It was 1968 and I was home from college on spring break, speaking with my Dad in the living room. I with my jeans and long hair and newly-pierced ears, I was going to help stop the war in Viet Nam. My blue-eyed, black-haired theoretical physicist father spoke of the nature of humanity as he knew it, insisting that war among humans is inevitable. Bursting into tears, I left the room saying, "I believe peace is possible!"
A few years before that I had happened on a copy of John Hersey's HIROSHIMA. Reading through it I was horrified and deeply disillusioned, seeing that my Dad and his fellow scientists - all atomic pioneers I'd been brought up to revere - had participated in the horrendous pain and slaughter of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I never brought it up with him. The knowledge was buried deep, like atomic waste in some cement tomb far beneath the surface of the earth.
I think of my Dad now, white-haired, in his wheelchair. Last time I visited him when he was still at home, I helped him clean up after sudden diahrrea, helped him with his diapering, helped him get from wheelchair-to-car. I cooked him things he liked, especially greens with a little vinegar. We spoke of Tom Sawyer visiting his own funeral, and, laughing still - relaxed - we spoke of Dad's wishes for his own remains whenever that time should come.
Now Dad is in a nursing home. The nursing home music volunteer leaves her electronic keyboard in his room. Before I left to go home several states away, Dad played some slow Wagnerian chord progressions for me - the same ones I remember him bumbling through when I was very small. They hadn't improved a bit, but they were none the worse for wear. I'm more impressed with my Dad than ever. Sometimes when there's a little down-time at the library I google up his name. There's an article he wrote, "Memories of Feynman,"* which I read now and then, to recapture the excitement of growing up in a town and a household full of scientific curiosity about the wonders of existence.
I remember Dad as I knew and adored him when I was very young: the Dad who came home late from the Lab and played Beethoven - my Moonlight Sonata lullabye; the Dad who taught us four children the names of the stars and constellations late at night under brilliant skies; the Dad who loved to travel, and took the whole family on vacations to the sea, to the desert, to the mountains....The Dad who once laughed at a thunderstorm, encouraging the four of us tiny ones to dance naked in the pouring rain. The one who, with our Mom, brought us up in Los Alamos and Oak Ridge, in Berkeley and Brookhaven; the one who talked about Oppenheimer and Feynman, and who scribbled theories in peacock blue ink when he worked at home on Saturdays.
I'm outlasting his belief in the inevitability of warmongering among humans, I think - or rather, perhaps I'm coming to some understanding of the spiritual physics of peaceful warriorhood. The alchemy of human consciousness. He doesn't see angels or talk with trees, and I do. I don't grok quantummechanics and he does. Never the twain shall meet - except, and only, in the heart. He's my Dad whom I've always adored.
*Physics Today, Feb. 2007, p.46: "Memories of Feynman" by T.A. Welton can be found online as a PDF file.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Library Lou Lou - The Hoozits, Summer 2008
The village of Yellow Springs, Ohio, has always had an amazing arts scene. Currently there is a great upwelling of the visual and performing arts here, with a summer long weekend festival scene for villagers and our many visitors. Village arts folks are busy and happy, with so many opportunities to share.
My own contribution is in the realm of puppetry - actually, a mix of storytelling and toy theater. My little troupe (one human and several toys) is called "Carolion And The HOOZITS,"* and we just performed a new show this Saturday past. True to the spirit of playing with toys, my shows usually come to me at the last minute, as this one did. I went to bed Friday night with the thought that I'd wake up with a great show idea on Saturday morning. Great ideas, of course, are one thing; a coherent, entertaining show is another.
Between waking up and set-up time (3:15 for the 4 p.m. performance) I develop the story line, paint eyes, nose, and mouth on a new character (a standing metal spinning top, named "Spinner"); cut out a cardboard "book" and cut holes in the covers (eaten by a bookapillar, of course - her name is "Lou Lou") and paint the covers, adding words that have holes eaten out of them, and get the paint dry in the sun; make our sign ("Carolion and the Hoozits in - LIBRARY LOU LOU - featuring Music Al the Xylogator, Spinner the Top, and Lou Lou the Bookapillar") and figure out how I'll hang it; pack "scenery scarves" and a "magic flute" into my Magic Hat; figure out logistics of performance set-up (a small take-apart plastic table with a cloth over it so I can hide things underneath, with a little stool so I can sit behind it when I'm not standing or walking). Then I shower and get dressed (puppeteer's black - all the way to my wrists and my toes - nothing else feels right), pack the car and head downtown.
I park in the grocery store parking lot, carry my puppets and simple set and sign to our performance location - a nice shady ex-restaurant space bounded by a wooden fence and the side of a bookstore and wrought iron picket fence. There is plenty of seating and enough shade. I set the backdrop (an old red bedspread) and hang our sign. Emily, my arts council coordinator hasn't arrived yet, so I decide to approach people with young children to let them know there will be a puppet show at 4 p.m. Emily arrives with more signage, and our audience begins to gather. I wait the requisite 10+ minutes past 4 (we operate on "Yellow Springs time"), and during that time I make small talk with the small people in the audience. One little boy explains to us that you don't have to have a lot of performers - that one person can just change voices and make us believe that there are lots of characters. He knows my style - he and I go back a few library storytimes together. I say, "You're right! Maybe one day you'll be a puppeteer!" He beams.
Show time!
I introduce Music Al the Xylogator first, and we sing his signature song to the accompaniment of the rainbow xylophone which is his spine. Al then tells me he wants to go to the library to find a new book. I say, "But Al! You have 50 zillion books at home!" Al responds, "Yeah, but you've read them to me 50 zillion times!" To which I say, "But you asked me to......" But Al is bored with his books at home, so we begin to walk "to the library," along the edge of the little stage. One little boy in the audience warns Al not to get too close to the edge of the stage, or he might fall off "into the water." Al says that he likes the water - that he even sleeps in a wet bed (the swamp) and loves it that way. We go merrily on our way, and Al decides to stop at his new friend Spinner's house, and take him along with us to the library.
Spinner, of course, is so pumped-up about going to the library that he begins to spin and spin, and I have to tell him to slow down or he might get dizzy and throw up. So on to the library we go, singing a little song about that. Finally at the library we talk about being in the World of Imagination. I say, "Good thing I brought my Magic Hat!" and begin to pull scarves out of it, to put in the hands of little audience volunteers. Yellow for the Sun, green for the Trees, and a flowered scarf for the Flowers. We make up a little story about Sun, Trees, and Flowers, and then our volunteers return to their seats. Music Al and Spinner and I find just exactly the book we want, yay! But when we pull it off the shelf, it has big holes chewed in the front and back covers, and all the pages have been eaten. Suddenly Lou Lou appears and confesses to having eaten all this, because she's a bookapillar and she's planning to make a coccoon and become a bookerfly. She's afraid that the librarians will discover her and put her out of the library.
The solution? I decide to pay for the damaged book, so we can take Lou Lou home with us. That way she can be safe to spin her coccoon. Spinner is delighted, and volunteers to help with the spinning. So - it all works out in the end. For the very, very end we sing a goodbye song, with Al's accompaniment.
After the show, children always want to have a visit with Music Al. He's a popular guy. It's a good way for me to wind down, finish out the performer energy, and get back to my everyday self. After a while of visiting Al and our new hit star, Spinner - and after some photos taken by parents - I tell my friends that Al and Spinner and Lou Lou have to take their naps. I tuck Al into the bottom of the Hoozits' basket, and tuck in Lou Lou and Spinner as well, with the Magic Hat and the Scenery Scarves.....Basket closed, sign and backdrop down, little table taken apart and put in its bag....We're ready to go. Emily has children's arts activities set up, and community volunteers there to help. It's another great arts afternoon in Yellow Springs.
My own contribution is in the realm of puppetry - actually, a mix of storytelling and toy theater. My little troupe (one human and several toys) is called "Carolion And The HOOZITS,"* and we just performed a new show this Saturday past. True to the spirit of playing with toys, my shows usually come to me at the last minute, as this one did. I went to bed Friday night with the thought that I'd wake up with a great show idea on Saturday morning. Great ideas, of course, are one thing; a coherent, entertaining show is another.
Between waking up and set-up time (3:15 for the 4 p.m. performance) I develop the story line, paint eyes, nose, and mouth on a new character (a standing metal spinning top, named "Spinner"); cut out a cardboard "book" and cut holes in the covers (eaten by a bookapillar, of course - her name is "Lou Lou") and paint the covers, adding words that have holes eaten out of them, and get the paint dry in the sun; make our sign ("Carolion and the Hoozits in - LIBRARY LOU LOU - featuring Music Al the Xylogator, Spinner the Top, and Lou Lou the Bookapillar") and figure out how I'll hang it; pack "scenery scarves" and a "magic flute" into my Magic Hat; figure out logistics of performance set-up (a small take-apart plastic table with a cloth over it so I can hide things underneath, with a little stool so I can sit behind it when I'm not standing or walking). Then I shower and get dressed (puppeteer's black - all the way to my wrists and my toes - nothing else feels right), pack the car and head downtown.
I park in the grocery store parking lot, carry my puppets and simple set and sign to our performance location - a nice shady ex-restaurant space bounded by a wooden fence and the side of a bookstore and wrought iron picket fence. There is plenty of seating and enough shade. I set the backdrop (an old red bedspread) and hang our sign. Emily, my arts council coordinator hasn't arrived yet, so I decide to approach people with young children to let them know there will be a puppet show at 4 p.m. Emily arrives with more signage, and our audience begins to gather. I wait the requisite 10+ minutes past 4 (we operate on "Yellow Springs time"), and during that time I make small talk with the small people in the audience. One little boy explains to us that you don't have to have a lot of performers - that one person can just change voices and make us believe that there are lots of characters. He knows my style - he and I go back a few library storytimes together. I say, "You're right! Maybe one day you'll be a puppeteer!" He beams.
Show time!
I introduce Music Al the Xylogator first, and we sing his signature song to the accompaniment of the rainbow xylophone which is his spine. Al then tells me he wants to go to the library to find a new book. I say, "But Al! You have 50 zillion books at home!" Al responds, "Yeah, but you've read them to me 50 zillion times!" To which I say, "But you asked me to......" But Al is bored with his books at home, so we begin to walk "to the library," along the edge of the little stage. One little boy in the audience warns Al not to get too close to the edge of the stage, or he might fall off "into the water." Al says that he likes the water - that he even sleeps in a wet bed (the swamp) and loves it that way. We go merrily on our way, and Al decides to stop at his new friend Spinner's house, and take him along with us to the library.
Spinner, of course, is so pumped-up about going to the library that he begins to spin and spin, and I have to tell him to slow down or he might get dizzy and throw up. So on to the library we go, singing a little song about that. Finally at the library we talk about being in the World of Imagination. I say, "Good thing I brought my Magic Hat!" and begin to pull scarves out of it, to put in the hands of little audience volunteers. Yellow for the Sun, green for the Trees, and a flowered scarf for the Flowers. We make up a little story about Sun, Trees, and Flowers, and then our volunteers return to their seats. Music Al and Spinner and I find just exactly the book we want, yay! But when we pull it off the shelf, it has big holes chewed in the front and back covers, and all the pages have been eaten. Suddenly Lou Lou appears and confesses to having eaten all this, because she's a bookapillar and she's planning to make a coccoon and become a bookerfly. She's afraid that the librarians will discover her and put her out of the library.
The solution? I decide to pay for the damaged book, so we can take Lou Lou home with us. That way she can be safe to spin her coccoon. Spinner is delighted, and volunteers to help with the spinning. So - it all works out in the end. For the very, very end we sing a goodbye song, with Al's accompaniment.
After the show, children always want to have a visit with Music Al. He's a popular guy. It's a good way for me to wind down, finish out the performer energy, and get back to my everyday self. After a while of visiting Al and our new hit star, Spinner - and after some photos taken by parents - I tell my friends that Al and Spinner and Lou Lou have to take their naps. I tuck Al into the bottom of the Hoozits' basket, and tuck in Lou Lou and Spinner as well, with the Magic Hat and the Scenery Scarves.....Basket closed, sign and backdrop down, little table taken apart and put in its bag....We're ready to go. Emily has children's arts activities set up, and community volunteers there to help. It's another great arts afternoon in Yellow Springs.
A Most Unusual Computer
A few years back I was living in the Hill Country of E. Central Texas. I'd been on the road for a number of years, just following God - so I had with me just what would fit in my car. My journals and family photos and other things were stored in a friend's garage in Salem, Oregon.
One day my inner guidance told me that I could finally get the computer I'd always wanted. Hmm. Up 'til that time, I didn't know I'd wanted a computer. I was also told I'd be visiting Portland on such-and-such a date. I thought, well, that's a good idea - but there's no money for that. Yet.
Soon I received a call from my friend in Salem that her garage had burned down, and they were going to include me in their insurance settlement - and part of that would be money to fly me out there to inspect the damaged items to see what could be salvaged. The dates of the trip were the dates my guidance had given me. So - I went to Portland.
When the insurance money came through, I knew it would go to buy a computer. I contacted Sid and Marilyn Frances who lived in the Rose City area of Portland. I had lived with them before in intentional co-housing community; I had stayed in a little trailer in their back garden. They had a mom-pop printing operation, and had several computers. I asked them to have their computer guy build a p.c. for me, and we made plans for me to come back out to Portland so they could teach me how to use it.
When I arrived, Sid was finishing installing the programs he and Marilyn had chosen for me. Then it was time to go pick out a printer and scanner. Sid and I set out for Best Buy. I knew enough about talking with machines by then that I realized I should telepath to the boxed printers and scanners and ask for volunteers to join my computer setup. I bought a printer and scanner, and we took them home.
Sid worked and worked to try to get the scanner to connect. The printer was fine, but the scanner would not work. Finally Sid asked me to get out my dowsing rods and tune in with the scanner to see what was the matter spiritually. The scanner said to me, "This is a very high-vibrational operation you've got here."
I said, "Yes - we'll be doing channeling and healings - all kinds of Lightwork."
The scanner said, "Well, I was made to do porn."
"My goodness!" I replied. "Would you like me to do some healing work on you? A soul retrieval?"
"No!" said the scanner. "I want to do porn."
I told Sid what was up. We had a good laugh. Sid and Marilyn and I used to have the world's best laughs. This was a great one. The next morning we returned the scanner to Best Buy, though I never told them the whole truth about why we were returning it. Then I went back to the boxed machines and tuned-in with them. I had learned my lesson! This time I telepathed, "This is a very high-vibrational operation. No porn, no fear - only unconditional love and healing. Who would like to join us?" One machine volunteered. I bought it, we took it home, and it hooked up without a problem.
So - ever after that, something amazing happened with that computer setup. We would be standing in the room where it sat. We'd be talking about this or that. Suddenly, on its own, the scanner would start scanning. What it was scanning was apparently nothing - but there was something going on energetically, for sure. The scan completed, then the printer, on its own, would start to print. It would carefully print out a whole page, but when the page emerged, all that was visible was a fine spray of ink - no words or images visible to ordinary eyesight. If, however, I viewed the page energetically, scanning it with my inner vision as I passed the healing energy of my hand over it, I could pick up a message from the universe.
Once, as the printer was about to print in this magical way, I took the paper out of the holder. The printer kept revving and revving, refusing to complete its energy process unless there was actual paper for it to print on. So then I put a piece of paper which was already printed into the holder, and again the printer refused. It must, apparently, have a blank page. It did accept the blank side of the printed page.
One time I heard from the one I call God, that I was to give Sid his Bar Mitzvah. Now, Sid was in his seventies. He had never Bar Mitzvah'd, and he had been born Jewish, but was not religious. So I asked him if he even wanted a Bar Mitzvah. Sid - anything for a good laugh - Sid consented, figuring that the universe had a great punchline in there somewhere. I said to God, "You know, I'm not Jewish in this lifetime, and I'm not a man. How do you expect me to give Sid a Bar Mitzvah?" God told me not to worry - just to put together what I could of a Shabbos dinner, and then I'd be channeling the Bar Mitzvah blessing direct from God to Sid.
We had the dinner, and it all happened as God said it would. OK. That was that.
Next morning Sid and I were standing near my computer talking about this and that, when the scanner started to scan and the printer started to print. We knew something was up. I went over as the paper emerged from the printer, and scanned it with my hand, and it read "MAZELTOV!"
Oh, that God. Anything for a laugh. By the way, for anyone interested in the concept of the "Big Bang," it's worthwhile to consider that the universe prefers it to be called "The Big Guffaw."
One day my inner guidance told me that I could finally get the computer I'd always wanted. Hmm. Up 'til that time, I didn't know I'd wanted a computer. I was also told I'd be visiting Portland on such-and-such a date. I thought, well, that's a good idea - but there's no money for that. Yet.
Soon I received a call from my friend in Salem that her garage had burned down, and they were going to include me in their insurance settlement - and part of that would be money to fly me out there to inspect the damaged items to see what could be salvaged. The dates of the trip were the dates my guidance had given me. So - I went to Portland.
