Dream Scene

Jasmine and Honeysuckle mingled in the spring night air. A woman wrapped in silk fabric that breathed the fragrances and sifted the coolness of the breeze onto the fine hairs of her skin, moved through the night with silence and grace.

Hues of blue from the moonlight coated everything but the lights from the candles and oil lamps glowing orange from windows and crevices.

She made no sound, even from her sandals as she glided past pools with night lilies blooming in open-petalled embrace of the blue moonlight. The street became a path into the trees and all orange lights were now only spots in the distance. Had anyone seen her they would have found their breath taken by her beauty. Had they heard her speak they would have been astonished at her eloquence and wisdom. More so, that her voice conveyed a strength, depth, and confidence not ordinarily present in a woman's voice. It was captivating, magnetic.

Though completely covered, her hair was past her waist and every inch curly by nature and ebony in color.

Her spiritual family called her Solace of the Eyes. Some said those eyes had a mask made of light. Those who had seen this light had seen her fully expose her face, an act that was to be the harbinger of women's freedom and rise from oppression world wide for coming millenia.

Clutching a small wooden box containing a roll of parchment, she slipped through the trees and into the darkness as a sprite. The path was one which she had worn and was easily followed even in the dark for she dared not bring a lamp.

The intoxicating breath of the flowers, the lilies and the moonlight stirred her mind and moved her heart to spill forth poetry in her head as she sped along the path to her destination. Poetry to be read and understood in the language it was originally written. Poetry that would remain hidden until such time as the human heart could withstand its beauty and power. Poetry that could “transcend the murmur of syllables and sounds and rise above words and letters”… poetry borne of love beyond the understanding and grasp of the mind of common man ….until…. five centuries past the telling.

But it was not poetry in the scrolls concealed in the intricately handcarved, sandalwood box. It was not letters conceived in romantic euphoria whose secrets could not be exposed.

If the pen is mightier than the sword, and if words and thoughts are more powerful than bombs and cannons, she carried that which was more powerful than the strongest earthquake, tornado, monsoon, hurricane, tsu nami, flood, or lightening.

The papers she held were vibrating with energy, rumbling with their own forces, nearly alive with their own breath, for they held the words of an Authority sent by God. A Messenger sent after 500 years of waiting and to reign for the next 500,000 poured forth onto these Holy Scripts words that would guide all of mankind for 10,000 generations.

Power such as this, is a threat to any cleric, or government based on religious dogma.

Her life was in danger with every breath she took. She delivered the Writings to waiting souls stirred alive to the point of eagerness to die for such a Cause. The threat was so great that 10’s of thousands did die, including the beautiful poetess Tahirih.

Heading to Tempe for the Weekend

My soul mate -- Adrienne will be there and we can hug and laugh and scream and jump up and down and hug and laugh and scream...

She is God's gift to me this friend. She accepts me in all my crazy moods and in all my quirky ways of being a 'friend'. She knows first hand many of the pains I have overcome in my life and knows my part in them. She was given some particle of myself long before either of us were born, or else we ate from the same fruit. We connect across the continent without telephones or computers. Sorrows are halved and joys doubled.

Even though there is more than a decade difference in age --it doesn't show. We love the same music (mostly --we aren't clones after all), have a similar sense of humor, and many times when we are together, magic happens!!

I will post when I return to tell of the magical moments we may have shared.

At Last

I had a short but satisfying flying dream. I was about to be run over by a 55 Chevy so I lifted off the ground and moved 30 yards or so then gently lit upon the ground, softer than a ballet dancer. I was barefoot and there were stickers in the sandy soil, but I didn't pick any up in my skin. I hadn't had a flying dream in many years. A very nice, calming gift from God.

Thoughts on "The Big Bang" (not the TV show)

If the universe is expanding infinitely and some believe that it is a finite entity, how can both be true?

The Big Bang that so many taut as Truth with mathmatical proofs to back them up and quantum this and thats which are in fact still only theories --I propose this thought.

The universe expands itself to a point where it meets resistance. It did that before there was a Big Bang. The Point of Resistance gets stronger as more and more pressure is put against it. Galaxies get into a traffic jam, black holes begin to swallow more than they can spew, as soon as one particle of this massive cosmic creation peeks through the Point of Resistance, its like the single sperm breaking through the membrane of the ova. But it opens Pandoras Box and all that pressurized, angry, galactic stress is released into a larger allbeit, unknown realm in which it continues to expand.

The idea that there is expansion and contraction cycles, as though breathing is also relevant and to be considered. However, those actions can be done within the expansion realm I described.
That is, the space child can breath within this universe and the universe itself can throb. But continue to expand until it reaches the Point of Resistance.

There is a Native American story and an ancient Star Trek that depicts two brothers in eternal struggle. Two opposing forces, born of the same source (?) locked in a conflict, for should one of them win --the annhilation of the universe as we know it would take place. To the Native Amerian they are two parts of our psyche. Our humane nature and our animalistic nature and since we are both ...they are in conflict all through our individual existence. To the Star Trek writers, they were matter and anti-matter and if anti-matter won... well... there ya go! It is not clear what would happen if 'matter' won. Something ELSE to think about.

I Couldn't Stop Smiling...Except When I Was Crying

The nearby community that I claim for my own was saved from a horrendous fire last week. Pictures of flames 50 ft. high being pushed around with 50 mi. an hour wind gusts cause everyone that sees them to walk away shaking their head in wonder.

