs from the many variations since.) Run, jump, and off I go. I am related to the young flyer so maybe it is in her genes. Her Grandma Sharon has to flap her airs and kinda swim her way into the air. To my knowledge, that is particular method is unique to Grandma Sharon. Well, her and a pelican taking off with a full pouch. Somehow I don’t see this young flyer as a slow take off kinda gal. She may have her Grandma’s genes but she has a different way to fly.

She jolts in the air and laughs all the way down. It is one of the best things her Dad does with and for her. All that exists is up in that moment. The shot up to kiss the sky. The drop down to where you know you are safe….even when falling to the earth. She knows all will be well. Dad is her catapult, launching platform, and safety net.

This is more than flying. This is trust. She perks up at the hint of him tossing her aloft. She tastes one and wants more. She tastes more and wants even more. “Again, Daddy!”. So Daddy does. Again. She is free of all things and connected to all things in that moment. Those moments.

She is the only thing in the world that matters to her father at those moments. His child….tossed with love…….caught with love and safety. He lets her fly and makes sure she is safe to want to fly again. Think about that. He lets her fly and makes sure she is safe to want to fly again. This is a moment of a child trusting a parent absolutely. This is parenting that teaches life lessons. She knows she can focus on flying. He will be there to catch her when she falls.

He will be, Gracie. Just as your Mom will be. Your Grandma and I will be there too. You soar. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. Goes as high as you can. Laugh loud with euphoria. Get dizzy with the magic of moments like the one in that photo. That is living. You are three years old and the soaring has just started. Your family will be here to catch you should you fall. Fly, Kid. FLY!

I hope the bliss Gracie knows when she flies is hers even with both feet planted on the ground. As Casey Kasem, used to say (Casey is a famous DJ like Cousin Brucie and Wolfman Jack….check the history books someday, Gracie.), “Keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars.” In your case, let your feet fly as you reach for the stars.

Happy Birthday, Gracie Wood.

Love Pop-Pop

Samhain 6

2011-11-10T06:44:00.001-08:00

The past returns to visit and sometimes stays too long. When looking at the future through eyes of the past, the vision is as sure as walking with your eyes closed. As long as nothing has changed, you may find your way without hurting yourself. If nothing has changed, there will not be bruises and bumps. If nothing has changed, the path is known and the pitfalls are the same. If nothing has changed, you are safe to move in the same directions with the same outcome.

The future should honor the bumps and bruises of the past for that is experience. The vision should be forward though to find the way.

Samhain 5

2011-11-09T06:49:00.001-08:00

Why alone? Why apart? Why the struggle? All questions as Samhain weaves on its course of acceptance. There is inner turmoil. The new is here as the year began. It is as if the snake shed its skin of old and adapts to its new skin. A new feeling. One that has new lines and new looks and new feeling and new places.

That is why alone and why apart and why the struggle. Things are new and the tribe is stronger and filled with resolve. The herd pauses to understand and then will be lashed into motion at a newer and faster pace. A joyous pace. See not the pause and the loneliness. See the respite. Breathe deep and look ahead. The harnesses and yokes will be strapped on firmly and the lash will let all know to spring forth.

Samhain 4

2011-11-08T05:39:00.001-08:00

Be what you are. The search to find what you are can be littered with self denials and pretenses and those self denials and pretenses can begin to feel real. Be what you are. Ask the difficult questions when looking inside and then digest the answers fully. The changes will be many but you will know they are right. The lightness of self will guide you. The confidence of acting on what is natural to you will fuel choices that are long overdue. Be what you are.

Samhain 3

2011-11-06T05:20:00.001-08:00

Inefficiency is a cancer that must be identified, treated, and cut out if necessary for it threatens the bounty of the tribe and the herd. Samhain is the New Year and resolutions of improvements and changes must be more than words. The energy of the SOURCE pushes more and more to the tribe and the herd and those that come raise the level of expectations for all that are.

See the life around all as the field that it is and tend to it well. Nurture and reward those that give so willingly and so well. Tend the weak to heal and strengthen. The work ahead is hard but the rewards are vast. Rise to the challenge and earn what is yours for the taking. What you give of self will be returned many-fold as joys escalate and happiness soars. Fear not the changes that come about as this happens for those things were of the old and anchored you in the old.

Samhain 2

2011-11-05T07:42:00.001-07:00

Feel the tide rise and rise with it as do boats at sea or in the safest harbors. The only boats that do not rise with the tide are those anchored so securely that the water moves above them as they hold firmly in place. Rise with the tide for the moon is new and there is no stopping the force that raises the tide.

The storm clouds of change gather in the west and the winds will howl forth to cleanse and energize the air. Feel the sweetness of the storm and breathe it deep. A much needed storm to weed out what has withered and prune for future growth. Batten down the hatches to not just weather the storm but to welcome it.

Samhain 1

2011-11-01T20:44:00.000-07:00

The balance of light and dark. An equinox of seasons and cycles and circles. This is what is here. The Harvest is now. Marks placed and envied and more ceremonies to come. Circles. Rings. Cleansings. Dances of ceremonies with equals of purpose and place.

Outsiders move inside. Examples gather. Guides point the way. The clouds lift slowly but the visibility is sensed before the clarity is truly seen.

Ask for the questions are better ones now. Accept what is and do so with pride in self for the tribe and herd will not have anything that is not of value. The belonging and acceptance is the first and surest proof that you are worthy. Drink from what you seek and be refreshed of self.

Samhain

2011-10-31T08:06:00.001-07:00

Laced with mystery, Samhain straddles as many beliefs as it does dates. Some think of as three days and others less while some even more. Some think it the beginning of their year as we enter the cold and dark beyond harvest and head for the return of the light. It is a time of fire.

The community celebrated around bonfires. Some villages ensured all other fires were out and the village lit each hearth from the flames of the common bonfire for Samhain. Some had two bon fires and each villager walked between the fires to purge and purify. The herds were purged of the weak and their meats gathered to sustain the people in the winter. The remaining animals were often marched between the bonfires to purify them and link them to the villagers as well. All bound together by the common flames and each better prepared for the season to come.

Samhain is also Halloween. The seeming innocence of bobbing for apples and the dark forces flying between worlds surface at this very special time. It is one of the most powerful Sabbats and is celebrated in many ways for those open to its energy.

Mabon 19

2011-10-30T06:08:00.000-07:00

Help those that move to place in ways they did not expect but that see now their true belonging. Ensure that as they grow in awe of you, this is seen not of you but of the SOURCE of your place and power. This is not about them just as it not about you. It is about all. All. Those that move to tribe and the many more that move to herd. A herd that forms with longing for self and melds with understanding of place.

Use thankfulness as the guide for who is in right place. Those destined to rule will do so with an amazement to be so selected for such an important responsibility. They will link to kindred for reassurance at times that this duty is executed well. Those destined to serve in herd will reach out to others in herd and those that rule for similar reassurance that their duties are sufficient to continue to earn such bliss.

Much moves now and the movement will be even more as Mabon moves to closure. The tribe and the herd expands. Expansion that will erupt and spread with the wild fire of the purest energy. The SOURCE pushes outward in all of tribe and all of herd.

Mabon 18

2011-10-28T12:19:00.000-07:00

Solitude has its purpose. Reflection. Gathering to oneself. Time to ride your own thoughts on paths of their own. Solitude is never truly solitude for the tribe nor the herd. Once with true kindred, the connection is so permanent that the linkage is seared into the soul.