When the insurance money came through, I knew it would go to buy a computer. I contacted Sid and Marilyn Frances who lived in the Rose City area of Portland. I had lived with them before in intentional co-housing community; I had stayed in a little trailer in their back garden. They had a mom-pop printing operation, and had several computers. I asked them to have their computer guy build a p.c. for me, and we made plans for me to come back out to Portland so they could teach me how to use it.
When I arrived, Sid was finishing installing the programs he and Marilyn had chosen for me. Then it was time to go pick out a printer and scanner. Sid and I set out for Best Buy. I knew enough about talking with machines by then that I realized I should telepath to the boxed printers and scanners and ask for volunteers to join my computer setup. I bought a printer and scanner, and we took them home.
Sid worked and worked to try to get the scanner to connect. The printer was fine, but the scanner would not work. Finally Sid asked me to get out my dowsing rods and tune in with the scanner to see what was the matter spiritually. The scanner said to me, "This is a very high-vibrational operation you've got here."
I said, "Yes - we'll be doing channeling and healings - all kinds of Lightwork."
The scanner said, "Well, I was made to do porn."
"My goodness!" I replied. "Would you like me to do some healing work on you? A soul retrieval?"
"No!" said the scanner. "I want to do porn."
I told Sid what was up. We had a good laugh. Sid and Marilyn and I used to have the world's best laughs. This was a great one. The next morning we returned the scanner to Best Buy, though I never told them the whole truth about why we were returning it. Then I went back to the boxed machines and tuned-in with them. I had learned my lesson! This time I telepathed, "This is a very high-vibrational operation. No porn, no fear - only unconditional love and healing. Who would like to join us?" One machine volunteered. I bought it, we took it home, and it hooked up without a problem.
So - ever after that, something amazing happened with that computer setup. We would be standing in the room where it sat. We'd be talking about this or that. Suddenly, on its own, the scanner would start scanning. What it was scanning was apparently nothing - but there was something going on energetically, for sure. The scan completed, then the printer, on its own, would start to print. It would carefully print out a whole page, but when the page emerged, all that was visible was a fine spray of ink - no words or images visible to ordinary eyesight. If, however, I viewed the page energetically, scanning it with my inner vision as I passed the healing energy of my hand over it, I could pick up a message from the universe.
Once, as the printer was about to print in this magical way, I took the paper out of the holder. The printer kept revving and revving, refusing to complete its energy process unless there was actual paper for it to print on. So then I put a piece of paper which was already printed into the holder, and again the printer refused. It must, apparently, have a blank page. It did accept the blank side of the printed page.
One time I heard from the one I call God, that I was to give Sid his Bar Mitzvah. Now, Sid was in his seventies. He had never Bar Mitzvah'd, and he had been born Jewish, but was not religious. So I asked him if he even wanted a Bar Mitzvah. Sid - anything for a good laugh - Sid consented, figuring that the universe had a great punchline in there somewhere. I said to God, "You know, I'm not Jewish in this lifetime, and I'm not a man. How do you expect me to give Sid a Bar Mitzvah?" God told me not to worry - just to put together what I could of a Shabbos dinner, and then I'd be channeling the Bar Mitzvah blessing direct from God to Sid.
We had the dinner, and it all happened as God said it would. OK. That was that.
Next morning Sid and I were standing near my computer talking about this and that, when the scanner started to scan and the printer started to print. We knew something was up. I went over as the paper emerged from the printer, and scanned it with my hand, and it read "MAZELTOV!"
Oh, that God. Anything for a laugh. By the way, for anyone interested in the concept of the "Big Bang," it's worthwhile to consider that the universe prefers it to be called "The Big Guffaw."
Sassy, The Buddha Shihtziuh
I remember a couple of shih'ztiuhs in Texas. One of them was already very advanced, and came to me regularly for his next level of empowerment. One day his scruffy little girlfriend decided SHE wanted to try that energy work stuff, and asked me for an attunement, which I gave her. She changed so dramatically, and felt so profoundly good about her spiritual work, that she began bugging me to do the same kind of work for her friend Merlin, a cat. I kept telling her that Merlin would have to ask me himself. Finally one evening, Merlin came to me and asked for an attunement. The whole time I worked over him, his little shihtziuh friend "held space" for him energetically - she stood by, watching everything, focusing all the power of her intention on the procedure, for her friend's benefit.
I left the area not too long after that, and returned the next year. When I walked into the house, my human friends who lived there told me that the little female shihtziuh was out on the porch, and I should come see her - she was "different."
There she was, sitting erect, very dignified and serene, on one of the padded deck chairs - she was gazing out over the Blanco River. I tuned-in with her and she said, "I am going to become a Buddha in this lifetime." She gave me a picture-communication of herself teaching groups of human meditators as they sat in a circle around her - she would be monitoring their meditation by tuning-in with their picture-minds, and she would be giving teachings telepathically.
I left the area not too long after that, and returned the next year. When I walked into the house, my human friends who lived there told me that the little female shihtziuh was out on the porch, and I should come see her - she was "different."
There she was, sitting erect, very dignified and serene, on one of the padded deck chairs - she was gazing out over the Blanco River. I tuned-in with her and she said, "I am going to become a Buddha in this lifetime." She gave me a picture-communication of herself teaching groups of human meditators as they sat in a circle around her - she would be monitoring their meditation by tuning-in with their picture-minds, and she would be giving teachings telepathically.
Jake And Gus
For a number of years I have had a spiritual healing and animal-communication practice which has given me many surprises, as well as great soul satisfaction. Here are stories of two of the many wonderful beings with whom I've had the privilege of communing.
Once when I was doing a communication clinic in a stable, most of the horses who spoke through me were giving advice to their riders about balance and technique, and practicing riding in meditation. A couple of the horses also had emotional difficulties resulting from Mother-loss, having been forcibly weaned, and separated from their dams too young. For them I did a healing procedure known as soul retrieval.
A brown-and-white pinto named Jake said something different from all the others. "I have a dream," were the words Jake sent to my mind. When I spoke these words aloud, the listening humans looked intrigued.Then Jake said, "I'd like for us all to go on a campout together." I spoke it aloud for him, but, since no other horse I'd ever spoken with had said anything like that, I wondered if I'd heardwrong. Jake was apparently satisfied,so I had to believe I had done his thoughts justice. A week later I received a phone call from Jake's human. She told me that the horse-owners had all been so inspired by Jake's dream that they'd found a place to camp out, and planned to trailer all the horses in the barn over there. Did I want to come, she wondered?
I did go out for the afternoon and early evening. They had found a beautiful place for the event: a lovely hilly pasture with many gorgeous old trees and a clear stream running through it; there was a resident herd of cows, and the horses were out of their trailers and all running free. I got to ride Jake bareback with a group of others doing likewise. It was easy to stay on, even bareback, because Jake was sweaty from galloping and dirty from rolling to scratch his back. The ride was magical.The whole event was - well, it was a horse's dream. And it was all because of Jake's vision. When I left the group in the evening, though, I was a little worried. The horses were free all night long, and of course, so were those cows. I wondered if I'd see headlines the next day: "Campers trampled in their tents by galloping herds." The next day, however, I got a phone call from Jake's human telling me how much fun they'd had, and that everyone had gotten home safely, and thanking me again for speaking Jake's dream aloud.
Not all animals are brilliant or visionaries or masters of other sorts. Just as with humankind, there are plenty of animals who are busy being just plain folks. This next story, about a yellow labrador named Gus, is a good illustration:
I once was being interviewed on a tiny pirate radio station broadcasting from someone's garage at midnight in San Marcos, Texas. The show hosts had asked me to communicate telepathically with the San Marcos River. They wanted to know the River's way of perceiving the issues in the local water controversy: how did the River feel about the University's use of water, how was it affecting the springs and the acquifer. When the show host found out I could communicate with dogs, however, he hopped into his pickup and went home to get his yellow lab, Gus.
Animals always know when there's a human who can communicate with them. If they have something to say, they come right up to me. If they want a healing, they make that known. So I wasn't surprised that, when Gus came into the studio he walked over to me and looked me in the eye and spoketelepathically, saying, "I can't do this."
"Do what?" I asked him.
"Talk into a microphone like a human being," said Gus.
When I told the owner what Gus had said, he explained, "Oh - that's because we tried to make him bark into the microphone before."
So I told Gus - out loud , but also using my picture mind - "Gus, you can see and hear that I understand what you tell me. So think about it for a while, and if you decide you have something you'd like to say on the air, then just give me your message and I'll speak it into the microphone for you."
Gus wagged and nodded to me, then went out and did his thing for a while. Finally he returned, and came straight over to me. He said, "I've got it. There's something I want to say." So I signaled the show host and we prepared the listening audience for Gus's revelation, whatever it was to be.
Gus said, "I've got a girlfriend."
"That's it?" I asked - "That's what you want to say? "
Gus looked straight into my eyes: affirmative. That was it. I loved it! I said it over the air for my friend Gus, who nodded at me and wagged, and went off to do more of his thing. Gus's human got a big kick out of that. He said Gus's girlfriend must be the dog down the street, whose owners were apparently giving Gus a generous second breakfast every day. I had to laugh, thinking of all of Guses in this world, dog and human.
Once when I was doing a communication clinic in a stable, most of the horses who spoke through me were giving advice to their riders about balance and technique, and practicing riding in meditation. A couple of the horses also had emotional difficulties resulting from Mother-loss, having been forcibly weaned, and separated from their dams too young. For them I did a healing procedure known as soul retrieval.
A brown-and-white pinto named Jake said something different from all the others. "I have a dream," were the words Jake sent to my mind. When I spoke these words aloud, the listening humans looked intrigued.Then Jake said, "I'd like for us all to go on a campout together." I spoke it aloud for him, but, since no other horse I'd ever spoken with had said anything like that, I wondered if I'd heardwrong. Jake was apparently satisfied,so I had to believe I had done his thoughts justice. A week later I received a phone call from Jake's human. She told me that the horse-owners had all been so inspired by Jake's dream that they'd found a place to camp out, and planned to trailer all the horses in the barn over there. Did I want to come, she wondered?
I did go out for the afternoon and early evening. They had found a beautiful place for the event: a lovely hilly pasture with many gorgeous old trees and a clear stream running through it; there was a resident herd of cows, and the horses were out of their trailers and all running free. I got to ride Jake bareback with a group of others doing likewise. It was easy to stay on, even bareback, because Jake was sweaty from galloping and dirty from rolling to scratch his back. The ride was magical.The whole event was - well, it was a horse's dream. And it was all because of Jake's vision. When I left the group in the evening, though, I was a little worried. The horses were free all night long, and of course, so were those cows. I wondered if I'd see headlines the next day: "Campers trampled in their tents by galloping herds." The next day, however, I got a phone call from Jake's human telling me how much fun they'd had, and that everyone had gotten home safely, and thanking me again for speaking Jake's dream aloud.
Not all animals are brilliant or visionaries or masters of other sorts. Just as with humankind, there are plenty of animals who are busy being just plain folks. This next story, about a yellow labrador named Gus, is a good illustration:
I once was being interviewed on a tiny pirate radio station broadcasting from someone's garage at midnight in San Marcos, Texas. The show hosts had asked me to communicate telepathically with the San Marcos River. They wanted to know the River's way of perceiving the issues in the local water controversy: how did the River feel about the University's use of water, how was it affecting the springs and the acquifer. When the show host found out I could communicate with dogs, however, he hopped into his pickup and went home to get his yellow lab, Gus.
Animals always know when there's a human who can communicate with them. If they have something to say, they come right up to me. If they want a healing, they make that known. So I wasn't surprised that, when Gus came into the studio he walked over to me and looked me in the eye and spoketelepathically, saying, "I can't do this."
"Do what?" I asked him.
"Talk into a microphone like a human being," said Gus.
When I told the owner what Gus had said, he explained, "Oh - that's because we tried to make him bark into the microphone before."
So I told Gus - out loud , but also using my picture mind - "Gus, you can see and hear that I understand what you tell me. So think about it for a while, and if you decide you have something you'd like to say on the air, then just give me your message and I'll speak it into the microphone for you."
Gus wagged and nodded to me, then went out and did his thing for a while. Finally he returned, and came straight over to me. He said, "I've got it. There's something I want to say." So I signaled the show host and we prepared the listening audience for Gus's revelation, whatever it was to be.
Gus said, "I've got a girlfriend."
"That's it?" I asked - "That's what you want to say? "
Gus looked straight into my eyes: affirmative. That was it. I loved it! I said it over the air for my friend Gus, who nodded at me and wagged, and went off to do more of his thing. Gus's human got a big kick out of that. He said Gus's girlfriend must be the dog down the street, whose owners were apparently giving Gus a generous second breakfast every day. I had to laugh, thinking of all of Guses in this world, dog and human.
Entering The Wind - 2007
In autumn the year I was ten, playing with leaf-piles in a neighbor's yard, the wind called
and I knelt on the grass and entered the wild windy breath as it entered me,
and I knew mySelf for a moment
and it was over, and never finished yet for eternity.
In winter the year I was, oh, thirty something, walking over the hill crunching through the crusted snow, wind blustering, biting at the outside of me, calling the inside, I felt drawn
to a group of pines, to one pine, which entered my dreaming mind and spoke to me..
This pine invited me to be a tree, to own my pine-ness, to participate in bark and needles and allowing of the wind to move right through my branches, and so
I became this, this pine treeness,
I became it,
and learned once again the way to love the wind.
Who could understand this? This invitation to the Dance?
All I know is Love, when it's True, has this way of inviting you to be it, while it is you.
and I knelt on the grass and entered the wild windy breath as it entered me,
and I knew mySelf for a moment
and it was over, and never finished yet for eternity.
In winter the year I was, oh, thirty something, walking over the hill crunching through the crusted snow, wind blustering, biting at the outside of me, calling the inside, I felt drawn
to a group of pines, to one pine, which entered my dreaming mind and spoke to me..
This pine invited me to be a tree, to own my pine-ness, to participate in bark and needles and allowing of the wind to move right through my branches, and so
I became this, this pine treeness,
I became it,
and learned once again the way to love the wind.
Who could understand this? This invitation to the Dance?
All I know is Love, when it's True, has this way of inviting you to be it, while it is you.
Seth - Still Speaking - 2007
As a universal channel, I've had the great pleasure of channeling a number of angelic beings, deities, and teachers of new thought. I am extremely fond of one in particular, someone familiar to many lightworkers - the entity Seth, inner author of SETH SPEAKS and other works channeled by Jane Roberts.
Seth first entered my field when I was at a get-acquainted party in San Marcos, Texas a number of years ago. Someone, on hearing that I was a channel, asked if I'd ever channeled Seth. "No," I said. The next moment, on feeling a very large energy merging with me, I said, "Who's this? It sure is big."
The folks around me laughed delightedly, and one of them said, "Jane Roberts always did say Seth was big."
Seth worked with me over time to get me to relax and not worry so much about giving over control of a number of my faculties to him. He is a very kind and gracious being, and never took me over without permission, always working through me only to the level of trance which was comfortable for me. There was one memorable day when he merged with me as I was sitting in a rocking chair, and gently played with me, taking me into another trance level, by suggesting I rock and rock, and pay attention to the space between the swings of the chair. Gradually Seth assisted me in deepening my surrender.
After a while I was out of Texas and back to my little co-housing community in Portland, Oregon - Mir Cabaaning. I'd been busy with readjusting to our little group and learning to work with my computer, and had not heard from Seth - nor did I mention him. One day Sid and Marilyn and I had our usual shared lunch break combined with watching reruns of Northern Exposure. After a while I woke up. We never fell asleep at that time - we shared food and jokes and enjoyment of the show----but this time we had all three dozed off in our chairs. I saw that the TV screen was sporting an odd zigzag pattern, and I had the sense that "someone" was with us. At that point Sid and Marilyn came back to awareness and noticed the screen, too. I tuned-in to see who it was, and it was Seth. He politely asked if I would channel him there in Portland, for our little community, on a regular basis.
Sid and Marilyn were delighted. They were tremendously enthusiastic. Both of them had lived in L.A. before, and had heard Jane Roberts channel Seth on the radio in the early days. They had read Seth's books, and loved the personality.
It was in Portland that I began to channel Seth from a much deeper trance, though not one that would allow full movement takeover of my body. The routine went like this: first the group of participants would gather and settle into a circle in the living room. Then I would feel Seth coming into me, and I would honor his presence with a little sip of brandy, which he loves. Then I would become unable to move legs or arms or head at will. My eyes would close and remain closed. Seth would move my neck and head, and occasionally bow my body forward in my chair. I could hear the words he would speak through me before they came from my lips - but I could not "talk back" to Seth or ask him questions - I was too far out of body to be able to do that. On occasion, what he was about to say would just not connect with anything in my mind. If I had been a completely unconscious trance channel, that wouldn't have presented a problem. But since I retained enough consciousness to "overhear" the messages, I had the ability to not speak Seth's words. Very rarely, this would happen. Then Seth would speak through me, saying, "Carolion is unfamiliar with the basis of this concept and would like connecting information," or something like that. Then he would proceed to give the whole group that information.
