Old Stories…Old Writings…Older Dreams

Are you ready for this one?  They sent me back for a little while. Seems my kid, and few hundred other people, need me here. Being an angel is hard work, but fun too.

Last time we visited I told you that I was far away. So far that I could barely hear her tears and way to out there to make the music play. Yesterday ‘She’ sent me back to the this 3D world so I could do some more work. I think maybe it was my last lifetime, not sure. Anyway, the clock has played a few songs again, making my daughter smile a bit.

Funny mom.  But it was really good to get that nudging again.

Raven 1The only way I know to help people is through writing. Scribbling down random thoughts, pulling up old stories from long ago, while sitting quietly with my coffee.  Here is a story I started a long time ago called Second Chances–it’s just an excerpt–but the Raven seems to be important these days.

“I am your keeper, Captain”, she said, “I am called Raven.”

Jer checked his hand movement, turned it into a smart salute. Glad to know that, ma’am. Laughter tinged his voice. “My name’s Callan, Jer Callan.”

“We know who you are, Captain – and why you are here.” She turned with fluid race. “Follow me please.”

Jer eyed her slender body as she moved away and caught the notion of hand to neck breach. He gaped as the wall dissolved. He ducked through the opening but kept a watchful eye on the surrounding ripples. The sponge of his brain absorbed each minute detail as they twisted and turned along a serpentine corridor. That’s the third niche we’ve passed so far, he thought. Wonder what they’re for. He felt a sudden pressure.

“Those are the homes of our Gods, Captain,” Raven answered. She pointed up and to the left. “I take my name from that one.”

“Looks like an ordinary Raven—bird!”

“You have seen this God, Captain?” Her voice faltered. “None on our planet have been so privileged, although he is very powerful.” She stopped suddenly. “We are here. Enter please.”

Stories are healing. There are so many of them out there taking the form of books, blogs, websites, movies, plays, etc. Have you ever wondered about the minds that create these stories? I have a bit more insight now, but it always amazed me how they could create an entire world on paper.

Each morning you awake, pure of heart and mind. Each morning is also followed by night. In this world (humanness) night is perceived as scary, evil, dangerous. Don’t get me wrong, the moon is equally as powerful as the sun. It is feminine and without it there would be no balance.

You walk through the rotation of the sun, gathering images along the way. The stories shared by others; war, poverty, birth and death, all  create a story in your soul. If you let only the horror and sadness root–take hold–your humanness struggles to find happiness and love, or worse….finds it false.

moon_bird There is a veil (several really) but one that protects what ‘She’ has created. It wraps around you like a warm winter blanket, like being in a mother’s womb. It is only when you damage that veil (violence, hatred, chemicals) that your life, your humanness changes.

Be careful.

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March 26, 2014 · 9:50 am

Spirit Riding on Ribbons

Been a month. I did my best to ping her, but February has proven to be a very challenging month.  Ha Ha…today is an old wedding anniversary of mine–just remembered; February 28, 1960.  

She sat in her room all day, wondering why everything felt so empty. Tears and confusion as the little girl returned pushing aside the adult.

Where did everyone go? Mom are you still around?

I was so far away I barely heard her. Not sure when I left the house. My time as Spirit on this earth is coming to an end. While the memories will remain with my daughter, my presence will fade a little more each day.  You know, she keeps my ashes on the shelf .

It’s time sweetie. It’s time to send them to the Valley of the Kings.

Time is like a ribbon. As the ribbon moves through space and sound it serves like a highway for the Spirit to travel. With each prayer or song you sing, you send out a ribbon for us to find. We jump on, holding on as tightly as we can, and find our way to your heart. There we stay a while and listen. There the healing occurs. Close your eyes and listen carefully. Do you hear me? Do you hear them?

Yes, Mom today I heard you–I miss our talks.

And the Living Soul shall not cast aside the body of dust that it taketh for a time. Rather, it shall leave its wanderings and answer the call for life. And the Living Soul shall dwell … to ponder what it has mastered, then shall it make for itself a new body of dust and once more walk the byways of wisdom, for that is the manner of everlasting life.

It’s been said that we come back with full memory of our previous life then slowly as our souls acclimate to a new body, new DNA, and honor the agreements we made, we forget that lifetime.

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6.7-365 Staring at a blank page

WTF is up today. Been hanging out all day trying to get someone’s attention. tap tap tap….oh I wish I had a cigarette to smoke. ‘She’ won’t let me smoke here, says it pollutes everything. [grin] 

Found Lisa: http://wp.me/P33r5a-2E. I think I’ll read a little about her to see what she has to say. 

Image

 

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Day 5 of 365

Well it is clear I skipped a few days.  Seems my scribe has been too busy starting her business and writing two other blogs so I’ve jumped from day 2 to 5 in a blink.  Of course time slipping by is not unusual. I wrote a little about that a while back so if you’re curious check out Time and Life (http://wp.me/p3eGvO-A)

My mind has been flooded with memories and emotions; some dating back 70 years. Imagine having memories that are 70 years old? Well, more on that later. The best way I know to ‘finish’ up is to write. To tell you the stories I started and never quite finished and to share with you those 70 years of memories.  Of course that requires some help and I’m sure you will be able to provide a little as we get to know each other.