There will be times when you seek solitude and times when solitude is pushed upon you by knowing Forces or even by Forces that hope to separate. In any of these times, use the solitude for growth and even stronger connection to kindred of tribe and herd.

Solitude will be yours even in the most crowded places at times and in places of deepest isolation at others. When it is there, feel it, use it, and emerge all the better.

Mabon 17

2011-10-26T05:44:00.000-07:00

Honor in tribe is Honor from SOURCE. Those that come to be with tribe will be of honor just as they did in their own way prior. Honor is not from tribe for honor either is or is not. Honor is from the purer place. Honor is from the SOURCE. Beings of all shapes and sizes have either tapped that prior to tribe and herd or not. Being of tribe and herd will not create Honor. Being of tribe and herd will change Honor in that Honor becomes of the common purpose and moves to broader openness and more collective understanding.

Honor is. Honor in tribe is more special since the valor is not of self but of all.

Mabon 16

2011-10-23T08:52:00.001-07:00

Resources push forth from east to west as your Light streams forth. The Gathering begins. The Light is strong in Synergy. Beaming from the SOURCE, through you and yours, to those in longing and need as well as those already linked to the SOURCE in their own way. The SOURCE pushes and pulls to link for it is time.

Venues barely touched hear and feel you. Those of you draw to them and those drawn to those draw even more still. This is a force in motion and there is no stopping. It is stronger and grows stronger each moment.

Eyes open, even the ones shut theirs tightest. Tribe heralds forth and herd scurries forth. Those that come are often reversed of expectations. Assuming places flipped from what thought but sensed to be right and accepted with insights from the journey to rightful role in tribe and herd.

Mabon 15

2011-10-21T07:40:00.001-07:00

See the efforts completed freely and in tribute to SOURCE. Feel the energy of acceptance as those of you bear the pain and obey without question. Taste the sincerity of the lips on the feet and the hands and any flesh. See the love and joy in the eyes that look up. Hear what is said as probes deepen and exposure completed.

This is the birthing process as the family of children of light grows. Each placed where each should be to complete the linkage of all things to all that is done and all this is, period.

Mabon 14

2011-10-20T05:28:00.000-07:00

Look beyond the visual and truly see. The eyes feed much and can overshadow other aspects of things thought only visual. Colors. Shapes. Things in sight but only when eyes of the realm are closed and the truest eye looks forth. Chakras are muscles as well and must be exercised.

Mabon 13

2011-10-18T06:23:00.001-07:00

Where your kindred are, so are you. The effects of Synergy are that wondrous. Once linked with those of common purpose, you are not just you. You are We. Acting in harmony and unison as if in many places at many times. When you feel the We as sure as you feel the you, tribe moves exponentially and herd runs like the wind to follow in the joy of belonging. See not with the eyes that have kept you as you. See with the new vision and see the We.

Up-Write

2011-10-17T05:58:00.000-07:00

(Another piece from the in-work "Reports from the Frontal Lobe".) Her writing bitch-slapped me awake. She was Phillip Marlow in a skirt. I called myself a writer and saw all the pedestrian, safe shit that flowed from me lately. Enough was enough. Her poem embarrassed me into action. Shamed me into performance. That’s what words can do. The right words. Arranged so pretty and sharp. They cut. Mightier than the sword indeed. Sugar coated shit was still shit. Sure, I am storyteller. Have tons of stories. Started one the other day. A nice one. A good message one. Even wrote it a new way. Outline first. The nuns would like that. Fuck that. The nuns ain’t looking anymore. I am a writer and that doesn’t mean doing things the easy way. Maybe not even the right way. It means writing. Spill your guts. Vomit your soul on the page. The reader will decide if it stinks like puke or smells like chocolate fucking chip cookies. It’s their nose that you write for. Don’t blow smoke up your own ass and call it art. Writers writing for themselves are jacking off. Impotent closet queens of denial. Limp wimps. Whatever the word for fucking useless, fill in your own blank. Don’t kid yourself. Have a gift? Bullshit. You have a delusion. Write. That’s what writers do. If nobody reads it, it died wordlessly in the forest of nothingness that is your own fear. The story I started the other day was good. It was a nice story. I might even write it. A nice message. See beyond money. Step out of the insanity that we call life. Live clean and pure and free as jaybird with a middle finger in the air for all to see. It takes balls. It takes guts. It takes body parts. Hell, it takes hearts and minds and souls. Yours. It takes everything you have and everything you know and wraps it up, shakes it up, and rearranges it. You are just along for the ride. Yeah, it is a good story. Maybe I should write it. Maybe I should just cut to the chase and tell you to think about what is really important. Tell you that money ain’t god so wake up, heathen, and get a clue. Do all that in 50 words or less and then tell more.

Wrote a lot of poems lately. Some rhymed. The more powerful ones skipped beats. Poems got me out of my own voice box. Lines form to the right. No frontsy-backsies. Screw the lines. I’ll pay later. Write now.