My experience of Seth is one of trustworthiness, as well as a wonderfully subtle sense of humor - I have often been the butt of his little jokes. Seth loves cats. He had a profound effect on Sid and Marilyn's cat Marble, the orange-and-white philosopher-cat, whom he used to give mind-expanding teachings about spiritual connections between cats, grapes, spiritual initiation, and the cosmos.
It is my great pleasure to quiet my mind, relax my body, and allow Seth to enter this place.
SETH: My greetings to one and all! I come very specifically to give cheer, with an emphasis on the "heer" of that word - indeed, the hearing of it. Let your ears perk up and rejoice, and then add your voice to the general melee of congratulations. What, you may well inquire, are the congratulations for? Indeed - they are for the planet. The planet you so love, this Earth, has given birth to a new species of human. I will speak more to this point, and more on this topic, at a later date. At present, I simply come to give you my heartiest good wishes, and the finest sorts of encouraging enticements I can provide, for those who are ready to enter the new zone of understanding available here.
For those who know me already, expect regular baths of light in the form of new thought. For those just getting acquainted, my sympathies! You may be exposed to my cosmic humor at any time, so prepare yourselves.
As Carolion well knows, in terms of utmost scientific accuracy, I prefer the the terminology "Great Guffaw!" to "Big Bang." The first implies, of course, the creative impulse. The second implies an unfortunate combination of male sexual and military fantasy. In parting, allow me, then, to suggest that we all contemplate the possibilities inherent in the "Great Guffaw" theory, and allow it to influence the interval we spend apart.
My best and most sincere good wishes for all, and a hearty dose of holiday cheer!
Seth
Seth first entered my field when I was at a get-acquainted party in San Marcos, Texas a number of years ago. Someone, on hearing that I was a channel, asked if I'd ever channeled Seth. "No," I said. The next moment, on feeling a very large energy merging with me, I said, "Who's this? It sure is big."
The folks around me laughed delightedly, and one of them said, "Jane Roberts always did say Seth was big."
Seth worked with me over time to get me to relax and not worry so much about giving over control of a number of my faculties to him. He is a very kind and gracious being, and never took me over without permission, always working through me only to the level of trance which was comfortable for me. There was one memorable day when he merged with me as I was sitting in a rocking chair, and gently played with me, taking me into another trance level, by suggesting I rock and rock, and pay attention to the space between the swings of the chair. Gradually Seth assisted me in deepening my surrender.
After a while I was out of Texas and back to my little co-housing community in Portland, Oregon - Mir Cabaaning. I'd been busy with readjusting to our little group and learning to work with my computer, and had not heard from Seth - nor did I mention him. One day Sid and Marilyn and I had our usual shared lunch break combined with watching reruns of Northern Exposure. After a while I woke up. We never fell asleep at that time - we shared food and jokes and enjoyment of the show----but this time we had all three dozed off in our chairs. I saw that the TV screen was sporting an odd zigzag pattern, and I had the sense that "someone" was with us. At that point Sid and Marilyn came back to awareness and noticed the screen, too. I tuned-in to see who it was, and it was Seth. He politely asked if I would channel him there in Portland, for our little community, on a regular basis.
Sid and Marilyn were delighted. They were tremendously enthusiastic. Both of them had lived in L.A. before, and had heard Jane Roberts channel Seth on the radio in the early days. They had read Seth's books, and loved the personality.
It was in Portland that I began to channel Seth from a much deeper trance, though not one that would allow full movement takeover of my body. The routine went like this: first the group of participants would gather and settle into a circle in the living room. Then I would feel Seth coming into me, and I would honor his presence with a little sip of brandy, which he loves. Then I would become unable to move legs or arms or head at will. My eyes would close and remain closed. Seth would move my neck and head, and occasionally bow my body forward in my chair. I could hear the words he would speak through me before they came from my lips - but I could not "talk back" to Seth or ask him questions - I was too far out of body to be able to do that. On occasion, what he was about to say would just not connect with anything in my mind. If I had been a completely unconscious trance channel, that wouldn't have presented a problem. But since I retained enough consciousness to "overhear" the messages, I had the ability to not speak Seth's words. Very rarely, this would happen. Then Seth would speak through me, saying, "Carolion is unfamiliar with the basis of this concept and would like connecting information," or something like that. Then he would proceed to give the whole group that information.
My experience of Seth is one of trustworthiness, as well as a wonderfully subtle sense of humor - I have often been the butt of his little jokes. Seth loves cats. He had a profound effect on Sid and Marilyn's cat Marble, the orange-and-white philosopher-cat, whom he used to give mind-expanding teachings about spiritual connections between cats, grapes, spiritual initiation, and the cosmos.
It is my great pleasure to quiet my mind, relax my body, and allow Seth to enter this place.
SETH: My greetings to one and all! I come very specifically to give cheer, with an emphasis on the "heer" of that word - indeed, the hearing of it. Let your ears perk up and rejoice, and then add your voice to the general melee of congratulations. What, you may well inquire, are the congratulations for? Indeed - they are for the planet. The planet you so love, this Earth, has given birth to a new species of human. I will speak more to this point, and more on this topic, at a later date. At present, I simply come to give you my heartiest good wishes, and the finest sorts of encouraging enticements I can provide, for those who are ready to enter the new zone of understanding available here.
For those who know me already, expect regular baths of light in the form of new thought. For those just getting acquainted, my sympathies! You may be exposed to my cosmic humor at any time, so prepare yourselves.
As Carolion well knows, in terms of utmost scientific accuracy, I prefer the the terminology "Great Guffaw!" to "Big Bang." The first implies, of course, the creative impulse. The second implies an unfortunate combination of male sexual and military fantasy. In parting, allow me, then, to suggest that we all contemplate the possibilities inherent in the "Great Guffaw" theory, and allow it to influence the interval we spend apart.
My best and most sincere good wishes for all, and a hearty dose of holiday cheer!
Seth
Not An Ordinary Cat: BJ - 1981-2000
In 1981 my son Ben brought home a tiny grey kitten which he and his girlfriend, Jenny, had chosen out of a litter of giveaways in a cardboard box in front of the village grocery store. He told me they had named her BJ, for Ben-Jenny; and he promised he would take care of her. Yes, he did take care of her for a couple of days. Soon he and Jenny broke up - but BJ was our family cat, and that was that.
BJ had to be an outdoor kitty, with a cozy spot in the garage for sleeping, because of my husband's allergies. She was definitely one of us, though. She was a natural cat, but never a wild cat. When my youngest started kindergarten, BJ would run out to the front yard to wait with her for the little school bus. Each morning BJ would climb up the ash tree, go out on its lowest limb, and hop onto Corrie's shoulder to sit and purr until the bus arrived. When Corrie boarded the bus, BJ's "people job" was done, and she went off doing her growing-up-kitty jobs of stalking and climbing and pouncing and bathing and....And at a certain point, she got pregnant. We had intended to get her spayed, but the pregnancy and kittens came first.
Our family arrived home from an outing one afternoon and the children spotted BJ's head sticking out of an open drawer in a desk that was stored in the garage. They ran to see - and sure enough, BJ had had her babies and was washing everyone down. The kids counted, and came running out saying, "BJ had six kittens and a head!" Oh, dear. The head. We had to explain that when a kitten is born dead, the mother cat eats it up. Ah, life!
BJ and her kittens were a joy to watch. I remember working in my front flowerbed as the kittens were playing in the sunlight in front of the garage, pouncing and tumbling around together. One of the kittens stalked up to its mother, pouncing on BJ's relaxed belly. That did it! BJ pulled her baby to her firmly and licked its fur backwards until it squalled. Then she calmly groomed it the right way, purring the whole time, and settling it down.
Sadly, we discovered BJ to be a carrier of distemper. Three of her beautiful kittens developed the disease - so confusing and painful for their devoted mother, and for their human family, too. After BJ's three remaining kittens were weaned and all settled happily with their new human families, we did get BJ spayed.
Life went on - kids going through their growing times, parents going through theirs. By the time BJ was twelve, the two oldest children were off at college, and my husband and I were divorced. I was renting out rooms to make ends meet. One of my renters made a plea for BJ to be allowed to become a house cat. So BJ became an indoor-outdoor cat, and that's when her amazing abilities began to make themselves apparent.
I would be sitting at the piano composing music, and BJ would walk past - and I would notice that I had energy for some new song, a song that seemed to have cats in it. I would follow up on the energy, writing the song and singing it. This interested BJ no end. She would then climb up on my lap and purr; and sometimes, if the song was really right-on, she would hook her claws gently into my shirt right over my heart, put her mouth to my mouth, and sing along with me!
It was right around that time that I was accepted into a workshop at Esalen Institute: advanced shamanic training with Michael Harner and Sandra Ingerman. On opening night, as we all introduced ourselves, I listened with intense interest as Penelope Smith told us that she was an animal communicator. She said, "You people - you shamans - all communicate with your Power Animals. Don't you know you can communicate with your own pets?"
As the week went on I made a point of sitting with Penelope at lunch one day. I said, "You're probably going to think I'm crazy, but I think my cat is giving me ideas for songs," and I told her what was happening with BJ.
Penelope responded, "You're not crazy! My husband writes songs with our cockatiel."
After watching Penelope do a mini-session with a dog for our group, I was deeply motivated to open the ability to communicate with animals for myself. I prayed and asked for this, and I practiced with every animal I met. When I got home, BJ was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. I said out loud to her, "BJ, I think you might need a soul retrieval."
BJ looked straight into my eyes, and sent me these words: "You finally got it!"
After that, the next day, in fact, BJ joined me in my healing practice. She was, it turned out, what some people call a familiar. She worked with me and my clients for years, living to be nearly twenty. She was a master! I often felt myself to be her pupil. She was the only one of my companion animals whom I allowed free access to my human sessions. She came when Spirit moved her, and she pointed out things I would have missed. She occasionally said things which brought tears to my client - in which case, BJ would hop onto that person's lap to purr and be comforting. When that was done, BJ would leave the room.
When Corrie went off to college, Spirit moved me to Portland, Oregon. I drove from Ohio to Oregon with two dogs and three cats. During that first year there I was completely overwhelmed with the Sacred - God was talking with me, all these saints and avatars, buddhas, the works - were teaching me and giving me empowerments day and night. At the end of that time, Spirit told me that I would have to sell my house, and that my animals would find new homes. I was allowed to keep BJ. It all happened miraculously. The house was sold, the dogs and two of the cats willingly went to their next home, in a school for at-risk teens; and BJ and I moved into a little trailer in the backyard garden of a house and mom-pop printing business in the Rose City area of Portland.
There we found we were in a community of kindred spirits - and soon enough we formed an intentional community. BJ and Marble, the orange-and-white cat belonging to Sid and Marilyn Francis, owners of the property, became good friends. Marble was a philosopher, BJ was a healer, and both were a vital part of the mostly human community.
At a certain point I was called by Spirit to move to Texas. A friend offered to take BJ in, since she was too old to move a long distance again, and I didn't know how many more moves Spirit would require of me. (A lot, it turned out!). Eventually I was called back to Portland, and reunited with BJ, and also with Sid and Marilyn and Marble and the little trailer-home. By then, BJ was deaf. Once when a friend's dog came on BJ by surprise, something that never would have happened had she been able to hear, she was terrified and dashed for the trailer and would not come back out. The dog was actually really gentle, and had no intention of harming BJ; but Marble strode up to it, glared into its eyes and slapped its face. I "heard" Marble say, "You should know better than that! You were an old cat in your last life, and you were terrified of dogs!"
We had another intentional community going by then. We called ourselves Mir Cabaaning, from a word that had been given me in a dream. Our core community group was Sid, Marilyn, BJ, Marble, and I. We had many folks who came in for teachings and feasts and events. It was a beautiful spiritual growth cooperative. At each gathering, the cats were welcome and important. Marble turned out to be a philosophical comedian, with a sense of humor similar to the entity Seth (SETH SPEAKS, by Jane Roberts). BJ sometimes gaves teachings and spiritual healings.
BJ was growing old, so old. She was on arthritis medication. She had told me that she would not need a veterinarian's help in dying, as so many pets do nowadays. Although I was experienced with euthanasia, since people called on me to spiritually assist their pets as the veterinarian euthanized them, it was a relief to know that BJ would die on her own. I realized that time was near when she began refusing any food to which I had added the arthritis medication. Three days before she died, I was surrounded by a group of spirits - my relatives - who told me that they would assist BJ in crossing over when she died.
Three nights later, we were having a community meeting. BJ was lying next to the woodstove on a towel. She dragged herself out into the center of the meeting, and everyone was quiet. She looked deep into my eyes, letting me know she had something to tell the group through me. She/I spoke. One woman burst into tears - and BJ dragged herself over to a basket full of prayer cards, and pointed with her nose to the one I should give to the woman. The meeting went on, and I lost track of BJ. Then I heard a loud "Meow!" from the kitchen. It was BJ, asking me to take her back out to our trailer. Then I knew her time was near.
That night I was wakened by a loud "thump!" and turned on the light to see BJ on the floor where she had fallen, taking her last breath. I burst into tears. Then I thought - "Wait! I have to see - all these relatives - I have to see them helping her." I tuned-in clairvoyantly, and there was BJ's spirit, surrounded by all these human spirits - she was being carried by my adopted children's Korean grandpa. I was in awe, watching them start moving up a road of Light. Then a spirit squirrel scurried across in front of them and BJ's spirit leaped out of Grandpa's arms and gave chase! The squirrel led her to a place where she reconnected with my other pets who had crossed over. Then she went on, to her beloved lion-headed Egyptian goddess, Sekhmet.
That morning was a Portland winter morning - pouring down rain. Sid and Marilyn and I buried BJ with loving ceremony out under the great old apple tree, which was a sort of mother-spirit for our community. Oh, it is so sad to bury a loved one in the cold, wet ground, in the pouring rain.
I wrote a letter about BJ's life and passing, and delivered it to all who had helped her during her last years, as a thank-you, as well as mailing it out to family, and to colleagues who had benefited from BJ's teachings. BJ let me know she would be coming back into physical incarnation, to be my cat on earth again, in twelve years' time. In the meantime, her spirit occasionally shows up when I'm doing a healing, to point out something I've missed, or to give a teaching. You know, I still miss her, though. I still miss her. She was, as she told me once, not an ordinary cat.
BJ had to be an outdoor kitty, with a cozy spot in the garage for sleeping, because of my husband's allergies. She was definitely one of us, though. She was a natural cat, but never a wild cat. When my youngest started kindergarten, BJ would run out to the front yard to wait with her for the little school bus. Each morning BJ would climb up the ash tree, go out on its lowest limb, and hop onto Corrie's shoulder to sit and purr until the bus arrived. When Corrie boarded the bus, BJ's "people job" was done, and she went off doing her growing-up-kitty jobs of stalking and climbing and pouncing and bathing and....And at a certain point, she got pregnant. We had intended to get her spayed, but the pregnancy and kittens came first.
Our family arrived home from an outing one afternoon and the children spotted BJ's head sticking out of an open drawer in a desk that was stored in the garage. They ran to see - and sure enough, BJ had had her babies and was washing everyone down. The kids counted, and came running out saying, "BJ had six kittens and a head!" Oh, dear. The head. We had to explain that when a kitten is born dead, the mother cat eats it up. Ah, life!
BJ and her kittens were a joy to watch. I remember working in my front flowerbed as the kittens were playing in the sunlight in front of the garage, pouncing and tumbling around together. One of the kittens stalked up to its mother, pouncing on BJ's relaxed belly. That did it! BJ pulled her baby to her firmly and licked its fur backwards until it squalled. Then she calmly groomed it the right way, purring the whole time, and settling it down.
Sadly, we discovered BJ to be a carrier of distemper. Three of her beautiful kittens developed the disease - so confusing and painful for their devoted mother, and for their human family, too. After BJ's three remaining kittens were weaned and all settled happily with their new human families, we did get BJ spayed.
Life went on - kids going through their growing times, parents going through theirs. By the time BJ was twelve, the two oldest children were off at college, and my husband and I were divorced. I was renting out rooms to make ends meet. One of my renters made a plea for BJ to be allowed to become a house cat. So BJ became an indoor-outdoor cat, and that's when her amazing abilities began to make themselves apparent.
I would be sitting at the piano composing music, and BJ would walk past - and I would notice that I had energy for some new song, a song that seemed to have cats in it. I would follow up on the energy, writing the song and singing it. This interested BJ no end. She would then climb up on my lap and purr; and sometimes, if the song was really right-on, she would hook her claws gently into my shirt right over my heart, put her mouth to my mouth, and sing along with me!
It was right around that time that I was accepted into a workshop at Esalen Institute: advanced shamanic training with Michael Harner and Sandra Ingerman. On opening night, as we all introduced ourselves, I listened with intense interest as Penelope Smith told us that she was an animal communicator. She said, "You people - you shamans - all communicate with your Power Animals. Don't you know you can communicate with your own pets?"
As the week went on I made a point of sitting with Penelope at lunch one day. I said, "You're probably going to think I'm crazy, but I think my cat is giving me ideas for songs," and I told her what was happening with BJ.