The whole town of 6000 was evacuated for three days while the planes, helicopters and ground crews worked to keep the fire from consuming any portion of our town. Police, sherriffs, and CHP patrolled for looters or 'hold outs' to keep even them safe.

When it was all over, the local Lion's Club sponsored a spaghetti dinner for all the service workers that saved every home and business.

Earlier in the summer -August, I believe, a fire started closer to my house. On the main road leading to my house just a mile away, an arsonist had started a fire. After the initial excitement of the low-flying helicopters and the DC-10 dropping red dust, adrenelin took over and I started collecting 'stuff' to take with me.

There wasn't much wind that day and the fire was out in an hour or two, but it took out the power for the rest of the day. When I went into 'town' a few days later, there were crews
still working and it was plain to see where the fire had gone and where it was heading.
Fires can move at 50 miles per hour when the wind is pushing them, and at that time, they have created their own weather and their own wind. Looking at the hillside and canyon crammed with thristy and tired brush unburned and uncleared for untold decades, it was obvious the firemen had saved my neighborhood...my house.

I rolled down my window to say thank you and a lump formed in my throat, such that I had to shout it, not sounding very grateful. I had to shout it just to get it out.

Fsst forward...last week...Friday. The big fire is over, the dinner is prepared and I show up to serve food, take out trash, whatever. I bring 3 dozen cupcakes and my husband prepared 4 dozen cookies. The Lions made the main meal and the 'community' was assigned to bring desserts.

From the moment I parked my truck, The Smile pulled my wrinkled cheeks away from their usual position. Every crewman, every helper, every moment of carrying out my task reinforced the purpose of that smile. Joy of serving, pleasure at seeing warm, familiar friends, watching the firemen enjoy the meal and hospitality kept the smile from fading.

Until, I got the ear of one particular fireman and tried to tell him about the lump that stopped me from a proper thank you. Tears welled up and again the lump tried to stop the words. The fireman put his arms around me and I listened to his beating heart for a moment. The sound cuddled my inner child and comforted her in her deepest place of being. I was finally able to thank at least one fireman. It took nearly a thousand of them to save my house...twice! And it was all I could do to thank just one...once.

I went back to serving, and The Smile took over my face once again. It wasn't one of those 'forced' smiles I usually use to reassure people that "I'm NOT depressed....REALLY!" The Smile came naturally but I couldn't control it which made it feel unnatural and not mine. But it was, and it came from the inner child's joy at being under blue sky clear of smoke, with tall pine trees untouched by flame, and the purity of heart that is present when a child tenderly and joyfully gives someone they love a freshly picked, hand-chosen flower.

Equality Does Not Mean 'Sameness"

Each wing of the bird has it's own characteristics. Each wing has a good mind, a pure heart, and communication brings about understanding. Understanding provides each the opportunity to empathize for the other. Decision making over long terms -- decades-- can only be fair and loving if everyone who is affected by it has a say.

Each wing has a different set of strengths that complement and add to the other wing.

Both are necessary for flight.

Gratitude

How can it be that we take so much for granted? The abundance of bounties available to us keeps our sense of need and fulfillment numbed. It is up to us to keep in touch with our higher self, our soul-self, to continue to be grateful for the 'small stuff'.

Experienceing the least inconvenience could be enough to trigger the gratitude button.

A close call of any description wakes those of us who have an easy life. Description of an 'easy life' in my universe is having all basic needs covered, a small group of friends that would take you in if your house burned down, and safe to the point that you can contemplate a future that encompasses years...not hours or days.

Observing a poor soul at the side of a city street spewing forth bodily fluids instills that gratitude in some of us and we sigh, "There but for the grace of God, go I."

As of Sunday evening, my gratitude for a path to my home... just the path... was foremost on my list. As the fire subsides and evacuees are allowed to return to homes untouched and a home town they hold dear, the wave of gratitude to all who sweated, strained muscles, choked on smoke, lost days of sleep, protecting this home town... this wave of gratitude is palpable and will become manifest in the form of celebration as soon as it can be arranged.

Fire on the Mountain

The plume of smoke of a 'new' fire is distinctive because it is beautiful. Unless the fire has eaten or is eating a home or vehicle, it is white. If it has consumed something other than vegetation it carries a blackness at its base that infects the whole tower. Here in the mountains, it is easy to mistake a fire plume for a welcome thunderhead-- that is unless you have learned the difference.

The difference being an inherent greediness on the part of the smoke tower, which has also mimiced a mushroom cloud. There is a sense of entitlement and undisciplined growth to the smoke. The thunderhead can roil, but intent is sensed to be urgent carrying out of duty.

After the thunderhead the sage, buckwheat, and other plantlife give praise and thanks by sending up their aromas in heady, musky, and invigorating wafts.

During a fire areas not even remotely involved suffer and choke and have eyes feeling made of sand for weeks following and the smell is distinctively that of destruction. Of dead things that had no chance to say good bye, of new things that had no chance to live a life, and of all the bad memories you ever had coming back to haunt you.

For my friends that may be reading this, we are fine, The Dude is fine (cat), and with some difficulty, I made it home last night.

There was a great deal of doubt as to whether that would be possible, but where there is a Badger -- there is a way :).