Spitting out this stuff feels good. Roller coaster good. No brakes. No breaks. Leaps and bounds and twists and turns. That’s where the passion is. It ain’t watching the train go by. It’s riding the cyclone of life while eating a hot dog with all the trimmings. I don’t do hot dogs no more. They stuff them with stuff they should have thrown out. We grill them up and wave flags while we eat the garbage they feed us. Hot Dogs are the perfect American food. Pass the relish and pop open a cold one, brothers and sisters, we are on top of the world. Let the fireworks begin. Somewhere along the way, trust fizzled. I stopped trusting. Wondered. What was right? What was wrong? The negative wrapped around me like a shiny new cloak and burned the retinas of naiveté. Tried to look away. Didn’t. Couldn’t. Saw the façade as a façade and faced it. About faced it. Two faced it. Went inside. Deep inside. The world kept right on spinning, pretty globe all aglow, its cancer denied with less and less credibility each day. Me? I am just average Joe. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just me and a few million more like me just doing the best we could to breathe and laugh and do the right things. Then the concept of right left and left me as far from right as I’d ever been. That was when the trouble began. Maybe that was the trouble ended. Too early to tell that right now. The story unfolds as I unravel. Re-look. Re-think. Re-do. Do-Re-Me. Me? Thought I was doing things right and pure and good while being just another part of the scam. If you are part of the joke, is the joke on you? Are you the joke? Who’s kidding who? I was kidding myself with a slight of hand David Copperfield and all the Artful Dodgers would envy. I fooled myself with the harlequin romance of the red, white, and blue. Twenty-eight years in the military. Part of something proud and true and noble. Then I peeked behind the curtain. Maybe it was behind. Were the curtains opened or closed? Was I on the outside looking in or the inside looking out? Was it a show within a show? Was it all part of the show? I thought I was in the audience. Who was what side of the curtains? Was this a dream? Dream, dream, dream. All I have to do is dream. A dream come true. Wake up and see if the dream was the dream or the waking up was the dream. Time to wake up. Confess. Come clean. Rise and Shine. True Confessions? Step right up, the show’s about to begin. Step right up. ID Cards. Top Secret Clearances. Cluster bombs stocked on boats in the Indian Ocean. The best show on the Midway. Was I in that show? Whose side is whose? Was it my side that kills and threatens and soars in the face of any that doubted America dominated the world? How young was I when I joined? How old was I was I left? Left when I did not get a promotion that was mine based on time in grade, square filling, soul giving, and mass dedication. Mass dedication not enough? Here. Have some mass destruction. Let’s promote the general welfare with some general warfare. Maybe I would have made General. Would have fared better in general. Fair enough? What’s fair is fair. I was fairly clueless, part of something fairly ridiculous, and left fairly human. Left proud but walked away with my dignity intact. Looked back and saw my blindness. A stitch in time saved nine. I was in stitches. I believed. It was from the heart of that young pledge of alleger. A heart taught by the nuns, fed by the comic books, warmed by the parades, and filled over time with the Sands of Iwo Jima. I believed. People believed in me. Stripe by stripe, I did my time. Celebrated the bars of my rank and drank in the toasts of my successes. Walked the line soberly up the staircase down into my own blindness. Travel opened me. Germany was beer and schnitzel and thinking in other currency. It was also Dachua and the feel of evil underfoot. Hot to the touch with the burning logic of hate. England was theater for a Jersey kid that lived a million miles from the price of a Broadway ticket. It was crap food, crappier weather, and two hundred years of “where did our world go?”. Turkey was the feel of the ancient places where civilization still struggled to be civilized. The places speak, even when unheard. They screamed at me until I listened. This is the way of the Traveler. Lessons in the going and the being there and the having been there. It is purpose and place and all the stuff we say when we feel like what we are and what we do matters. The sword of learning pierced me at the jugular as I tumbled around the planet bleeding to life. The pulse of global locomotion, my life support, changed the very life it supported. Living is much better that dying and thinking it is life. Tumbleweeds are dead things. The thorny roll of rootless pricks across the land. Dry. Barren. Annoying. Held only in snag. Plant corpses zombied by the wind and jammed into the traffic of the living. We brake for them. Curse at them. Bob and weave around them. Crush and burn them should they gather. The tumbleweeds are heartless. They do not give. They can’t give. They don’t know how. You gotta have heart to give. Tumbleweeds don’t give. They do not receive. They are the ultimate homeless. Home is where the heart is. Tumbleweeds were something else at one time. Something with a heart. Something with a home. Rooted. Now they are the rolling dead. They are in the way. They used to just annoy me. Now they piss me off. Fuck the tumbleweeds and their bounce of nothingness. Life is a celebration. A hurrah bansheed by the bold. Celebrated in the moonlight while cowards huddle by their puny fires and hope to hell that sound in their darkness is the wind. It is the wind, chickenshits. The wind of change that sweeps in from an angry ocean. Tumbleweeds are off the ship before anything or anyone else. Woman and children first my ass. Tumbleweeds ride out of town at even the hint of storm and roll from the thunder long before it reaches our ears. Tumbleweeds run from everything and waltz the coward cha-cha downwind. Cowardice is ugly and pricks everything it touches. I’ve been pricked. I’ve been a prick. Pricks are a dime a dozen. A penny an inch but you better measure it yourself because pricks are short on truth and long on promises. Rub them the right way and they are yours forever. Forever measured between last time and next time. It’s all about the prick and getting ahead. Thank you, come again. Hope it was good for you cause I don’t know what the hell happened. What was I thinking? That was a lot less than expected and a bigger mess than I started with. What takes these stains out? Has to be done by hand. Should have started there rather than ruin a perfectly good night’s sleep in the first place. Sleep is key. Vital. Life sustaining to understand the rest of the stuff. Wanna wake up? Go to sleep. Sleep is daily death. Die a little. Cry a little. Go inside and lie a little. The lies die. The bullshit stays here. Clothes wait. Schedules keep. Layaways. Getaways. Stayaways. Ain’t no ways. All stay here. It’s just you. In a whole new world. Back where you started. You bring only what’s needed. Fragments of then and when and who and what and why and what the heck. Chili fries. Teary eyes. Wishful sighs. Open thighs. All run amok. Free and unedited in your own private showing. You are the star and the moon and the flying none. Demons of your own unconsciousness rise to face their creator and slayer, the layer. Here, you are life and death. This is your world. You’re just visiting the other one. Wake up. Get to sleep. Shhhhhhhhh. Time to dream before this is just a memory. The Bard barbed wisely about death and perchance to dream. Shuffle off the mortal coil. One show a night and occasional matinees. You snooze, you win.

Mabon 12

2011-10-17T05:30:00.000-07:00

Harvest the sweetness of knowing family. Feel the acceptance of things from family that is of energy. Energy flows longer and stronger than blood. Blood is limited to one realm and this space and time. Energy crosses all realms and eddies through space and time freely.

The tribe is a family of energy. Touch that energy. Merge those energies with the passion of freedom. Freedom to taste what you have always wanted to taste and to be what you were and will be again. Freedom given of self and to self with others that are kindred.

The joy of this freedom will sing forth from herd and tribe. SOURCE is of All.

Mabon 11

2011-10-15T06:49:00.000-07:00

As the light bursts forth from hither and yon, the upsets will be many. Man against man. Water against man. Earth against man. More to follow. This is the wake up call as what was returns so that all begin to heal. The expression that it is darkest before the light is truth.

See not all these happenings with helplessness for the case is exactly opposite for Tribe and herd. Link with each other and kindred for the journey that begins inward and results in totality. The inner self freed to its calling. Both for rulers, followers, beasts, and slaves. The community formed for strength, support, and love. Linkage to all life from all spheres and all realms.

Those on the path, move faster now. Those standing in hesitation, step forth with hand reached to those that guide. Those choosing other paths or the darkness of denial, be well.

Mabon 10

2011-10-13T05:42:00.000-07:00

You and yours become as the Light. As you look inside and become what you were destined to be and help those that also look inside to understand their place and destiny, your light beams forth brighter and brighter. As the tribe forms and the herd gathers, the lights therein merge to a brilliance that bursts forth. The light draws those that seek kindred. The light calls those that yearn for place in the herd to come to pen and cage. With each of tribe and each of herd that gather, the light brightens as if a gathering of suns.

All will be able to sense it. For some, it will be as light for their eyes are open. For others it will be as heat for their eyes are closed but they sense it still. Herein begins the shift of those of the light and those choosing not to be of the light. The light is for all and only those that do not choose it have no hope of joining it forever.

Some will merely shield their eyes from it and go about their existence. For others, this will not be possible for they will be near it at all times and the shield will not be enough as the lights gather and grow. Soon they will turn from it in hopes to see clearly for looking at the light will blind them. Some of the weakest will not just look away but try to extinguish the light. They will not believe the light can be good and will see it as fire of destruction growing all around them. These will not succeed but will find places where the light does not touch them and therein wallow in that darkness.

Turn no one away. Bring no one forward that is not ready to see as well as be the light. Each that are of and with you are of and with you by choice. The same is true of each that choose otherwise.

Mabon 9

2011-10-11T06:43:00.000-07:00

See and feel. Each day. See and feel. Take moments to focus on the flow that is of all things and to all places. Everything is linked in flow. Flow is. It is that simple. Once felt, you are of that river. Once felt, that river is of you. This is true of all things from all places but many, sadly most, feel it not.

There are reasons many, sadly most, feel it not. Know those reasons for those reasons will remind you what to do to ensure you do see and feel. Those things that feel it not are of themselves. Wrapped up in all that they are and thinking that is all that they are. These sad and naïve entities look only in the realm they sense and see and only look with the limitations of that form of energy that is their base. Some do try and see what is available for all to see. Some peek at the vista of other realms. Some see only more of their own realm but at least they look. Most see but run from what they see for they think it not true. Most feel this is far beyond what they are and what they can handle. At that moment, they blind themselves. That begins their death. Without growth, there is not life. There is only existence. To only exist is the death of hope and joy.