Penelope responded, "You're not crazy! My husband writes songs with our cockatiel."
After watching Penelope do a mini-session with a dog for our group, I was deeply motivated to open the ability to communicate with animals for myself. I prayed and asked for this, and I practiced with every animal I met. When I got home, BJ was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. I said out loud to her, "BJ, I think you might need a soul retrieval."
BJ looked straight into my eyes, and sent me these words: "You finally got it!"
After that, the next day, in fact, BJ joined me in my healing practice. She was, it turned out, what some people call a familiar. She worked with me and my clients for years, living to be nearly twenty. She was a master! I often felt myself to be her pupil. She was the only one of my companion animals whom I allowed free access to my human sessions. She came when Spirit moved her, and she pointed out things I would have missed. She occasionally said things which brought tears to my client - in which case, BJ would hop onto that person's lap to purr and be comforting. When that was done, BJ would leave the room.
When Corrie went off to college, Spirit moved me to Portland, Oregon. I drove from Ohio to Oregon with two dogs and three cats. During that first year there I was completely overwhelmed with the Sacred - God was talking with me, all these saints and avatars, buddhas, the works - were teaching me and giving me empowerments day and night. At the end of that time, Spirit told me that I would have to sell my house, and that my animals would find new homes. I was allowed to keep BJ. It all happened miraculously. The house was sold, the dogs and two of the cats willingly went to their next home, in a school for at-risk teens; and BJ and I moved into a little trailer in the backyard garden of a house and mom-pop printing business in the Rose City area of Portland.
There we found we were in a community of kindred spirits - and soon enough we formed an intentional community. BJ and Marble, the orange-and-white cat belonging to Sid and Marilyn Francis, owners of the property, became good friends. Marble was a philosopher, BJ was a healer, and both were a vital part of the mostly human community.
At a certain point I was called by Spirit to move to Texas. A friend offered to take BJ in, since she was too old to move a long distance again, and I didn't know how many more moves Spirit would require of me. (A lot, it turned out!). Eventually I was called back to Portland, and reunited with BJ, and also with Sid and Marilyn and Marble and the little trailer-home. By then, BJ was deaf. Once when a friend's dog came on BJ by surprise, something that never would have happened had she been able to hear, she was terrified and dashed for the trailer and would not come back out. The dog was actually really gentle, and had no intention of harming BJ; but Marble strode up to it, glared into its eyes and slapped its face. I "heard" Marble say, "You should know better than that! You were an old cat in your last life, and you were terrified of dogs!"
We had another intentional community going by then. We called ourselves Mir Cabaaning, from a word that had been given me in a dream. Our core community group was Sid, Marilyn, BJ, Marble, and I. We had many folks who came in for teachings and feasts and events. It was a beautiful spiritual growth cooperative. At each gathering, the cats were welcome and important. Marble turned out to be a philosophical comedian, with a sense of humor similar to the entity Seth (SETH SPEAKS, by Jane Roberts). BJ sometimes gaves teachings and spiritual healings.
BJ was growing old, so old. She was on arthritis medication. She had told me that she would not need a veterinarian's help in dying, as so many pets do nowadays. Although I was experienced with euthanasia, since people called on me to spiritually assist their pets as the veterinarian euthanized them, it was a relief to know that BJ would die on her own. I realized that time was near when she began refusing any food to which I had added the arthritis medication. Three days before she died, I was surrounded by a group of spirits - my relatives - who told me that they would assist BJ in crossing over when she died.
Three nights later, we were having a community meeting. BJ was lying next to the woodstove on a towel. She dragged herself out into the center of the meeting, and everyone was quiet. She looked deep into my eyes, letting me know she had something to tell the group through me. She/I spoke. One woman burst into tears - and BJ dragged herself over to a basket full of prayer cards, and pointed with her nose to the one I should give to the woman. The meeting went on, and I lost track of BJ. Then I heard a loud "Meow!" from the kitchen. It was BJ, asking me to take her back out to our trailer. Then I knew her time was near.
That night I was wakened by a loud "thump!" and turned on the light to see BJ on the floor where she had fallen, taking her last breath. I burst into tears. Then I thought - "Wait! I have to see - all these relatives - I have to see them helping her." I tuned-in clairvoyantly, and there was BJ's spirit, surrounded by all these human spirits - she was being carried by my adopted children's Korean grandpa. I was in awe, watching them start moving up a road of Light. Then a spirit squirrel scurried across in front of them and BJ's spirit leaped out of Grandpa's arms and gave chase! The squirrel led her to a place where she reconnected with my other pets who had crossed over. Then she went on, to her beloved lion-headed Egyptian goddess, Sekhmet.
That morning was a Portland winter morning - pouring down rain. Sid and Marilyn and I buried BJ with loving ceremony out under the great old apple tree, which was a sort of mother-spirit for our community. Oh, it is so sad to bury a loved one in the cold, wet ground, in the pouring rain.
I wrote a letter about BJ's life and passing, and delivered it to all who had helped her during her last years, as a thank-you, as well as mailing it out to family, and to colleagues who had benefited from BJ's teachings. BJ let me know she would be coming back into physical incarnation, to be my cat on earth again, in twelve years' time. In the meantime, her spirit occasionally shows up when I'm doing a healing, to point out something I've missed, or to give a teaching. You know, I still miss her, though. I still miss her. She was, as she told me once, not an ordinary cat.
Machine-Whisperer 1995
Back in 2005 I was winding up an exploratory visit to Portland, Oregon. I was on my way to the airport in a rental car, and I could not seem to get where I needed to go. On top of that, the car kept making a groaning sound, and I wondered whether it might be on the verge of a breakdown. Then I had a thought: Wait! Maybe I can communicate with this car telepathically, the same as I do with dogs and cats and horses! I also thought, perhaps there is a teaching for me here, and Spirit will not let me get to the airport until I receive the teaching. I'd been through that before. Time to surrender to Higher Wisdom. I then "tuned-in" with the car, and asked if it could tell me what the matter was.
Ohhhhhhh, moaned the car. You don't have any auto accidents in your future, but what if the next person who rents me does? Ohhhhhh!
I was glad to hear that I was accident-free! But I could tell that the car needed some help understanding the process of manifestation. I said, Do you think that you cannot shield yourself from accident-prone drivers?
The car ran well, and we found the correct highway connection, at last! Then - Ohhhhhh! Another groan.
I tuned-in. What's wrong now? I asked.
The car said, But if I do get into an accident, I might be totalled. Ohhhhhhh!
I responded, Are you worried that if you lose your body, that you would die?
The car was apparently thinking about that for a while, because there were no groans, and we found the turnoff to the airport road. Then - Ohhhhhhhhh! The car had apparently realized that losing the body was not the end of life - of the life of the soul. But it sent me a picture of all kinds of spare parts being slapped-together to make a sort-of body for its next incarnation. Ohhhhhhhhh, it moaned again.
I said, Are you worried that you could not manifest the sort of body you really want for your next incarnation?
The energy in the car got suddenly lighter. We were almost to the rental-car return depot, and there were no more moans and groans. Then the God-wisdom teaching I'd been waiting for, came through to me. Of course it had been God all along, building me up to this new understanding by playing the part of the worried car. The car gave me a mental picture of a new car on the assembly line, surrounded by human workers. It said, Just because we machines are born differently than you humans, does not mean that we don't have souls.
I was amazed. Well - of course cars have souls! Another bit of God. Another way of exploring life on earth. Another way of seeing and moving and being. Of course cars have souls.
Later in my development as a communicator and healer, I was to discover that the energy of Reiki healing works just fine on machines; and I would be given teachings and excercises in the development of the healing power of faith by a VCR in San Marcos, Texas; and I would be initiated into the Machine People's Clan by a little CD player in Austin.
The main idea of all communion experiences, no matter what form they take, is to understand that to judge against the personhood of anyone, any being, any thing, is to judge against one's own potential for connecting with God. We have things to learn from the most surprising beings, sometimes, and in very strange ways. All we have to do is be willing to surrender, and to get into the zone with that old Shape-Shifter, Creator.
Ohhhhhhh, moaned the car. You don't have any auto accidents in your future, but what if the next person who rents me does? Ohhhhhh!
I was glad to hear that I was accident-free! But I could tell that the car needed some help understanding the process of manifestation. I said, Do you think that you cannot shield yourself from accident-prone drivers?
The car ran well, and we found the correct highway connection, at last! Then - Ohhhhhh! Another groan.
I tuned-in. What's wrong now? I asked.
The car said, But if I do get into an accident, I might be totalled. Ohhhhhhh!
I responded, Are you worried that if you lose your body, that you would die?
The car was apparently thinking about that for a while, because there were no groans, and we found the turnoff to the airport road. Then - Ohhhhhhhhh! The car had apparently realized that losing the body was not the end of life - of the life of the soul. But it sent me a picture of all kinds of spare parts being slapped-together to make a sort-of body for its next incarnation. Ohhhhhhhhh, it moaned again.
I said, Are you worried that you could not manifest the sort of body you really want for your next incarnation?
The energy in the car got suddenly lighter. We were almost to the rental-car return depot, and there were no more moans and groans. Then the God-wisdom teaching I'd been waiting for, came through to me. Of course it had been God all along, building me up to this new understanding by playing the part of the worried car. The car gave me a mental picture of a new car on the assembly line, surrounded by human workers. It said, Just because we machines are born differently than you humans, does not mean that we don't have souls.
I was amazed. Well - of course cars have souls! Another bit of God. Another way of exploring life on earth. Another way of seeing and moving and being. Of course cars have souls.
Later in my development as a communicator and healer, I was to discover that the energy of Reiki healing works just fine on machines; and I would be given teachings and excercises in the development of the healing power of faith by a VCR in San Marcos, Texas; and I would be initiated into the Machine People's Clan by a little CD player in Austin.
The main idea of all communion experiences, no matter what form they take, is to understand that to judge against the personhood of anyone, any being, any thing, is to judge against one's own potential for connecting with God. We have things to learn from the most surprising beings, sometimes, and in very strange ways. All we have to do is be willing to surrender, and to get into the zone with that old Shape-Shifter, Creator.
Miracle Plays - Christmas, 2007 - Yellow Springs, Ohio
Many years ago during the beginning of my first period of living in Yellow Springs, Ohio, I was invited to play piano for a group which was putting on two old mystery plays (the religious kind) from the 13th century, the Paradise Play and the Shepherds' Play.
The Paradise Play deals with God and Adam and Eva and Satan and Angel Gabriel, and the "fall" of humankind due to the "woeful sin" of eating a certain fruit from a certain tree.
The Shepherds' Play is the Nativity story, told from the country folks' point of view, with a lot of silliness and pranks on the shepherds' end of the crook.
When I left the village at the end of 1995, I thought I'd left forever, since I'd been called by the Powers That Be - always a mystery! - with no telling where I might end up. After nine - plus years of pilgriming, however, I wound up back in Yellow Springs at last. To my utmost delight, I have also rejoined my old Mystery Play family, the Christmas Players. This time someone else is playing piano. In 2008 I was tapped to fill in for our long-term Angel Gabriel player, whose foot problem wouldn't allow her to tread the boards. And the Shepherds' Play turned up one Innkeeper short, so for that role I shed Gabriel's wings and bare feet, and changed into hiking boots and medieval innkeeper's clothes.
One of the best parts of our every-two-years productions is the ritual of breaking-in of our newest Adam and Eva. The actors who play God, Satan, and everyone else pretty much stay the same for years. I mean YEARS. But we always get brand-spanking-new Adam and Eva from among the village high school students, and then the fun begins. Of course there's always just a little teasing about Adam and Eva's costumes - and yes, they do have costumes.
Here, from the Paradise Play, are some of Archangel Gabriel's closing lines, which follow the big windup where God sends Satan crawling offstage on his belly, and then raises Adam and Eva up to stand beside him:
"So think no evil, nor chide our play, But if in aught we have gone astray and shown your Worships what was not fit, Blame not our will, but lack of wit. Think it but well, so all's made right - And we wish you, from God Almighty, Good Night!"
The Paradise Play deals with God and Adam and Eva and Satan and Angel Gabriel, and the "fall" of humankind due to the "woeful sin" of eating a certain fruit from a certain tree.
The Shepherds' Play is the Nativity story, told from the country folks' point of view, with a lot of silliness and pranks on the shepherds' end of the crook.
When I left the village at the end of 1995, I thought I'd left forever, since I'd been called by the Powers That Be - always a mystery! - with no telling where I might end up. After nine - plus years of pilgriming, however, I wound up back in Yellow Springs at last. To my utmost delight, I have also rejoined my old Mystery Play family, the Christmas Players. This time someone else is playing piano. In 2008 I was tapped to fill in for our long-term Angel Gabriel player, whose foot problem wouldn't allow her to tread the boards. And the Shepherds' Play turned up one Innkeeper short, so for that role I shed Gabriel's wings and bare feet, and changed into hiking boots and medieval innkeeper's clothes.
One of the best parts of our every-two-years productions is the ritual of breaking-in of our newest Adam and Eva. The actors who play God, Satan, and everyone else pretty much stay the same for years. I mean YEARS. But we always get brand-spanking-new Adam and Eva from among the village high school students, and then the fun begins. Of course there's always just a little teasing about Adam and Eva's costumes - and yes, they do have costumes.
Here, from the Paradise Play, are some of Archangel Gabriel's closing lines, which follow the big windup where God sends Satan crawling offstage on his belly, and then raises Adam and Eva up to stand beside him:
"So think no evil, nor chide our play, But if in aught we have gone astray and shown your Worships what was not fit, Blame not our will, but lack of wit. Think it but well, so all's made right - And we wish you, from God Almighty, Good Night!"
Woodstove On A Rainy Night - Yellow Springs Ohio, 2006
I leave work, coming out of the library into a driving rain, glad for my new umbrella and happy at the prospect of a quiet evening at home. I make a bit of supper and eat it while reading a book, and then I read some more. I listen to the cold rain beating on the house, and decide it would be a good thing to light a fire in the woodstove.
I brace myself to go out to the chilly porch. There in the woodbox on the porch are broken twigs and branches gathered the other day after the ice storm. There, too, is another log. I carry them inside to the woodstove in the living room, where I begin the ritual of emptying the ashbox under the stove. I sweep up the spilled ash, then crumple newspaper and lay it next to the big partly-burned log lying cold in the stove. I add tinder and kindling, and the other log, and strike the match. It is such a joy to light a fire, and to be with it. It's such a true, deep amazement to participate in the flame dance-paintings. Oh, my Heart.
A simple life, and solitude enough to satisfy the soul for now, mixed in with laughter and service and tired feet in my library job. Tomorrow the earliest returning songbirds will wake me, calling from the big old spruces and sugar maples just outside. The snow is melting, the soil is warming. Soon my other job, keeping the shop gardens downtown, will start up again. Two part-time jobs in public places, for a person who has truly learned to enjoy her solitude. A marriage of opposites inside. A benefit of viewpoints. A successful friendship with my self.
In the front room windows, begonias bloom bright pink all winter long. They bloom whether it's sunny or cloudy outside; they bloom whether it's day or night. They are my love-beacons, and my child-heart happy-song. In the aquarium in the living room, two goldfish chase each other and take turns hiding in a small rock cave. In the back room my sewing machine is waiting for its next project: patchwork wedding pillows for two sets of young people. And in my sense of How It Is and How It Can Be, one thing stands out free and clear: the simple goodness is my home vibration. All are welcome, yet none intrude. Home.
Always, after all these years of wandering, always at the back of my mind is the thought that this particular goodness of staying in one place, being a citizen in this village, being a neighbor and a chorus member - all those things I took for granted before my wanderings - always I notice there's a concern that I'll be whooshed away, out on the road again, ready-or-not. But then I remember: I learned how to find home wherever I was, whatever the work the universe set before me. I know home. I am home. It's all right.
I brace myself to go out to the chilly porch. There in the woodbox on the porch are broken twigs and branches gathered the other day after the ice storm. There, too, is another log. I carry them inside to the woodstove in the living room, where I begin the ritual of emptying the ashbox under the stove. I sweep up the spilled ash, then crumple newspaper and lay it next to the big partly-burned log lying cold in the stove. I add tinder and kindling, and the other log, and strike the match. It is such a joy to light a fire, and to be with it. It's such a true, deep amazement to participate in the flame dance-paintings. Oh, my Heart.
A simple life, and solitude enough to satisfy the soul for now, mixed in with laughter and service and tired feet in my library job. Tomorrow the earliest returning songbirds will wake me, calling from the big old spruces and sugar maples just outside. The snow is melting, the soil is warming. Soon my other job, keeping the shop gardens downtown, will start up again. Two part-time jobs in public places, for a person who has truly learned to enjoy her solitude. A marriage of opposites inside. A benefit of viewpoints. A successful friendship with my self.