Freedome Ride Core Button

What is today’s story? It’s 1960 or 1961 and I’m at home cooking dinner with the family. I was married to a handsome man with three kids and I had one, my daughter. It was about 7:30 pm and I asked the girls to upstairs and get ready for bed.

In those days you told your kids to do something and they did it. I’ve noticed these days, not so much.

A little while later, my husband, who was on his 3rd or 4th beer stood up and ran upstairs. He was furious because the girls (age 7) were playing and not sleeping. I never had a chance to stop him. The next thing I hear is screaming and crying. He had lost control and started hitting them. I was so angry, so scared I couldn’t move. I couldn’t walk upstairs and I couldn’t let him continue.

I was 29 or 30 yrs old, weighing all of 110 lbs. I picked up a solid oak dining chair and threw it into the wall; it stuck. Then I took the pot of spaghetti and threw it all over kitchen. Salad too. It’s funny now.

Not sure what happened next but somehow I was upstairs and grabbed my daughter and ran out of the house. We hid under the back porch for a good while. Then quietly got in the car, put it neutral and let it coast down the driveway and street. (glad we lived on an incline). As we drove off my daughter asked me “mom where are we going?”

You are going to live with your Aunt and I am going to live with God! I replied.  “Mom, I want to go with you.”

depression

Photo: Jeffrey Moussa

Moral of the story? There is nothing in this world that you can’t change; your heart, your mind, your habits. It will be hard and you may cry a lot, but at the end of your time when you look back, you will be able to laugh a little. More importantly, you will be able to share those lessons with thousands of people.

Wishing you enough…

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Day 2 of 365; What’s in a Name

Day 2 asked for a change, to step out and think differently; to brand the blog with something that would tell you more about its purpose. So I changed the title, added a widget (deleted some too), and changed into some new clothes. Originally J. Price Higgins, an author’s name whose books are still being published.

I must rely on the help of mortals to get the word out, and because I didn’t get to say, do and write all the things rumbling through my head, I started this blog. Well, someone else actually started it; but it was my idea. [grin]  Want to know more about me? I am (was, darn it’s going to take some time to get used to that) a little out-of-the box. OK, a lot.

I have to share a strange self discovery with you. First a note: my brother has often said I was given the gift of discernment, especially after a rather spirited debate on biblical things. He’s been a Baptist pastor for about 10 years and in the beginning was pretty adamant on what the Bible did or did not say which usually led to a string of questions and answers and disagreements. Now, I’m not a Bible scholar, yet as the years passed, I noticed he began coming for coffee and almost always had a specific topic in mind he wanted to soundboard on. Then, one day, almost as a passing thought, he commented on the gift. About a year ago, he tried to explain to me what that meant–as he saw it. So that’s the side note.

Around Christmas in 2010, while grocery shopping, a lady, late fifties early sixties, walked up beside me and just began talking. Not at all unusual, and I can normally sidestep a conversation, but not this time. There was something about her, a sort of pleading aura and I found myself listening and every now and then responding. Each time I’d turn to continue my shopping, she would gently touch my arm and continue with her story. Anyway, to make a long story short, she stayed right beside me, talking all the while until I reached the checkout line. Only then did she stop, looked straight into my eyes, and said “Thank you. I don’t know why, but I just knew you would understand.” With that she headed off down a grocery aisle, leaving me feeling most distressed and sad.

Photo credit: thirdeyeforums.com

Photo credit: thirdeyeforums.com

In December, when my refrigerator/freezer quit working, I finally found a repair technician (turned out he was the owner of the shop) who could come out that same evening & inspect or repair if possible. He arrived approx 6:30 PM. He was on his way home from his last job–a young man. Late 40′s, very early 50′s. While he was working, he started to talk and talk and talk and talk about his marriage, his previous marriage, his small farm, his repair business, his feelings. Although his voice was conversational, his emotional distress was coming at me in waves. He finished his job, gave me the bad news, and continued talking even after I walked him outside. It was almost 9:00 PM when he left with “I didn’t mean to talk your ear off, but thanks for listening. I needed that.” A perfect stranger sharing very personal information, just like the super market lady.

Today, I was in Walmart, walking down the aisle where feminine products are shelved including the Depends supplies. As I started up another aisle, a lady behind me said “Excuse me.” When I turned around, a Mexican woman in a wheelchair was smiling at me. I thought I was in the way and started to move aside and she shook her head and pointed to the shelf where the Depends were stacked. At this point, let me state that 2 clerks were in the same area, putting supplies on shelves. Again, to shorten story, she first asked for help in determining what size of Depends she should buy and then she started to talk about her daughter, her son-in-law, her husband, her loneliness and being confined to a wheelchair. It wasn’t as if she were complaining or whining about her situation, it was just a deep distress coming through.  I felt so bad for her. And I felt so drained of energy.