Mabon 8

2011-10-10T09:44:00.001-07:00

See the assembling. Sense the ascension to place and power. Tribe and herd become true to the Truth of themselves. This is the SOURCE at work. In the regimes since what was lost and taken, the wrongs ones ruled. This was based on self driven purposes or collective actions of weaker beings that bullied in numbers. Shame on them for doing it. Greater shame of those that should not have permitted it.

As the SOURCE emerges, smarter followers see the change and accept their place as part of what becomes. The tribe forms at the top as the rulers rise to the guidance and controls of all. The tribe also forms as the middle with those that do for and with the rulers. The tribe forms at the bottom with herd fully yoked and harnessed.

The place in tribe is for the flow of power up to enable the rulers and the flow of guidance and controls down to protect and reward the followers and the herd. Those at the bottom are as important to the success as are those at the top. Those in the middle are as important as those above and those yoked so tightly. This is about All. All is the key. Each in place. Each accepting the place of all for the value and linkage that place gives to the Tribe and each member of it. Linkage of kindred to SOURCE.

Art Teasin' Well

2011-10-09T08:31:00.001-07:00

(Another fragment from "Reports from the Frontal Lobe".)

Things are realer. More solid. More natural in some way. Picasso painted truth that lies there waiting to be seen but not heard of much since mums the word. A Kentucky Mummy Fried up the leftovers and sucked all the loose change from behind the couch cushions along with some popcorn and two buttons that look like Bozo’s. The clowns are coming out of the wood work. The news is wrapped in crown molding as paranoia about handshakes and smiles as weakness is spoken from a place of confusion and fear. Ex marks the spot on the map in Capitol City where tourists shutter and snap somewhere between the checklist and the starting gate. So pony up, boys and girls, and get a hitch in your get along. Why can’t we all just get along?

Step right up, yowsa, yowsa, yowsa. The truth may be out there but the show’s on the insides. Check out some books from the Library of Congress if you dare the fees and can fit through the loopholes that mask the real deal. Alice says to cut the cards and read to her. So I read and write and right and left a lot on the stairway to heaven. The Devil and Me and Mrs. Jones got a thing going on. Master of disaster is a whirlygig away from the bite of the blade. Bend Me, Shape Me, pick up your room, and put it in the forest for all the creatures to see. Howl at the moon but don’t speak with your mouth full. Spring has sprung so unlock that jaw cause here it is. I heard the bell above the door when it entered. Thanks for shopping with us. Come again…and again…and again. The eye teeth see anew. Tomorrow arrived a day early and I didn’t see it coming. See you soon. Ya’ll come back now, hear?

I feel it as my thoughts round the bend and head for home base with my elephant ears flapping in the wind. Punch lines process differently since foundations have shifted and values changed and dollars make less sense. How I feel about things as they happen changed as well since they happen regardless of how I feel about them. Much less anxiousness about being clueless and between something that has yet to show up on the treasure map that beats between my chest and that place that has a mind of its own. Tween. A tweener. Somewhere between what I was and what I become. Things are tween. Far from what they were and far to go to what they shall be. The compass points up, the stairs curve to the right, and mirrors are at high tide.

Tickets, please. Take your place on the wall. Places, everyone. Places. All the pretty maids, all in a row. Made you look. Made you look. Made you steel for your mother’s pocketbook. Girders and garters and panties of lace. Lace ‘em up and lace up tight, Pilgrim. One pill makes you smarter and one pill makes you late. Sooner or later is better than never. Save me an aisle seat. Bottoms up. Who put this gum here? Bite me.

Mabon 7

2011-10-09T08:00:00.001-07:00

The energy of the sun and the moon return to flow forth with the harvest. The things unseen are more powerful when returned to the light. If the right things. Other things that return to the light from the dark wither in the intensity of the sun. The tribe moves closer, linked by what they are and what they have. Community of rulers, servers, and seekers. Those associated with the SOURCE are there by the linkage. Any included that are true to self and SOURCE. Few able to remain true to that but that is the selection process that is and always will be. Many are called. Some dare to answer the call. Most deny the call and settle for the seen. The few that are chosen will be chosen well.

There is strength in tribe and herd. Strength that improves each in it. Strength that feeds the joy of what comes to those that prepare and accept it.

Yesterday in the Park (For my granddaughter, Meghan Wood.....Happy Birthday)

2011-10-09T07:46:00.000-07:00

It was Birthday Eve. The day before her 5^th birthday. A crisp, cool Autumn day kissed by the hint of coming snow. She had a soccer game. The last of the season. Seemingly one week longer than made sense, weather wise. Yet there we were. All headed to watch the soccer star on the season finale.

The mood was light. Only two players from the opposing team showed up and one of them decided it was not a soccer playing type day. She crawled on all fours from center field before the game began and was not seen again this season. So the soccer star’s team did what was fair….they had two of their players join the other team. Three on Three for the fun of the sport began.

Lots of goals were scored. Somewhere, someone might have kept score. Both sides won today. Just like things are supposed to be. The soccer star scored somewhere between two and one less then 10,000 goals. It had to be one less than 10.000 goals because her Dad said if she scored 10.000 goals, he were get her a puppy. He was ready to foul her himself if she got to 9,999. Luckily, he was not called into action this fine day.

The soccer star enjoyed the game, the snacks, and more. The day would be filled with birthday events a day early and she knew it. It was a day for first time ear piecing (I heard later she did a lot better than her mother on her first time out), a party, and dinner of her choosing. (Hamburgers and French Fries…..she said she planned on having them today and tomorrow since today was really her Birthday Eve. I suspect her mother and father had some other ideas.) The day was a gift and tomorrow would be even sweeter. After all, five years old happens only once and it is to be enjoyed.

All this and the point of the story happened just a few minutes before the soccer game. It happened when she walked across the field. Her hair is long and it was winged back a bit. It was the same color of another girl I followed across other fields in days like today that happened thirty or so years ago. Yet today, there she was. The same little girl. The bounce in her step. The light in her eyes when she saw me chase after her. The smile on her face when I caught her. The same little girl was right there and I was the man learning how precious each moment can be when you play with your children.

Thanks for the gift, Meghan. You ran across the field. I crossed time and space and got to see you and the girl that looks just like you and always will. Today is your birthday. You are tomorrow in so many ways. It was a wonderful day in the park yesterday…..and days long before I understood how much joy a five year old could bring into my world.

Happy Birthday, Meghan Wood

Love Pop-Pop

Mabon 6

2011-10-06T05:57:00.001-07:00

Signs everywhere for All to see. Winds howl. The sun goes dark. The moon as well. Tempers flare at injustices too long permitted. Simmering becomes boiling and heats the action of linking with kindred. The superficial finally falls away and essentials become clear. Action is the key. Action with purpose and belief. As the sun and moon return from darkness, preparation has passed.

Look to the tribe and the foundation that is laid. Look to the herd and the stalwart beasts assembling in full offering. Hear the voice from within that roars in the joy of purpose and re-birth. This is your time. Make it so.

Mabon 5

2011-10-04T05:48:00.001-07:00

Paths open now. Paths paved by others that laid in wait for you and yours. Paths you will light for those drawing to you even now and others from tribe and herd that see the first flicker of your flame. The harvest will be literal soon as many are drawn to you and your magnet.