In the front room windows, begonias bloom bright pink all winter long. They bloom whether it's sunny or cloudy outside; they bloom whether it's day or night. They are my love-beacons, and my child-heart happy-song. In the aquarium in the living room, two goldfish chase each other and take turns hiding in a small rock cave. In the back room my sewing machine is waiting for its next project: patchwork wedding pillows for two sets of young people. And in my sense of How It Is and How It Can Be, one thing stands out free and clear: the simple goodness is my home vibration. All are welcome, yet none intrude. Home.
Always, after all these years of wandering, always at the back of my mind is the thought that this particular goodness of staying in one place, being a citizen in this village, being a neighbor and a chorus member - all those things I took for granted before my wanderings - always I notice there's a concern that I'll be whooshed away, out on the road again, ready-or-not. But then I remember: I learned how to find home wherever I was, whatever the work the universe set before me. I know home. I am home. It's all right.
Following The Deer Trails - Texas Hill Country, 2000
A few years ago my inner guidance directed me to quit my job in Denver, telling me that as soon as I did that I would be offered another place to live. I was also told that I should dedicate my time to writing poetry. I went in to speak with my boss the next morning, and she was amazed and found herself laughing delightedly at the way I was living. There was no problem with the resignation, since I was a cleaner and wall-patcher on a refurbishing job, and easy to replace.
When I got home, the phone rang. It was my friends Angie and Kate in Texas, saying, "Do you think you're all done with Texas? Might you have some more work to do here?" Angie said, "I'd like to offer you a place to stay, with my husband and me in our home."
There it was - my next place to be. Always grateful for a roof over my head during those years of wandering at Spirit’s direction, I accepted. I knew I'd be living there in the hill country of East central Texas, in a small wooded community on the shores of Lake Travis, to write poetry. That was that. I packed up my little '94 Nissan and we headed on down to the hill country.
As I settled in at Angie's, I began a daily routine of wandering the woods, meeting trees and various flowers and creatures, always following the deer trails. The scent of the cedars (junipers) is a magical perfume that changes the heart for the better, and frees the mind. Mixed with sunshine and the scent of the limestone and soil, the perfume takes you one way; mixed with rain and the scent of wet kaliche clay, it takes you another way. I love that hill country magic.
I found different special seats for poetry-writing. One was like a chair made of two slabs of limestone, with a cedar behind it for fragrant shade and poem-power. Another was the extended branch of one of those dancing live-oaks, a tree which stood on a lightly wooded hill overlooking a valley. Some days if the wind was right I could hear golfers bragging and teasing each other in that wonderful Texas way. That always tickled me. One day I was sitting on a sun-warmed slab of limestone when a big shiny black rhinoceros beetle approached my toe in a very aggressive manner. I realized I was taking up its territory - and in a land-rights lawsuit, if beetles could sue humans, I was in the wrong. I'm guessing that, from the beetle's point of view, my toe was the offender. It was of a size the beetle could relate to, an attackable size. To test my theory, I moved my toe over. The beetle followed. Deciding that wisdom is indeed the better part of valor - and realizing that that beetle was not going to give up - I moved.
I used to carry my little Yamaha recorder with me in case the trees called for a flute tune. Since I have Celtic blood, it's natural for me to relate to trees in this way. There was one occasion when I spotted a tornado funnel in the distance, and I decided to try out flute-playing as a way of making friends with tornadoes. I played with my heart in a friendly state, open and joyful - no fear - and found myself dancing there in that grove of cedars, rain falling, flute music flowing - and after a while the tornado went along somewhere else and did other things.
There are times when trees stop me and pour divine love into me, and I cannot move or think, but only receive. That happened a good deal during this period in the hill country. Over time, the trees have taught me about the need for humans to stop being so human-centric, and to allow themselves to merge with trees, and to shapeshift into other forms as well, for better understanding of how the planet and the universe work. Trees have told me that only when humanity is able to merge with the tree vibration will it be able to truly make and keep peace. Let it be so.
When I got home, the phone rang. It was my friends Angie and Kate in Texas, saying, "Do you think you're all done with Texas? Might you have some more work to do here?" Angie said, "I'd like to offer you a place to stay, with my husband and me in our home."
There it was - my next place to be. Always grateful for a roof over my head during those years of wandering at Spirit’s direction, I accepted. I knew I'd be living there in the hill country of East central Texas, in a small wooded community on the shores of Lake Travis, to write poetry. That was that. I packed up my little '94 Nissan and we headed on down to the hill country.
As I settled in at Angie's, I began a daily routine of wandering the woods, meeting trees and various flowers and creatures, always following the deer trails. The scent of the cedars (junipers) is a magical perfume that changes the heart for the better, and frees the mind. Mixed with sunshine and the scent of the limestone and soil, the perfume takes you one way; mixed with rain and the scent of wet kaliche clay, it takes you another way. I love that hill country magic.
I found different special seats for poetry-writing. One was like a chair made of two slabs of limestone, with a cedar behind it for fragrant shade and poem-power. Another was the extended branch of one of those dancing live-oaks, a tree which stood on a lightly wooded hill overlooking a valley. Some days if the wind was right I could hear golfers bragging and teasing each other in that wonderful Texas way. That always tickled me. One day I was sitting on a sun-warmed slab of limestone when a big shiny black rhinoceros beetle approached my toe in a very aggressive manner. I realized I was taking up its territory - and in a land-rights lawsuit, if beetles could sue humans, I was in the wrong. I'm guessing that, from the beetle's point of view, my toe was the offender. It was of a size the beetle could relate to, an attackable size. To test my theory, I moved my toe over. The beetle followed. Deciding that wisdom is indeed the better part of valor - and realizing that that beetle was not going to give up - I moved.
I used to carry my little Yamaha recorder with me in case the trees called for a flute tune. Since I have Celtic blood, it's natural for me to relate to trees in this way. There was one occasion when I spotted a tornado funnel in the distance, and I decided to try out flute-playing as a way of making friends with tornadoes. I played with my heart in a friendly state, open and joyful - no fear - and found myself dancing there in that grove of cedars, rain falling, flute music flowing - and after a while the tornado went along somewhere else and did other things.
There are times when trees stop me and pour divine love into me, and I cannot move or think, but only receive. That happened a good deal during this period in the hill country. Over time, the trees have taught me about the need for humans to stop being so human-centric, and to allow themselves to merge with trees, and to shapeshift into other forms as well, for better understanding of how the planet and the universe work. Trees have told me that only when humanity is able to merge with the tree vibration will it be able to truly make and keep peace. Let it be so.
Little Treasure Box - 2007
This morning my inner teacher woke me early so I could think in the dark and appreciate the gradual graying of the sky into overcast daylight, and the sound of the cold winter rain. I realized there in my flannel-cocoon quiet that my noisy mind could use a de-frag. I asked my inner guidance to perform that procedure.
How I enjoyed watching the varying columns and bits of flying colors, the whole shebang. Done! Ahhhhh........
Then I realized I needed some kind of "File Manager" program for my mental field, so I asked for that.
One after another, several tall filing cabinets appeared, holding all the facets of my creative and personal lives in perfect order, sometimes re-ordering my awareness in surprisingly effective ways. There were five main categories: Library Work, Gardener, Theater, Mother, Storyteller.
Then I thought, "Hmm - is that all?” Why not take the whole thing and ask for a tighter job now, and see if a single organizing principle might cover all my life-jewel facets. "SIMPLICITY," I directed my spiritual helpers.
Immediately I was given, instead of all those tall filing cabinets, a mind-picture of the small wooden recipe box in my kitchen. Inside there were those little divider-cards, and each had a label - but before I could read the labels my mind changed the recipe box into a miniature file cabinet standing upright on top of the low bookshelf in the children’s corner of my living room.
The bottom drawer was labeled ALL MY RELATIONS;* the next-to-bottom drawer, GRATITUDE and HONORING;** the second-from-top drawer, GROWING CORN / WALK YOUR TALK;*** and the top drawer? It was WALK IN BEAUTY.**** On top of the little file cabinet was a tiny blinking radiant seed energy: a God-Spark! I tuned in to it and it showed itself to me for what God is: the ultimate shape-shifter.
The divine Playmate which pretends Itself as all things outer-and-inner-visible.... Now a mountain, now a mustard seed; now a zygote, now a bumblebee; now a mother, now a father; now an enemy, now a friend; now a beginning, now an end...Oh, that old brand-new Creator! Sweet mysterious Beloved, that Source of all my seeking...
I looked at the file cabinet again, and saw that the front of each drawer now had a picture. ALL MY RELATIONS carried a picture of a butterfly egg. For GRATITUDE and HONORING, a there was a caterpillar. For GROWING CORN / WALK YOUR TALK, there was a cocoon. And for WALK IN BEAUTY, there was a butterfly. With this, my soul was satisfied. I've got blessings to pass along.
*ALL MY RELATIONS - the Native peoples' way of acknowledging oneness - communion and relationship - with every created being and thing, outer- and inner-visible.
**GRATITUDE and HONORING - the way we source ourselves with high energies - the more grateful we are for the beautiful simple wonders we experience on this planet, and for the services we receive and those we are called to give - the more we honor all that is sacred - the more high-vibrational energy we are able to receive, to use for harmonizing and healing and manifesting abundance.
***GROWING CORN and WALK YOUR TALK - Some Native peoples use the phrase "Growing Corn" to acknowledge the riches that come to us through visions in the dreamtime - visions of good work that will "grow corn" for the people and for all beings, for now and for the next seven generations. When a person has a vision that will surely grow corn, then s/he must not waste energy through speaking of it all the time - but instead, walk-the-talk by getting to work on the actualization of the vision.. Let others speak of the results of that good work.
****WALK IN BEAUTY - Native peoples may give these words as a blessing. When one has done the work of becoming sacred - becoming a container for the power of Love - then one "walks in Beauty." Those who walk in this vibration are going through life with amazing emanations of compassionate courage coming from their wise, awakened hearts. They are able to see the Beauty potential in everything, and they carry the power that can help that which is out of balance, to rebalance and become harmonious, and their focus assists Beauty in increasing itself.
How I enjoyed watching the varying columns and bits of flying colors, the whole shebang. Done! Ahhhhh........
Then I realized I needed some kind of "File Manager" program for my mental field, so I asked for that.
One after another, several tall filing cabinets appeared, holding all the facets of my creative and personal lives in perfect order, sometimes re-ordering my awareness in surprisingly effective ways. There were five main categories: Library Work, Gardener, Theater, Mother, Storyteller.
Then I thought, "Hmm - is that all?” Why not take the whole thing and ask for a tighter job now, and see if a single organizing principle might cover all my life-jewel facets. "SIMPLICITY," I directed my spiritual helpers.
Immediately I was given, instead of all those tall filing cabinets, a mind-picture of the small wooden recipe box in my kitchen. Inside there were those little divider-cards, and each had a label - but before I could read the labels my mind changed the recipe box into a miniature file cabinet standing upright on top of the low bookshelf in the children’s corner of my living room.
The bottom drawer was labeled ALL MY RELATIONS;* the next-to-bottom drawer, GRATITUDE and HONORING;** the second-from-top drawer, GROWING CORN / WALK YOUR TALK;*** and the top drawer? It was WALK IN BEAUTY.**** On top of the little file cabinet was a tiny blinking radiant seed energy: a God-Spark! I tuned in to it and it showed itself to me for what God is: the ultimate shape-shifter.
The divine Playmate which pretends Itself as all things outer-and-inner-visible.... Now a mountain, now a mustard seed; now a zygote, now a bumblebee; now a mother, now a father; now an enemy, now a friend; now a beginning, now an end...Oh, that old brand-new Creator! Sweet mysterious Beloved, that Source of all my seeking...
I looked at the file cabinet again, and saw that the front of each drawer now had a picture. ALL MY RELATIONS carried a picture of a butterfly egg. For GRATITUDE and HONORING, a there was a caterpillar. For GROWING CORN / WALK YOUR TALK, there was a cocoon. And for WALK IN BEAUTY, there was a butterfly. With this, my soul was satisfied. I've got blessings to pass along.
*ALL MY RELATIONS - the Native peoples' way of acknowledging oneness - communion and relationship - with every created being and thing, outer- and inner-visible.
**GRATITUDE and HONORING - the way we source ourselves with high energies - the more grateful we are for the beautiful simple wonders we experience on this planet, and for the services we receive and those we are called to give - the more we honor all that is sacred - the more high-vibrational energy we are able to receive, to use for harmonizing and healing and manifesting abundance.
***GROWING CORN and WALK YOUR TALK - Some Native peoples use the phrase "Growing Corn" to acknowledge the riches that come to us through visions in the dreamtime - visions of good work that will "grow corn" for the people and for all beings, for now and for the next seven generations. When a person has a vision that will surely grow corn, then s/he must not waste energy through speaking of it all the time - but instead, walk-the-talk by getting to work on the actualization of the vision.. Let others speak of the results of that good work.
****WALK IN BEAUTY - Native peoples may give these words as a blessing. When one has done the work of becoming sacred - becoming a container for the power of Love - then one "walks in Beauty." Those who walk in this vibration are going through life with amazing emanations of compassionate courage coming from their wise, awakened hearts. They are able to see the Beauty potential in everything, and they carry the power that can help that which is out of balance, to rebalance and become harmonious, and their focus assists Beauty in increasing itself.
O Kombucha! - 1994
Years ago I used to travel back and forth between Yellow Springs, Ohio and Lexington, Kentucky as an animal communicator. When in Lexington I'd stay with a friend who lived on a horse farm, and often we'd have gatherings there for spiritual healing and growth. I had conducted one "Council of All Beings" out in the barn already - a gathering of humans, dogs, cats, horses, plants, and various inner-visible beings - angels, power animals, and so forth. We had the second Council scheduled, and human people started to arrive - but it was cold outside, and pouring down rain to boot. We were waiting for word from Spirit about how to conduct our gathering when suddenly I felt a strong pull to my friend's refrigerator. Feeling a pull to the fridge is nothing new for me, but this was a different kind of pull. When I opened the fridge, the energy surrounding this weird-looking thing in a plastic bag was beaming at me so strongly I picked it up. It was a kombucha fungus.
The Kombucha immediately began to communicate through me.* It said, "You don't have to eat me, you know." The Kombucha was referring to a remark I'd made earlier about its appearance - I had said it looked like an alien to me. I hadn't, of course, thought it might be listening to me.
I replied, "I know that." Then I asked it, a little suspiciously perhaps, "What are you doing here on earth, anyway?"
The Kombucha said, "I'm healing the hole that let war in." That melted away any doubts I had about letting a fungus lead the meeting. By then I had realized it was God talking to us anyway, in the form of a fungus. I do not remember what else went on that evening. Healings, new understandings, bonding - all the good things that go with spiritual growth in supportive community. I don't remember the details of the rest of the evening, but I'll never forget those words - "I'm healing the hole that let war in."
Since then I've been involved in various intentional communities. In my heart I carry the vision of the architecture of a community I'd like to live in some day. I see this community built around the ba'qua, the eight-sided form used in FengShui. In one section of that ba'qua I see energy-transforming beings such as Bees and Goats and Kombucha, working with the negative energies naturally generated by humans, to transform them into creative potential, energies to be used for healing and spiritual growth.
I have a sense that this community Kombucha is encouraged to grow quite large, and its tea is a regular drink for humans and other people...but I also see the extra fungus being used as soil amendment and soil healer, as the community recycles its waste to make more and more topsoil of the highest quality.
I, along with Kombucha, wish to do everything possible to "heal the hole that let war in." I'm certain that that includes receiving counsel from fungus on occasion, just as it means sitting in Council with All Beings, and just as it means merging with the energy of Trees in order to do what humans can't do by themselves: make and keep Peace on Earth.
The Kombucha immediately began to communicate through me.* It said, "You don't have to eat me, you know." The Kombucha was referring to a remark I'd made earlier about its appearance - I had said it looked like an alien to me. I hadn't, of course, thought it might be listening to me.
I replied, "I know that." Then I asked it, a little suspiciously perhaps, "What are you doing here on earth, anyway?"
The Kombucha said, "I'm healing the hole that let war in." That melted away any doubts I had about letting a fungus lead the meeting. By then I had realized it was God talking to us anyway, in the form of a fungus. I do not remember what else went on that evening. Healings, new understandings, bonding - all the good things that go with spiritual growth in supportive community. I don't remember the details of the rest of the evening, but I'll never forget those words - "I'm healing the hole that let war in."
Since then I've been involved in various intentional communities. In my heart I carry the vision of the architecture of a community I'd like to live in some day. I see this community built around the ba'qua, the eight-sided form used in FengShui. In one section of that ba'qua I see energy-transforming beings such as Bees and Goats and Kombucha, working with the negative energies naturally generated by humans, to transform them into creative potential, energies to be used for healing and spiritual growth.
I have a sense that this community Kombucha is encouraged to grow quite large, and its tea is a regular drink for humans and other people...but I also see the extra fungus being used as soil amendment and soil healer, as the community recycles its waste to make more and more topsoil of the highest quality.