It isn’t as if these are isolated incidents. Over these past many years, I’ve always known It was extremely difficult for me to be where pain or grief or emotional/mental distress might lurk. Probably why I’m such a recluse as my sister and my daughter call me. In fact, there was a time when I would meet new people and get an immediate flash of an animal which as I grew to know them fit their personalities to a T. Very disconcerting. When it started happening as I walked down the street, entered a restaurant, stopped for gas etc., I worked hard to stop it. Although, on occasion, it will still pop up if I’m caught unaware.

empath buddhaNow, why have I embarked on this long tale of weirdness? Because, tonight I received an answer to a lifetime of such incidents, but don’t intend to bore you with the plethora of situations. I get home from shopping, the WalMart lady on my mind which then led down the path of many such while I fixed a cup of coffee and went out to the back steps to have a cigarette. Puffing away, I wondered why? What drew strangers to confide? Why, if I wasn’t careful, did I feel “stuff” I couldn’t see swirling around me or get strange sensations from those I loved that were distant from me? That’s when I discovered who I was (probably), because one word floated into my mind. Empath. So what the hell was empath? I Googled it and am astounded at what I found. Page after page describing the word and it was like reading my life journal. I’m still in shock. With all the subjects I’ve been exposed to, I don’t recall ever having seen the word let alone knowing what it meant. I think maybe if I had, daily life would have been so much easier to deal with. Or maybe not. Who knows. Still, I think it’s a shame I’m pushing the completion of 80 years and just now able to say “No, you are not on the cusp of crazy and do not think weird.”

I think I might could write a story based on this Empath thing. Of course, there are probably stories out there already so what could I say that would catch attention? Hummm. I bet I could think of something. Conjure Me a Body Fair has been long dormant without purpose. I think maybe I can change it around to fit Empath into the concept. Hummmm.

 

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Day 1 of 365

A friend (Living and Lovin; http://wp.me/2sFlJ) shared Zero to Hero and I thought what the heck.  I’ve got plenty of time on my hands and Lord knows I have a lot to write about. Check out the link on the right and join the fun.

Day 1: Who Am I

I am, was, an 81 year old lady who grew up at the most amazing time in our country’s history. I tried smoking pot in high school and it made me sick, joined the air force in the 50′s (a great decade), married three times, and dabbled in several alternative beliefs. (more on that another day).

Today? Well, that is an interesting concept. Some think my daughter writes all this stuff, others–those that see beyond themselves–they know. Today, I am a free spirit hanging out with old friends and family. I sneak up on my kid every once and while just to see if she is paying attention. Most days she’s not, but every now and then she gets it.

So this blog thing requires some dedication. The goal is to post something every day. I’ll be using the 365 days of writing prompts to help. Hope your follow me.

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Times, they are a changing

Last night we were discussing how our Pope runs his business.  This morning I see Forbes had the same discussions.

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January 1, 2014 · 11:23 pm

A Tribute of Song

When Spirit moves you, you must share. This time of year we all look at life a little differently. We open our hearts and for a moment, a pause, we remember.

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December 15, 2013 · 2:47 pm

The Textures of Books

I love the smell of books, the touch of each page.  When I run across one of those that just calls out to me from the shelf, it’s all I can do to step away from the computer and grab it off the shelf. Today there were a few of those books, one in particular that always catches my fancy: In Darkest Africa by Henry M. Stanley.

Rounded edges, a spine separated and yellow from age, my fingers gently opened the cover to read ” with two steel engravings, and one hundred and fifty illustrations and maps”.  First Edition, and possibly the only one, c. 1890.  That is 123 years old.

page 97: Entry of April 30, 1887

“Each officer is personally responsible for the good beahviour of his company and the condition of arms and accoutrements.”

“For trivial offences–a slight corporal punishment, only can be inflicted, and this as seldom as possible. Officers will exercise discretion in this matter, and endeavour to avoid irritating the men, by being too exacting, or showing unnecessary fussiness.”

The life of a book is not contained in the printed words. There are hints left behind from the original owner of the book. Slips of vellum torn to mark a passage or image. numbers written on the margin of one page; 100, 50, 200. Ownership proudly shown in pencil Mrs. C. F. Wilcox of San Jose, CA.  I wonder if there is a relationship inside the story to the owners of this book. That you can’t find by skimming. Dare I reach for the other volume, to see the engravings or read the tales of this quest?

Next to this jewel is a rather tattered book. The back cover is missing, same yellow cast.

…. from Uncle Phil. Christmas 1926

” There was formerly an aged fisherman, so poor that he could barely obtain food for himself, his wife and his three children.  He went out early every morning to his employment; and he had imposed a rule upon himself never to cast his nets above four times a day.”

Arabian Nights, First Edition 1924

I think one should wear gloves when handling such volumes.

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Mandela, Means, and Peltier

A good friend of mine and I have been taking care of each other for over a decade now. She recently moved to Virginia and today we visit via various social media avenues, and sometimes the telephone.  Today I read a post that everyone should see. And when you’re finished, read the comment and reply. http://www.racismreview.com

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