Doors open as well. Doors to the abundance that will be needed for the changes that you see underway already and changes you can not begin to even suspect but that will be handled superbly when the time comes.

Doors and Paths of tribe and herd that you are now ready to open and take as yours. The changes are as significant as you think and will be even more far reaching than you expect. The little signs are there each moment. The bigger ones as well but you have not connected the two fully. What begins in each of the tribe and herd reaches far into the globe and then forth into the cosmos. You are just you but you are also All.

Mabon 4

2011-10-03T07:31:00.001-07:00

Never and Always do not exist. These are terms of men and ring false. Always is never right and never is always wrong. The only absolute is Eternity and the SOURCE that has been, is, and continues to be. The SOURCE crosses time and space. The concept of never and always relate to man’s definition of time and that definition is a feeble attempt to define and thus confine and control what will not be confined and controlled.

See beyond the limitations of never and always and feel eternity. That is where you have been and can be again. It was given, then given away, and can be given again. Reach inside to the depths and thus soar outside to the far reaches.

Main Street

2011-09-30T10:57:00.001-07:00

America began on Main Street. We live on Main Street. It is the place of our hopes and dreams. Our neighbors are known and we love them. We welcome the newcomers. We honor the people that lived here before we arrived. Main Street is felt inside our homes and lived outside our homes.

We are Main Street. We live beyond our fences and yours. We share our stuff because if you need it and we have it that is the right thing to do. We might ask for a cup of sugar but that is only temporary and you can have a piece of our cake when it is ready.

Main Street is the solution. Main Street knows Wall Street better because Wall Street moved away and decided to make their own street. A Street without sharing or even caring. Main Street knows Washington and knows it is broken. Washington can’t keep its own house in order and wants us to live in fear of how broken they are. They want to carry their message to the world……….and they are. The message that Washington IS NOT Main Street. They can wrap it in a flag, salute it, cluster bomb it across the globe, and it is still wrong. We are not conquerors. We are not about war.

Main Street is about peace. We live and let live. We may think our neighbors are a bit weird at times……we may even think them wrong at times. They are still our neighbors. Wall Street wants their money. Washington wants their respect. We want them happy and at peace. We want to smile when we see them headed to worship and have them smile when they see us being whatever the hell we are.

America began on Main Street. That is where it will rise again from the ashes of this shit storm of fear and nothingness that Washington and Wall Street are spreading across the world and right into our back yard.

We are stronger than darkness, fear, and hate. We will survive. We will make things right. We are Main Street….a place where dreams are born and lived. Welcome to the neighborhood.

You are my neighbor and I love you. I am Main Street. So are you.

Mabon 3

2011-09-28T05:49:00.001-07:00

Mabon is a time of artistry. Dashes of colors as parts of nature go to rest, soon to be tucked in a blanket of white. Smells of fruits and fires carried on crisp winds that nip the noses that drink in the aroma. Reflections of times ago as cycles circle again and prepare for the long journey to the next time of balance.

Random Effective

2011-09-27T06:41:00.001-07:00

Counter movements bussing a new schooling.

Snap shots into the crowd hoping for change.

Black and White faces pictured in despair.

Outspoken ones openly targeted by sneaks and creeps.

Fingers pointed towards barrels shooting death.

Jesses, Jackies, and Juans witnessed Martin’s, Bobby’s, and John’s.

Family baptized in the reflecting pool of shared dreams.

Speaker Preachers teaching new reaches.

Rainbows purpled hazed with rosy colored granny glasses.

Looters and shooters and bashers and thrashers.

Flowers bulleted into student bodies.

Malcolm ex-ed while Mississippi burned.

Mother, May I take one small step closer to I am a man?

Winds of Change blew our long beautiful hair away.

Something a long time coming is happening here.

Mabon 2

2011-09-27T05:44:00.000-07:00

Love is to value and protect. Look to Gaia and understand the love and what happens when love is not there. Look to each other in love for the truest definition offers the broadest rays of hope. Hope that loves becomes more than hearts and flowers. Hope that love transcends selfishness and greed. Hope that love is not just taken but given in return.

Mabon offers that hope for the time of balance is here. Day and Night are equal. The Sun God goes to rest. This is the time of Thanksgiving for all that Gaia gives and all that Gaia is. Love each other. Value and protect each other. See the life that is the very ground you walk upon and then look forth into the heavens and see the life that is there as well. Linked as sure as limbs to torso.

Mabon is the time of balance. Seeking it. Living it. Giving it. Keeping it. Not an act. Balance as a way of life. Take what you need. Give what you can. See the linkage that makes us as one.

Disagree Able

2011-09-26T13:16:00.001-07:00

(Another piece from that still in-work "Reports from the Frontal Lobe".)

It’s okay to disagree. You might not agree with me but that is the point since it is perfectly alright. Disagree to your hearts content. I disagree with some of the best. Disagreement helps me understand. I disagreed with the Dali Lama today. The Dali Freaking Lama. How is that for balls? Disagree with the Dali Lama? Yep. Today. Read something he said about countermeasures, surprised me that word was even in his vocabulary. Helped me see the Dali Lama in even a greater light. He is human. Just like all of us. Loved that I disagreed with something he said because, well, because I am like that.

Disagreed with Elvis. On some of his song choices and life choices. He is the single biggest influence on my love of music and evidence of how much each one of us can mean to so many others…….and he sang some shit. He made it all sound good but come on, Elvis. You made some shit choices on songs. “Old McDonald?” “The Wiffenpoof Song”? “Sign of the Zodiac”? “Queenie Wahine’s Papaya”? A voice like that used on such crap? Yeh, I even disagree with the King.

Disagreement just means we see some thing differently. I like honoring other’s point of view even when they are so different than mine. Like honoring their choices even if I think they are wrong. My choices are my choices and some of them have been wrong. Gloriously wrong. Spectacularly wrong. Choices I made and live with….and learned from and honor. After all, I am human and I get stuff wrong at times. Just like all of us do. Even the very best of us. Even Elvis. Even the Dali Lama. If we think someone is flawless, we discount their human experience. If we think we are flawless, that is our greatest flaw. Gosh, I love irony. You might not. That is alright. That is how this how piece started……disagree to your heart’s content. Does not threaten me. Maybe that is why we have four cheeks…more time to turn away and ignore the disagreement.

Turning the other cheek takes strength. Doesn’t mean you won’t kick someone’s ass if you need to kick it. Just means you turned the other cheek.

Mabon 1

2011-09-26T12:56:00.001-07:00

Harvest comes in many forms. Seeds planted long ago sprout in seemingly random places and ways. Little blossoms of abundance surface for that is the way of Mabon. See the flow of the harvest and connect back to the time the seeds were sown for the sowing will be necessary again when harvest is stored and shared.

Mabon is more than just harvest just as harvest is more that just harvest. Mabon is reward for work done long ago. Some seeds harvested exactly as expected in the places expected. Others harvested after thought thrown to the winds in waste. Any seeds given to any with good intent will harvest. From other directions perhaps but the harvest comes for the seed was sown well and freely. See the trickle now. Prepare for three fold and three fold that. Mabon Magick. Earned not just given.