I, along with Kombucha, wish to do everything possible to "heal the hole that let war in." I'm certain that that includes receiving counsel from fungus on occasion, just as it means sitting in Council with All Beings, and just as it means merging with the energy of Trees in order to do what humans can't do by themselves: make and keep Peace on Earth.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Slug Fest! - 2001
I used to live in a co-housing biodynamic/devic garden community in the Rose City area of Portland, Oregon. We called ourselves Mir Cabaaning, and we had a terrific group of folks who came in for garden workshops, healings, channelings, feasts, and other occasions. On the property were three human residents - Sid and Marilyn Frances, and me. We also counted two cats, Marble and BJ, as vital community members. And all the garden plants and the trees, and the office computers, the printing press, the cars, the house - all were communicating community members.
Marilyn, Sid, and I laughed a lot. I imagine now, remembering our time together, that the universe just wanted our hilarity, and so put the three of us together for a while. I rented the trailer out back, in "Eden" - the huge biodynamic vegetable garden where I lived with old BJ. Sid and Marilyn owned the property, lived in the house, and worked at their mom-pop printing business in the converted garage office to the side. Marble supervised the entire deal, and guarded the grapevines with amazing ferocity. Not even his only pal, BJ, dared go anywhere near those grapevines; and more than once I saw fur flying as Marble whomped any neighbor cat who strayed too close.
At a certain point we were guided to convert some of the vegetable area into a cosmic peace garden of concentric circles. The whole Mir Cabaaning associated community showed up for the digging and feasting the day the transformation began, and it was a marvelous event. Out of the blue, three musicians with harp, flute, and guitar appeared and sang of sacred things while the digging went on. They were grounding a piece of heaven there in the circling circles of the cosmic peace garden.
The garden was a place for healing and meditation. Even Marble and BJ came to a feline detente with the neighbor cats, as the catnip we'd planted there grew huge. On sunny days we humans would smile at the sight of so many zonked-out pussies lying in the shade of their favorite herb. The Peace Garden plants loved to be sung-to, and, as with all plants and trees, they deeply loved the sound of the flute. Perhaps that's why the nature god, Pan, is always shown with his flute. Sometimes the garden would play jokes on
the communicator (me!). Once the plants called for me to "marry" a huge collard green. I did the ceremony, and it made a good story. Word of it got around the Portland spiritual community, and before long a hilarious story got back to me. At some gathering where people were talking about devic gardening, one of our community members had mentioned my name, saying that I was married to a collard green. The woman she was speaking with said, "Well, for heavens' sake! I'm married to a cabbage!" Who knows - there may be a day when we're all connected in such ways with every other non-human on the planet.
Toward the end of summer that year we were guided to have a Slug Fest in order to honor the power animal of Portland, the Slug. Actually, I was the one so guided. I had had several far-out (even for me) slug experiences and so I had no desire to resist my guidance when I received the nudge to create a slug-honoring event. Not so for Marilyn, who had worked against slug depredations among her veggies for many, many years. Sid - well, Sid had yet another great thing to make jokes about, and his laughter, as always, got all three of us laughing. Marilyn finally relented, and we put out the announcement for the date of the Peace Garden Slug Fest.
Our community showed up in force, and there were a number of curious visitors as well, including my actress daughter, Corrie VanAusdal, and her boyfriend Matt. Among the newbies there was a young man with a rooster problem. He had a rooster companion named "City Boy," who went everywhere with him. The young man's bride-to-be, however, refused to allow City Boy to participate in their wedding. In fact, she refused to marry unless her young man got rid of poor City Boy. As it happened, there were a husband-and-wife biodynamic farm couple at the Slug Fest, who offered to adopt City Boy and let him live with their hens.
Well, the Slug Fest was a smashing success. We did a Slug Dance, my daughter Corrie led a round of Slug Comedy Improv, the visitors all received Slug Names, and we had really yucky-looking Slug Refreshments (they tasted wonderful). And Sid, ever the one ready to say just the right thing in exactly the right way to get just great, hearty laughter from all, comically recited a poem of mine, In Search Of The Slug Sublime.
Portland Oregon ("Portal-Land" to some of us) will never be the same - nor will the USA, nor Planet Earth; and certainly our Solar System and Galaxy are now somehow magically different, all because of the Mir Cabaaning peaceful Slug Fest. Hearts and Stars go to Sid and Marilyn, somewhere in the Great Beyond. I hope Marilyn has achieved her desire of studying
personally with Rudolph Steiner! And perhaps Sid has been trading jokes with Seth, of SETH SPEAKS fame, a great favorite of the Mir Cabaaning community. Perhaps the magnificent old apple tree still stands on the old Mir Cabaaning site, with BJ buried beneath it. And wherever Marble is now, surely he has moved to a higher level of his mystical grapevine guardianship.
To Portland, and Dynamic Peace, and all the Mir Cabaaningers, now scattered! To all the little co-housing community experiments popping up in cities all over the planet! To Biodynamic gardening and farming! And hooray for Slugs! Sid and Marilyn, these laughs are for you.
IN SEARCH OF THE SLUG SUBLIME
by Carolion
If you follow the trails of glittering slime laid out in the night so late,
over the lettuces, over the beans, and over the cool grey slate --
over dew-damp grass you'll see soft bodies glide,
slathers of slithering slugs with no guide
but the yearning to merge at the end of time
with the joy of the Slug Sublime.
Over the nights and under the days,
sluggishly humming their hymns of praise,
they slide to the rhythm of slippery rhymes
in search of the Slug Sublime.
Marilyn, Sid, and I laughed a lot. I imagine now, remembering our time together, that the universe just wanted our hilarity, and so put the three of us together for a while. I rented the trailer out back, in "Eden" - the huge biodynamic vegetable garden where I lived with old BJ. Sid and Marilyn owned the property, lived in the house, and worked at their mom-pop printing business in the converted garage office to the side. Marble supervised the entire deal, and guarded the grapevines with amazing ferocity. Not even his only pal, BJ, dared go anywhere near those grapevines; and more than once I saw fur flying as Marble whomped any neighbor cat who strayed too close.
At a certain point we were guided to convert some of the vegetable area into a cosmic peace garden of concentric circles. The whole Mir Cabaaning associated community showed up for the digging and feasting the day the transformation began, and it was a marvelous event. Out of the blue, three musicians with harp, flute, and guitar appeared and sang of sacred things while the digging went on. They were grounding a piece of heaven there in the circling circles of the cosmic peace garden.
The garden was a place for healing and meditation. Even Marble and BJ came to a feline detente with the neighbor cats, as the catnip we'd planted there grew huge. On sunny days we humans would smile at the sight of so many zonked-out pussies lying in the shade of their favorite herb. The Peace Garden plants loved to be sung-to, and, as with all plants and trees, they deeply loved the sound of the flute. Perhaps that's why the nature god, Pan, is always shown with his flute. Sometimes the garden would play jokes on
the communicator (me!). Once the plants called for me to "marry" a huge collard green. I did the ceremony, and it made a good story. Word of it got around the Portland spiritual community, and before long a hilarious story got back to me. At some gathering where people were talking about devic gardening, one of our community members had mentioned my name, saying that I was married to a collard green. The woman she was speaking with said, "Well, for heavens' sake! I'm married to a cabbage!" Who knows - there may be a day when we're all connected in such ways with every other non-human on the planet.
Toward the end of summer that year we were guided to have a Slug Fest in order to honor the power animal of Portland, the Slug. Actually, I was the one so guided. I had had several far-out (even for me) slug experiences and so I had no desire to resist my guidance when I received the nudge to create a slug-honoring event. Not so for Marilyn, who had worked against slug depredations among her veggies for many, many years. Sid - well, Sid had yet another great thing to make jokes about, and his laughter, as always, got all three of us laughing. Marilyn finally relented, and we put out the announcement for the date of the Peace Garden Slug Fest.
Our community showed up in force, and there were a number of curious visitors as well, including my actress daughter, Corrie VanAusdal, and her boyfriend Matt. Among the newbies there was a young man with a rooster problem. He had a rooster companion named "City Boy," who went everywhere with him. The young man's bride-to-be, however, refused to allow City Boy to participate in their wedding. In fact, she refused to marry unless her young man got rid of poor City Boy. As it happened, there were a husband-and-wife biodynamic farm couple at the Slug Fest, who offered to adopt City Boy and let him live with their hens.
Well, the Slug Fest was a smashing success. We did a Slug Dance, my daughter Corrie led a round of Slug Comedy Improv, the visitors all received Slug Names, and we had really yucky-looking Slug Refreshments (they tasted wonderful). And Sid, ever the one ready to say just the right thing in exactly the right way to get just great, hearty laughter from all, comically recited a poem of mine, In Search Of The Slug Sublime.
Portland Oregon ("Portal-Land" to some of us) will never be the same - nor will the USA, nor Planet Earth; and certainly our Solar System and Galaxy are now somehow magically different, all because of the Mir Cabaaning peaceful Slug Fest. Hearts and Stars go to Sid and Marilyn, somewhere in the Great Beyond. I hope Marilyn has achieved her desire of studying
personally with Rudolph Steiner! And perhaps Sid has been trading jokes with Seth, of SETH SPEAKS fame, a great favorite of the Mir Cabaaning community. Perhaps the magnificent old apple tree still stands on the old Mir Cabaaning site, with BJ buried beneath it. And wherever Marble is now, surely he has moved to a higher level of his mystical grapevine guardianship.
To Portland, and Dynamic Peace, and all the Mir Cabaaningers, now scattered! To all the little co-housing community experiments popping up in cities all over the planet! To Biodynamic gardening and farming! And hooray for Slugs! Sid and Marilyn, these laughs are for you.
IN SEARCH OF THE SLUG SUBLIME
by Carolion
If you follow the trails of glittering slime laid out in the night so late,
over the lettuces, over the beans, and over the cool grey slate --
over dew-damp grass you'll see soft bodies glide,
slathers of slithering slugs with no guide
but the yearning to merge at the end of time
with the joy of the Slug Sublime.
Over the nights and under the days,
sluggishly humming their hymns of praise,
they slide to the rhythm of slippery rhymes
in search of the Slug Sublime.
Remembering Princess Zucchinia - 1984
When my younger daughter Corrie was seven years old, she and I started a puppet company. We called ourselves PUMPARILLA PUPPETS. Our first show was "The Humpty Show," based on the tragi-comic tale of Humpty-Dumpty. Corrie was the voice and manipulator of the lovely Princess Zucchinia, a little puppet who had such a love for zucchini that she had turned green from eating it all the time. I was the voice and manipulator of the Sad-and-Lonely King (sad in part because his daughter never listened to him.) "I'm the sad-and-lonely King, hoya-hoya-hoya" he would sing, dancing a sort of Russian dance in his blue and red satins and his big gold crown. I also spoke and manipulated Humpty Dumpty, which was quite a challenge, since I had to hold the top of his head on with one finger through a pair of plastic loops inside his head until it was time for him to "break" his egg head. I also played "All-The-King's-Men," rather, the Potato-Skin Men, who happened to be fashioned from baked potato skins that I had hardened with acrylic gel, and mounted all together on a contraption of black-painted dowels. They all had black top hats. "Oh, we're the Potato-Skin Men! Humpty-Dumpty, diddle-de-umpty!" they sang.
Corrie had a lovely, clear way of speaking Princess Zucchinia. A born actress, she. We didn't have set lines - we always simply improvised on the story line, and somehow it always worked. Princess Zucchinia was a great friend of Humpty's, and she was really terribly concerned that he was showing off too much, and might fall off the wall - which he did. That meant that the Princess had to call on the Giants for help. Uh-oh! She carefully instructed them to be sure, absolutely certain, to give him a smooth ride in the stretcher on the way to the hospital.
Corrie and I were also the Giants. We put on hats and came out from behind the puppet theater, acting giant-y and carrying a puppet-sized stretcher with poor foolish Humpty lying on it, his egg-head definitely cracked. We spoke in "dumb giant" voices, and of course we got mixed up and turned the Princess's directions around backwards. Merrily we went, jostling the stretcher and singing "Bumpy-ride, bumpy ride" until, horror of horrors! Poor Humpty fell off the stretcher and the top of his head came off - and out came his brain (a fried egg sewn of white and yellow satin). Oh, dear! One of the giants - me actually - just happened to have a spatula - and flipped Humpty's fried-egg brain up-up-up like a flapjack, nearly flipping it out into the audience, and getting great giggles out of the delighted spectators. Finally, finally, the Giants managed to get the brain back into Humpty's poor broken head, and then they carried the stretcher to the "hospital" - back behind the puppet theater. Soon the show was done - Princess Zucchinia, in order to help Humpty get well and behave himself better, decided to cut back on the Zucchini. Go figure. Then the Sad and Lonely King was happy again at last; and - oh, happy day! - Humpty's head was mended.
Corrie had a lovely, clear way of speaking Princess Zucchinia. A born actress, she. We didn't have set lines - we always simply improvised on the story line, and somehow it always worked. Princess Zucchinia was a great friend of Humpty's, and she was really terribly concerned that he was showing off too much, and might fall off the wall - which he did. That meant that the Princess had to call on the Giants for help. Uh-oh! She carefully instructed them to be sure, absolutely certain, to give him a smooth ride in the stretcher on the way to the hospital.
Corrie and I were also the Giants. We put on hats and came out from behind the puppet theater, acting giant-y and carrying a puppet-sized stretcher with poor foolish Humpty lying on it, his egg-head definitely cracked. We spoke in "dumb giant" voices, and of course we got mixed up and turned the Princess's directions around backwards. Merrily we went, jostling the stretcher and singing "Bumpy-ride, bumpy ride" until, horror of horrors! Poor Humpty fell off the stretcher and the top of his head came off - and out came his brain (a fried egg sewn of white and yellow satin). Oh, dear! One of the giants - me actually - just happened to have a spatula - and flipped Humpty's fried-egg brain up-up-up like a flapjack, nearly flipping it out into the audience, and getting great giggles out of the delighted spectators. Finally, finally, the Giants managed to get the brain back into Humpty's poor broken head, and then they carried the stretcher to the "hospital" - back behind the puppet theater. Soon the show was done - Princess Zucchinia, in order to help Humpty get well and behave himself better, decided to cut back on the Zucchini. Go figure. Then the Sad and Lonely King was happy again at last; and - oh, happy day! - Humpty's head was mended.
The HOOZITS In King's Yard - Summer 2006
Saturday morning I lie in bed, listening to songbirds in the great old sugar maples outside my window, and hearing/seeing bits and pieces of my new puppet show inside my mind. Friday night I didn't have a show; Saturday morning by 6:30 a.m., I do have just enough of a show in mind to hop up, shower and dress, and start packing my puppets and stage and backdrop and bungee cords and all the rest. The tree! Out to the woodpile to find just the right stick to rig up for Who-Who Hootie Owl to sit in and be wise. Got it. The tarp, afghans for the audience to sit on, tape and scissors and lots of lovely colored scarves, and an orchestra - Ah! The orchestra: pots and pans, wooden spoons, and some jingle bells. And don't forget the flute, for casting a magical spell where all hearts can rest and play in our story.
All right - Hootie and Music Al and the wonderful red-spotted golden stegosaurus whom the children in the audience will later name - all stuffed into their black bag. Oh! The cave - how will I make the cave? Aha - there's that funky little yellow plastic table out on the deck, left over from last week's wedding. I snag it, and discover that the legs come out/off. Perfect for packing in the trunk of my trusty old Nissan. I pack the car, discover I'm hungry, and eat half an avocado. Perfect! Got my jar of water, my hair looks good, I feel right in my puppeteer's black; I'm off!
Downtown in the Village on Saturdays, the Farmer's Market is the big draw. I'm due to perform at 10:30 in the adjacent King's Yard gazebo as part of the YSKP (Yellow Springs Kids' Playhouse) summer festival. Driving over, I have it in my mind that I'll have the perfect parking spot, and that is what happens. I begin unloading my equipment, and have only two trips to make, working my way through the crowded market place to the quieter gazebo area. There I encounter a group of Village music students, playing for donations for the schools' music programs. I explain to the directors that I've got a show scheduled, and we work out a time-share agreement for the space. These are some of the same kids who were in the "Borchestra" which accompanied Music Al's BIG SHOW earlier in the year. We appreciate each other.
Michelle, a high-schooler who's a YSKP intern, is there to help me set up the stage area. We get busy attatching tarp backdrop to gazebo with bungee cords, and then weighing down the bottom of the tarp with stones because of the breeze. I set up the stand with my new cardboard box theater atop it, and the little yellow table-cave next to that. Then Michelle and I get busy with my black cloth and a roll of tape, covering the stand and turning the table into the cave. It works! There's just enough cloth for the desired effect. We use more tape positioning Hootie's tree. Then we tape up the title of the show: Carolion and the Hoozits present TREASURE IN THE GLEN.