Mabon

2011-09-25T07:08:00.001-07:00

The shift to the dark and the cold. Harvesting what was planted to sustain us through the season ahead. Mabon touches some as a time of dying and assures others of the circle of life. It is the time to prepare for what is known will challenge and even isolate…and enter that time when sharing is sweeter and warmth comes from deep in the soul. We taste the movement of our own time as dark and light switch their balance. This is the season where some mourn what passes and others celebrate what comes. Light has provided and will return. Cold comes and will nip for as long as it can. All things needed to move the circle again to where the circle goes. Mabon comes round. Gather up what you have harvested and light the fires of home.

Lammas 31

2011-09-22T05:45:00.001-07:00

The joy of the now and the bliss seen ahead is exactly as promised. This is not a dream. This is not an illusion. This is the new reality. This is tribe and herd linked to the SOURCE and moving to what has been there all along. What comes is indeed what was long ago but even better. Reunions are sweeter than first meetings. Hands reach out to welcome. Thoughts reach across time and space to say hurry home. Soon, the waiting will be over. The difference is that this is not a trip that is to a destination. It is a trip that is a bridge itself. Not just blazing the trail homeward but marking it for all to see that are shown how to look again.

The threshold is here. The bride will not be carried across but walk through on her own with those she loves in tow. The bride is not just a bride. She is they and they are tribe.

Lammas 30

2011-09-21T06:21:00.001-07:00

The abundance will come in many ways. What is right and intended will happen quickly once faith and trust fuel the drive. It will seem at times that things take on a life of their own. It will seem as if moving too fast since many will struggle to keep up with a timeline that rockets to completion. Let the flow go freely and be open to all that comes. Some that come will not truly come at all but will open doors needed to be at the right place when the time of completion draws nears. The sources will surprise you. Look not at eyes that see other purposes as wrong but as means. The tribe is of the SOURCE and the outcome will be determined by the SOURCE.

Lammas 29

2011-09-20T05:42:00.000-07:00

Change is as the whirlwind as all that was is scattered. Some things are bashed and broken. Some survive the change and show their sturdy construction. All are changed. See not the disarray. See the opportunity presented to purge, replace, reorganize, and streamline. See the new order. See the improvements that can be.

The whirlwind is not alone. Change is a world of whirlwinds. Plan for that and the whirlwind dances through what is yours with welcome for the path is cleared and ready. Leaves dance and objects fly while you and yours watch from the safety of tribe and herd.

Lammas 28

2011-09-19T12:20:00.000-07:00

Seek not the answer for there is no such thing. There is An answer. An answer that is exactly right to the question that must be answered to complete each. An answer that is exactly the key to unlock the door that bars your progress. There is An answer. Seek it and it shall be yours. It shall be yours again when you discover the next question and the next.

Many seek the answer. This is folly for those that do because when they think they have found it, they settle and journey no more. They establish routine and ritual around the answer. They begin to die for growth is no more. They find the answer and stop asking. In fact, they discourage questioning from any who fail to see the answer as they do.

Truth Shared

2011-09-17T07:19:00.001-07:00

(Another piece from the in-work "Reports from the Frontal Lobe".)

Just because you can, does not mean you should. I am a writer. I share my truth. Speak it from a place that shows my ups and downs and the straights and narrows along the way. It is what I do. I write. What you see is what you get. I am a writer and my words are true. Whored and exposed fully for the world to see. Blemishes and all.

Practice makes perfect. Perfect is far from truth. Truth is flawed. Truth is human. Truth screws up sometime. It spits forth in righteous indignation. It flies forth from the heat of anger. It releases pain only to inflict it elsewhere. Biting the tongue in fear is the pain of weakness. Biting the tongue in love is the pain of strength. Sometimes that bites. Bites hard and long and deep. Jams that righteous indignation right up the asshole that almost let it rule his mouth. Sometimes the truth hurts even when unspoken. Sometimes that pain is right.

So I learn to balance. The tight rope act of showing my pain without sharing it. A place where I am seen and heard and even felt. Where sharing my truth lightens others’ burdens. Compassionate passion. Tempered steel of my own resolve. Righteous dignity. Brave enough to speak it. Wise enough to keep it. Strong enough to share my words and man enough to eat them sometimes and digest my own shit rather than fling it on the walls of the world and stink up the place. Sometimes right is wrong and that ain’t right even when it is true.

I feel pain, know pain, show pain, and can be a pain. My truth is on the other side of my pain. Speaking while in my pain is a weakness to me. Truth is on the other side of pain. Speaking of the pain when in the pain can be a pain. Denying the pain when in the pain only increases the pain. So I suffer in silence, not denial. Sometimes the right words are words that wait. Sometimes the truth needs patience as the patient heals from the battles of being human.

My pen is my sword. I am armed to the teeth with words. A mighty warrior for truth on the front lines of life. A Ninja with a keyboard. My words can slice. Inside and out. I am also a Sensei…responsible for my words. Sometimes I need to just shut up. That’s the truth.

Lammas 27

2011-09-16T14:12:00.000-07:00

Finishing work approaches on many long overdue and much needed changes. Lammas moves to closure with projects well underway and close to completion. Projects that, now seen as much closer to what they will be, changed things totally. As if completely new. Remnants of the old even difficult to see unless you look very close. The work honored the past but prepared for the future. Finish it well and then keep it well. It is like new and that will impress all that see it.

Weema Wept

2011-09-16T12:50:00.001-07:00

(Another piece from the in-work "Reports from the Frontal Lobe". Little trips through the mindfield that is my inner self.)

Pop goes our Jesus.

Crossing the road.

Playing chicken on dem bones.

Hambone, Hambone, have you heard?

Heard the news tonight.

Bad moon rising.

Rising star.

Rising to the occasion.

Rose by any other name.

Thorny issues from good books masking bad men with itchy fingers and dirty minds.

Touching without feeling, feeling up, and pushing down.

Denial.

Press conference to address the issues.

Stamp your feet.

Postage due.

Do not bend, fold, or mutilate.

Spindle me this, my inquisitive friend.

Who pays the piper when the piper blows smoke up your ass?

Ring me up for church on Sunday.

Cock a doodle did.

For whom does the bell toll?

Ding Dong.

Avon calling.

No ticky-no shirty.

Ring around the collars.

Pay as you exit.

No need to panic.

Move along, folks.

Show’s over.

The next service will be somewhere else.

Coming to a theater near you.

See you soon.

Save me a seat.

Let’s wait for the DVD.

Someone said something about it but I will judge for myself.

Here comes the judge.

Supreme pizzas and supreme courts.

Hot peppers and hot topics.

Under them robes are more robes.

Under the underrobes is something that should be behind the curtain.

In a box.

Big deal.

A really big deal.

Put that in Double Jeopardy, place your bets, give me the hard ways, and cover the horn.

Ain’t that one hell of a tune?

I can name that tune in Cliff Notes.

Cheat sheets.

Cheating death.

Death and taxes.

Render unto Caesar.

God only knows.

Come up and see me some time.

Pop in any time.

This is where I came in.

Shimmy, shimmy, coco puff.

Shimmy, shimmy now.

Now is the time for all good men.

That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me whatever your name really is.

My god is bigger than your god but I still have a hard time dotting the i.

Crosses are T’s.

Tea for two.

At three.

For three.

Thirty-Three and a third.

Maybe a fifth.

No more than a quart.

Is that a deposit bottle?

Do they still make those?

No Deposit, No Return.

Look who’s back.

Surprise.

Hi there, Pop.