It's time for the school musicians to go to their next location, as Michelle and I spread the afghans and tell curious passers-by there'll be a show starting in a few minutes. Ready at last: Hootie is in her tree, the Stegosaurus in his cave, well hidden, and Music Al is behind the stage, preparing for his entrance. I've got the treasure map in my pocket.....And soon there are a group of us drumming and whacking pots and pans as our prelude to the show. Then....Ahhhhhhhh. I just fall into my very comfortable storyteller mode, setting the stage with words about the treasure map, and getting some audience particpation as children and parents become trees waving their branches in a dance to the music of my flute. The actual trees bordering the gazebo area begin to dance as well, as the breeze plays with all of us - and we believe, we believe. The floating colors of the scarves add more magic - I keep naming the colors wrong, and my audience corrects me, and one after another lovely floaty scarf gets tossed aside. We're looking for gold, so the treasure map can be right. We need gold. Ah, at last: the big yellow scarf and the smaller orange one become the famed Yellow Spring in the nearby Glen. That's gold. The green scarf gets tossed up into Hootie's tree to be leaves, and so we discover our wise owl, who is sitting in the branches.
Music Al makes his entrance, following me....He's always "late" because I pull him on a string...We sing Al's song because we always do; then we ask our audience members to hold the treasure map, which depicts a tree with an owl in it, a pool [the yellow spring], and a cave with a big X. I carry Music Al, playing "walking music" on his six-note xylophone spine as we walk off the stage and around the audience [through the Glen]. It's a tiny area, so I stop every few steps. "Are we there yet?" I ask. Our audience messes with us, telling us we ARE there, and every single time I look around and say, "That's not a cave - that's somebody's mom!" Giggles and more giggles. Finally we get back around to the stage, and the audience is pretty sure there's a cave. Hootie has already hinted that the treasure might be a golden dragon. Music Al isn't too sure about going into the cave...Finally, though, it's time to try.
I lift up the scarf covering the cave, and am immediately overwhelmed by children rushing up to touch the red-spotted yellow stegasaurus! I go with the flow - how not? They adore him! He tells them he's really not a dragon, he's actually the "last of the dinosaurs." Wow - not only do we have a Glen and a Yellow Spring here at the edge of our Village, but we also have a mysterious cave with the last of the dinosaurs. Wow again! The children decide his name must be "Dragon." So it all works out. They resume their seats so the show can go on.
I tell the children that it's very good luck to have a dragon fly over you. So they and I together are not surprised when Hootie volunteers to carry Dragon, to be his wings, since he doesn't have any of his own. Of course! How not? Dragon must fly. The children lie down, and Hootie/Dragon fly over them pouring good wishes and beauty into their hearts. Well, now! The story has ended just right, and we all truly played it together. It happened through us. Music Al and I sit down to sing and play a little goodbye song, and everyone joins in.
The show's over - though the audience was very small, suddenly there's a crowd and people taking pictures as children ask to pat Music Al and play a few notes on his spine. Someone even asks if I might do the show again, but no - not today, I say. Another time. Maybe in the library. A very little person takes a long time looking and looking at Music Al, and finally tiptoes up to touch his head, and then, at last, to play a few notes.
Time to wrap. Michelle, and now Melissa from YSKP help me make fast work of the tear-down and packing and toting-to-the-car. I'm happy. I'm high. Oh, this is the kind of puppetry I love to direct, and now am developing for myself. Improv makes me happy, that's all there is to it. I love to play.
All right - Hootie and Music Al and the wonderful red-spotted golden stegosaurus whom the children in the audience will later name - all stuffed into their black bag. Oh! The cave - how will I make the cave? Aha - there's that funky little yellow plastic table out on the deck, left over from last week's wedding. I snag it, and discover that the legs come out/off. Perfect for packing in the trunk of my trusty old Nissan. I pack the car, discover I'm hungry, and eat half an avocado. Perfect! Got my jar of water, my hair looks good, I feel right in my puppeteer's black; I'm off!
Downtown in the Village on Saturdays, the Farmer's Market is the big draw. I'm due to perform at 10:30 in the adjacent King's Yard gazebo as part of the YSKP (Yellow Springs Kids' Playhouse) summer festival. Driving over, I have it in my mind that I'll have the perfect parking spot, and that is what happens. I begin unloading my equipment, and have only two trips to make, working my way through the crowded market place to the quieter gazebo area. There I encounter a group of Village music students, playing for donations for the schools' music programs. I explain to the directors that I've got a show scheduled, and we work out a time-share agreement for the space. These are some of the same kids who were in the "Borchestra" which accompanied Music Al's BIG SHOW earlier in the year. We appreciate each other.
Michelle, a high-schooler who's a YSKP intern, is there to help me set up the stage area. We get busy attatching tarp backdrop to gazebo with bungee cords, and then weighing down the bottom of the tarp with stones because of the breeze. I set up the stand with my new cardboard box theater atop it, and the little yellow table-cave next to that. Then Michelle and I get busy with my black cloth and a roll of tape, covering the stand and turning the table into the cave. It works! There's just enough cloth for the desired effect. We use more tape positioning Hootie's tree. Then we tape up the title of the show: Carolion and the Hoozits present TREASURE IN THE GLEN.
It's time for the school musicians to go to their next location, as Michelle and I spread the afghans and tell curious passers-by there'll be a show starting in a few minutes. Ready at last: Hootie is in her tree, the Stegosaurus in his cave, well hidden, and Music Al is behind the stage, preparing for his entrance. I've got the treasure map in my pocket.....And soon there are a group of us drumming and whacking pots and pans as our prelude to the show. Then....Ahhhhhhhh. I just fall into my very comfortable storyteller mode, setting the stage with words about the treasure map, and getting some audience particpation as children and parents become trees waving their branches in a dance to the music of my flute. The actual trees bordering the gazebo area begin to dance as well, as the breeze plays with all of us - and we believe, we believe. The floating colors of the scarves add more magic - I keep naming the colors wrong, and my audience corrects me, and one after another lovely floaty scarf gets tossed aside. We're looking for gold, so the treasure map can be right. We need gold. Ah, at last: the big yellow scarf and the smaller orange one become the famed Yellow Spring in the nearby Glen. That's gold. The green scarf gets tossed up into Hootie's tree to be leaves, and so we discover our wise owl, who is sitting in the branches.
Music Al makes his entrance, following me....He's always "late" because I pull him on a string...We sing Al's song because we always do; then we ask our audience members to hold the treasure map, which depicts a tree with an owl in it, a pool [the yellow spring], and a cave with a big X. I carry Music Al, playing "walking music" on his six-note xylophone spine as we walk off the stage and around the audience [through the Glen]. It's a tiny area, so I stop every few steps. "Are we there yet?" I ask. Our audience messes with us, telling us we ARE there, and every single time I look around and say, "That's not a cave - that's somebody's mom!" Giggles and more giggles. Finally we get back around to the stage, and the audience is pretty sure there's a cave. Hootie has already hinted that the treasure might be a golden dragon. Music Al isn't too sure about going into the cave...Finally, though, it's time to try.
I lift up the scarf covering the cave, and am immediately overwhelmed by children rushing up to touch the red-spotted yellow stegasaurus! I go with the flow - how not? They adore him! He tells them he's really not a dragon, he's actually the "last of the dinosaurs." Wow - not only do we have a Glen and a Yellow Spring here at the edge of our Village, but we also have a mysterious cave with the last of the dinosaurs. Wow again! The children decide his name must be "Dragon." So it all works out. They resume their seats so the show can go on.
I tell the children that it's very good luck to have a dragon fly over you. So they and I together are not surprised when Hootie volunteers to carry Dragon, to be his wings, since he doesn't have any of his own. Of course! How not? Dragon must fly. The children lie down, and Hootie/Dragon fly over them pouring good wishes and beauty into their hearts. Well, now! The story has ended just right, and we all truly played it together. It happened through us. Music Al and I sit down to sing and play a little goodbye song, and everyone joins in.
The show's over - though the audience was very small, suddenly there's a crowd and people taking pictures as children ask to pat Music Al and play a few notes on his spine. Someone even asks if I might do the show again, but no - not today, I say. Another time. Maybe in the library. A very little person takes a long time looking and looking at Music Al, and finally tiptoes up to touch his head, and then, at last, to play a few notes.
Time to wrap. Michelle, and now Melissa from YSKP help me make fast work of the tear-down and packing and toting-to-the-car. I'm happy. I'm high. Oh, this is the kind of puppetry I love to direct, and now am developing for myself. Improv makes me happy, that's all there is to it. I love to play.
Meet The Hoozits - Autumn 2005
As I walked past a little recycled children's clothing and toys store in Oak Ridge, Tennessee one day, I saw the most wonderful being posed in the window, looking right into my eyes. I couldn't get over this creature: a plushy light green long-armed big-eyed orangutan. I had to have it. My first thought was, "I'm going to have to get back into puppetry! This one belongs on stage!"
I went into the store and before I could reach for the orangutan, another being caught my eye: it was a hard plastic green alligator-xylophone on wheels, with big eyes looking - yes! - looking right at me! This one had a moveable jaw, and a pull-string. I could not resist. Now I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd be getting back into puppetry. How not?
In the next aisle there was another being - a floppy green-and-blue plush plaid dog. Of course this one was a member of our troupe, too. By the time I was finished in that store I had acquired Dr. Orangy-tangy, Music Al the Xylogator, and Nursie Nosey-Dog. There were several more to come. Within a few days we were joined by a very colorful McCaw; and then by Bunnee Rabbat, the long floppy-legged (knots for knees) fat-bodied lady rabbit made of an old chenille bedspread and big bright buttons. I'm still looking for her "Majeek Hat," her magic hat, where I am sure she lives. When we find it she will make her entrance before the audience by being pulled - and pulled - and - eeeeeeeee - pulled - POP! - from the hat. "Oh, my goodness! My Majeek Hat 'as shrunk! Eet ees too small for my skinny leetle self! Tch tch!" and like that.
As I gathered member after member of my new puppet troupe, I knew we had to have just the right name. Years before, when my daughter and I puppeteered together (she was seven; now she's nearing 30, and she's a professional actress and a new mom), we called our troupe "Pumparilla Puppets." I knew, now, that I wouldn't re-use that name; and I was waiting for just the right inspiration. Finally one morning I had the strongest sense that the spirit of Jim Henson was with me. I received some great hints and ideas, and very soon our name was apparent: The HOOZITS.
Every now and then The HOOZITS and I put on a little show. There's always a lot of audience participation: Dr. Orangy-Tangy likes to swing through the trees, so children and parents get to be her trees. Party-Hardy McGraw, the Real McCaw, loves to get audience members echoing his wild jungle sounds. And Music Al the Xylogator has a song to teach. He woke me up with it one morning, and now every show we do, Music Al insists on getting the audience to sing along while I play accompaniment on his little rainbow xylophone spine. Al's song goes like this:
Once upon a time, there was a Xylogator.....
His name was Music Al
And he was everybody's pal.
I went into the store and before I could reach for the orangutan, another being caught my eye: it was a hard plastic green alligator-xylophone on wheels, with big eyes looking - yes! - looking right at me! This one had a moveable jaw, and a pull-string. I could not resist. Now I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd be getting back into puppetry. How not?
In the next aisle there was another being - a floppy green-and-blue plush plaid dog. Of course this one was a member of our troupe, too. By the time I was finished in that store I had acquired Dr. Orangy-tangy, Music Al the Xylogator, and Nursie Nosey-Dog. There were several more to come. Within a few days we were joined by a very colorful McCaw; and then by Bunnee Rabbat, the long floppy-legged (knots for knees) fat-bodied lady rabbit made of an old chenille bedspread and big bright buttons. I'm still looking for her "Majeek Hat," her magic hat, where I am sure she lives. When we find it she will make her entrance before the audience by being pulled - and pulled - and - eeeeeeeee - pulled - POP! - from the hat. "Oh, my goodness! My Majeek Hat 'as shrunk! Eet ees too small for my skinny leetle self! Tch tch!" and like that.
As I gathered member after member of my new puppet troupe, I knew we had to have just the right name. Years before, when my daughter and I puppeteered together (she was seven; now she's nearing 30, and she's a professional actress and a new mom), we called our troupe "Pumparilla Puppets." I knew, now, that I wouldn't re-use that name; and I was waiting for just the right inspiration. Finally one morning I had the strongest sense that the spirit of Jim Henson was with me. I received some great hints and ideas, and very soon our name was apparent: The HOOZITS.
Every now and then The HOOZITS and I put on a little show. There's always a lot of audience participation: Dr. Orangy-Tangy likes to swing through the trees, so children and parents get to be her trees. Party-Hardy McGraw, the Real McCaw, loves to get audience members echoing his wild jungle sounds. And Music Al the Xylogator has a song to teach. He woke me up with it one morning, and now every show we do, Music Al insists on getting the audience to sing along while I play accompaniment on his little rainbow xylophone spine. Al's song goes like this:
Once upon a time, there was a Xylogator.....
His name was Music Al
And he was everybody's pal.
Visiting An Old Puppeteer-Librarian: Anna Cebrat of Oak Ridge, Tennessee - 1985
When she was our high school librarian I was afraid of her. She was large and territorial, and I didn't need any more terrifying women around me - my mom was enough. I spent most of my time around "Doc," our hilarious big-hearted band director.
Years late, though, I made a visit to Anna Cebrat, because I'd become a puppeteer and so had she - and she was known around the country, through Puppeteers of America. I was curious.
On a visit to my dad and stepmom, I called ahead for a time to visit her. She let me into her house, which was filled with stacks and stacks of newspapers and magazines, with a narrow maze of a path leading from front door to chairs and sofa. I knew how to show respect and avoid even looking uncomfortable....But after she'd been kind enough to show me some of her puppets and share some of her experiences with me, she mentioned the mess around us, wanting to know what I thought.
I saw there was no way out of commenting - and it had to be the Truth, whatever I said - because we were talking Truth. Puppets are all about Truth. So I grinned at her and pretended to scold as I looked over the mess, saying, "And YOU, a librarian!" That was enough. We both enjoyed a good laugh - because, from the way I said it, she could see that I loved human foibles and that she was loveable.
When the visit felt over and I got up to leave, she heaved herself up from her seat and I really saw how terribly she struggled with overweight and arthritis, bless her heart. I'm glad I got to visit and learn from her, and give her a little joke on herself to chuckle over from time to time. Perhaps it went into one of her puppet shows, who knows? She passed away quietly a year or so after that visit, and I hope her old dog, just as overweight and arthritic as she, passed away first. And I've often wondered what the folks who came to clean out that house might have found, stashed among all the newspapers and magazines.
Years late, though, I made a visit to Anna Cebrat, because I'd become a puppeteer and so had she - and she was known around the country, through Puppeteers of America. I was curious.
On a visit to my dad and stepmom, I called ahead for a time to visit her. She let me into her house, which was filled with stacks and stacks of newspapers and magazines, with a narrow maze of a path leading from front door to chairs and sofa. I knew how to show respect and avoid even looking uncomfortable....But after she'd been kind enough to show me some of her puppets and share some of her experiences with me, she mentioned the mess around us, wanting to know what I thought.
I saw there was no way out of commenting - and it had to be the Truth, whatever I said - because we were talking Truth. Puppets are all about Truth. So I grinned at her and pretended to scold as I looked over the mess, saying, "And YOU, a librarian!" That was enough. We both enjoyed a good laugh - because, from the way I said it, she could see that I loved human foibles and that she was loveable.
When the visit felt over and I got up to leave, she heaved herself up from her seat and I really saw how terribly she struggled with overweight and arthritis, bless her heart. I'm glad I got to visit and learn from her, and give her a little joke on herself to chuckle over from time to time. Perhaps it went into one of her puppet shows, who knows? She passed away quietly a year or so after that visit, and I hope her old dog, just as overweight and arthritic as she, passed away first. And I've often wondered what the folks who came to clean out that house might have found, stashed among all the newspapers and magazines.
My Mother's Garden - 1984
For my mother, who was sometimes difficult: written eight years after her passing.
I recall her white roses blooming along the backyard fence,
filled with bees buzzing away the Tennessee afternoons.
I remember being first up in the morning, I thought -
discovering Mom down on her knees in the red clay
tending her Easter lilies.
My mother, manna of the flowerbed.
How often I must have turned her proffered wine to blood!
Oh, she poked and weeded mercilessly around my loudly protesting roots
and yet I know now, I'm sure of it:
her will was all for me to bloom.
What is mercy if not the pruning of the vines in early spring,
the opening of the womb to birth?
Sweet breath of the tiny sleeping baby,
slanting dance of sunlight through a bottle of homemade wine:
they move us through labor and pain
into the heart of love.
How rich the garden where the living kneel,
weeding out their petty judgements of the dead.
The oriole sings there, and at night
lovers ply its flowering stars for dreams
like bees among the roses.
I recall her white roses blooming along the backyard fence,
filled with bees buzzing away the Tennessee afternoons.
I remember being first up in the morning, I thought -
discovering Mom down on her knees in the red clay
tending her Easter lilies.
My mother, manna of the flowerbed.
How often I must have turned her proffered wine to blood!
Oh, she poked and weeded mercilessly around my loudly protesting roots
and yet I know now, I'm sure of it:
her will was all for me to bloom.
What is mercy if not the pruning of the vines in early spring,
the opening of the womb to birth?
Sweet breath of the tiny sleeping baby,
slanting dance of sunlight through a bottle of homemade wine:
they move us through labor and pain
into the heart of love.
How rich the garden where the living kneel,
weeding out their petty judgements of the dead.
The oriole sings there, and at night
lovers ply its flowering stars for dreams
like bees among the roses.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The GoodWill Life - 2007
I had a dream last week -
standing in a crowd of pilgrims, I was waiting
for the rummage to begin.
We had all given away our stuff
and were trusting Goodwill to provide whatever we needed
for the next level of awakening.
I found some clothes and shoes, and then moved on,
hot on the trail of something magical,
some amazing bit of inspiration.
There it was: a yellow plastic helmet -
fire helmet, hard hat, safari helmet?
All of the above.
And it had fake leopard fur and tiger stripes on top.
Oh, that yellow - welcome, new thoughts.
And the big cat energy?
Look out, stage and screen -
look out, my little puppets and wild-eyed laughing puppeteers:
Leo has arrived.
The helmet didn't quite fit, though -
I set it down and went to buy the practical stuff, the simple stuff,
and don't forget the shoes.
But in my heart I can't set down that helmet.
What is "buying," anyway?
I think I've bought that helmet,
and it is pure, unadulterated magic.
standing in a crowd of pilgrims, I was waiting
for the rummage to begin.
We had all given away our stuff
and were trusting Goodwill to provide whatever we needed
for the next level of awakening.
I found some clothes and shoes, and then moved on,
hot on the trail of something magical,
some amazing bit of inspiration.
There it was: a yellow plastic helmet -
fire helmet, hard hat, safari helmet?
All of the above.
And it had fake leopard fur and tiger stripes on top.
Oh, that yellow - welcome, new thoughts.
And the big cat energy?
Look out, stage and screen -
look out, my little puppets and wild-eyed laughing puppeteers:
Leo has arrived.
The helmet didn't quite fit, though -
I set it down and went to buy the practical stuff, the simple stuff,
and don't forget the shoes.
But in my heart I can't set down that helmet.
What is "buying," anyway?
I think I've bought that helmet,
and it is pure, unadulterated magic.
Texas Cat Poet, Syl E. Vester - 1998
Syl E. Vester is a black-and-white cat of immense imagination. I knew him for a short time while staying in San Marcos, Texas. Syl E. would sometimes come in out of the moonlight with his eyes big and round, his tail standing straight up, and his fur all ruffled - the signs of a powerful poetic encounter with the universe. Syl E. would telepath the poems to me, and I would say them in English while Syl E.'s human companion, Sherry, would write them down for posterity.
Here, then, posterity, are the poems of Syl E. Vester, now residing in San Antonio, Texas.
FOUR POEMS
I AM
I'm ready to be lifted from the casket of embodiment.
I sink my teeth and claws into the vision of a bird
and imediately become what I have eaten.
My whole heart is covered with feathers.
In my center the songs of all the birds that ever were
vibrate the core of the Universe.
I am a cat who knows no boundaries.
I pretend.
THE FIRE OF LIFE
When green things dance in the wind, my fur is ruffled
and smells and scents flow in through my nostrils.
I pounce and slink.
I am the Wildness which dances the Tree Dance.
Perhaps a squirrel will run past me.
Perhaps my waiting will result in food.
A tree invites me.
"Scratch my bark," it says. "Rake me, climb me,
peer from my limb with glittering green eyes."
Waiting for a bird gift from the Gods,
I know this one thing:
To be magnificence itself is to be a cat.
FULL MOON
Out from under the Moon I run, tail straight up for little wiggling spirit things
to climb.
My claws shine like sharpened pearls.
I savor the magic, the airiness.
I'm absolutely terrified and delighted.
There is a great ball shining messages for the world
and I have caught its words in my heart.
DEATH IS LIKE THAT
My mind is at a loss.
Maybe I lost it, maybe I gave it away.
So instead my head is filled with something -
it is a waiting.
The right picture will come soon,
to fill my empty head.
In that moment between the emptiness and the fullness,
I take a bath.
Only the cats know the depths of creativity one enters
in the bath.
Death is like that.
Here, then, posterity, are the poems of Syl E. Vester, now residing in San Antonio, Texas.
FOUR POEMS
I AM
I'm ready to be lifted from the casket of embodiment.
I sink my teeth and claws into the vision of a bird
and imediately become what I have eaten.
My whole heart is covered with feathers.
In my center the songs of all the birds that ever were
vibrate the core of the Universe.
I am a cat who knows no boundaries.
I pretend.
THE FIRE OF LIFE
When green things dance in the wind, my fur is ruffled
and smells and scents flow in through my nostrils.
I pounce and slink.
I am the Wildness which dances the Tree Dance.
Perhaps a squirrel will run past me.
Perhaps my waiting will result in food.
A tree invites me.
"Scratch my bark," it says. "Rake me, climb me,
peer from my limb with glittering green eyes."
Waiting for a bird gift from the Gods,
I know this one thing:
To be magnificence itself is to be a cat.
FULL MOON
Out from under the Moon I run, tail straight up for little wiggling spirit things
to climb.
My claws shine like sharpened pearls.
I savor the magic, the airiness.
I'm absolutely terrified and delighted.
There is a great ball shining messages for the world
and I have caught its words in my heart.
DEATH IS LIKE THAT
My mind is at a loss.
Maybe I lost it, maybe I gave it away.
So instead my head is filled with something -
it is a waiting.
The right picture will come soon,
to fill my empty head.
In that moment between the emptiness and the fullness,
I take a bath.
Only the cats know the depths of creativity one enters
in the bath.
Death is like that.
A Visit From The Star Man - 1998
In the beautiful Hill Country of East Central Texas, there's a town called San Marcos, which has an amazing spring (Aquarena Springs) from which pours the beautiful pure clear San Marcos River. That makes San Marcos a special place on this earth - a place that might attract angels and saints and other holy beings.
I was present for such a visitation a few years ago. I was staying in a house with two amazing cats, Syl E. Vester and Allie Cat, and their human. Syl E. and Allie did not get along, as a matter of course. In fact, they often hissed and spat at each other in passing. One day, however, something was different. Sherry, the human companion of these cats, came out to the garden where I was working with some new transplants. She said, "You've got to come inside and see the cats - something is really different."
On the way inside, we passed the garage, where the light was on. That light could not be turned on. No one could turn it on. But it was on now. Later we understood that whenever that light came on, it meant we had a certain starry visitor. That particular day I went in the house and saw, to my great amazement, that Syl E. and Allie were lying side by side, perfectly harmonious and peaceful, and they were gazing at a chair which, to all appearances, was empty.
As soon as I came into the room, Syl E. telepathed to me, "We've been speaking with the Star Man." Both cats then began telling me what the Star Man had said. They were deeply and totally inspired by the message. It was about catnip. The Star Man had told the cats that as human beings begin to vibrate higher and higher, they'll become mentally more like cats, and then catnip will become a very important plant for them. He told them that there will be whole catnip farms devoted to raising special varieties of catnip for all sorts of human needs. The Star Man also told Syl E. and Allie to speak with us about getting a catnip garden started there right away.
The thing about divine inspiration is, it's highly contagious. As the cats revealed the Star Man's message, the energy in the room was amazing! The inspiration passed from Star Man to cats, and from the cats into the humans. We decided to go to "It's About Thyme," a wonderful garden store in the Hill Country - we were all set to buy catnip and build a special garden for it. That's what happened, too.
When the garden was completed later that day, Syl E. was disappointed to see the fencing which kept the catnip safe from visits by wildly rolling drunken cats. I explained to him that the catnip would soon grow right through the fencing, and he could nip off any of it he'd a mind to taste, if it poked through the fence. Syl E., who had a huge imagination, was also disappointed that the garden was just a little patch instead of the acres and acres of catnip the Star Man had inspired a vision of. I let Syl E. know that this was enough catnip for now!
So - the catnip grew and grew. In the end, Syl E. Vester had plenty to get drunk on, although he was still not satisfied with what he considered a puny plot. He had been mightily inspired, and truly yearned for those acres and acres of catnip.
The Star Man dropped by fairly frequently, always invisible to humans - but definitely a strong energetic presence. We always knew when he was around, because of the garage light. Anyone could turn it off, but nobody except the Star Man could make it come on!
There was a community of seekers who grew to love the Star Man because he loved to go on "Joy Rides." We'd pile into a van and follow the Star Man's telepathic/intuitive directions, like "Turn left in 10 miles." Things happened. The Star Man taught us many things about the past and future of the area; he sometimes had us stop and sing or send positive thoughts to a neighborhood or a part of nature. Every time we went on a joy ride - turn here, stop there, turn again here - we would suddenly end up at an I-Hop. Laughing, we'd all go in for pancakes - we and our invisible Star Man. I always thought that perhaps it was the I-Hop design containing all the flags of this world that caused the Star Man to bring us there.
There are endless magical adventures and occurences in life on this planet. There are sacred places all over this earth. There are beings we can touch, beings we see with our inner eyes, beings we can only hear, and those we can sense in other ways. The key to all this exploration is to keep a simple, clear, devoted mind and a pure heart; and to "tune" the inner-hearing / inner-seeing abilities to the highest vibrations, so that the most profound Truth can be experienced.
There's a wisdom-teaching that goes something like this: Pay attention to a little mystery each day and you will always be happy.
I was present for such a visitation a few years ago. I was staying in a house with two amazing cats, Syl E. Vester and Allie Cat, and their human. Syl E. and Allie did not get along, as a matter of course. In fact, they often hissed and spat at each other in passing. One day, however, something was different. Sherry, the human companion of these cats, came out to the garden where I was working with some new transplants. She said, "You've got to come inside and see the cats - something is really different."
On the way inside, we passed the garage, where the light was on. That light could not be turned on. No one could turn it on. But it was on now. Later we understood that whenever that light came on, it meant we had a certain starry visitor. That particular day I went in the house and saw, to my great amazement, that Syl E. and Allie were lying side by side, perfectly harmonious and peaceful, and they were gazing at a chair which, to all appearances, was empty.
As soon as I came into the room, Syl E. telepathed to me, "We've been speaking with the Star Man." Both cats then began telling me what the Star Man had said. They were deeply and totally inspired by the message. It was about catnip. The Star Man had told the cats that as human beings begin to vibrate higher and higher, they'll become mentally more like cats, and then catnip will become a very important plant for them. He told them that there will be whole catnip farms devoted to raising special varieties of catnip for all sorts of human needs. The Star Man also told Syl E. and Allie to speak with us about getting a catnip garden started there right away.
The thing about divine inspiration is, it's highly contagious. As the cats revealed the Star Man's message, the energy in the room was amazing! The inspiration passed from Star Man to cats, and from the cats into the humans. We decided to go to "It's About Thyme," a wonderful garden store in the Hill Country - we were all set to buy catnip and build a special garden for it. That's what happened, too.
When the garden was completed later that day, Syl E. was disappointed to see the fencing which kept the catnip safe from visits by wildly rolling drunken cats. I explained to him that the catnip would soon grow right through the fencing, and he could nip off any of it he'd a mind to taste, if it poked through the fence. Syl E., who had a huge imagination, was also disappointed that the garden was just a little patch instead of the acres and acres of catnip the Star Man had inspired a vision of. I let Syl E. know that this was enough catnip for now!
So - the catnip grew and grew. In the end, Syl E. Vester had plenty to get drunk on, although he was still not satisfied with what he considered a puny plot. He had been mightily inspired, and truly yearned for those acres and acres of catnip.
The Star Man dropped by fairly frequently, always invisible to humans - but definitely a strong energetic presence. We always knew when he was around, because of the garage light. Anyone could turn it off, but nobody except the Star Man could make it come on!
There was a community of seekers who grew to love the Star Man because he loved to go on "Joy Rides." We'd pile into a van and follow the Star Man's telepathic/intuitive directions, like "Turn left in 10 miles." Things happened. The Star Man taught us many things about the past and future of the area; he sometimes had us stop and sing or send positive thoughts to a neighborhood or a part of nature. Every time we went on a joy ride - turn here, stop there, turn again here - we would suddenly end up at an I-Hop. Laughing, we'd all go in for pancakes - we and our invisible Star Man. I always thought that perhaps it was the I-Hop design containing all the flags of this world that caused the Star Man to bring us there.
There are endless magical adventures and occurences in life on this planet. There are sacred places all over this earth. There are beings we can touch, beings we see with our inner eyes, beings we can only hear, and those we can sense in other ways. The key to all this exploration is to keep a simple, clear, devoted mind and a pure heart; and to "tune" the inner-hearing / inner-seeing abilities to the highest vibrations, so that the most profound Truth can be experienced.
There's a wisdom-teaching that goes something like this: Pay attention to a little mystery each day and you will always be happy.
Waiting For The Martians - 1954
A starry summer night in East Tennessee,
Bugs racheting and cricketing and zoom-biting, too......
Smells of dewey grass and mosquito repellant and canvas pup tent,
Pillows and blankets damp and chill with dew already,
Mom and Dad encouraging us to get to sleep.......
My older brother's pup tent,
Pride and joy of his Cub Scoutery,
And a Big Thrill for little sis.
Lying in my blankets looking up at the brilliant sparkling stars,
The stars whose forms our Dad had named to us -
Casseopaeia, Ursa Major, the Pleiades, Ursa Minor - there's Mars!
There's MARS -
And then my brother is spinning a tale of Martians coming to visit Earth
This very night.
He never gets to finish his story -
I can't bear the thought of Martians - right here in Tennessee?
Right here in Tennessee.
I call my sleepy Dad to rescue me,
And that's the end of the pup tent adventure forever.
Over my childhood and teen years I camp out many times -
But never again with my older brother in his pup tent.
Over all the years since then - into my grandmotherhood -
I've sometimes seen actual space ships.
I haven't minded them at all - I find them enchanting -
But that's probably because I'm not shivering in chilly damp blankets
Under the spell of my big brother's tales
In the pup tent.
Bugs racheting and cricketing and zoom-biting, too......
Smells of dewey grass and mosquito repellant and canvas pup tent,
Pillows and blankets damp and chill with dew already,
Mom and Dad encouraging us to get to sleep.......
My older brother's pup tent,
Pride and joy of his Cub Scoutery,
And a Big Thrill for little sis.
Lying in my blankets looking up at the brilliant sparkling stars,
The stars whose forms our Dad had named to us -
Casseopaeia, Ursa Major, the Pleiades, Ursa Minor - there's Mars!
There's MARS -
And then my brother is spinning a tale of Martians coming to visit Earth
This very night.
He never gets to finish his story -
I can't bear the thought of Martians - right here in Tennessee?
Right here in Tennessee.
I call my sleepy Dad to rescue me,
And that's the end of the pup tent adventure forever.
Over my childhood and teen years I camp out many times -
But never again with my older brother in his pup tent.
Over all the years since then - into my grandmotherhood -
I've sometimes seen actual space ships.
I haven't minded them at all - I find them enchanting -
But that's probably because I'm not shivering in chilly damp blankets
Under the spell of my big brother's tales
In the pup tent.
The Naked Parade - 1958
It's late - the crickets and salsa bugs fill the night with a rhythm
that pulls at my aura, loosens my molecules
and reminds me.
I remember, what, fifty years ago now?
Wow.
Fifty years ago.
Girl Scout camp - past lights out - bed check over.
One flashlight shines, and the girls who want to play
parade naked in the spotlight, one at a time,
to the accompaniment of muffled giggles.
I'm pretending to be asleep,
too embarrassed to show my unformed-as-yet body.
Years later I'll be the skinny-dipping queen,
the naked dancer under the full moon...
But this night, age eleven,
I've got my whole self shut down tight -
eyes clamped shut, I'm curled in fetal position under covers,
hardly daring to breathe,
afraid of this next part of life.
Then the counselor's footsteps -
everyone diving under their covers, flashlight clicked off -
and it's over.
I can breathe.
Oh, all these fifty years later,
I see I've survived,
and I've learned a few things -
like how totally cool it is sometimes
to be naked.
that pulls at my aura, loosens my molecules
and reminds me.
I remember, what, fifty years ago now?
Wow.
Fifty years ago.
Girl Scout camp - past lights out - bed check over.
One flashlight shines, and the girls who want to play
parade naked in the spotlight, one at a time,
to the accompaniment of muffled giggles.
I'm pretending to be asleep,
too embarrassed to show my unformed-as-yet body.
Years later I'll be the skinny-dipping queen,
the naked dancer under the full moon...
But this night, age eleven,
I've got my whole self shut down tight -
eyes clamped shut, I'm curled in fetal position under covers,
hardly daring to breathe,
afraid of this next part of life.
Then the counselor's footsteps -
everyone diving under their covers, flashlight clicked off -
and it's over.
I can breathe.
Oh, all these fifty years later,
I see I've survived,
and I've learned a few things -
like how totally cool it is sometimes
to be naked.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
About Me
- carolion
- Mother, grandma, gardener, all beings communicator, multi-religous/spiritual inner child folk minister, writer-singer-painter-puppeteer, dynamic peaceworker
Posts