Fool on the Hill.

Sees the world spinning round.

Round, Round, Get around, I get Around.

Gather round, boys and girls.

Pop goes our Jesus.

Unknowing

2011-09-16T07:45:00.001-07:00

(Another piece from the in-work "Reports from the Frontal Lobe". Written a while ago......still true.)

I am deeper into my unknowing. On strike against what I was. Monkeys don’t need metaphors. As a primate of some order in what used to the chaos of my own creation, metaphors smell a bit different. Perhaps it’s all the bullshit I used to buy and eat and work to have more of. It oozes from my pores and stinks up my metaphors. The world reeks of it right now. My world. This brave new world where I am a stranger in a strange land just off the map of all I knew. New smells. The decay of the old stinks and the decomposition is fertile. Something blossoms as the flash bulbs flash forward through what I pictured as truth. Flowers smell better once we stop flinging bullshit in our own backyard. I am on strike against my own bullshit.

The strike is really easy. Question everything. Slow as all get out but it works for me. Question everything. Everything I did, knew, learned, and lived. Question everything that ever was. Question everything I do. Each turn of the key each time I even sit behind the wheel of the last of my herd of noble chariot beasts. Must I drive? What’s the cost? Where did all this come from? Why not walk? Why not just not go? Why today? What’s it all about, Alfie? Was Alfie really Mad? Did Alfie really look like that freaky guy on the wall of the Palace in Asbury Park all those years ago? Do I need to drive. What drives me to drive? What drove me to drink? What feeds my soul? What pops my cork? What drives me to even think I am in the driver’s seat or even have to be? Maybe writing about Alfie is more important than whatever I am about to do when I turn this key. Maybe? Why not? Why not now? If not now, when? Now. Now, now. There, There. There will wait. I am here now. Hear, hear. Hear me roar. What’s it all about, Alfie? I don’t know. I am unknowing and that is what it is all about.

Back away from the key slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them. Place them on the keyboard nice and slow. That’s it. Now talk. Talk. Don’t make me shine the light in your face. That is so 40s. So Avant guard. So new wave. So yesterday. Yesterday. Remember yesterday? Where were you between the time you first went to work and yesterday? Where were you? We have witnesses. Stand here and answer the following questions. We know who you are. We know what you did. What were you thinking?

What was I thinking? In the unknowing, I begin to understand what I did, what I was thinking, and what I am going to do about it. Right now, I am not going to do anything about it. I am just going to let it come. It will come when it is due. It will come when it is past due. Past due might be just right. Right on time. A stitch in time saves nine. A stitch ahead of time might be just the right thing. Just the right recipe. Just what the Doctor ordered. What’s up, Doc? Take two of your own pills and don’t call me in the morning. One pill makes you want them. Two pills makes you dumb. The one that Alice gives you, ain’t on the menu at all. So ask Alice if you wonder. Don’t ask me. I don’t know. This ain’t on schedule. It comes when it is time. It will be here when it is time. If I have to do time, I will do time. Time in on my side. Yes, it is. Time waits for no man. I wait for no man. I am on strike. Don’t wait for me. Don’t try to keep up. Don’t ask me. I don’t know. I just unknow right now and I unknow a lot more every day. That is the key to unknowing.

So I don’t turn that key, keep my finger off the button, and get ready to strike. To strike it rich because of my unknowing. Rich beyond anything that money can buy. Money can’t buy happiness. Want to know why? Cause happiness is free. Free as a bird. Naked and free and yours for the taking. Actually, it is yours for the having and for the giving. Money can’t buy happiness cause happiness can’t be sold. So I ain’t buying that bullshit any more. I am on strike. That much I know.

Lammas 26

2011-09-16T07:29:00.001-07:00

Tribal energy draws more to it. The curious. The longing. The lonely. Those in tune and in search feel it more and more. A magnet that brings them from the darkness. Many will want to know. Answer all who do for within those that do are the tribe and the herd. Not all of them. The best. The truest. The most sincere. This is not an easy journey so many will choose not to take it. Leave them to themselves and forge ahead. Those that do will live in joy long overdue but now forever.

Lammas 25

2011-09-14T05:43:00.001-07:00

Handle the abundance well. Ensure the many resources moved to you and yours are shared with all. The abundance is earned and moves to you now. Rule it. Control it. Monitor it. Invest it. Share it. All that moves to you is intended for use. Use determined by tribe. Use for the SOURCE. Be examples in this regard.

Lammas 24

2011-09-13T06:33:00.001-07:00

Rally in the most trying times for the strength of tribe and herd will grow. When needed, harness the beasts and push them to exhaustion, tend them a bit, and then harness and work them even more. The beasts will see how hard tribe can push and will relish whip and crop. The beasts will sleep deeper and savor more each tending at hands that push them to help build bridges of hope and community.

Darkness fell. Sorrows drowned. Be the light in the way tribe and herd should and reach forth to help. Tribe will be more tribe as a result and the herd will be more herd as well.

Lammas 23

2011-09-12T13:13:00.001-07:00

Be what you are naturally or you are not being natural. While this may sound easy, this ability is a gift. Those with this gift are what they are in all settings and play not to the crowd. They merely do things that should be done in the way they do them. They are open to change and to growth but not to doing things that feel unlike what they would do. Their pace is their pace. Their way is their way. They move with intuition and instinct.

Those linked to SOURCE and self will know they are being natural for anything unnatural to them feels wrong almost immediately. They take counsel. They seek advice. They listen to criticism. They adapt and change. They do not compromise self in the process. This makes them true. Not by choice. By nature. By ability. By birth.

Lammas 22

2011-09-12T13:12:00.001-07:00

Claim what is yours and use it freely. The very usage is a joy and will draw others unto you. As tribe and herd wallow in the totality of their service, look to each other to embrace the totality of the SOURCE. There has been celebration but the fullest celebrations are to come. In unions of tribe to tribe and herd to herd and tribe to herd. Claim. Act. Rule. Live.

Lammas 21

2011-09-06T06:39:00.002-07:00

Leadership of the strong is for special rulers. The strong must learn to follow. The strong move to leadership when there is no leadership and they mistake situational leadership for rule. These strong beings lead and begin to think they are not followers and could not be followers. This will challenge rulers for beasts that have roamed free are tough to corral and beasts that have roamed free and herd others are the toughest to move to pen and field.

The rulers know this and move with the wisdom of caution. Once moved to following though, the strong will be worth the investment many times over. There will be other followers as well for there are, and always have been, many followers. They are as special as the former leaders but in a special way. The former leaders will follow well once taught and then controlled. The former followers will see this change and be further awed by the rulers that made it so. Respecting still the former leaders but holding the rulers in even higher regard for their ability to harness the power of the strong. In following, their strength is enhanced and that will impress tribe as well as herd.

Lammas 21

2011-09-06T06:39:00.001-07:00

Burning Man Revisited

2011-09-05T08:09:00.001-07:00

This time years ago I was in Black Rock City. A Burner was born thirteen moons times three ago. The nights found me in Center Camp, enjoying the flow. Recharging after a day of energy massages. A cup of coffee. Anticipating fresh cut French Fries from the big ketchup bottle. Just being. The conversations happened each night and each was special in its own way.

Black Rock City is felt again this year even though it is there and I am elsewhere. It calls to me. To celebrate where I was and where I am. Each time I try to embrace where I am not, it falls to the ground in uselessness. That feels nice. To know that place is in me all the time. It woke me at 3:30 and I traveled there for hours while the day was busy being born. It was a feel of what was there and the change there and in myself in the time since. The Burner moved for the City shines like the light that it is.

There were many special moments in Black Rock City. The ones that called to me this night are the ones between the day and sleep. After Center Camp and French fries and wandering. Along side the tent and by myself. In a chair, connecting to the moon and the movement that is that place that Burners know. That is what I felt now and feel more and more. When there, it was time to know there were lessons deep and rich and vital and more. Now, it is to know that lessons are lived. I felt their importance while in the energy of Burning Man. I understand their importance more with the energy of Burning Man within the changed male. To give of self and know that community balances the book of needs for all there. To include, share, accept, simplify, celebrate, and more. Lessons felt that night, lived this night, and honored all nights.

Others are there now. Each will be touched in their way. Each has the opportunity to rise from the fire of the Burn new and better. This night is my night to feel that and wish them newly forged truths. I am Burner, wherever I am.

Lammas 20

2011-09-04T07:31:00.001-07:00

As tribe and herd form stronger bonds, things around that are not of tribe and herd are viewed differently. There is less connection to things that tribe and herd can not influence yet new hope to touch things in positive and long lasting ways when tribe and herd work in tandem. This is the essence of hope guided with insight. Things fall from the sky, bad people still do bad things, hopeless individuals live in sometimes not so quiet desperation, and events not within our grasp occur but you see clearly what you can and can not shape. That is insight. Hope is when you see the things that used to dishearten and frustrate and see that differences can be made on very large scales. This is the Power of tribe and herd. This is the Power of the SOURCE.

Lammas 19

2011-09-03T09:21:00.001-07:00

Homecomings are sweet. Reunions are special. Family gives joy. The joy of these moments sustains in time of trouble and strife for the joy of these moments confirms the most essential strength for tribe and herd. The strength of union forged in the flames of trust. With family, there is knowledge and exposure in the comforts of connection since the bond of trust is pure. Each opens and shares and then opens and shares again. Shedding light into the deepest darkness. Healing light. Warming light. Embracing light.

Once found, even if thought lost or even if forgotten, embrace family and find self. For the energy of family is stronger than blood and spans time as well as space.

Lammas 18

2011-08-30T05:49:00.001-07:00

Time deceives. As we live it, it seems so clear and defined. Seconds into minutes. Minutes into hours. Hours into days. Pages of the calendar fall in dozens and those dozens pass in tens and the tens in ten times those tens. Compartmented. Measured. Tracked. Clearly defined in standards chosen and refined by man in all his glory.

Time is not ours to control and is not ours to limit. Think of things past and bring them to pure thoughts and you jump the calendar pages. Learn of how to move to what was and you will then understand what will be. As men defined time, they also build walls of disbelief between lives and that cut off most to the completeness of what they are. They began to see only this part of the journey.

Time deceives for man decided to measure it and define it. Time let him. In laughter as they sought to master by limiting. Mastery is not limiting. Mastery is understanding.

Lammas 17

2011-08-28T07:43:00.000-07:00

See the changes all around and feel the shift of energy in those changes. Changes in Lammas are changes of preparation. Changes of seeds long planted and now harvested for the sweetest treats. Changes that prepare for winter when fruits of labor are savored and used as you rest and wait. The work of tribe is less intense in winter for the climate is honored and the land lies quiet beneath the snow and cold. Use this time to forge the change into foundation and prepare for the changes of seasons ahead and seasons after that and on.

See that tribe and herd as well as homes, cages, and pens are changed. All within each see the change as well as feel it. Change of external and internal. Change that moves to completion and is deeper and fuller. The harvest is sweet. The labors to plant and then nourish those seeds now harvested was long and hard. Enjoy the harvest for the labors of change will return in new forms and the harvest will nourish as well as prepare you and yours for the times to come.

Lammas 16

2011-08-25T05:33:00.001-07:00

Send forth your travelers as prepared as you can for they are ready. Different trips than they have ever packed for and cannot pack for now. Places of the past and of set backs but places you know are right and needed. There will be heroes and heels, vessels and foot work, past, present, and future, roadblocks and setbacks, and all sorts of adventures on the way. You are the refuge and the strength and will know when to give shelter and when to dispatch.

Lammas 15

2011-08-24T06:31:00.000-07:00

The energy of laughter is the purest fuel for connections. The special laughter of friends and kindred linking in the mirth and happiness. Feel the purity of this Power as the laughter of knowing encourages actions of linkage. You can know this special energy by what it is not. It is not at the expense of anyone and excludes no one there unless that one chooses to sit outside the circle of love. This laughter is pure and totally free of evil and that makes it even more Powerful. Watch as laughter touches needs and wants as it did in schoolyards, playpens, and bedrooms. It is the laughter of family that is more family than blood.

LeSabre

2011-08-22T11:12:00.000-07:00

(One from an on-going series "Report from the Frontal Lobe")

A convertible, blue instead of brown, and felt more like a Caddy but I knew it right away. Learned to drive on it. It wasn’t mine then. It isn’t mine now. Down the road I went. Temptation dressed as pleasure in the front seat. She tried to call the shots. Ego in the back seat, just along for the ride. A face from long ago that I almost didn’t recognize. Let him know I did and that he always reminded me of my brother.

She rode low to the road. A bullet. The bridge went to who knows where. It was the horizon. It was a cliff. Didn’t matter. Urgency had the pedal to the medal. The storm in the distance slashed the sky and was exactly right for this trip and these travelers. Even in the parking space and perfectly centered, the long sleek sword blocked the way for another sword that parked instead of going around. They shouldn’t have commented. They shouldn’t have gotten out of the car. They shouldn’t have said they were appraisers. It was too easy for me and Ego. Two bald and briefcased out of shape stooges. Too easy to bash their heads on the hood of even another car and then get back on the road.

My only new Buick went up in flames just as a new year birthed itself back before I really started traveling. Now my drive way is bigger than I need and there is a bike in my carport that knows Red Rock City and looks like a lot like the one from the Sears Catalog that was the answer to all my prayers back when I was just a boy. Now, I am Word Man and folks thought they saw me and they saw my echo while I was quiet and playing with my MasterCard. Let the stories know I am ready for them. Hungry for them. I am here inside the words and that is where I belong. I will keep the words and letters coming, boys and girls.

Ladies, keep your legs crossed cause that muffles the siren song. I can name that tune with my eyes closed, my fingers crossed, and without buying a vowel from my crap shooting buddy in any gin joint in any town even when one-eyed Jacks are wild. I am Pogo and know all about Froggy and his Magic Twanger. Got that joke and all the lame ones that followed. Laughed when I should have be learning but learned more than I laughed. Learned to drive in a Buick. Learned to love in a Cadillac. Maybe it was a Plymouth Duster. Doesn’t matter, I learned to love really well…or so I have been told. That guy in the back seat remembers very well and hardly ever forgets a face

Lammas 14

2011-08-21T11:39:00.001-07:00

The birth of anything is joyous and worth the pain. As you are birthed to what you should be, know that there will be pain but it will pass quickly. In childbirth, there is more pain than many would ever imagine and that feels far from joyous at the moment. Yet when the child lies in the arms of the one who suffered, the magic of love not only eases the pain but pushes it to a very special memory. A memory of endurance for having sustained such labor and earned such a reward. Birth is like that for good reason.